Nothing Too Special



It’s an ordinary morning, one of your typical weekday rush hour mornings, and you’re on the way to school. Nothing seems to make this day that different from the others. It’s nothing too special, but you guess it’s alright.

You’re at the waiting shed, your eyes focused in the distance, scoping for a jeepney. You see one, hail it, and go inside. You search for an available seat, and you see that one free spot and take it.

As you reach out your hand to pay the fare, you catch a glimpse of that shy, pretty girl sitting opposite you. You see her clutching her Jansport backpack and her Cattleya binder, and you know she wouldn’t be able to hear you if you said anything because she was wearing earphones. You think of how cute she looks when her head bobs along to the music she’s listening to, and you wonder what kind of music she’s into. She’s wearing “normal” clothes, not too flashy but not too shabby either. She takes a look at her watch every now and then, but doesn’t seem too anxious about the time, as if she knew that she wasn’t going to be late.

As the jeepney moves, you see her hair billowing because of the wind. Suddenly, your eyes meet, and for about a millisecond, you feel this spark between you and her. It’s a weird feeling, but you like it. You both look away, and you smile and think to yourself,

“This is different.”

You sit next to each other throughout the whole journey, and when the moment finally comes that has to go, you look at her and she at you, and she smiles. You feel yourself space out in awe, and pull yourself back to reality just in time to reciprocate that smile. She gets off the jeepney, and you are left with the other passengers, your heart pounding wildly.

You think you’ve just met the one, and in that one ordinary moment, you fall in love. But it’s not her you fall in love with.

You fall in love with the idea of her. You fall in love with the imagined times you’ll have with each other, the possibilities, scenarios forming in your head. Holding hands while watching the sunrise. Her head resting on your shoulder as you both ride the jeepney. Images of her smile, that sweet, captivating smile not too different than the one she gave you just now. Moments in which you are together form in your head, and you think to yourself,

“What if it really was her?”

You get off the jeepney and walk to your next class. With each step is the image of her smile, that sweet, sweet smile, and what could have been.

You talk to your classmates, go to class, do your papers, have lunch, kid around with your friends, go to class again, et cetera et cetera, and before you know it, every detail that you so meticulously absorbed about that girl is lost and forgotten. Every single memory you have of her, her face, her smile, her image, every single one of those is gone.

And so is that girl.

The final bell for your last class has rung. The day is finished, and you say goodbye to your friends. You walk to where you usually wait for a jeepney to come, and with each step you think of how your day went. You look at the setting sun in the sky, and think, “It was a pretty ordinary day, one of your typical weekdays. Nothing seems to make this day that different from the others. It’s nothing too special, but I guess that’s alright.”


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