TBBM III. The Beholder of the Birthmark

"I wonder what would happen to me this school year. Hmmm..." I stared absentmindedly at the mirror after washing my face. Yeah. Foundation day. I applied a tad bit more face powder than I should have. "I wonder if James is gonna court me this year?"

But, was I ever going to be liked by anyone, really?

I meant, I had a list of things I wished I could change about me:

A. I could be really oily. Some days. Yes. Only some 28 days in a month. I called it my Salvation Day whenever I got lucky and woke up to a dry, moisturised skin. Salvation from the constantly unfair and brutal world. They usually happened on weekends, though.

B. I could be really nerdy. I wasn't the cool type. I must have taken that from my mother. Yes. But she was nerdy and cool at the same time. There were times I wished I could grow up to be like my mother---not the voice, not the mouth. But she had done so much good in her life that I looked up to her.

C. Best of all, I had the tendency to be incredibly and humiliatingly unlucky. Especially on important days. Half of the times, it was because of my hickey in the bum; other times, it was because I had male body parts when I should have been growing otherwise. I envied James allot since he seemed to have plenty of time to figure himself out, what he wanted to do in life. Me, I only had a year and a half left. I needed to figure things out for me. I wished I could be one of those girls in campus---the pretty ones who didn't need to hide their femininity---the type who wouldn't be ostracised if they chose to wear short skirts or one piece in Swimming class. I'd be dead if I did any of that. Somehow, this felt like a disability. But then, I remembered my mother and how she toiled raising me. It would be too ungrateful to be loony--depressed.

Good Heavens.

Sometimes, it felt like I, too, bully myself---as if there was another persona inside me who was always on the negative.

Come what may.

***************

Always on Day Ones, I could never guess either the building or room my number correctly. So, I frequently ended up opening the wrong door or two.

"I mean, can't you relate?" I heard two girls whispering by the hallway, after I opened the wrong door.

I could remember when it was the Criminology class that I barged into. Crims were almost always a male-dominant class. Whew! that day might just make it to the number one on my list of embarrassing moments in front of boys my age.

I just failed to get it right again and again.

"Jap! That's not us!" called a familiar voice from behind me as I was just about to open another door.

"Roxanne?" I turned around. Suddenly, everything just got brighter. It was like my own sunshine descended."Oh-Jim. It's you."

"Yup. Me," he rested his arm on my shoulders. My lips might just end up torn away by the intensity of my biting if he continued doing this. But I was prepared. Goodbye, lower lip. I might add it later on my rundown of things I hate about myself but how could he be so charming and gentlemanly? "Roxanne, who?"

I was low-key staring at him, losing comprehension.

"Jap-jap---" he poked me on the forehead.

"Hm-m?" I mumbled.

"You called somebody "Roxanne," earlier. So I thought you were---"

"Nothing. I just thought I developed some kind of alter-ego."

"Like in TV?"

"No. Don't tell me---"

"I watched it before. I like shows with medical inflections."

Roxanne was one of the alt-characters the lead with Dissociative Identity Disorder had in one TV show. And he was so smart to have picked up on that. I never got along this well with any other guy.

Oh my Saint!

James led me into the room: the right room, this time. Well, everything was right with him around. I wouldn't argue.

As the door swung open, I saw girls mildly drool at the sight of him; and wipe the side of their mouths in a fraction of a second. One would barely notice it. Well, I could relate to them the most.

#NoJudgments

Me? I knew no one cared that I entered the room---at least not to the extent the girls did for James. So, I made my entrance as quietly and as unnoticeably as possible.

I was the prey type---said Mr. Vizca, our college Assistant Guidance Counselor and head of Students' Reformation. He wore his hair curled and stood on average height. Apart from James, he was really the only other male friend I had; or at least, I guessed we were. He explained that people like me were the meek ones, and if uncontrolled, we could easily fall prey into the more domineering types. Because of such, I was clear-cut, made-to-order, easy target for the bullies at school. And true enough, it seemed like their eyes were fixed on me whenever they got free time. I thought he said, that was assertion of power in a group setting.

People said that I had the tendency to be too modest and shy. I wouldn't agree with the 'too' word but of the rest, I thought I most certainly would. And, since I looked weird and maintained distance, the crazy brats at school pinned their joy in making fun of me. I wasn't pretty---and in a world where only the pretty could cry and obtain sympathy, I normally walked away whenever I had too much.

