DEBATE

Morning came anew and I woke up without my alarm. Turning to a clock, the time is twenty-past six. I carefully got out of the sheets to not wake Cypress up. She sleeps so soundly with her hands together under her cheeks.

Claire's memories had all been present within Cypress's eyes. Our dear's persistence and continued inquiry about her life had upheaved a lot of wonderful memories of those childhood days, and of course the opposite as well. Cypress though would surely be jealous of me once she heard that I'd been running, story-telling, painting, and doing so much more playtime activities when we're about as big as her.

And of course, there is her grandpa which my kid just knew recently. A man that became much like a father figure for me. He was there to give me advice on how to take care of women, how to dress appropriately, how to improve and behave like a man for such takes a long time to perfect. I would say I'm a little stubborn. He is stern yet loving - he appears to wear a strict face and yet hugs her like a teddy bear.

I went down the stairs and saw my reflection in a mirror by the wall of our living room. My hair is unorganized and I still have my yesterday's uniform. My tie is loosened as it hanged around my slouched neck. I removed my tie and polo, straightened my back, and then proceeded to the kitchen to have some coffee.

The first thing that greeted me was the pitcher I left over the center table island. I then remember the ceiling portion I yet have to fix. I sprung over the table for a closer inspection but the hole was non-existent. I then rushed to check the fridge and the cupboards — they were truly empty. All I have left for this morning are the queued jars; two of which are sugar and powdered coffee.

I prepared some coffee and let the hot steam simmer from the mug as I went outside. The light from the morning sun hits my body precisely for a warmth I covet since that cold rainy evening. I sat by our porch and witness the neighborhood brighten.

Kids of our acquaintances happily chase each other on this empty street. Windows of the houses open as they let some of the morning breezes come in. It sure does great to live nearby a bay. Some elderly had also basked in the same heat by their porch as they await for the newspaperman to deliver the daily periodical. My tray beside me was filled with newspapers, another one will be added later. I raised my hands and greeted the neighborhood a good morning.

Then there's Claire's house, three houses to the right at the other side of the street. It has been preserved yet unmaintained. You know it was once her grandpa's property, and that an elderly of such age can not keep their home as tidy as they want it to be. Ever since he died of old age, Claire had been in and out of it, what more so of expectations of having that house cleaned up.

Though there are some changes. I tried sipping my coffee but it was still scalding. That same house that looked like a place that forest rangers stay had a little bit of modern touch. Its roof is now covered with gray slabs of ceramics or slate as it appears to me; definitely would protect Claire from their persistent rain problems back then. Although the smell of damp wood was refreshing to me at first, the mere thought of its smell had my nose twitch. Was Claire alright after that heavy downpour?

My feet almost tried to persuade me to have a peak by her yard on how things are going well for her planned house cleaning. It occurred to me that I might disturb her endeavor. I stared in that direction waiting for any sign of her activity but not a single movement can be conjectured. She might be out. Where could she be this early?

Claire was always an early bird. She can even compete with the roosters in terms of her daily rousing time. Back when we were young during summer when you think that everyone's just about to open their eyes at six, Claire was already set to take her grandfather out for walks. That was the reason I almost forgot about the old man's existence before we met at the park.

Believe me, Stella, talking once to the old man, I found myself admiring him that I wanted to see him, have a conversation with him often despite my unforgettable first encounter with Claire. How can I fail to remember a memory that left a trace on my forehead? She was deeply sorry about it and tends to shy away from me as I intentionally visit their constant spot in the park.

Days were then fast and the interactions became recurrent that I don't know how a shy girl and a relatively aloof young man became comfortable with each other. So much so that I have been talking with her more than her grandfather. It's a pity you haven't talked to him within those few years.

She'd always bring her soccer ball and let her grandfather watch her practice. I still remember that minute you taught me how to balance and juggle the ball in place using my two feet. I don't have good control of my force and I almost hit your ailing grandfather with it. The ball rolled down a sloping ground behind the bench and she was back looking for it for minutes. She was amusing to watch as she returns with dirt all over her face. But I must admit, that darkness gave a contrast emphasizing the beauty of your eyes.

"Dad!" shouted Cypress. I turned my back and saw my dear scribbling her still languid eyes.

"You're awake now." I beckoned.

She dragged herself near me, "Dad, the clock says it's six-fifty. I tried looking for food and we have nothing left. I'm hungry and we're gonna be late."

I have not even touched my coffee. I gulped it wholly and then stood up with rapidity. "Come on, go get yourself ready while I do so myself. Let's meet here, downstairs. We're gonna grab some breakfast outside."

"What are you peering at anyway, Dad"

"No more questions, we're gonna be late."

"You've been up early and haven't woke me up. Now you're rushing. What if —"

"I said no more questions, Dear."

