Truth Untold

Trivia #1

Trivia #1 - A Tray of Baked Memories

Sundays always has the story of its own. Ever since I landed a stable job very recently, weekends has felt ten times more valuable than when I used to be in college. There's something heavenly about staying in at home Friday night and greeting Saturday early at midnight. It is as simple as that, a small happiness, the only happiness before my eyes. For me, weekends begin at 5 in the evening of Friday up to the twilight of Sunday, additional overtime exists until the dreaded dawn of Monday.

For the seventeen years-old me, Sundays only meant to stay all day in bed. There were far too much fresh from the oven Canadian press printouts which were asking to be read from the last book haul.

It was a whole another story four years later. Maturity isn't exactly my forte, but aging doesn't stop at the feet of seventeen years-old. For the twenty one years old me, Sundays just feel right to strip myself from the exhaustion of the week, to finish what has been started at the beginning of the week. In short, Sundays always feel like the perfect reason to tire myself and get some good sleep.

Sundays for me always has a story of its own, about the morning sunshine whose streak softly peeking from the almost transparent blinds, so softly it says, "Morning, sweet pea, what recipes are we gonna do today?" If for once you'd really think that the sun really said that, I really thought you'd do a thorough checking on your mental health. Obviously, the sun can't speak. What on earth. The scene only folds out on my mind. As unreal as it gets, it proves to help motivating me to try another recipe as we wait for another Sunday to arrive.

Baking. Well, baking is always that fun, for me at least. Ah, maybe just you and your sick twisted mind. Maybe, or maybe not, but I know this much is true; baking is so much more than making dough or watching the dough grow golden yellow through the transparent glass of baking oven. Moreover, baking always brings me the sweetest guy whose company I enjoy each Sunday he is here.

Love, you're going somewhere today? Efrain asked through the text he sent early in the morning, just a couple of minutes past five. He had to just finished his morning prayer when he typed the message.

I replied, I don't know? I think I'm staying in today, another tray of more baking? I offered an answer, though technically it wasn't since it was stated in asking tone. I put my cellphone down as I fold my prayer attire that I just had used.

Notification of incoming messages blared to life once again. Efrain was relatively quick to type his reply in this kind of hour. Be silent for ten minutes though, I bet he would've gotten back to tuck himself in the safe cocoon of his blanket only to wake up past ten in the morning. Sundays and Efrain had a really strong bond, I could say. Oh, come on. I never thought there was a time you felt like going out on weekend. You've been everywhere on weekdays anyway, but seriously, are you just going to stay home? The text read.

You don't accuse me for not going out enough, Ef. Not everyone can maintain perfect relationships with every single of his acquaintance, like you. I snapped. This dear Efrain Harris just happened to know so much about me that it started to get hella scary from his understanding of the way I'm thinking. His sense of bitch, I'd like to call it.

Now, now, you don't frown on Sunday, my Love. Answer me, are you going out? Damn the pet name and my weak self defense of his so called my love calling. Love, are you seriously giving me cold shoulder right now? He asked again, multiple bubbles in a row.

Nope, I need time to type away the answer, dear Efrain. Anyway I told you, I'll be home all day. I found new recipe from tasty feeds just yesterday, think I'm gonna try the whole thing out. Why? My text asked him.

Alrighty. I'm coming over there a bit later. Make the prettiest cookies. Do not burn your house down. He inserted a mischievuous emoji at the end of his text.

I swear to God, my cookies always come out in perfect result; golden yellow, crispy on the outside, and melted inside. I may be not a great cook, but one thing I can be proud is I bake the best and prettiest cake in neighborhood. I know he just had his ways to tease me, but times like this were always the one that tore me the worst; whether I want to burst out in anger and knock him down with one punch or really just find a way to run my fingers through his hair and pull each root as hard as I can. Now, Love, stop frowning. You're really gonna have fine lines on your forehead long before you age thirty if you keep doing that. You know I was kidding, but I'm being real though about going over your place. See you later, Love. My. My love. Now you see why, despite that we bicker all the time in front of public, behind the pulled down blinds and closed doors, Efrain Harris happened to be the only who knows me well; who actually took the time to know all of me.

June 17th, 2018

There we go. There will always be one thing or two that has the heart to ruin my only holy Sunday. The day only happens once in a week for God's sake, why can't my memory play a little nice with me? Damn you the sweet memory that is no longer sweet to remember. Why do you come uninvited, knitting the strings of dreams and then gone with the wind long before I had the chance to stop myself from knitting my fingers and bleeding to death at heart?

Sundays are always fun, I convinced myself. Let's picture it this way; Sundays are chocolate covered cornflakes while Efrain Harris is the rainbow colored sweets that I sprinkled on top of it. Without the sprinkle, those chocolate covered cornflakes will still be my favorite. The sprinkle is nice, but it is only to make it...look more presentable.

That's Sunday without Efrain. Sunday is still chocolate-covered, still as sweet as I had remembered, yet it lacks of colors—a beauty it used to hold.

See, this is fucking six in the morning. Who is on earth drowning in memory this early in the morning?

Of course, I just have to blame the clock striking six in the morning for the flashbacks of mmory I was drown in, silly. But who else am I gonna blame then for the ten at nights as I'm crying myself to sleep or two in the hue hour for jolting awake because even in my dreams, tears stream down my face, or worse; two in the afternoon, when it is my time to submit all my pitch deck and contents to the senior account officer yet the only thing I could memorize was the way he texted me. I opened my phone, despite the burn in my eyes after looking at your PC screen for too long, good luck, Love. You're gonna nail it. You always do, you will. God, why am I this pathetic?

Dear Efrain, how are you holding up over there? Are you happy now? Are you by the slightest chance feel a little low? Did you miss me? Because I do, so much that it's starting to hurt anywhere.