Chronicle No. 23: A Desperate Homeboy

I’ve been told by people that I am very lucky because I can do whatever I want. Barring financial problems, serious diseases and unwanted dependents, it’s true. But, everything has a price and there is no such thing as absolute freedom. Aside from taxes and death, dust is also a permanent fixture in our lives.

As a devout practitioner of the art of Sloth, I abhor doing house work. I abhor doing any work, period. I used to clean my room once every three months, at most, and I had a very strong ability to ignore the layers of dust on my things and the dark and thick cobwebs gathering at the corners of my ceiling. It was only when my sense of propriety kicked in and out of extreme boredom that I would clean my room.

It was always a psychological battle. Every wipe I made with the wet rag across the jalousie window was an act of will. My wiping motions were accompanied by the chorus of my three inner voices “Why do we do thisss…Preciousss…? Nasssty little dustiesss…They dirty usss… Preciousss…Not nice…Nasssty filthy dustiesss…They dirty our skinsss…Precious…” What my mom could thoroughly do in thirty minutes took me three hours. Most of my cleaning time was spent sitting in front of the electric fan and singing along with the radio.

My excuse for living in a dustbin was that I was a student. I had so much material to read that I didn’t have time for trivial things, like cleaning. After all, Denial is one of my greatest skills.

Now that I am living the pseudo-independent and the bachelor life, I have to be a grown-up. I’ve just moved into a ‘pad’ and I have to take care of everything – the bills and the maintenance. The living-on-your-own thing may sound exciting and glamorous, but it really is not. There is no glamour in housekeeping.

I have been transformed into an obsessive floor-sweeper and tile-scrubber. Vanity and self-respect are the two very powerful forces that cause me to bend over my linoleum-covered floor and vigorously wipe away the dirt and dust particles. Ever since I started living in my ’pad’, my friends have been making plans on hanging out at my place. My recent acquisition of a TV has made them very excited and there is now a call for me to buy a DVD player. When I do get the much coveted and talked about DVD player, I should start expecting people to pop up at my front door anytime of the day or night, at their convenience. I don’t want them to think of me as a slob. Note that my actions are the result of my apprehension of what other people would think.

Housekeeping is hard work and it’s my only form of weekly exercise. To protect my hands from the harsh chemicals and the splinters from my wooden shelves, I bought a bright yellow pair of rubber gloves from Handyman for less than fifty pesos. I also have a spray bottle with which I squirt diluted bleach at the tiles on my bathroom walls. I also have a toilet bowl brush with a thin metal handle. Aligned on top of my bathroom cabinet is my housekeeping arsenal, which consists of a plastic container filled with cleaning detergent, a bottle of muriatic acid, a bottle of blue hydrochloric acid and two small bottles of bleach with different scents. With these at my disposal, I think I make a decent housekeeper.

I’ve been living in my ‘pad’ for almost two months and I have discovered that housekeeping can be therapeutic and fulfilling (I’m watching Oprah at the time of this writing). Sometimes, on weekends when I have nothing to do, I fend off boredom by putting on my rubber gloves and doing impressions of Dexter’s Mom in Dexter’s Laboratory. When I’m done sweeping, scrubbing and wiping, I’d go to the mall feeling productive and relaxed. On days that I’m in a dark and gloomy mood, watching the grime go down the drain makes me feel a little better.

My cleaning routine is one the few things that are constant and consistent in my life right now. Scrubbing away at the moss growing between my white bathroom tiles, gives me a sense that my life has purpose and meaning.

Chronicle No. 22: The Search for My Soulmate

As far as I can remember, the happiest moments of my life always involved a certain TV set. In 1991, my grandparents, who were always concerned about their social status and what other people thought of our family, decided that it was time to upgrade their mode of entertainment. Throughout the 80’s, we made do with a TV that had knobs for changing channels and adjusting the volume. It was around noontime in the month of June that my grandfather, with great show of smugness and ceremony, peeled off the box from the most amazing thing that I had ever seen in my eight years in this world: a 27-inch Sony TV set.

