316630_492454574108158_718594247_nWe sharpshoot and zoom. We capture light through either the standard or the long lens and process it to be a beautiful, visually appealing creation. We urge danger to chase us as we proudly wear a weapon of great value anywhere or around the campus, facing trails, looking for adventures.

Honey May is one of my best of friends. She was once a typical high school girl who was hideously being courted and admired by a variety of boys. (If she knows that by herself, I do not know.) She is undoubtedly computer literate, knowing a lot of stuff other than Microsoft applications, while I, until now, am still stuck with silly, time-consuming computer games and endless basics. She belonged to a cream section just as me, but of course, without any pretense, I am in a way smarter than her.

We are exact opposites, and we share something in common — talents.

She sings; so do I, but my voice has a perfect echoing only inside our bathroom. She writes; so do I: she writes fiction, while I enjoy non-fiction much more. She captures photographs, so do I; but in this case I can say I am her master, and she is my sidekick. Ah! Wait, we were both bullies, as far as I remember.

If we share things other than the aforementioned, I do not know. If she dislikes me featuring her with this article, I do not care. We treat each other harshly so to speak, because in a contrasting fact we are silent plastics in the presence of our beloved enemies.

It was her whom I learned how to cut classes. I remember it was during the Filipino time in our last year in high school when we did that. We escaped when we got bored and made a journalism activity as a pretext to our teacher. If the guidance counselors of our school will get to read this, please do not hold our certificate of good moral character. I am truly begging you; we are still good kids, simply enticed with the very idea of eradicating boredom.

It was her who struggled with me when I was suffering from heartache. That moment in Speech Laboratory when I cried so hard after being ‘friend-zoned’ and when she was comforting me in her arms, I laughed terribly and crazily like a mad man. It was her who patiently became my sidekick in stalking a guy in high school. (Yes, I am gay; she must be a lesbian. No, she as a lesbian is a big joke.) She once knew the “Ten Thousand Bitchy-Foul Words” and she had recited it with all her heart. However, this personality had changed since we both entered different universities: she is now attending church services regularly and promises to refrain from saying bad language. If she will be a nun or be called as “Sister/Mother Honey May” someday, I won’t anymore wonder.

Honestly, I do not like the idea of her being my sidekick. We are both differently stupid in several ways. I’ll call her a comrade instead.

My Dear Watson

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