Morning came like any other day.

  The sunlight slipped through the window and landed directly on my face like it had something personal against me.

  “Fuck! My body hurts,” I complained.

  Because of the training yesterday, my body felt like it didn’t belong to me. Though of course, unlike the day in the hospital, this wasn’t that bad. I tried to hype myself up.

  I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head.

  I still wanted to laze around like in my past life. I haven't even been able to take my lifelong vacation yet. But I am already thankful for what I have gained now. I'll just treat this life like a vacation—slash recreational event.

  In my past life, studying felt like torture for me. I really wanted to graduate as soon as possible. Now that I think about it, adult life is the real torture.

  Remembering the hardships I experienced in my past life woke me up. I decided to stand and do some light stretching when my mother called me.

  “Brier! Breakfast!” my mother called from the kitchen.

  I smelled some adobo. Our dinner last night had become our breakfast. This is a typical culture in this country, something I think other countries also do.

  If we waste food, our mother will always say that people in Africa can't even afford to eat. Most Pinoy kids will comment back that even if we eat this food, will they be fed?

  “Smells delicious,” I commented.

  “Of course. Who do you think I am?” my mother bragged.

  After eating and preparing for school, I walked the familiar dirt road again. The air still had that cool morning smell mixed with dust from passing tricycles.

  I can’t afford to be wasteful, so I usually walk my way to school.

  Then I saw a familiar creature.

  “Fuck!! Have these guys been brought back to life?”

  I remembered that in my first life there was a dog notorious for tripping people. It always barked at people and ran toward them, scaring them.

  This dog would die soon because some drunk people hit it in the head. I felt pity back then.

  But now?

  I kind of want to be that guy.

  “Bark bark bark!”

  “Here we go again!” I screamed as I ran for my life.

  Why do you ask?

  I am not scared of dogs, really!

  I swear I’m not.

  As long as they don’t threaten you like this.

  Plus, rabies vaccines cost a lot. We haven’t even paid the loan that my father took when I was hospitalized.

  Now that I think about it, I need to earn some cash.

  Maybe I can start doing that again.

  I met Jomarie again outside the school, clearly waiting for me.

  He tried that assignment joke again.

  This time, it didn’t work.

  We entered the classroom together.

  The day started normally.

  English.

  Math.

  Science.

  Another subject where I honestly forgot what the teacher talked about halfway through.

  I caught myself almost answering questions too quickly sometimes. Old habits from another life trying to slip out.

  So I stayed quiet most of the time.

  Until MAPEH.

  Our MAPEH teacher walked into the room carrying a small notebook.

  We call her Miss Hernandez.

  Even in this life, I still wonder why this teacher is always full of energy. I want to tap into it and at least gain half of her energy.

  “Good afternoon, class.”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am!”

  Everyone loves her.

  The energy she has affects most of my classmates. Sometimes even our neighboring class gets annoyed when she teaches.

  Her strategy to gain class attention is really unique—but effective.

  Of course, sometimes students can’t control themselves, and people outside start talking badly about her teaching style.

  She wrote something on the board.

  Singing Activity

  The class immediately reacted.

  “Ma’am, don’t!”

  “Let’s just do it next week or next grading, ma’am!”

  “Ma’am, it’s embarrassing!”

  She ignored them.

  “For today, everyone will sing one verse and one chorus of any OPM song you like,” she stated, clearly not listening to the crowd’s reaction.

  The room exploded.

  Students immediately started whispering.

  “What song will you choose?”

  “Bro, let’s go to the canteen after saying we need to pee.”

  I don’t know why they are panicking. It’s just a verse.

  I mean, we Filipinos are known for our love of music. Back in my past life, foreigners praised us as the best crowd because we always sang along at concerts with perfect tunes.

  Maybe that is the reason they are embarrassed because they think others can do better than them.

  Well, of course this only applies to the first few students. The later students will surely gain confidence once they see others survive.

  I leaned back in my chair.

  Well… I was also in a dilemma.

  Singing.

  I mean, I am confident, but…

  I haven’t done that in a long time.

  I don’t even know what songs have been released.

  I stopped the thought there.

  The teacher started calling names one by one.

  Some students sang confidently.

  Others sounded like they were fighting the song instead of singing it.

  The class laughed more than they listened.

  Then suddenly—

  “Brier.”

  My name.

  Right.

  My turn.

  I stood up slowly.

  “What song?” the teacher asked.

  For a moment my mind went blank.

  Then a memory surfaced.

  A song that used to play everywhere.

  On the radio.

  In jeepneys.

  In stores.

  “Ma’am… Ikot-Ikot.” This song is really good. Sarah Geronimo sang this song. The feelings that are trying to convey the sadness and the disappointment are clearly expressed in this song. Plus this song has a nice beat and is not boring to listen to. The writer of this song is named thyro alfaro which is famous for he wrote and sang many famous songs in the philippines truly a living legend.

  Let's stop being a nerd. I notice some of my classmates' reactions and decide to leave them be.

  Some students reacted immediately.

  “That song was sung by a female.”

  “Isn’t that a little high?”

  I walked to the front of the classroom.

  My palms felt strangely warm.