Whenever we had parties, my grandparents never failed to show-off their new and humongous(in the early 90’s standards) TV, and they would trundle out the betamax player and show tapes of Robocop, Rambo and Flowers in the Attic . Sony, was the center of our fervent affections and we vied for her viewing pleasures. She was the bright light that illuminated the fungus-infected corners of my imagination.

On late afternoons, after school, I would position my self on our green-striped sofa and absorbed all the flickering images thru my retinas and let them ricochet all over my synapses. We spent a lot of afternoons, even days, together and my world revolved around her. We were at it for nine years and we last saw each other when I went to college. Since I spent too much time in her company, I detested the company of other people and shunned reality. Sony, was my best friend, nanny and surrogate mother. Freud once said that the true spouse of a man is his mother. In my case, it was my surrogate mother.

So, last June 17, 2007, Christabel and Esther(not their real names) decided to accompany me on my quest for a TV. I am now living the pseudo-independent and bachelor life and I have realized that being unattached can be lonely and uneventful. I needed a TV to bring excitement to my nights.

We first went to Colon Street, the shopping district of the middle and lower classes and the bargain Mecca of Cebu. My guides darted effortlessly through the Sunday throng while I carefully avoided colliding with fast-walking pedestrians. Colon, is an alien world to me. It is the exact opposite of my antiseptic environment, the mall. I dislike being in the midst of a sweaty and smelly crowd because my five-meter radius of personal space gets repeatedly violated. One of the most important things that Sony taught me was self-absorption.

When we entered a shop, the salesman immediately got off his stool and launched into his spiel. He never seemed to make any pauses or draw breaths. I think that his philosophy in marketing is that non-stop blabbering, sells. I tuned out and took a hard look at the merchandise smuggled out of Korea. It was dilapidated and worn out at the sides. It was pathetic and it would never match with my linoleum. If I were to replace Sony in my heart, the candidate must at least have some of her qualities like elegance and clarity.

We went into another shop but their wares were unworthy of me and far below my taste. Christabel, suggested that we should go to Mandaue. Her cousin bought a Panasonic TV there and it was in very good condition. After walking all the way to the Sto. Nino Basilica, we got on a jeepney that took us to SM and then we took another jeepney to Mandaue.

When I laid my eyes on her, I knew that she was the one. She was from the Aiwa family and came all the way from Japan. Sony, was also from Japan. The 24-inch flatscreen on her face was her best feature and her sharp lines and contours exuded elegance. Most of all, she had a very high resolution. She came with a remote control and a ten-foot Baron super antenna.

To celebrate my luck and to express my gratitude, I took Christabel and Esther to our favorite al fresco restaurant near the Capitol site for dinner. We had al dente pasta in chili and lemon sauce with a hint of shrimp and two servings of slices of bologna sautéed with huebos. We capped it off with sparkling lemon-flavored drinks in green bottles.

When I got home, I touched Aiwa’s ON button and we proceeded to entertain each other deep into the night.

Chronicle No. 21: Furious Action! The Power of the Kyubi!(Days of Panic, Part Four)

One of the very important lessons I learned in life is that, one should never take the first flight of the day to anywhere.

This realization snuck into my head the moment I realized that I didn't hear the alarm that was set to go off at 2:30 am. I woke up at 3:18 am and my PAL flight was scheduled to take off at 5:30 am from the far-off island of Mactan."The plane is going to leave without us!" my three inner voices screamed.

