Hearing A Voice

Friday, I was really tired from a 16 hour long day. That morning, I was out by 8am for an appointment that was cancelled when I was quite a distance from my home. I was too far from home to go back and make it to my next appointment in time. Hence, I ended up doing some errands. Went to my class and danced for church in the evening. By twelve midnight, I was at home quite fatigued but restless. To put my mind to sleep, I finished a book I was reading about three people affected by a car accident --- Eva, a girl that was run-over, survived, but ceased to live life. Etienne, a bookseller who, despite being innocent, committed suicide because he ran over a little girl. And Therese, the mother who ran away to a different place and, from my vantage point, to a different time in her mind. Rest came after the last page of the book.

Saturday morning, I did not get up by 6am nor 7am and not even at 8am to make it to CCP in time for at least one of the three classes I could have taken. I awoke at 9am feeling pissed all over that I was not at class. I felt so horrible that I wanted to rip my room to bits and pieces. I am rarely late and miss class for such inane reasons and I know I should cut myself some slack. But here I was feeling as guilty as the man who ran over a girl. It must have been all the angst and fatalism from the book I read that was flowing in my veins. It's the kind of feeling that rushes all over your body from that small place in your heart where all the feelings you don't want to feel come from. My feelings were like the little girl in the book who after two hours of waiting for her mother to pick her up ran in the rain in the direction of home but in state of panic that you can't see straight. Not even left or right. Not even to a car racing down the freeway, hurtling towards you.

I texted my best friend. "You up?" A minute later, she called. Her voice was still sleeping, but it was there for me. Hearing her voice calmed me. Her words, I know, were trying to convince me of something. I can't remember exactly what. It wasn't her words that meant something. It was her voice. That was all I needed. After her call, I still felt horrible for missing class. But I was ok. I could manage to smile. What made me smile was her voice. It's the kind of remedy that can't be bought, but earned. By both parties. For what we have earned for each other, I am eternally grateful.