  Relax.

  It’s just a class activity.

  Nothing serious.

  I closed my eyes for a second.

  Then started.

  Araw-araw dulo't-dulo

  May unos na dumaratal

  Ano nga bang puno't dulo

  Bakit nagtatagal

  (Every day, from end to end,

  storms keep arriving.

  What really is the beginning and end?

  Why is it lasting so long?)

  Note from the author: I'll add some translations so that non-Filipino readers can understand how wonderful this song is.

  The room was still noisy at first.

  I chose to sing the bridge part because I think this is the most important part of the song.

  Some relationships are like this. We fight for so long that we start to forget the reason why. But the cycle continues and repeats itself, and someday we wonder why we even fought in the first place.

  Some students were still whispering.

  Some laughed.

  But I kept going.

  Kay rami nang sakit

  Na nilimot napabayaan

  'Di maiwasang isipin

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  (There has already been so much pain,

  forgotten and neglected.

  It cannot be helped to think about it.)

  This line expresses how inconsiderate we sometimes are to our partners.

  They start to think it’s normal to feel pain.

  Love is not always about joy. I agree with that.

  But at least sometimes, if we hurt someone, we should say sorry. Don’t think that in the long run they will get used to it.

  That isn’t right.

  I continued to sing.

  But something felt strange.

  My voice.

  It felt lighter.

  Clearer.

  Like it belonged to someone who hadn’t wasted years abusing it with alcohol and sleepless nights.

  Then I reached the bridge.

  The hardest part.

  Na tayo'y para bang tumatakbo

  Sa walang hanggan na kalye

  The classroom slowly grew quieter.

  Tumatakbo (oh)

  I didn’t look at them.

  I just focused on the rhythm.

  Ang pag-ibig na tila ba 'sang biyaheng

  Ikot-ikot lang ikot-ikot-ikot lang

  Ikot-ikot lang ikot-ikot-ikot

  My chest vibrated slightly with the notes.

  It felt natural.

  Too natural.

  Like my body remembered something my mind had forgotten.

  Ikot-ikot lang ikot-ikot-ikot lang

  Ikot-ikot lang ikot-ikot-ikot

  Silence.

  Real silence this time.

  When I finished, I opened my eyes.

  Several classmates were staring.

  One of them clapped.

  Then another.

  “OMG! You're good!!”

  “Bro, I didn’t know you could sing!”

  I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly.

  “Just lucky.”

  The teacher nodded slightly.

  “Good control.”

  Then she wrote something in her notebook.

  Hey ma’am, where’s your enthusiasm? I really put some effort into that, you know.

  Feeling wronged.

  “Next.”

  Just like that, the moment passed.

  The class returned to its usual noise.

  But when I walked back to my seat, someone leaned toward me.

  Jester.

  One of my groupmates from English class.

  He looked impressed.

  “Bro… you can sing.”

  I shrugged.

  But in my heart, I also thought I was good.

  “Not really.”

  He leaned closer and whispered.

  “I have a guitar at my house.”

  I looked at him.

  “You can play?” he asked.

  I paused.

  In my past life, I never learned guitar.

  I was always too busy.

  Even in high school I didn’t have time to learn. I was invested in playing online games.

  When I graduated?

  Too tired.

  Too focused on work.

  I shook my head.

  “Not really.”

  Jester grinned.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Excitement swelled in my heart.

  Now that I think about it…

  I didn’t have a path in this life yet.

  Maybe this career, the one I thought was hopeless in my past life might actually work.

  The last bell finally rang.

  Students rushed outside the classroom like prisoners released from a cage.

  Jomarie stretched his arms dramatically.

  “Freedom!”

  “You act like school is torture,” I said while packing my bag. “Maybe in the future you’ll realize that school life is heaven.”

  “It is torture,” he replied seriously. “Especially math.”

  I chuckled and slung my bag over my shoulder.

  The afternoon sun was already warm when I stepped outside the school gate. Dust rose under my shoes as students scattered in different directions toward their homes.

  For some reason, my mind returned to earlier.

  The song.

  The classroom.

  The quiet after I finished singing.

  I scratched my cheek awkwardly.

  They exaggerated.

  Still… I want to try.

  I mean, I already died once. What else is there to be scared of?

  It felt good.

  Not the praise.

  But the feeling of singing again.

  My voice was still steady even hours later.

  Without noticing it, I started humming softly while walking.

  “Ikot-ikot lang… ikot-ikot…”

  Then I stopped myself and laughed quietly.

  “I’m acting weird.”

  To actually feel excited at this age just because I was praised.

  My god… my back is already aching.

  When I reached home, I dropped my bag near the door.

  My mother’s voice came from the kitchen again.

  “You’re home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Food is on the table if you’re hungry.”

  “I’ll eat later.”

  She peeked out from the kitchen.

  “You’re going out again?”

  I nodded.

  “Practice.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “Just don’t come home too late.”

  “I won’t.”

  The barn was already noisy when I arrived.

  “Oh, I’m not early today,” I commented.

  These guys were clearly excited. Lukas was already there too.

  Music blasted from the speaker Lukas brought again.

  The wooden walls vibrated slightly with every beat.