I had an average face towering a tan body. My hair folded and tangled in curls at mid-length; so I'd usually wear it up to a granny-like pony or my mother would turn them to small braids. I'd given up on taming my hair over the years as they each seemed to follow their own way hours after shower. I was just grateful to see them grown. I detested it every time when they were cropped short. I had this unusual friendship not with poverty but with living with just enough, so I didn't aspire to be more than this. I was just thankful I could squeeze everything into affording my blockers. At least, until the end of the limited time I had.

I didn't really mind my tan. It was tan, not dark. I thought I was okay. But what I couldn't stomach were my little babies that popped at every square inch of my already oily face. I had a phase when I'd pop them to death but that only gave me an even harder time with their deathbeds aka pores. There was a time when I stopped looking in the mirror. But it became better since I made acquaintance with Papaya soap and testosterone blockers.

Finally, every time I was sad or hopeless, I liked licking on an ice cream stick. To me, it was meditative.

I made a personal niche out of the backseat all the time.

Allot of things in college were different from high school. Though I didn't change that much, I could guarantee the difference. I didn't have to be selfish in quizzes here---I'd willingly give my answer sheet if they requested for it. We could all share high honours, after all. Over time, being the girl on top of the class felt lonely.

But some traditions withstood school years, even the change in population, impressively. If you wanted an example, how about class introductions?

"Introduce yourself," Miss Bagui, the instructor commanded.

Since Literature was about stories, she asked us to do a "mood introduction." Basically, we had to introduce ourselves with the character we were feeling at the moment.

I was dying in laughter watching my classmates go one after the other. First Days were usually spent getting acquainted with every one in the group. Since I was sitting by the last row, I felt no pressure, at all. Or, at least until I realised I'd be next.

They'd been doing all sorts of crazy tricks and impressions.

Happy mood.

Happier mood.

Super happy mood.

Emo.

Flirty.

Betty was wacky.

Ella was selfie goddess.

Hugo was aquatica.

Cy was MMA.

These girls aced their games so wildly that I forgot she was going to come for me, too.

Until it was my turn.

I was already half-gassy at the moment from the laughing-streak. But suddenly, the laughing turned to panic. I hadn't really thought of what to do. And James was watching me. He joined me at the backseat.

I didn't have issues with talking in class---but only of things academic. I really avoided sharing my self on a personal level because it felt uncomfortable.

#Misfortunes

"Jap," James elbowed me, alerting me of the professor.

"Jim-jim..." I stuttered as I shook my head.

"Be yourself," it felt warm hearing that from James. He was reassuring as always. But I still couldn't get a hold of myself. I started to run hiccups.

"Next!" the instructor hurled attention at me.

"I'll do it," James volunteered. "I'll be the next."

Suddenly, it all stopped: the noisy, chatterfield came to a halt; the clock ticked but rather too slowly, as if each time, it had a hard time letting go… as if each time it moved, it was afraid, uncertain of whether or not to move and make a sound; but also realising that there was no other way life would be but to move and make that sound.

I saw dreamy eyes my way---girls who wished they were me. In that moment, at least, they wanted to be me as much as I wanted to be like them. In that moment, I felt like I belonged with them. But all that, I knew was attributed to James' presence. After that moment, I knew, I'd be the other girl, again.

James told me to sit still as he ascended. I couldn't make out of what he was saying---maybe because I was really surprised to be called without having prepared anything or maybe because I just thought he was too stunning. He was funny. I knew he'd kill it. He was tall in that crew cut. He had chinky eyes.

He wore that smile again. I was melting, my Saint. He was smiling... every time he glanced at me.

At me!

At me!!

"Jopet Magat!" I failed to realize that the instructor had been calling me twice already. Well, I used to fail at many things except in my studies, so-"

"Jap," James nudged me. "Just be yourself. Be what you feel."

What had I been feeling, really? It was all James. It was all him. I remembered the day I saw him first. I went on like this. I couldn't speak. Now, I knew what to say. I wanted to say that I liked him. I wanted to wish him to stay by my side always. I wanted to tell him, I could be living just like one of the normal girls if he were beside me. But, was it worth saying it? Saying how I really felt?

I swallowed a lung-full of air and arose from my seat. I didn't normally like attention like this. But a year of keeping my feelings to myself must have made a difference. I was going to say it, finally.

Kriiiiiing! Kriiiiing!

Just then, the bell erupted to its usually sonorous and disruptive scream. The vibe picked up to where we were before all this fun started.

For a moment, I believed I was starting to be lucky---lucky my face. I never did anything correctly.

Oh my Saint!