Justice

Milk tea is so good. So sweet, I love how it flows down my throat. Everyday, after my sociology class, my boyfriend picks me up in his Honda Civic, and we drive all the way to the nearest tea place. The salespeople smile at me, they all know me. Of course they do, I have my picture up in the wall! Customer of the year, I couldn’t believe it.

Milk tea costs around 75 pesos. I walk up to the counter and buy a cup. I want to have some pudding added. I love pudding. I love pudding in milk tea. Who cares if it costs the extra ten pesos, right? Across the street, I can see my classmates coming. Check the time, right, we were supposed to meet here. One of them doesn’t really drink tea, but who cares? I had to fight to make this our meeting place for our project.

The milk tea is in my hand and I love it. I love the way it looks, its colors perfectly in sync. My classmates come, most of them order. The one guy who doesn’t takes a look around and scoffs.

“I’m not British.”

I roll my eyes at him. Milk tea is so freaking good, who cares where it comes from. Everyone sits down, laptops open. We were beginning to discuss our project. This girl in a Forever 21 top gave her caveat – she had to leave in thirty minutes. She was going to a party. No one opposed. Secretly, everyone was hating her for having a life.

That pleasantry done (and a compliment from a guy on the pretty lay-out of my blog), we talked about our project in between sips of milk tea.

“So this rally, right…”

“Urgh. Who’ll bring the camera?”

“Not me. Might lose it in the squabble.”

“I have a cheap one.”

“Great! Bring it.”

“I’ll have to find it, I asked my maid to throw it away when I got my DSLR.”

“That’s fine. Can we just use our cellphones?”

“By the way, can I carpool with you to Mendiola?”

“I’m not taking my car. Cab.”

“Fine, I’ll cab as well.”

“Do we actually have to join the rally?”

“Yeah, I mean, I get their cause but I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

“It might be an experience.”

“Urgh.”

“Right, so we’ll take pictures and then we’re out.”

“Let’s make this interesting.”

“Game.”

“How?”

“The one who takes the worst picture of the protest has to buy everyone a round of milk tea!”

We all laughed. Secretly, it did not matter to me who would win or lose. I knew I’m getting my milk tea one way or the other.

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CARD DRAWN:

THIS IS THE TAROT CHALLENGE, a 78-day writing challenge where everyday I pick out a random card from my tarot deck and write something about, against, inspired by, based on the card by the day’s end. The works can range from poetry to fiction to drama. When the card is from the major arcana, the title of the work should be the card name. When the card is from the minor arcana, the title can be different but the card drawn should be revealed at the end.