  Gerald spotted me first.

  “Uy! Singer!”

  I froze.

  “What?”

  He laughed.

  “Jomarie told us you sang in class!”

  I glared at the air like Jomarie could feel it from miles away.

  “That guy talks too much,” I complained.

  The others laughed.

  “Sing again!”

  “No.”

  “Just one line!”

  “No.”

  “Kuripot!”

  “Cheapskate!”

  Lukas clapped loudly.

  “Enough! Practice!”

  Everyone quickly formed their positions.

  We started with the routine from yesterday.

  Step.

  Turn.

  Pause.

  Arm swing.

  My body moved more naturally this time.

  Less stiff.

  Less hesitant.

  Dust rose under our feet with every stomp.

  “Timing!” Lukas shouted.

  We repeated the sequence again and again until our breathing grew heavier.

  After we finished the song, Lukas told us to rest. There was no need to teach another step today. Though we weren’t really dancers, the steps were easy to follow and didn’t require too much effort.

  Then someone pointed to the hay pile again.

  “Flip practice?”

  Everyone suddenly looked energized.

  Even Lukas smiled.

  “Careful.”

  One by one, we tried again.

  Some fell.

  Some rolled.

  Some barely turned halfway.

  Laughter filled the barn every time someone failed.

  Thud.

  I landed on my feet.

  “AYYYY!”

  Gerald grabbed my shoulders.

  “Bro, improving!”

  I laughed, breathing heavily.

  “Just lucky.”

  We practiced until the sunlight turned orange and slipped through the cracks in the wooden walls.

  The barn slowly grew quieter as everyone ran out of energy.

  Someone collapsed onto the hay.

  “My legs are dead.”

  “You’re just dramatic,” another replied.

  It strangely felt like this moment had already happened before.

  Everyone laughed.

  We sat on the ground catching our breath.

  We talked about school. Some bragged about girls and random things. Others teased and joked.

  I missed this feeling.

  So I simply enjoyed my time with them.

  Just music playing quietly on the side.

  Then Lukas walked over to us.

  “Tomorrow we will perform at the court near the barangay hall. I talked to the captain and he wants to see our progress.”

  Everyone became excited immediately.

  It gave us a new topic to talk about.

  At this time, the court wasn’t that well developed. The sun hit directly and dust flew everywhere. But it was concrete, so we had to be careful not to fall because that would hurt like hell.

  “Rest well and see you tomorrow, guys. Don’t be late!” Lukas ended his pep talk.

  “Tomorrow again?” Gerald asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Lukas confirmed.

  When I arrived home, the television was already loud.

  Gunshots echoed through the living room.

  My father sat in front of the TV, completely focused.

  On the screen, a replay of Manny Pacquiao’s fight was playing.

  He had probably just gotten home because he still looked tired.

  My father works as a sculptor during the day, and late at night he drives a tricycle.

  You may wonder why he drives late at night.

  The reason is simple: there is no traffic. There are fewer customers, but they charge more because it’s nighttime, so he earns around 300 pesos just by driving a few trips.

  He also sleeps at the TODA while waiting for passengers, so he still gets some rest.

  But of course, sleeping in a real bed feels different.

  “Father, can you help me with something?” I asked.

  He looked at me and paused the fight.

  “What is it?” he asked, clearly cautious. He probably thought I was going to ask for money for school.

  “Can you help me find a razor and scissors for cutting hair?” I asked.

  I planned to earn some cash by cutting hair.

  Back in my previous life, teachers often attended training. There were also times I studied at TESDA about haircutting.

  I knew how to do it.

  Of course, my skills were far from professional, but it was enough.

  My mother walked in carrying plates.

  “Dinner.”

  “Let’s talk while we eat,” my father said.

  We gathered around the small table.

  Rice.

  Fried fish.

  Vegetables.

  Simple food.

  But the house felt warm.

  “I can help you with the razor. An old friend of mine is a barber. He probably has some he doesn’t need,” my father said while eating.

  My mother looked curious, so I explained why I needed the tools.

  “I want to earn some cash. The school taught us how to cut hair, so I want to practice,” I lied.

  There was a subject called TLE where students learned basic practical skills. My father probably thought that was where I learned it.

  My father then started talking about his high school days, when they taught him carpentry.

  Even now, he still uses those skills.

  I laughed quietly while eating.

  Not because the story was funny.

  But because of this moment.

  This simple noise.

  Plates clinking.

  My father happily sharing his memories.

  He had probably told this story ten times already.

  I looked at both of them for a moment.

  Then returned to eating.

  Later that night, I lay on my bed.

  My arms were sore.

  My legs felt heavy from practice.

  From the living room, the faint sound of the television still echoed.

  I stared at the ceiling.

  Without realizing it, I hummmed again.

  “I now know my path… and I have skills from my previous life,” I whispered to myself.

  I began organizing plans in my head.

  Schedules.

  Ideas.

  Ways to make things work.

  Then I stopped.

  A small smile appeared on my face.

  Today felt…

  Full.

  I closed my eyes.

  And this time, sleep came faster than usual.

  Tomorrow will come again.

  And strangely…

  I was looking forward to it.