I’ve been itching to take a bath.
But I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that I’d be touching someone else’s body—and every other body part—to get a bath. I’ve looked at what’s underneath the boxers. I can’t look at it for more than five seconds; much less lay my bare hands on it while bathing. But I can’t spend the rest of the day smelling this bad. Ergo, I had my quickest shower to date.
After dressing up, I have breakfast. Then I take a look of the surroundings from the topmost floor. From there, I search every room in the house. I look for identity. Mostly mine but I have to know who I live with and where I am. Where am I?
Unless I doubt what’s on his ID, I’m still in the Philippines. But not in the capital.
While I was online—thank goodness they have decent Internet connection—I wonder if the guy I switched with is making a chaos in my room. Unlike here, where I am alone, there he isn’t.
He would’ve been awake hours ago because I wake up really early. And even if he could silence the alarm on the phone, I don’t know if he could figure out how to get past its security. Seeing that I don’t have his memories, I believe he doesn’t have mine.
Possibly, he’ll be okay if he doesn’t go out of my room. But if he goes downstairs to eat—or even just to pee—my father could spot the difference. I am a huge creature of habit. And things are often done as a routine, unless I said something else would happen the next day. I never said anything last night. So everyone in my house expects me to be normal. Two things: relatively I’m not normal and that is not me over there.
Over there, they expect him to have certain food for breakfast. While there’s quite a spread on the table, I have been a picky eater since I was a kid. And if his appetite is bigger than mine, that would be a cause for alarm.
And what would he do for the rest of the day? Call in sick? Or go out of the house? Please don’t use the money in my wallet. And I hope he doesn’t find my secret stash.
Would he be taking a bath?