I can't breathe

I tore open the chicken pack thing I got from Rustan's and threw it in the eye-melting oil. All was fine and good until a stench similar, I imagine, to trenches in French soil all those wee years ago, rose up and flooded our dorm room.

Helen: "Sasha, uh. Sasha?"

I checked the expiration date. February 21. "Puwede pa kaya yun?" I asked Helen.

Tapos, like all good stories, may flashback: Filipino class, freshman year, first sem. Me doodling, being my snotty freshman self and Paolo Jose saying, "Ang pag-ibig ... parang pagkain. May expiration date."

Hanep. Now. I am suffocating. I imagine microscopic dead chicken germs dancing the chacha in my chest.

Teka, teka, teka. Flashback uli: A year ago, sabi ni Jev: Ang hellweek parang pag-ibig. Hindi ka makatulog. Hindi ka makakain. Ayun na lang ang lagi mong iniisip. Nagkakapimple ka. Magastos.

Astig.