There I was, walking the long walk home, from my on-call job that demanded my "services" for only eight hours in a week, twenty-four, if I'm lucky. I was dragging myself that day because I knew there was a sermon waiting for me at home - one that would not be delivered by a priest or either one of my parents but an uncle who deemed it necessary to remind me of my sensibilities.

There was an occasional sigh that punctuated my purposely slowed down gait and I made it a point to pass by Book Sale to momentarily forget what was in store for me the minute I stopped walking and reached Everlasting Street.

I felt like I was fourteen again, queasy with the thought that I was surely at fault and dreading the inevitable confrontation that came with being on the wrong side of the rational spectrum.

Of course, I had to text my shrink, if only to hear what wonders she has to say about my very high school situation.

"Pagagalitan ka ng soldier, how exciting," she said.

Upon reading the message, I imagined the rain clouds clearing overhead. And I smiled.