Into the abyss


Photo by Raymond Vince Manaloto/ THE FLAME

GROUNDS CLAD in yellow gold. The unmistakable atmosphere keeps me in my senses. 

The deeper into the campus grounds, the longer these dangling Christmas lights get. 

Into the abyss of traditions, I find myself tantalized once again.

Weight piles up on my shoulders, as arms suddenly envelop my lone frame. Toppled over by a sea of elongated arms, they attempt to enclose everyone, extending to a half-embrace. Their chatters are familiar, but I could not make out what they were saying. It was an abomination of deep and high voices, and I could only laugh along as if I understood. 

I could only look ahead as their voices drowned out my impending exhaustion.  

We tediously watch workers set up stages, defying all heights to make Christmas lights possible. How many minutes did we just stand there? I simply lost count as their loud voices gradually fade, my shoulders getting lighter as they disappear, one by one. 

The spells my own trance cast have broken. As I look around, all I can see are little soirees, body languages screaming anticipation. I have been by myself all this time. 

I wish the weight on my shoulders lingered more. No matter how heavy they were, it all felt weightless somehow. 

Deeper into this abyss, I go. I let their little banter thrive and start a new one within me— one remnant of our mid-2000s dream. F

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