This happened because of lack of foresight on my part. On April 22, Sunday, I had taken it upon myself to have a break and recover from the three days of stress that I went through. I put on my new Havaianas slippers - a gift from a cousin - and took a jeep from Private to Sto. Rosario church to attend mass. I then inadvertently became a participant of a funeral. After the mass, I visited some friends and then sauntered off to Ayala mall, which was my living room during my law school days. to refamiliarize myself with its topography. On my way there, I allowed my limited edition slippers to have a taste of third-world dust. I got back to Queenie's house at around 9 pm, started packing at around 10:30 pm, finished at around 12:00 am and then went to bed. I tossed around for a while and at around 1:30 am, I finally fell asleep.

The thought that the plane would leave without me, caused me to go inside the dungeons in my mind to speak with the Kyubi(Nine-Tailed Fox Demon). Twelve years ago, when my inner child was born, the Kyubi invaded our village. In order to defeat it, the Fourth Hokage of the Hidden Village of Konoha, in the Country of the Fire, used his special jutsu, which required him to sacrifice his soul to the Death God. He imprisoned the demon inside my body with the use of the Four-Seasons Seal, that allows me to tap into the demon's power whenever the need arises.

Filled with red chakra, I bolted out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. "My God!The plane is going to leave without me!" I whispered to the large green plastic drum as I scooped water from it. I also exclaimed to my bar of soap and to my bottle of shampoo that the plane was going to leave without me. As I rinsed off the soap and the shampoo, I mumbled to the tiles on the wall that the plane was going to leave without me.

I was able to bathe, shave, brush my teeth, dress and put my things in order in a span of twenty minutes, which could be considered as one of the greatest achievements of time management. I then woke up Queenie and the two of us staggered towards the road to hail a taxi.

The taxi driver must have dreamed of joining the Formula One tournament because what usually took an hour's ride to the airport through normal Cebu traffic, took only twenty minutes. The fact that the streets were almost empty helped. For the first time, I beheld the ASEAN lamp posts in all their glory and wondered what was so special about them that they supposedly cost over 300,000 pesos each. I couldn't understand why they had to install low-wattage lights when the sodium lights along the road already served the purpose. Aesthetic reaons, perhaps? At most, they're tacky. Maybe they were meant to prevent the ASEAN contingent from going off the road.

The taxi dropped me off at the domestic flight entrance and I was dismayed to see a line of people snaking from the pre-departure area to the sidewalk. I found out that only one x-ray machine was working and that the security checks were strict. More cabs arrived and I entertained myself by looking at the shocked expressions of people upon seeing the very long line as they got out of their taxis.

After what seemed like forever, I was finally thoroughly groped by the guards, my shoes were examined and my pockets were emptied. I looked at the time and I was amazed that I was already lining up at the check-in counter exactly an hour after I woke up. If it were any other day, I would still be putting on my socks.

I met some of my fellow lawyers(note the conceit) there and we chattered away like high school students on a field trip. Leah and Aimee, cut into the line with me because they forgot to check-in some of their things. The airport personnel were already in a frenzy to accommodate all the passengers for Philippine Airlines and Cebu Pacific bound for Manila and Davao. The security people still managed to be polite eventhough they were already gritting their teeth from the stress. The melee worsened when it was announced that the PAL and Cebu Pacific flights bound for Manila were already boarding. People began to elbow their way through the metal detectors.

After I got my terminal pass, I ran after Leah, who kept waving at me, and her mother. "Almost everybody's on the plane!" Leah exclaimed when we saw the empty seats at the pre-departure area. There were ten people who were lining up to get into the tube that led to the plane.

"This is for Cebu Pacific passengers only!" the woman inspecting the tickets raised her voice at us upon seeing our PAL tickets. She looked like she was about to snap. "Oh, we're so sorry. It was an honest mistake" Leah's mom cooed.Instead of retracing our steps and taking the circuitous and chaotic route to the PAL gate, we ran down the corridor meant for disembarking passengers. We tried to catch our breaths while Leah's mom sweetly explained to the PAL employee that it was all an honest mistake. We ended up getting into the plane ahead of everybody.

