“What a tiring day it is!!”
Pretending not to know was much harder than actually not knowing anything. Such a dilemma.
“What should I do today then?”
It was only three in the afternoon. Classes started at six in the morning and ended at three. Back in my past life, I usually spent two hours at a computer shop playing games.
But doing that again wouldn’t change the life I had before. I should live this life to the fullest.
So what should I do?
When I reached home, I dropped my bag near the door and loosened my tie. The house smelled like sautéed garlic and something simmering slowly in the kitchen.
“How was school?” my mother asked without turning around.
“Okay,” I replied while washing my hands at the sink.
She glanced at me briefly, studying my face the way mothers do—searching for something you won’t say out loud.
“Tired?” she followed.
“A little,” I replied.
My mental strength was quite strong compared to my body. Even though my body was tired, my mind was still functioning, thinking that I could do more.
She nodded. “Rest for a bit.”
I nodded and smiled at her, thanking her quietly. My body might break if I pushed too hard, so I decided to take a short nap.
I walked toward my room but stopped halfway.
Music.
Not from inside.
From outside.
Loud.
“Nothing changed, huh?” I sighed.
In the Philippines, there are things you can never remove from everyday life. Especially around this time of the year, when many DJs burn remixes using popular songs that sell really well. Some people sing along using karaoke. Around this time, dance groups also started appearing everywhere after the Jabbawockeez became famous. Many students practiced dancing for competitions organized by the mayor.
The loud music outside sounded distorted.
The kind of speaker that crackled whenever the bass hit too hard.
I sighed again, but this time with a small smile.
Back in my past life, I was a computer addict.
Maybe… I should try something different this time.
I heard laughter outside and decided to take a peek.
“Hey! That’s not how I taught you! Try again! Try again!”
I knew that voice.
The guy was a famous dancer in our municipality and was known for his choreography. Sometimes our barangay captain hired him to teach kids so we could send representatives to municipal dance competitions.
In my past life, I used to think what they were doing was pointless. Winning with a group like this felt impossible. I thought it was childish. Embarrassing.
Now that I thought about it, many people in this country believed the same thing. Dancers, rappers, singers, and artists were often stereotyped. Rappers and dancers especially were associated with gangs. Around this time, songs from 187 Mobstaz were popular, and their music videos often showed guns and gangs.
I stood near the window and peeked through the curtain.
Five of them.
I recognized them all. We were around the same age and had grown up together.
They were moving like broken robots.
One tried to spin and almost collided with a wooden post. Another copied something dramatic he probably saw on TV.
I should stay inside.
I’m not supposed to
The thought faded.
Before I could think too much, my feet were already walking toward the door.
“Going out?” my mother asked.
She was probably not used to me going outside at this hour. I usually slept after school.
“I’ll be quick,” I replied.
Truthfully, I didn’t even know why I wanted to go outside. I just felt like trying.
She didn’t question it.
The barn smelled like dry wood and old hay.
Almost every house around here had something like it. Many people in this place worked as carpenters or sculptors.
Dust rose with every stomp.
“Uy!!! Why are you here?” one of them shouted.
“I rarely see you now,” another added.
I remembered playing with them when we were younger. But during my final year in elementary school, Dota and Crossfire became really popular. Most of my time was spent in computer shops.
I was poor, though.
Even when I was inside the shop, I didn’t play. I just watched the older players. It was exciting enough.
I shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
They made space for me immediately.
No interrogation.
No teasing.
Just acceptance.
The music changed to another song one of those 2013 dance tracks everyone suddenly memorized overnight. The beat was aggressive. Overconfident.
They started moving again.
Wild arms.
Sharp shoulders.
Wrong timing.
I watched for a few seconds.
My body started swaying with them without me realizing it.
Lukas, the choreographer, noticed and walked over.
“How are Tita Lisa and Tito Marcus?” he asked.
“They’re doing well,” I replied with a smile.
Our barangay was small, so most people were somehow related. Maybe our parents were cousins or our grandparents knew each other. Everyone called each other “tita” and “tito” like family.
“Do you want to join the practice?” he asked.
I nodded happily. This would be the first real activity I had in this life.
I stepped in.
The steps weren’t perfect.
But muscle memory surprised me.
In my first life, I had danced at company parties before.
Drunk.
Stiff.
