Midterms (Part I)

"Do you want some doughnuts?" Charissa humbly asked as I worked diligently on my philosophy assignment.

"Just place it on the table," I replied back.

It was mid-Saturday morning. The weather outside was fine and the sun was shining brightly.

I had been working on my philosophy essay for the past two hours. But for some reason, I was only halfway finished with it.

Figuring out Albert Camus' quote by myself turned out to be a difficult task to accomplish. How can suicide become one true and serious philosophical problem?

During the last class, our philosophy professor instructed that our essay required no outside help from classmates. This means neither Kyla nor Claire can assist me with this assignment.

It was up to my brain to figure things out. Yet it has seemed like my memory was running low.

I stopped working on the essay and took a one-hour nap to recharge. Yet when I woke up, my brain cells could not seem to cooperate with the task at hand.

My mind grew perplexed with each passing minute. There are so many things to worry about even I cannot comprehend.

But then something suddenly came out of my brain. It was Cynthia's vision which showed up to arouse me.

I visually imagined how she became a frequent target of bullies that led to her committing suicide. All that pain, suffering and abuse must have triggered me anew.

Having seen this apparition all over again, I suddenly had the urge to continue the assignment. And so I faced my laptop and resumed typing some words on a Microsoft Word document.

But just as the word count neared 300, Charissa began shouting downstairs.

"Christine, lunch is ready," she fervently said.

"Let me finish this work first," I yelled back. "My stomach is still full."

Unfortunately, the smell of grilled pork chops became too irresistible and shortly after I reluctantly walked downstairs. By that point, both Charissa and Clark were sitting on the table chewing some food.

"You'll wash the dishes after this," Charissa informed me. "You are too late in joining us for lunch."

"But mother I was still working on my assignment," I explained. "You should have understood my situation."

"It's imperative the whole family must eat a meal together regardless of circumstance," Charissa replied. "Sorry but you must wash the dishes, period."

In the end, I wound up working those household chores as Charissa instructed. But just as I walked up to my bedroom, the phone suddenly rang.

Michelle was calling from her home.

Michelle: "Hello? Christine?"

Christine: "Michelle, why are you calling right now? You distracted me from my work."

Michelle: "It's an urgent call Christine. Can you come to Starbucks later this afternoon?"

Christine: "I'll try, but only after my philosophy assignment is finished."

Michelle: "Okay then. I'll call you back later. Farewell."

Several words later, the philosophy essay is finished. Exhausted, I closed my laptop and fell asleep.

At 3:00 p.m., the alarm on my mobile phone started ringing. Upon waking up, I realized I hadn't taken a shower yet.

Then came another call from Michelle.

Michelle: "Are you ready to come with me, Christine?"

Christine: "Sorry but I haven't taken a shower yet. But don't worry, I'll be coming out there in a moment."

Michelle: "Okay then. See you there."

After several frantic moments inside the bathroom, I dressed up in a simple t-shirt, denim pants and slippers. Upon walking towards the lobby, however, Michelle's car was nowhere to be found.

Not long after, my mobile phone rang anew. Once again, Michelle came out calling.

Michelle: "Christine, walk straight to the mall immediately. I'm at Starbucks right now."

Christine: "Okay then."

But just as I strolled the streets of Greenhills, the straps of my left slipper suddenly broke. Regardless, I soldiered on and limped to Starbucks with one good slipper.

"You look exhausted," Michelle remarked on me. "What happened?"

"Look at my own two feet," I responded back. "Notice the difference?"

At that point, Michelle realized how tired I was by looking at my broken slipper. Consequently she helped me purchase a new pair at a flip-flop store.

After replacing the worn-out pair of slippers, we walked back to Starbucks for some snacks. While Michelle ordered some sandwiches and tea, I opened my laptop and logged in on Facebook.

Just then, Kyla delivered me a message. It read:

"Christine, how was your essay?"

I replied:

"It was so exhausting. Turns out figuring and dissecting the passage on Albert Camus by yourself was harder than I imagined."

As Michelle gently placed the orders on the table, Kyla typed another message.

"Even I found it difficult to comprehend. Right now my essay is partly done and I am a little exhausted."

Moments later, I responded to Kyla's message.

"It's unfortunate that I cannot help you per the professor's orders. So good luck in figuring it out. Who knows, perhaps some unpleasant personal memories of yours can be a source of motivation and application."

Kyla typed back:

"I'll try and process that. Thanks Christine."

After promptly closing my laptop, I grabbed a plate of chicken sandwich and took a bite out of it. After sipping on a glass of green tea, Michelle carefully opened her bag and retrieved some valuable documents.

"Christine, I talked to Kevin and Ella the other day and they showed me some intriguing storylines," she explained. "Kevin came up with three rough drafts for our video production assignment. What do you think?"

As Michelle presented some sketches to me, it was clear my intentions were aimed towards a funnier storyline.

"Personally, I liked the infomercial parody better," I respectfully informed Michelle while pointing out the sketch. "The two other plots seem extremely gloomy for my liking."

"Okay then," Michelle replied. "I'll ask Kevin and Ella about it. After all we have two weeks to produce this video."

For the rest of the afternoon, the two of us enjoyed a particularly hearty snack. Just then, Michelle's mobile phone suddenly rang.

Who could that be? As she starts answering the phone, I grew extremely curious regarding the identity of this mysterious voice.