My colleagues were very surprised to see me smiling broadly at them from the center aisle of the plane."We were worried about you. We thought you were still at the check-in counter" they declared. I kept on grinning at them like a fool because I haven't seen them for over eight months. When the plane started to taxi on the runway, I fastened my seatbelt and eagerly looked forward to heavy turbulence up in the air.

Chronicle No. 20: The Botched Homecoming(Days of Panic, Part Three)

At the dawn of April 21st, I was woken up by an announcement over the speakers that the Trans Asia ship I was on would arrive at the port of Cebu City at seven in the morning. It being 5:30 am, I did not get off my bunk and tried to go back to sleep. I was later reawakened by the sound of passengers trying to make their way to the windows at the gallery to look at the sunrise. Tourists, I thought with disdain.
Sea-gazing before sunrise on a ship bound for Cebu is a mark of a tourist. I have long given up the practice.

The people you usually see on the deck at dawn are those people who have never gone to or rarely go to Cebu. From experience, what is usually in their minds are Shopping!Shopping!Shopping and Malls!Malls!Malls! Later in the day, they could be seen having their pictures taken near the escalators of SM or Ayala.

It was hunger that finally drove me up the ship's lobby where the canteen was located. I realized that it had been fourteen hours since I last ate and I needed extra energy for disembarking the ship and for racing to take a taxi.

After I returned my sheets and pillow, I heard my name being squealed by a girl. It was Ayza, a classmate of mine and a fellow resident of the hostel I was staying in Diliman during the BAR exams. We agreed to meet at the canteen after we get our things up to the lobby from our respective accomodations.

As Ayza and I awaited for our turn for our orders to be taken, there was an announcement that the ship would arrive at the port at around 8:20 am. I hurriedly sent an SMS to Queenie, in whose house I would be staying, informing her of my very late arrival." But, I will have to be out of the house by eight" she replied.

Queenie, was going to attend a review class from 8am to 5pm that day and she has been religiously attending the class since it started. Since she would lock up the house whenever she leaves, it meant that I would have to find another place to stay until she comes home. There was also no way that I would lug my bags and box to the review center somewhere in Carbon just to get the keys. I place too much value in posterity.

"What's wrong?" Ayza asked upon seeing my pale face.

" I think I have to barge into somebody's room or house for the day" I replied while scanning my brain for potential hosts. A name popped into my head and I immediately picked up my phone, which was still charging.

"Hello..." a very sleepy voice answered.

" Hi, Edson!It's me!" I said cheerily and immediately launched into an explanation of my housing issue. My seven-day call center experience proved to be very useful.

"Well..." Edson slurred "it would have been okay but I'm in UP-Diliman right now. I arrived yesterday."

My blood froze.

I thanked Edson and apologized for waking him up. Ayza was sympathetic." I could let you stay with me but I don't know if it's okay with my sister and my cousin. I'm also taking a girl from our town with me there and I don't think there's enough space." Just then, it was announced that the ship was doing docking maneuvers. I had to think fast. Another name popped into my head.

I cleared my throat and dialled a number."Helleeeewwww..." I enthused into the phone with my sweetest voice, the one I use when I desperately need a favor.

"Why are you calling?" O'rin(Aureen) answered. I am notoriously a devout user of the unlimited texting feature of my mobile phone network. This is the reason why I am not very close with the people I know who are subscribers of other networks. I only send them SMS when it is extremely urgent and very important to do so. This is also their philosophy in sending me SMS. Since my well-being was in jeopardy, I had no choice but to call and use up my precious pre-paid credits.

Again, I launched into my desperate plea for help. O'rin, God bless her soul, was possessed by the spirit of the Mother of Mercy and she told me to hurry because she was going to work in a few minutes. I assured her that the boat was about to dock. I then beamed at Ayza and told her the good news.

I relaxed and took small bites of my over-priced slice of ham-n-cheese pizza while chatting with Ayza. We exchanged stories on how we felt and how our families reacted when the BAR results came out. We had a lot to talk about since we last saw each other the day after typhoon Milenyo ravaged Metro Manila. Also, Ayza is a subscriber of another network.

