Pinoy Hikikomori
I was preparing my Coffee when he arrived.
He was wearing a white shirt and jeans. On his shirt was a drawing of a cartoon character - Flapjack from Cartoon Network - laughing and eyes locked at a pile of candy.
"Hi," I said.
The man looked at me and smiled. He was sitting on the only available chair in the room, the one by the television. The rest of the chairs, spilling from the couch to the floor and the bedside tables, were occupied by used clothes, pizza boxes, Chinese takeout, and other things I don't know at this point what they used to be. I can barely glimpse the man's features from the light - or lack thereof; the windows were covered by manila paper and masking tape.
"Hi," he replied. "How goes you?"
"Doing good, actually."
I took the sachet I had been keeping in my pocket and poured its contents into the Coffee. The steam from the drink floated from the cup to the dim ceiling. From one corner of my eye, I noticed the man grimacing.
"They do say people suddenly feel good once all choices are reduced to one. Have you left something?"
I shook my head and smirked. "Who would read? The landlord?"
The man stood up. I noticed the drawing on his shirt had changed. It is now Finn from Adventure Time, sword held on top of his head. My head hurts.
"You know, I saw your mother too, years ago."
"Oh," I said. I left my Coffee for a bit. I moved to the windows and ripped the manila paper away. Blinding sunlight filled the room. I can still barely make the man's features. The sun reflected on his face like a mirror. Still, the sight of Manila from my apartment - empty yet full, energizing yet also dead - was something else. It's good to see it.
"Your mother said something about hope."
"Hope?" I crumpled the ripped manila paper and threw it randomly at one corner of the room. The paper bounced on one of the stuffed toys I've been keeping (incidentally, it was from my mother, too) and then settled below the computer table with the empty cans of Pepsi, Royal, and root beer.
"Yeah. She also said she makes the best tinola and she taught you how. Maybe you can make me one?"
"No," I said, closing my eyes. The usual pounding noise inside my head was silent. Everything was still: Quiet, peaceful, madness averted. What did he say? They do say people suddenly feel good once all choices are reduced to one.
"This isn't like that other story," I continued.
"You're decided then."
"I am."
"Benedicat te Deus, meae filiae."
The man kicked some of the clutter around the door (was that a cockroach scurrying away?) and opened it. The yellow translucent light in the hallway spilled and mixed with the natural light from the window. The man tipped his hat at me (wait, was he wearing a hat before?) Then: The yellow light was gone. He was gone. There was only I, the Manila landscape, and the scent of good Coffee.
I blew the steam from the cup and drank. I moved the chair in front of the window and looked as the birds sang and played in the distance.