Valerie: The Klutz

My confident strides spoke of my mood. I was a hip, young and dynamic go-getter of Manila's better-off sorority.

My collar adequately starched, my long pinstriped pants without crease, my long trenchcoat wavered behind me slightly as my constant footfalls declared a woman of intent, not one to be fucked with. Not today.

I held my chin high; I like to look confident. My eyes peered through the dark lenses of my Gucci wide-frame sunglasses, averting the eyes of any onlookers I caught staring at me. [kapal.]

My footstep was suddenly interrupted by an askew sidewalk paver. It struck the toe of my clean black leather pointed shoes, causing my weight to shift abruptly and pitch my hips at an angle that could hardly be considered elegant, or confident.

I caught my balance before I plant my nose square on the pavement of Emerald Avenue.

I correct my stance. I stare the world directly in the face.

I so meant to do that.

I walked on.

This has been my day.

Thank you.