Eyes Watch, Eyes Linger

written by Kyla Carmea Javier

graphics by Christian Robic Hermosa

I’m an unremarkable person.

I run on a routine which, after five years of college graduation, comes to me as something automatic. I wake up at six every day and my alarm clock has yet to fail. I eat my breakfast then I prepare for my day. I ride the train, getting on and off the same two stations. I work in my cubicle with the same blue walls until it’s time to go home. I hang out with my co-workers after work hours sometimes. I’ve been running on autopilot in the past five years.

There’s nothing to see.

Despite that, the eyes are still watching. Sometimes, they are easy to miss – the miniscule lenses embedded on the walls and the small microphones wedged in the cracks and holes, but most of the time, they are out for everyone to see. When I walk in the streets, I’d see children playing with the surveillance camera at the entrance of a convenience store, giggling as they ran back and forth while watching the lenses follow their movement. Sometimes the eyes are actual eyes, pretending to be someone in the background.

The details are kind of hazy in my memories, but I know, the eyes are here because of the rise in activity of underground subversive groups that aims to topple the government. Any sign of unrest is detrimental to peace and should be put out before it can grow into flames.

I don’t really mind the eyes watching me. There’s nothing to be afraid of if there’s nothing to see.

In the past three years, there has been an addition to the routine, in the name of HC, my co-worker who sits three cubicles away from me. We’ve formed a sort of an odd friendship. HC would come to my cubicle during lunch break to talk my ear off about whatever topic that tickles his fancy. I never really gave him a sign of interest, but he didn’t take my indifference as a sign of unwelcome.

“Yo, MK, what do you have for lunch?” I see HC from my peripheral vision, dragging his computer chair to my cubicle and holding a sandwich with the other hand. I put my computer on sleep and rolled my chair around to face him as he plops down his seat, “I’m getting tired of eating sandwiches, but I can’t for the life of me get up early to prepare an actual meal.”

I’ve found that HC doesn’t mind if I don’t respond, so I turn around to face my desk and grab my backpack to take my packed lunch out. HC peeks over my shoulder, “It’s buttered broccoli today, huh?”

I nod in reply and take my first bite.

“Have you heard about that rebel that got caught last night?” HC asks. I tilt my head towards him, hoping that my expression conveyed my answer. No. HC eyes me with interest. “JS, from that terror organization that got ambushed five years ago. There’s only two of them left on the run.”

I continued eating my lunch, not feeling the need to contribute to the conversation. HC takes another bite from his sandwich with his eyes still on me. “Don’t you think it’s good? To finally catch those rebels that disrupt our peace.”

Before I can nod in agreement, one of our seniors comes by my cubicle and leans on HC’s chair.

HC’s eyes light up, “Of course we’ll come! Right, MK?”

I nod in reply.

“Great! I’ll see you there later!” Our senior then walks away, probably to invite our other co-workers.

_______________

Everyone is already seated when HC and I arrived. It is just a small gathering, the majority probably opting out as it’s a weekday. HC waves with enthusiasm to the people we’re familiar with, but then there is a moment of hesitation and he is frozen for a second, not quite noticeable. I follow his gaze and my eyes pass over to the new recruit. I return my gaze back to HC. He snaps out of it, resuming to greet our colleagues present.

Was that a look of recognition?

In the following days, I find out that I and the new recruit, JN, ride the same train to work. After that morning when he saw me standing at my usual spot, JN would always look for me as he boards the train. While I do not mind being friends with him, there is something about JN that does not sit well with me. I cannot pinpoint what that is, but he always seems so restless, like he wants to say something but decides not to.

It shouldn’t matter, but it bugs me the whole night.

Today, JN is standing next to me on the train on the way to work. After the pleasantries, he didn’t say anything else, so I’m just watching the same old scenery out of the window while JN is silently rocking on the balls of his feet. I’m not going to lie, doing that on a moving train is an impressive feat.

Out of nowhere, a familiar tune plays in the screens above the windows. I didn’t know that those screens can be used for something else other than adverts, despite riding this train for the past five years. It’s the same tune that plays before and after the airing of the evening news on the television. I think it’s an announcement, and an important one at that.

