Second Contract

The landlord’s secretary came early than usual on a Thursday and knocked on the door. Before she could say anything, I handed out the check for this month’s rent to her.

“Here you go, El.”

“And here you go, too.”

She thrust a what looks to be a manuscript and I just stared at her blankly.

“He said to make you sign it,” She said, and when I still gave her that look, she added, “Your contract. You have to renew it and sign these.”

The contract! I can’t believe its been a year already and I’m still committed to this lease. This is perhaps the only relationship that I want to place in the dustbin. “I didn’t know it already ended. You can tell him I’m no longer extending my stay and I wish to move on the 1^st week of August.” The words were already out before I could stop myself from saying them. I didn’t even know what I was talking about nor where in God’s name would He be placing me in the map of Cebu. If I panicked, I didn’t show it to her.

“Very well,” She said. “I’ll tell him about that. Thanks!” Then she left.

A broken water pipe is not just the reason why I said that. Or the fact that my landlord is the most unpleasant person in the whole world who makes money out of everything he can practically think of. I love being mobile (at least annually the most) and I cannot commit to another year in his ugly supervision. Que Horror.

Or I could always just snap out of this immaturity and remind myself that things don’t always get my way. Mom had been in Cebu weekends ago and she liked my apartment after seeing it. She doesn’t understand why I’d subject myself to all that stress when I could just stay and work out the kinks with the landlord. Sounds like every other relationship that I have had.

Hello, second contract. Eek.

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