THE ADORER’S BLOGS ( A Short Story – 3rd of 7 Parts)


Indeed, whether they liked it or not, their destinies intertwined at that juncture. Their paths crossed, inevitably. Grandma told me that the program that her adorer supervised for three months in their university was done thrice a week.

In Peeker’s next blog entry his emotional predicament was so apparent…


         “I don’t know if I would consider it a blessing that the 3-month job was offered to me, or was it a curse. Instead of being forgotten you got embedded deeper into my consciousness. Each time we will have a session, I tried avoiding looking into your eyes not only because I may get distracted in the performance of my tasks but also for fear that all the more that you will get me charmed and bewitched. But not looking at you is like forgetting to breathe, not looking at you is like depriving myself of happiness that nowhere in the world could be bought.”

          “Instead of avoiding you then so whatever feeling I was nurturing  would not grow intense, I befriended you. I asked for your mobile phone number and your e-mail. Each time I would plan to make a conscious effort to avoid you, all the more that my feet would drag me closer to you. I just found myself frequently talking and exchanging text messages with you since then. At first, we discussed matters concerning the program I was conducting in your school. Later, we explored variety of topics, including our personal lives.”


The adorer admitted in his blog that there were rules of propriety that he violated when he befriended my grandma. He unabashedly admitted that not long after they became friends he was able to confirm what he was so afraid of…that he was in love with my grandmother. He admitted being so stupid for feeling so because my grandmother was so young at that time…almost half his age. He admitted being so inappropriate because at that time he was already married.

“Ahh, so, those grandma were the reasons why you did not love him in return?” I inquired.

“Just keep on reading, will you!” was grandma’s response.

I was expecting that finally she would already tell me directly how she felt about her adorer. It was again a futile attempt. I just continued reading.


        “I have laughed at  Francis Bacon’s thesis about love. He said that love is similar to the stage, it is filled with tragedy, comedy, mischief and fury. I thought it was a shallow analogy. But now here I am sounding like an actor in a play delivering a soliloquy. And I am not sure when this will end, when will end talking to myself. “

         “This is comedy, I made myself my own  laughing stock. And I am almost certain that you are laughing now, laughing at my stupidity.”


I paused reading again and asked my grandma, “Did you consider all these stuffs stupidity grandma?”

“Never! Why should I?”, was her curt reply.


When I continued I suddenly laughed (and my grandma was amused) when I read that portion of the adorer’s blog where he admitted he was like crazy thinking of grandma almost every moment. The lines that follow are similar to the content of my video message to a pretty classmate I was wooing at that time.  The following were the words  I told that lady,  “I think of you almost every moment…before sleeping at night I would think of you. In my dreams I would see you, and when I wake up it would be the image of your pretty smiling face that would greet me. You seemed to have established omnipresence in my consciousness. Your image is present in the books I read, in the movies I watch, in the sky, in the trees, EVERYWHERE!

Then I continued reading the blogs…


        ” I have disagreed with Bacon when he posited that ‘it is impossible to love and to be wise.’ It is equivalent to saying that love makes a person crazy.  I disagreed but here I am swirling around my own disagreement.”

     “Funny but I used to consider stuffs like these as childish. I hate being dramatic. But it’s exactly what I have become.”

        “What have you done to me? Most of my working hours were spent daydreaming about you. I got so distracted, so out of focus to the point that my productivity suffered. First time  that something like this happened to me. Never had I paid so much attention to a lady and never had I almost begged to be given attention in return. There were women I dated who were, yes, as pretty and as charming as you are but more sophisticated and schooled. But none of them charmed me the way you did. None of those beautiful and successful women made me feel and act so strangely this way, it was only you – a youngster –  someone who have yet to prove her worth.   You rendered my training in Philosophy worthless for in matters about you, I have become illogical.”

          “Yeah, I hate to admit it but what happened is plain stupidity. This should not be, but I am so helpless. People at a certain stage in their lives commit some stupid acts and say stupid things that they may regret. Is this my turn?”


“My gosh grandma, are you sure you are not a witch? I would like to think that you gave this man some kind of a potion.” My grandma just gave me a smile and a loving nudge on my nape in response.  “I would say that he had really gone crazy over you. How did he cope up? I hope that your most ardent adorer did nothing stupid.”



Teacher-Writer Hardpen is my nom de plume. My real name is Massuline Antonio Dupaya Ligaya. Many times I was asked the question, "Why do you write?" I don't write for rewards nor adulation. When I write poems, stories or essays, seeing them completed gives me immense joy and satisfaction. The happiness and sense of fulfillment I feel when completing my works are my rewards. When I teach, I don't work but I play. The classroom is my playground, the students are my playmates, and the subject is our toy. Proud to be me! Proud to be a FILIPINO! TO GOD BE THE GLORY!

Posted on October 14, 2013, in Creative Writing, Literature, Short Story, Writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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