Of course, it catches everyone’s attention. The leader of terrorist group Sueño, RJ, has been caught in a raid a few moments ago and is now in custody. Only one member of the group is still on the run.

There are whoops of joy in the train, and I can’t keep a smile from forming on my face. Everyone should celebrate peace and give praises to its upholder. I tear my gaze away from the screen and in the process, I get a glimpse of JN’s face.

His expression is full of distress.

“Are they really terrorists?” There is a frown on his face, with his gaze fixated on the screen. His hand is trembling, gripping the strap of his messenger bag.

I do not have an answer for that.

“JN is kind of weird, don’t you think?”

HC stares at me, a hint of disbelief on his face and his mouth hanging slightly open. “What?” I ask.

HC snaps out of it and chuckles nervously. “I’m just surprised,” he says as he straightens up, “that you said something. It’s always just me talking your ear off during lunch break so…”

I gave him a shrug and took the last bite from my packed meal.

“Why’d you say so?” HC asks as I put away my utensils and my lunch box. “Is JN weirding you out?”

HC does it again, eyeing me with interest, the way he did when he asked me about the rebel last week. That look fills me with dread, the way it is tinged with a slight malice that somehow feels accusatory, but I cannot understand why.

“This morning,” HC looks at me with rapt attention, “I was with him on the train. We take the same line going to work.”

HC nods. “Yeah, I heard he lives two stations away from your stop.” He shifts in his seat. “What was wrong then?”

“There was an announcement,” I look directly in HC’s eyes, “on the train. A rebel was caught. RJ? If I remember correctly.”

It’s miniscule and unnoticeable, if I weren’t looking straight at him, but it was there. Shock. A millisecond passes and it’s replaced by something else that I cannot put my finger into. Arrogance?

“Everyone on that train must be happy then,” HC says, and then breaks away from the eye contact to take a bite of his lunch.

HC looks at me, trying to look for something in my eyes. I do not know if he found what he was looking for.

“Maybe you should stay away from him, MK.”

It seems overkill to avoid JN after that one incident, but I find myself

following what HC told me. It’s been a week since I saw him on the train because I moved to another spot. I don’t think it’s going to be difficult for JN to find me on the train, but he didn’t. The thought of JN finding me is making me paranoid, which I know is irrational, because aside from that weird incident a week back, he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Later in the day, he finds me.

________________________

I’m packing up for the day when I see JN approaching my cubicle. His presence unsettles me, despite his harmless appearance. I look in the direction of HC’s cubicle, but I realize he’s not around anymore, leaving after lunch because of a field assignment. His absence fills me with panic because he’s the only person that I’ve told about JN and I’m clinging to his advice like a lifeline. The sound of JN’s footsteps come to a stop, so I school my panicked expression into something neutral, like nothing happened, before I turn to face him.

“Hey, MK, are you done for today? Are you free after this?” JN asks, his expression hopeful. There are excited whistles from the other people in the department, and somewhere I hear someone say, ‘Go get your man, JN!’

I want to turn him down, right there and then, but it feels wrong to say that I’m not free and then head straight home after. I finished putting my things away and hiked the strap of my messenger bag on my shoulder before facing him. “I’m free, I guess. I’m not planning on doing anything besides going home so…”

The irrational part of my mind, that oddly sounds like HC, tells me to back out, to stay away from JN. As much as I want to do that, I come to the realization that I need to suppress this irrationality because it’s unfair for JN, who never really did anything wrong.

“Sure. I don’t think I’ve been there before.” Despite my initial reluctance, I find myself grabbing the opportunity to figure JN out. Maybe talking to him will let me understand his weird reaction on the train last week.

JN looks pleased, but traces of confusion mar his expression. I raise my right eyebrow in question.

JN searches something in my eyes and I stare at him in return. There’s something familiar in the way he looks at me, but I can’t put my finger on it.

We are already walking down the streets when I come to the realization that his gaze is reminiscent of HC’s.

JN and I are sitting in a booth near the windows, our hands cradling our warm drinks. JN eyes the hot chocolate in my hands with a frown. I raise an eyebrow in question.

