Despite my supposed "fulfillment" during NSTP Saturdays, those feelings are often fleeting—more spurs of the moment rather than something I can actually look back on with genuine fondness. To cope with the dragging Saturday mornings, I usually end up hanging out with dormer friends in the area. Jay never goes home, partly due to some domestic issues and partly because bumming alone in our apartment gives him total freedom to stick his dick somewhere. So let's look for other options.
And, if I'm lucky, I get to wander over the other campuses. Get with some peeps at UP, UST, or La Salle instead.
During a few weekend visits to UP, I managed to hitch a ride with a Lit classmate in a cramped green sedan. It's the kind of car that perfectly encapsulates her specific vibe: "I'm rich, but I want to look poor." I ended up being the backseat friend. And honestly, I actually like the backseat, despite my long-ass legs constantly poking the person in the passenger seat. But my fellow backseat passenger was someone I’d originally met back in Alabang—either at Biboy's house or Mike C.'s, I can't quite remember. We spent the drive talking about that night, specifically about my braces and how everyone used to call me "Ruroots" because of them.
She's gotten a lot more attractive since then, though.
If I ever do become famous, you might stumble upon this entry one day. Don't count on it, though. The truth is, I've always liked you. But I could never bring myself to ask you out. Not back then when we were cool, and definitely not now.
It's been three years since we first met. I fucking hate being torpe. DANGGGGG!
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