The Garage

Across the street from my house is the garage. Contained therein are two cars, a motorcycle and piles and piles of junk. Well, not mostly. This is also where I keep my old medicine textbooks, my pcoketbooks, my journals, boxes of pictures... and half my life.

Last night, my old journal ran out. It scared me. Not because I had nowhere else to write. I did. It was just that... it was in the garage.

I'm not afraid of mice. I'm not afraid of cockroaches (as children, my brother Kais and I would catch live roaches and throw them at each other), spiders (though big ones freak me out), or ants.

I'm afraid of the garage.

It looks like a gaping maw. Like it would swallow everything than crosses the threshold. Sucked in. And digested into oblivion.

Waaaaahhh!

But I had no choice, did I?

So armed with my (miniscule) courage, the garage keys and a dust mask... I embarked on my journey.

I crossed the street
.
I put the key into the lock. Turned it. Put the key in the other lock. Turned it.

The door creaked open.

*intro death march here*

I put one foot forward, followed by the other. Two more steps and I entered the musty bowels of The Garage.

Then a voice from heaven.

"Hoy Kaeiy! Baket may notebook ka dito na walang sulat?" my Mom yelled.

Hallelujah!

I am saved!

Hehehe...