I snagged her back inside the house to her room and I, myself, had rushed to our bathroom. Quickly I removed my clothes and will tend to them later. I opened the bottle of shampoo and had it lather on my hair. Ah! I don't want to frustrate Mrs. Mannering on the last days of our classes by being unpunctual. What do you know, hon? Your most loyal and highly charming professor almost has his excellent track record tarnished.

To destress a little bit, it might be a good idea to visit the nearby Filipino restaurant a few yards away from our dear's school. She quite loved their sour broth with soup served hot. Smiles don't leave my face as I remember your lips shrink as that same cuisine touches your tongue. We loved eating here with Claire, do you remember? You sometimes fooled me, Claire, into thinking that the sourness lingers within your mouth but it is just you acting cute.

The hands of the clock quickly turned seven and Cypress had been impatiently stomping her feet. After a brief scanning of the orderliness of the house, I've locked it and have ourselves ready to go out.

"Dad, this is the first time we've run out of supplies. Are … Uhm, are you … a, ok?" asked Cypress.

"Let's just think that this is a great morning to have a father and daughter bonding outside of our home. Don't you think?" I replied.

She smiled, "We can do with that."

Minutes of driving and we were at the restaurant's door. A patron waved his hands at us as he exits. Entering, the room greeted with space more than enough. The restaurant's all for us.

The waiter gave us the menu and Cypress enthusiastically received it. Her tongue rolls on her lips as she browsed every page of the delicacies offered before her eyes. Her undecided eyes reviewed the pages once more. It is quite evident that she can not choose what her stomach desires and so we settled for a beef tapa - fried rice - egg combo meal served with atsara and pineapple juice.

Cypress's hands fidget due to the anticipation of her breakfast. Her restless head glances from the empty white plate and intertwined plant-fiber placemat to the antique potteries at the corner behind her, to the large open window that leads outside back to the streets.

"What seems to be the keeping you troubled, Dear?" I asked. "Don't you like their newly furnished ambiance? This is a great escape to an island-like setting compared to our neighborhood. I'm loving the broad-leaf potted plants and the overall wooden aesthetic of the place."

With her lip bit, she inquired, "Am I not gonna be late? This doesn't really trouble me but will Aunt Claire join us here? She was the one to usually invite us here and so I thought that she'll be here."

"This was a bit urgent between us too. I haven't had anything in our house to cook. We'll invite her some time."

Her forehead wrinkled and eyes rolled, "You should invite her more often especially right now since she had been relentlessly busy these past few months. You've known her so long and yet I feel I know her better."

"You decided to go with this, this early. Calm down a bit, Dear."

"What I'm saying is, Dad, Aunt Claire may not have been asking but I do know she wants to spend her vacation with us. She'll appreciate it more if we'll invite her out."

"That's a good idea."

I had my head tilted and lips pursed. Indeed, we haven't been going out with Claire for a long while now. Cypress's eyes pierced mine to try to eagerly convince me of the suggestion. "Do you like to have dinner with your Aunt Claire tonight then?"

"Definitely!" she replied with zeal.

Cypress's uneasiness was appeased by that statement. She steadily sat as the breakfast came onto our table and had proper dining decorum. Her tale progressed as she continues to express her excitement of having another moment to share with her Aunt Claire. After the meal, I drove fast and dropped her off at the gates of her school. We bid each other goodbye with her smiles from earlier still fixed and I carried on as she walked towards her classroom.

Grateful for my fleet footwork, I made it to our school with a little amount of time left. Students of the same situation run past me with such intensity at their pace. I happen to come upon one of my students and when our eyes met, she skedaddled but greeted me first with a good morning. Another one was busy talking to his girlfriend by the lockers and immediately retracted upon my gaze. Summer is by the corner and the students are feeling it for they are becoming so carefree.

I peeked in the cafeteria and scanned it briefly. It might be so that Claire has not gotten here this morning; I'm a bit excited about inviting her for dinner along with Cypress but I guess I'll have to remember that task for later.

My feet almost blazed as I walk to my first class. Folders and laptop down, coat unbuttoned, markers, and presentations ready, and I'm set to teach. We finished describing artworks as an exercise for art appreciation, communication, and speaking skills. I had my students assembled likewise at a round table and encouraged them to discuss a certain film that I had them watch as homework.

The film they watched was 'Romeo + Juliet (1996)', a screenplay adapted from one of the most famous literary works of the playwright William Shakespeare. It is a tragedy that revolved around the love story of the titular characters and their conflicting families.

I had my palms gripped together as I stood in the center of the congregation. "This round table is assembled for you, my students, to share your thoughts about the film. This will exercise your public speaking skills, your thought expression, your ability to have spontaneous group conversations that I expect to be coherent, constructive, and hopefully but not strictly chronological. I need to hear all of your voices and will grade you individually. Let us start."