JN smiles, sheepish, like a child caught doing something forbidden. “Don’t mind me. I just thought you’d be more of a coffee person.”

The frown is back on his face again, but he does not say anything. “You know, it’s been a while since we met but I realize we still don’t know each other well.”

“No one knows me well,” I say before taking a sip of my drink. There

is a flash of hurt on JN’s eyes. “I don’t think I know myself well, to be honest. What is there to know?” “You seem pretty close to HC.”

JN nods, swirling the contents of his mug. “That’s…harsh.”

We are silent for a few moments. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s a message from HC.

You’re with JN?

I find it baffling at first, for HC to know I’m with JN. The way my life has been unremarkable up until this moment made me forget that there are eyes everywhere. JN, the break in the routine, grabs the attention of the eyes watching.

I put my phone back to my pocket without sending a reply. If they already know then I don’t have to tell him.

“By any chance, did you attend the state university? I think I’ve seen you in campus before…” JN asks, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Oh no. I attended a private university two towns away.” I said, gauging JN’s reaction. He looks almost displeased with my answer, like I’m giving out the wrong answer.

“Is that so? What did you major in then?” The curiosity is back in JN’s eyes, combined with a taunting look that challenges me to give him the answer that he wants to hear.

“I majored in….” What did I major in again?

JN looks at me like he got me all figured out. “You don’t remember, don’t you?”

“Why would I not remember what I majored in?” I ask, incredulous and affronted.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about me, RJ, CL, JS, JM, H— “

It’s that sound again, this time, coming from the television mounted on the wall. The familiar tune catches the attention of everyone. I look at JN, and there it is again, the look of distress.

There is great joy upon our country today, ladies and gentlemen. The last member of the terrorist group Sueño, identified as JM, has been found dead in a raid conducted earlier. All terrorist groups that dared threaten the state are now in custody awaiting trial. Long live the state!

The television goes back to its regular programming and amidst the howls and cheers of joy in the café, JN vibrates in his seat, visibly distressed.

I frowned at him. “What is wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be happy that we’re finally at peace?”

The look of horror on his face is something I did not expect. He takes my hand and looks in my eyes, “You have to remember, please, MK. You have to remember.”

I feel so confused. Maybe that is an understatement. JN tightens his hold on my hand.

With that, he storms out of the café.

Do what? Don’t forget our dream?

“Don’t forget our dream.” A boy my age says. I see them, three young men huddled around a computer.

“Are you getting tired of having your voice hushed, JS?” There’s another person, lying down on the couch across the room.

They are now looking at me. “We can do this, guys. We’ll get there.” I hear myself say.

Two people burst into the room. Everyone turns to the newcomers, with expectant looks on their faces.

I find myself walking towards the pair and snatching the folder from HC’s hands. My eyes skim through the documents. Illegal procurement. Mass killings in prison camps. Arrests without warrant. Death penalty without trial. Things that are never seen or heard of in the media.

I’ve taken two steps towards the computer when it happened. Gunshots. Smoke. I cannot see past the grey smoke. I hear frantic footsteps. Hide! Hide! The horrifying smell of iron in the air. There’s a cry of agony. The sound of locking handcuffs. God, please let CL be alright. I hear the soft creak of the emergency escape door. I just know, even without seeing, that JN is herding them outside. JN, please keep them safe.

I feel someone pulling my arm, dragging me somewhere. HC whispers in my ear, “Come with me.” And then, darkness. The next time I open my eyes, there’s a voice telling me, “You’re MK, an office worker, loyal to the state.”

I’ve been living a lie for the past five years.

I shake myself out of that trance, breaking in cold sweat. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, but I pay it no mind as I rush back to my apartment. I ride the train in a daze and suddenly, I find myself back at my apartment, digging out a laptop I didn’t know I owned. I sit down, my fingers flying through the keys, typing out what I know, what we found out, and what the people deserve to know. The phone in my pocket continues to ring, telling me that the eyes are watching me. As I type the final #, the door opens, and a gunshot rings in the air as I click on “post.”

______________________