The sun had already stolen into the bedroom through the gaps between the blue window curtains when I woke up. What time is it? Early morning? Late afternoon? I wanted to go back to sleep and ignore the clock that stood on the bedside table.
I was just about to close my eyes when it dawned on me, to my utter horror, that I am naked beneath the covers, that there is an arm hugging my chest, and that this same arm is possibly connected to an actual human being lying beside me.
I could feel hot breath against my neck, just below my right ear. I suddenly knew that if I so much twitched a muscle, I would feel someone else’s lips against my skin.
I stared hard at the ceiling, horrified by what I might discover if I look at who was sharing the bed with me. I struggled not to look at the curtains again—I remembered that my bedroom curtains are not blue. And suddenly, I knew, too, that if I check the bedside table, I would find no bedside table and no clock.
So far these details point to a single horrifying reality: I was not in my own bedroom.
At this point, I knew the average, normal person in my place would have started to panic. I should have jumped out of bed, dressed hurriedly, and stormed out of the place. But I did not panic. I concentrated on the ceiling, my heart beating furiously against my ribcage. I thought, okay, this is strange, but isn’t this the exact situation that would require me to be cool-headed?
I took a deep breath and made myself look at the actual human person who owns the arm wrapped around me. Actual Human Person sleepily murmured something as I got up to sit in the bed. Round, smooth face. Wavy hair tumbling across the forehead. Long lashes. Boyish shoulders. Who the hell is this stranger? The last time I checked, I lack the necessary gorgeousness to bag such a treasure.
Okay, that’s done. I then surveyed the room. Within approximately five seconds, I realized whose bedroom I was in. Oh. Crap. The Neo laptop that stood on a propped up box on the floor. The neatly stacked Japanese CDs. The sketch pad and tin box of pencils at the foot of the bed. I was suddenly washed over by embarrassment. What was I doing in my friend’s bedroom, naked, with someone else?
But I managed not to panic. I always prided myself over my self-perceived abilities to remain calm under duress. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist and went out of the room. I stole a glimpse of the living room. No sign of my friend, thank God.
In the bathroom, I washed my face in the sink. My beard felt unusually rough and I made a mental note to shave when I get home. Then I finished washing up and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
That was when I finally panicked. Before I knew it, I was already screaming. I was not just simply in my friend’s house!
I stumbled out of the bathroom and slumped down in the sofa, my head reeling. I wanted to calm down, to take deep breaths, to start thinking about what to do. But if you wake up one morning/afternoon as someone else, I don’t presume it would be easy to handle. Most especially, if someone like Actual Human Person barges into the living room wearing nothing but a worried look, asking what happened to you.
“Are you okay?” AHP asked me tenderly, fetched me a glass of water, rubbed my back. “Did you cut yourself while you were shaving?”
Then I felt a kiss on my forehead, and at which point, who am I to begin complaining?
*Sometimes, if you know too much about other people and you are not exactly fond of what’s going on in your own boring existence, you wonder about what it would be like to swap lives. After seeing “Here Comes The Bride,” Citybuoy, YJ, and I decided to give it a shot.
**photo is from the Star Cinema flick “Here Comes The Bride,” starring Angelica Panganiban, Eugene Domingo, John Lapus, and Tuesday Vargas