Embarrassed.
Now?
This body was lighter.
I remembered how my coworkers used to laugh at my terrible dancing.
But right now, I was quicker. Still clumsy, but responsive. Maybe it was because I was young again. My body was more flexible.
I could learn this.
In the future, I could surprise those coworkers who used to laugh at me.
Besides, some women found dancers attractive.
So it was a win-win.
With that thought, I gave it my all.
“Uy! Marunong!” someone yelled.
It was Gerald, who lived a few blocks away.
“Hindi ah,” I muttered, missing the next beat.
They laughed.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Lukas shouted.
We quickly stood in line, waiting for the next instruction.
“Today we have new members, so I will change some positions. Tomorrow more people will join and the crew will grow. For now, we’ll focus on single steps.”
Everyone nodded.
Today was also their first practice day, so I had arrived at the perfect time.
Lukas arranged us in a simple formation.
We mirrored each other so everyone could be seen without making the group look crowded.
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“This should be enough for now. Others will come later and stand at the back. The ones in front will be chosen once the group is complete,” he explained.
For the next few hours, we practiced until evening arrived.
When we finished, cheers exploded from the small crowd watching us.
I looked around and suddenly felt proud.
“Let’s wrap it up,” Lukas said, clapping his hands.
We were exhausted.
Gerald came over and asked if I wanted to stay and play with them.
But it was already late.
And tonight, I wanted to eat dinner with my family.
—------
Morning came again, and it was time for school.
“Hey! Hey!!! Brier!!!”
Jomarie’s voice echoed across the road.
He was the only one I was truly close to. My other classmates were still searching for people they could connect with, and I wasn’t exactly the type they were looking for. Even in my past life, during my first year, Jomarie had been my only real friend.
“Your voice! It’s like you’re announcing my name to the entire world,” I complained.
I wasn’t actually annoyed. This was just how we talked to each other.
“Whahaha! Have you finished the English assignment?” he asked.
The question shocked me.
I tried to recall.
But nothing came.
When it comes to assignments, there are moments when your brain suddenly develops amnesia.
My heart started racing.
English was our first subject.
Then I looked at Jomarie’s face.
He was barely holding his laughter.
Enjoying the moment.
“Fock you!” I shouted.
“Look at your face!” he laughed. “I should bring my father’s camera next time so we can record that expression.”
When we reached the classroom, Jomarie confidently walked around like he owned the place.
Then he asked our class president loudly,
“Have you finished our English assignment?”
His voice carried across the entire room.
Time froze.
The air suddenly felt deadly.
My classmates started whispering nervously to their seatmates.
“Did we have an assignment?”
“What assignment?”
“You didn’t tell me!”
I sighed.
So this joke had become famous already.
Only when Jomarie started laughing did everyone realize the truth.
And that’s when he received the collective killing stare of the entire class.
A few minutes later, our teacher arrived.
Our first subject was English.
Her name was Teacher Louiese.
Our first activity was identifying words used in certain professions. We were divided into groups of ten and began working together.
The class quickly became lively.
I tried to take it seriously. Old habits from my previous life made me want to do well.
But after a while, one of our classmates complained that we were cheating.
Our group was made entirely of boys sitting at the back, so people naturally assumed that if we were doing well, we must be cheating.
Teacher Louiese decided to move us to the front of the classroom.
My groupmates were annoyed by the accusation.
And once we transferred seats, something changed.
Their competitive spirit ignited.
Without me doing anything, they began outperforming every other group.
By the end of the activity, the accusations stopped.
And strangely enough…
We became friends.
Just like that.
My friend list increased by about one thousand percent.
Nothing particularly interesting happened after that.
So I slept through several classes.
By the last subject, my science teacher caught me sleeping at my desk.
From that day forward, my classmates started calling me Sleeping Beauty.
The next afternoon, I was excited for dance practice, so I arrived early at the barn.
The sky was clear.
The barn looked exactly the same as yesterday.
Quiet at first.
Then slowly becoming noisy as the kids arrived.
One by one.
“My god, Brier. You’re really motivated,” Gerald said with a smirk.
“Coach Lukas is late. He has the speaker,” he added.
I smirked.
“Practice?”
“Okay,” he replied immediately.
We moved to one side of the barn and began practicing.
The other four joined us soon after.
