It was forty minutes after five. The rain was gently pouring and the soiled streets were starting to get a little swampy. I was holding my brown jacket, slightly damp from the raindrops and much crumpled out of my choky grip. There was not a single trace of the wind anywhere for I have been sweating a lot, as well as the person beside me.

It was forty minutes after five. You know how I've always said that regret is such a horrible word and should never be used by anyone? Well I guess at some point, you have to. In that still moment, forty minutes after five, I felt regretful. Regretful about a lot of things I did. Regretful about a lot of words I said.

It was forty minutes after five. I wiped the beads of sweat forming on my nose and forehead. I tried to make a fan out of my handkerchief, by waving it back and forth towards my face. Fortunately, I was able to create a little amount of air. However the cold feeling and relief that my "fan" has been giving me did not take any of the things that I wished it would. Sadness. Sorrow. Remorse.

It was forty minutes after five. I picked up my bag and held onto my jacket even tighter. I looked at the person next to me and quickly looked away. I stood up, got off the jeepney and stepped on the ground.

Today, forty minutes after five, with my brown jacket clenched in my hands and chunks of mud sticking to my slippers, I fought back the tears that are clouding my eyes.