LITERARY | Yours Truly, E. Lacson

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙏𝙖𝙢,

Since June this year, I have woken up every day to the chill-engulfing alarm sound of Let Down by Radiohead. And listening to it now becomes a reminder of the months that went by. Of how I endured the mid-year’s daily cold morning breeze slipping through the window of a transport that’s rushing along the motorways. Times when I had the emptiest of feelings right before working on an assessment. Sometimes clinging onto bottles as I bottle it up whenever everything feels disappointing.

I listen to it as if I’m staring into a mirror. Each note was resonant of the days I felt like a cog in a machine or felt like I was just hanging around, crushed like a bug in the ground—subtly telling me that the floor of youth will collapse sooner than ever.

As if slowly pushing the windowpane sideways: a chemical reaction in me of yearning for a blue sky, hysterical for the fresh sight of a new day, but ultimately useless when my sight permeated towards the gray Metro Manila sky. These were mornings, or afternoons, when the gray outside matches the gray inside.

But then I listen to the song’s bass line, thudding at my chest, almost matching the beat of my heart, allowing me to remember that I still have a heart, along with the upward-clawing vocals—climbing back up despite several falling intonations—whispering that growth is a mess, inconsistent, and doesn’t always scream victoriously. Sometimes, growth is in small victories like clicking the “submit” button at exactly 11:59pm, or something as simple as showing up at class.

For the last time, I will turn my head back at this year’s gray skies; I will remember the days I thought about going beyond it, that one day, I am gonna grow wings and fly towards the blue sky. Just like at every 365th, there’s always a hope that the next reset to 1st will be better.

Likewise, I will keep waking up to that song. For its riff is a sigh that will remind me of my breath, its bass line is a thump that will remind me of my heartbeat, and its vocals are a rising tone that will remind me of how I permeated beyond this year’s gray Metro Manila sky. The next semester will be my last; floor collapsing in each assessment accomplished, each unit enrolled. The new year approaches, and I’m already floating in profound instability and existential dread.

𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙, 𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙛 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚, 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛—𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣—𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚.

𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮,

𝘌𝘯𝘻𝘰 𝘓𝘢𝘤𝘴𝘰𝘯

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