Spoiler
Um...yeah. I posted late, but I had permission. The deadline was 30th (which was review day!), then the day following that was the YWLJ deadline... so thanks so much to Skinsy. I didn't get the chance to read this again, since I'm following her rule of "no editing". I blame mahself 
'Cause I really wanted to give it a shot because the contest theme is awesome. 
And I'm improving my style (even if it doesn't show, I'm sure of it). So here it goes.
'Cause I really wanted to give it a shot because the contest theme is awesome. And I'm improving my style (even if it doesn't show, I'm sure of it). So here it goes. Dear Skinso, you may now eat meh.
~~~~ My Woman ~~~~
I grip the bar tightly so I won’t sway with the bumpy ride. I look through the passenger jeep’s window, breathing in the remaining car fumes from the busy day. It’s a typical evening in Manila City. I don’t have my own car. But I don’t blame her for it. The truth is, I don’t blame her for anything, like what she always wants it to seem. It was okay with me to ride jeeps, tricycles or pedicabs, or even walk -- as long as I was sure of my destination and reason. Funny. ‘Cause that was the exact opposite of what's happening right now:
I’m here in a passenger jeepney, going somewhere I don’t know because I was too frustrated a while ago to look at the sign on the vehicle. I just rode the first one that went past me.
“Para po,” the man beside me said, breaking my thoughts. Just a while ago, this jeep was full of people. Now, there was only me and that man.
The jeep stopped and the man went down.
“Para na din po ako,” I told the driver, passing him three coins worth seven pesos. I don’t know if it’s enough. After all, I hadn’t been paying attention to where the vehicle was going.
The driver grunts, and I understand that it wasn’t enough. I give him a coin more. He nods and gives back two silver coins. I climb down the jeepney and put the remaining coins in my pocket. I sigh. I’ve been straining my back out just to gain enough money to buy food for my family; and here I am: I’ve just wasted ten pesos to walk down a street I’m not sure where. Am I still in the city? I don’t know. I don’t care.
There are people here and there. I just walk, hands in my pockets. I pass by restaurants, parked cars, at times trees. I'm trying to figure out where I am, but I can't. My mind is too occupied with decisions I really never decided myself.
A breeze blows in my face. I walk some more and stop by the view of the sea. Now I know where I am. I'm in Manila Bay. I lean my arm on one of the huge lamp posts, and kicked a rock off the edge. It falls into the dark waters. I sigh. I wish I'm not like that rock -- could be pushed aside just like that and fall into a beautiful trap.
I clench my fist. I’m going to study no matter what she says. She’s not going to stop me this time. No. Not in a million years. I’m not going to work as a carpenter anymore, and gain money just enough for a kilo of rice each day. No. I want to give at least nurturing food for my family, let my son finish college -- take up masters if he wants, live in a house -- a real house, not just some old sheets of wood pieced together beside a creek. I want to give security to my family. I want to have a steady job, a nice one, one that can assure to myself I’m a good father -- and husband.
But she won't let me, will she?
I grab the chains before me, clutch them tightly till my palm feels numb. She’s always in the way. Too fragile. Too emotional. This morning, she cried—cried because I’ve screamed at her for always getting in my way.
Once, I wanted the walls painted white, she wanted them beige. It wasn’t everyday that I had extra money to buy paint. I had explained, we lived in a house beside a creek; white would turn off mosquitoes and other insects that might bite our two-year-old son. She had insisted of beige, retorting it was as light as white, and when I had ignored her, bought white paint instead, that very night she cried herself to sleep, didn’t talk to me for days till she just forgot about it.
I feel the anger rush up my chest. Then there was the time I washed the clothes. She wanted to do it herself because she washes more proficiently. I succumbed to her wishes and never washed again. I mean, it was such a petty thing, I couldn’t afford having her ignore me for days again. But the same went for folding. She ranted about how messy our folded clothes looked when I did it. I screamed at her, telling her that when you used the clothes, they would be messed up too.
I’m not saying she isn’t important. Of course she is. And there were obviously some things I can’t do all by myself, like raising up such a dainty little boy. She mothers our child. My point is only this: Decisions concerning the family’s must all be under my sovereignty. I was the man, the boss, and she still can’t understand that simple thing.
As I have mentioned, I've screamed at her just this morning; we had a fight, and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was something dearly important to me, for all of us. My widowed, childless aunt from America have sent me an e-mail saying she will take care of the expenses if I want to continue my study. She said it was the worst thing ever. How does she know? Didn’t she actually thought about it first before saying that studying will 'ruin' everything? It was an opportunity for us to have better lives.
I breathe in the bay breezes till I get relaxed. I feel in my pockets. Everything inside chinks. I think I still have the enough money to get home by a jeep. I take a last look at the sea. I'm facing her tonight. Tell her how I feel.
~~~~~~~
The stink is sharper every night. I wrinkle my nose, then cover it. I slowly step up our wooden home. All lights are out. The only sound that my ear can hear is my footsteps. I turn on the light and to my surprise she is sitting on the sofa, hugging herself, staring at the floor.
“Where were you?” she asks.
“Walking,” I say, thinking if I should sit beside her or remain standing up.
She puts her face in her hands and begins crying. I close the door behind us.
“Oh, Jana. For crying out loud, what are you crying about this time?” I want to scream, but screaming is of no good. I’ll just wake up the baby and alert neighbors.
“Who were you with?” she mumbles. The words were choppy, but I understand exactly what she’s trying to say.
"I wasn't with anybody." I sit beside her. “Just stop it, okay? Please?”
She looks at me. Wrinkles start to form beside her eyes. I remember what mom told me: Leave her, find another. You're not legally married anyway. The baby was only an accident. It will understand as it grows up. Even though I'm only nineteen, I know she was wrong. I shake away the thoughts.
She stops her sniffs, I speak.
“I’ve decided. I’m going to study.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, hugging herself tighter. All those years I’ve never heard her apologize to me.
I draw her in my arms. “Sorry for what?”
“For making you life so miserable.”
I shake my head and sigh heavily. How many times have I told her not to blame herself in our situation? It’s getting under my nerves. She’s being too emotional again. But what I’ve learned those years is that matters should be talked about. They shouldn’t be left around, hanging. Questions should be answered, to effectively know more about each other. To live better, I think. So instead of leaving her there and going to sleep, I kiss her on the forehead and try my best to understand her. Even when I just can't...
I speak with the gentlest voice I can produce. “Jana, you never made my life miserable. You were never the reason of anything that makes my life miserable,” I slowly say, stuttering at times. I never thought speaking one’s mind can be so hard; finding the right words is hard.
“I know that when you study and get a steady job, you can find another woman, then marry her.”
I slowly let her go. I feel like punching the wall, anything but anyone. I instead clench my fists and press them against my lap. “What are you saying?”
She remains silent. I look at her, remembering high school days. She was the most beautiful girl in our class, glowing and youthful. Now she looks older than she really is. But we promised each other -- like any other artless, young couples out there -- we promised each other that we were meant together.
"Jana," I start, feeling the things in my pocket, taking out a ring. "This has been hiding out for too long."
She faintly smiles.
I fell on one knee, just like how women likes it. "Marry me." It came out as a command.
Her grin widens. "Okay," she said weakly.
I slip the ring in her hand. It's fake silver. "When I get a job, we can replace it with real silver."
She laughs. I draw her again in my arms then kiss her. I was her man, and she was my woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I should really edit it when I get the time... uh... thanks! 
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