When I was still in publishing, I created a mood board the size of my entire bedroom wall. I bought back issues of magazines, tore out the pages that inspired me and posted them on my bedroom wall. Some people call it a mood board. My mother calls it litter.
I have this nasty habit of starting small projects—so small that it's almost amazing how I manage to lose focus after only a few days. Take that mood board project for example.
One day, I got so bored and irritated that I tore the pages off my wall and burned them. One of my mother's plants caught fire. I threw that away too.
And yet, despite the fleeting emotions, there are two things that continue to survive my flickering addictions: coffee and Archie Comics.
I got my first batch of Archie comic books when I was six years old, a parting gift from my cousins Allan and Pepper the day before they migrated to the U.S. Sure, I was a bit too young to be reading about teenage angst and boy troubles but I sure loved those characters, especially the feisty and spoiled Veronica Lodge.
I must have already spent a small fortune on those comic books, which I continue to buy to this day. Even Johnny would take me to a bookstore every month, ask me to get 1,000 pesos worth of Archie comic books and pay for it. The tradition started on our first month anniversary as a new couple when he asked me what I wanted as gifts.
And this is why I had to do a double-take when I passed by that small bookstore in Makati one sunny weekday morning.
Unlike other commercialized bookstores, this one is partly hidden. In fact, I almost missed it if not for the 50 percent off sale sign they have for back issues of Archie comic books.
I ease down the narrow and rickety staircase that leads to the smallest bookstore I have ever seen in Makati. The place smells of old books. I take a deep breath. It's like marijuana to me.
I ask the cashier where they keep the Archie comic book. He points me to one corner where the glorious stacks are kept. The place is really small and there's a tall guy in a short-sleeved, white polo shirt blocking my way.
"Excuse me," I say.
He takes one look and quickly steps aside to let me pass. My resting bitch face has its perks, most of the time.
I only have thirty minutes left before the parade starts. You see, part of my job as a public relations slave includes handling the pre-pageant and post-coronation activities of local beauty queens.
One of our girls recently won in an international competition and made my life difficult, starting with a parade along Ayala Avenue in Makati City under the heat of the afternoon sun.
If I die of heatstroke, I want to be reincarnated as a beauty queen. I really want to experience riding on top of a super pink float and wave to the adoring public along Ayala Avenue. Unfortunately, for us PR slaves – the real behind-the-scenes queens of beauty pageants – we have to walk behind the fucking pink float, smell the fumes and not die of heatstroke.
I can deal with all of that later. I have to hoard as many comic books as I can now.
There are only a few comic books left with the '50 percent off' price tag. Since I'm the kind of fan who judges a comic book by its cover art, I quickly grab all the nice-looking ones I can find.
"Excuse me, miss, are you buying all that?" I hear someone behind me ask. It's the tall guy who was blocking my path a while ago. We are both standing in line at the cashier.
"Yes, why?" I reply with the slightest hint of mockery.
"Can you swap some covers with me?" he asks coolly. "You grabbed all the Archie and Jughead covers and left me with Betty & Veronica issues.
"Maybe you can take these instead?" he continues when I fail to respond in a timely manner. He places two Betty & Veronica covers in front of me, the ones I didn't get because I hate the new cover art.
The parade has not started yet and the heat of the midday sun is getting to my head already. He sounds incredibly brash and slightly sexist to me. So I catch myself responding with an even more sexist statement before I can stop myself.
"You look like you're into girly stuff, you get that," I pushed the Betty & Veronica covers back to him.
Suddenly, the small bookstore feels even more suffocating when the verbal bomb flew out of my mouth and landed between us. Even the cashier looks like he wants to dash out of the store before I can open my mouth and puke out more. I pay for my comics as fast the cashier can open his register and leave the hole-in-the-wall bookstore in record speed.
I honestly thought that at 27 years old I would be more patient with people. But no. It seems like I never aged a day since I turned 24 and threw a tantrum at the restaurant my then boyfriend took me to. In my defense, the table cloth was filthy and the house water was not filtered.
At 27, I am still a ticking time bomb that detonates over the simplest things.
I have this nasty habit of starting small things I can't finish. And yes, this includes small, senseless misfits.
To be continued...
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Before I Do
RomanceFor self-proclaimed "mean girl" Kit Castille and the many women in the world, finding true love isn't easy. But what if you meet a devilish stranger who challenges all the conclusions you have built in the past three years? What if you fall for him...