"I admire Shakespeare's works and I'm truly amazed by the structures of his writing and his ability to coin words to better describe a scene, or an emotion." started Mr. Nguyen, "But, the storyline of this film, the way things develop from the first time they had set their eyes upon each other was, for me, odd and the events are too explosive. There are so many things happening and the tragedy is conveyed overdramatically."

"Can you state certain points of the film so we can discuss things thoroughly, point by point." asked another.

I commended that motion, "Great questions to keep things going, Mr. Baldwin."

"First is the 'magical' meeting of the main characters." immediately and sarcastically replied by Mr. Zachary. "The entire scene was fictional at best. From the romanticized love at first sight phenomenon to their costumes and the setting."

"You might not have experienced love at first sight ever before, Mr. Zachary." intruded Ms. Welbourne.

I interrupted, "Let us make the discussions professional and not resort to personal attacks. That is a negative point for you, Miss." She had her head down and I felt slightly piteous.

"No, the things are, the entire idea of love, at first sight, is heavily romanticized," continued Zachary. "And to be blunt, I don't believe in it at all. Yes, there are instances of strong attraction upon meeting someone, especially if they suit the physical standards you have set for a potential partner, but, it is just what it is, attraction. There are times as well people project attributes of their past love to someone with similar characteristics. Love is not there yet from the moment your eyes locked with each other even though it might feel, due to the strong compatibility and emotions, that the universe had conspired all its knowledge and energy for your destined meeting. I just don't dig it."

Love, at first sight, is heavily romanticized, huh? What bold opinions. He is accurate in his descriptions of the feelings I've experienced when I first saw you. If you're here right now, how would you react? I'd love to see your face become animated anew. I would like to hear your thoughts on this.

"That's a fair point," agreed Mr. Dimagiba. "Love is always a great topic to talk about because all of us had experienced and will experience them at a certain moment in our lives. It is unlike knowledge, which can be passed, but of learning must be experienced. Tips from parents or loved ones will be a guide but they can never teach us, love, without experiencing it ourselves. Going back, we'll all differ as we continue to talk about this for our notion of love stems first from our families, our love languages, our childhood. You can say what I'm talking about is a disclaimer, but I surmise we'll only agree to disagree at the end of this."

"Great thoughts on the psyche, though that's a bit farfetched and might further divert the topic far from the film," commented Mr. Smith.

"I do agree with Mr. Zachary," said Ms. Santos. "Don't get me wrong, I admire Shakespeare but it's too much of a razzle-dazzle. When you thought that there is a sudden turn of events, what do you know? There will be another one after that."

"If we limit our observations to what transpired in the film," added Ms. Abbot, "we will be bounded by the literal script and production of the play. We might evoke further insights if we can look at its metaphorical or probably allegorical perspective."

"Metaphorical? Like what?" proclaimed Ms. Welbourne. I almost stopped her again through her speech but continued quick, "It is a great proposition to have these dialogues be bounded but what we have, which is the film itself, rather than to delve on the metaphorical side of things which might bring this discussion to a much more subjective point of view. The more we discuss subjective matters, the more this will be endless, the more this will be fruitful."

"I accept that," replied Ms. Abbot, "Also, since this is a play written in the 1500s, it may be reasonable to have a background on the historical, political, and social aspects of living during the time this was written."

The congregation continued and arguments heat up. From the concept of 'love at first sight' to psychology, the classroom had tackled politics, sociology, and even the writing composition, and production of the film. They even compared it with other works that adapted the play.

One point for Mr. Zachary, another for Dimagiba. Two for Ms. Santos, two for Mr. Gibbs, …. Like a trailblazer, my hand scoured and arduously scribbled the entire pages of my tallying scratch. Passionately, students roused from their chairs and continued to exclaim arguments. Rebuttals were right away delivered by the opposing thinkers. A crescendo of acuity enveloped the halls until the final beat was slammed by the conductor — the alarm.

"It was an intense discussion, my dear students," I acknowledged. "You guys should drink water to regain your lost salivas and calm down. I hope none of you will get angry or offended by the exchange of thoughts. Always remember that great argumentation is a battle of ideas and not by emotions. Calm down for a minute, then go now to your next class.

"And by the way, I hope with this, before we part each other ways, you'll remember this last day of our classes with such fervor. One day, you'll remember this as you recollect on your high school days. I hope to see you again."

"Thank you, Sir." vowed everyone.

"Thank you, again." I bid goodbye.

I've always reserved such exercises at the end of every school year. This enhances their ability to communicate and remain professional under immense pressure. I fooled them that this is graded to embolden them to speak out.