ANTE BELLUM: V
RAMSEY BIANCHI

TODAY IS SATURDAY, THE BEST DAY TO FEEL ALIVE AND CRAZY. Thing is, I'm not like the rest of the teenagers, who like to sleep in late and then hang out. No, I like to wake up at four AM to work out, go for a run and just feel like myself for a couple of hours. Today I had opted to stay at home, I wore my NASA sweater and some sweatpants that belong to my cousin Ethan. I sat on the rooftop of my house, my legs are bend upward as I support most of my weight with my hands behind me.

I take in the fresh air that the morning has to offer, I chuckle as I'm aware of the beauty many people waste just to get more hours of sleep. My bright hazel eyes stare at the sky; in its infinite beauty, I could see the array of colors it showcases. Before me there was a sunset orange, bright and powerful, on top of the color was a different one. This one covered the majority of the sky, it was a faint deep blue with a small amount of light purple clouds covering it. The buildings were all black as the sun set behind them, birds flew across the sky, and for an odd reason, I felt at peace.

As I stare at the world, I couldn't help but wonder, why are there so many non-believers? We say life isn't perfect, therefore so are we. But when I stare at my surroundings, when the people are sleeping and the world is waking up so majestically, I beg to differ. I don't judge those who don't believe in God or whatever their religion throws at them, but it blows my mind how they are oblivious to not notice the proof. The sky, the immense ocean, our anatomy and biology, the breeze, the animals, oxygen, the ability to reproduce, etc... There is so much proof, yes, there is a book that gives you logical answers to everything. We call it science, but if you stop and take a minute to observe the world as something perfectly created to sustain human life; I can assure you, science cannot describe the feeling it gives you.

Science cannot explain what makes us humans, how can we have consciousness, what makes us different from animals, or how are we allowed to have imagination or dream. Many call them the mystery of the human mind, philosophy had taught us to question everything and if there is a solid answer then it's real. Ask, René Descartes, he'll agree with me. But I believe there is much to life than just logical explanation, perhaps the reason why we doubt is that we use logic as our tool instead of reason or just plain open-mindedness. But hey, all I know is; that I know nothing.

I could be totally wrong, maybe we are made of detritus, or maybe we are a work of a miracle. What you choose to believe, is your business, no one else's. Believe in what you choose, whether it's in favor or against.

I let out a content sigh as the sun fully peaks over the tall buildings, casting its sun rays over the city.

I choose to believe there is a purpose, there has to be one, and we're all nearing it. Slowly? Yeah, but we're getting there.

"Where is my god-damn spatula?! Ramsey!" I groan as I search for it on the pile of dirty dishes. "Where is it?!"

"Goddammit, Jefferson. Deja de gritarle a la niña." Miriam, the waitress, smacks Jefferson, the cook, on the back of his head.

I bit my lip as I searched through the enormous sink for his damn spatula, when I felt something thin and long, I pulled it out. "Ya la encontre!" I announce before rapidly cleaning the spatula and drying it with a washcloth.

I turn around and handed him the spatula with a guilty smile, Jefferson sigh and ruffle my long wavy hair. "Sorry for yellin' at ya."

I sent him a peace sign, he chuckles and resume his work on the stove. I turn around and kept on washing the remaining dishes, despite being occasionally yelled at or getting annoyed for just washing dishes, I liked working here. It was near where I lived, and it was a Mexican restaurant, it was upbeat and full of crazy workers and yes, I liked it. I get to hear their banters that were ten times funnier than Kevin Hart's movies. I also get to dance to good ol' Mexican music, learn about their traditions and culture. It was their environment that got me going whenever I have bad times; I smile slightly before crunching my face in disgust as I touched a piece of wet food.

Yuck.

After a lot of convincing, Aunt Ivana allowed me to work here on Holy Tacos. It's a part-time job, I only work on weekends from twelve o'clock to seven o'clock. Most of the time, though, I'm eating their food or chatting with my good friend Escobar, I'm a machine when it comes to washing the dishes. I remember one time Escobar and I bet 20 dollars if I could wash 20 in 8 minutes, I did it in 7:44 minutes. Told ya I'm a machine. 

Furthermore, I'm back home.

"DIE! DIE! DIIEEE!"

I stare at the floor for a good second trying to find some sense of what I just heard, but I gave up, I lock the door and took off my dirty converse before removing my jacket and placing it on the hanger. I walk toward the living room to find Ethan aggressively moving his thumbs across his console. 

"Oye niño, keep your voice down. You gringos are super paranoid that the neighbor next door might actually think you're killing someone." I order Ethan, who, in return, yelled.

"DON'T CALL THE COPS, MRS. ESPOSITO! I'M JUST PLAYING FORTNITE!" I smack my face before peaking over my fingers when I heard her response.

"KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, YOU PUNK!" Ethan looked at me wide-eyed, and I mirror his expression before we both burst out laughing.

"I swear, that woman has a good set of lungs," I tell him, in which he nods.

"I'm surprised they didn't come out." I reach over and pull his ear, causing him to hiss, "Ow!"

"Turn that off, I brought food from Holy Tacos!" I exclaim the last part.

"Did you just-?" Ethan pointed out, but I cut him off.

"Yes, I did!" I tell him before leaning over the stairs banister and shouting, "Auntie! Connor! I brought food!"

Holy Tacos! Is the best restaurant. Ever. I rest my case.

🅷🅾🅻🅰

HOLA RAZAA!! Honestly, I wrote this chapter after listening to Alan Watts on Spotify. I felt inspired and very philosophical after listening to him, then I switched it to instrumental music.

Its amazing how inspired and fluently you write while listening to instrumental music. My favorite ones are the movie soundtracks, Tessa from Steve Jablonsky or Interstellar soundtrack... uff they're awesome.

If you feel block or suffocated, you should listen to instrumental music. Find the ones of your personal taste.

So, how'd you like this chapter?

Ramsey is literally the opposite of me, she's so active, and I can barely stick to my workout schedule.

Comment your thoughts and don't forget to give some love!!

Stay safe, my loves