Without music, we simply counted the rhythm ourselves.
“One, two, three, four…”
By counting, we created our own beat, helping our movements stay synchronized.
More kids started arriving.
Some of them watched us quietly.
Maybe they would become our new members.
As the number of people increased, the pressure made everyone slightly more nervous. Our focus started slipping.
Still, we managed to complete the steps we learned yesterday.
Not perfectly.
But close enough.
We decided to rest while waiting for Lukas.
After a while, Lukas arrived carrying the speaker.
He greeted us and introduced the new kids.
Then he quickly reviewed yesterday’s choreography with them.
Soon the music started.
Louder than yesterday.
We repeated the same chaotic steps.
Laughing whenever someone missed the timing.
But slowly…
The jokes faded.
Everyone became more serious.
“Let’s try flipping,” one of them suddenly suggested.
I wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, but everyone looked unusually confident.
We moved to the softer part of the barn where piles of dry grass were stacked together to soften the fall.
We asked Lukas to teach us.
His eyes immediately brightened.
He loved the idea.
“If we can do this properly,” he said, “it will add spice to the performance.”
Then he agreed.
We cleared the center space.
One by one, with Lukas supporting us, we attempted the flip.
Surprisingly, we succeeded on our first attempts.
Then we tried doing it alone.
Hay scattered across the floor.
Some kids fell awkwardly.
Others almost landed properly.
Lukas eventually left us to teach the new members.
The ground was soft, so there was no real danger.
Then my turn came.
I stepped back.
Two steps forward.
Jump.
This time, I committed completely.
The world flipped.
For a moment, all I could see was the sky through the cracks in the barn roof.
Then
The ground.
I landed hard.
But upright.
Silence.
Then
“WOY!”
Everyone rushed toward me.
“Ulit! Ulit!”
“Again! Again!”
I grinned while catching my breath.
“Later.”
We kept practicing.
Not just flips.
Footwork.
Balance.
Timing.
Sometimes we failed.
Sometimes we almost succeeded.
Dust rose every time someone hit the ground.
Sunlight entered the barn in thin golden lines, cutting through the air like stage lights.
My shirt stuck to my back.
My arms trembled slightly from exhaustion.
But it was the good kind of exhaustion.
The kind you earn.
When the sun began to set, the entire barn turned orange.
Even the dust looked beautiful.
One of the boys collapsed onto the hay.
“My legs are dying,” he complained.
“Ang arte mo,” another replied.
But all of us were breathing heavily.
Nobody talked much anymore.
We simply listened to the music playing softly while catching our breath.
I stared up at the wooden beams above, counting the nails holding them together.
“Tomorrow?” someone asked.
“Tomorrow,” I replied.
Lukas gathered us briefly and explained what we would practice next time.
Then we all said our goodbyes.
Dinner was already prepared when I returned home.
The television was loud again.
Gunshots.
Dramatic music.
On screen, Fernando Poe Jr. stared down a group of villains like he had all the time in the world.
My father sat cross-legged in front of the TV.
“Oh, good timing,” he said. “This part is good.”
I sat beside him without changing the channel.
On screen, FPJ punched someone so hard the man spun dramatically before falling.
“Wow,” I muttered.
My father chuckled.
“That must hurt.”
My mother placed plates on the table.
“Wash your hands before eating,” she reminded me.
We ate while the movie played.
No serious conversation.
Just small reactions.
“That guy is immortal,” I said, pointing at a villain who had several bullet holes but was still fighting.
“Watch. He’ll stand up again,” my father said.
And he was right.
The villain stood up again.
I found myself smiling.
Not because of the movie.
But because of this.
The steaming rice.
The fan humming above us.
My father reacting like he’s watching the film for the first time, even though he’s probably seen it ten times.
I chewed slowly.
The television light flickered across my father’s face.
For a moment, I simply watched.
Memorizing it.
Later, I went to my room.
My body ached.
My legs felt heavy.
When I lay down, the mattress dipped under my weight.
The ceiling looked the same.
From the living room, the faint sound of the television continued.
Another punch.
Another dramatic sound effect.
My arms were sore.
My palms still stung from landing badly.
And that was fine.
I closed my eyes.
Gunshots from an old action movie echoed softly in the background.
Sleep came easily.
And this time,
I didn’t fight it.
