Signs

Signs.

Girls commonly ask for them whenever something’s confusing or bothering them. For us, they are tossing coins. Tossing coins decide the undecided.

I asked for a sign. The “yellow car sign” as we put them. It is said that when you have counted a hundred yellow cars, the person who you first see or first talk to you, she’s/he’s the one destined for you. I counted. And counted. For months. Finally, I finished counting one night. There he was, approaching me, “the one I am destined for me.” Yes, he was the first one I saw and talked to me. God knows how scary and confused I was. I wanna kill his existence. That night, I began to mess up everything.

After 9 months, I rejected the whole yellow car thing. Oh, calamity! The whole signs thing was crap.

Recently there is the pink shirt sign. I am pretty undecisive this time. It is a matter of pride. So I asked for it — a sign. If there were a person wearing a pink shirt on the same public transportation I rode on, I would go.

Damn signs! As I was going to the terminal, there were people wore pink! All were girls. When I sat on the jeepney to MRT EDSA, there was a girl whose shirt was pink! Next on the MRT, there are five (one stood next to me!) — all were girls. Last, jeep to our home. Another one wore pink!

Hence it was decided I would go. As a friend said, maybe it is God’s plan.

So I waited for the response. Nothing came after that convo. Yet again, I was disappointed.

Dang signs.

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