When the ship finally docked, Ayza and her companion went on ahead because they were expected to be somewhere within the hour. I waited for the crowd of passengers, who were eager to get off the boat, to thin out because I had no inclination to jostle with their humongous bags, noisy children, fighting cocks and bulky boxes.

After dragging my trolley bag over the pavement and out of the pier, and outsmarting the other passengers in nabbing a taxi, I was stuck in the middle of the Cebu morning traffic. It was comforting to see many cars and trucks waiting for the light to change and the pedestrians scurrying across the streets - a sign of civilization. But, I couldn't help but gawk at the newly-erected buildings and newly-opened establishments. I've been gone for eight months and there was already a lot of change.

O'rin had left her roommate ,Nina, in-charge over me and headed off to work. Nina, fed me instant pancit canton while we watched a cooking show on QTV. When afternoon came, the room was oppressively hot and we decided to flee to SM and meet O'rin there. I also felt obliged to pay my respects to one of the temples of commercialism.

When I entered the air-conditioned environment of the mall, I felt at ease amidst the throng of shoppers. It was like returning home and saying hello to familiar faces. Hello, National Bookstore. Hello, American Boulevard. Hello, Sbarro. Hello, Starbucks. Hello, GoNuts Donuts. Their logos shone and beckoned me to sample their wares but I was mindful of my meager and borrowed funds. KFC, offered 50-peso budget meals and into its restaurant Nina and I eagerly went.

O'rin and Gai, my constant textmate, joined us there and I proceeded to deliver a monologue of my travails for the past three days over chicken sandwiches, fries and sodas. I was glad to have an audience for my hysterics. Afterwards, we wandered around the mall and stared at the merchandise we could barely afford. We then decided to have dinner in Casa Verde in Ramos Street.

O'rin and Nina, craved for and ordered baby back ribs. I had it the last time I ate there and got a large serving - a large serving of bone with meat clinging to it. To be safe, I ordered grilled pork belly. While waiting for our food, I asked Queenie if I could go to her house after dinner. She was dining out with her mom and her sister and she would just tell me when they'd get home.

It was past 10pm when Queenie gave me the go signal. O'rin, possessed by the spirit of the Mother of Perpetual Help, stowed my trolley bag and box into the taxi's trunk. A guy, hanging out with his friends on the street commented "He's such a big guy and he let a girl carry his bag".(to be continued)

Chronicle No. 19: Bad Impressions of Kiefer Sutherland(Days of Panic, Part Two)

It was with optimism that I woke up on Friday morning, the 20th of April. The aggravations I suffered the previous day(see Chronicle No. 18) had been buried in my subconscious and were the subjects of unremembered dreams during the night.

Throughout the whole morning, I was cheerful and smiled a lot to my relatives. I was also excited since it had been eight months since I left Cebu,and I was eager to see my friends again whom I last saw during the BAR exams(It was actually the malls and the vastness of the city that I missed. Friends, were a secondary reason).

I decided that I would check my account again after lunch in Divisoria and then buy boat and plane tickets from the nearby agencies. " Surely, the money should already be in my account this afternoon. It's been four days" I confidently told my relatives who nodded their heads in agreement.

When I arrived in Divisoria, my afternoon took a sudden turn from The Amazing Race to 24.

The following takes place between 2pm and 8 pm on the day of the Cebu Exodus:

I got down the jeepney in front of the regional branch of my bank and lined up at the ATM machine. The money was still not credited to my account but I was in a good mood. I calmly sent an SMS to my mom informing her of the situation. To refresh myself, I went to Goldilock's, ate some chocolate chip cookies and eavesdropped on the conversations coming from other tables. Thirty minutes later, I made another balance inquiry.

The money was still not there.

Blood rushed to my head and then violently flowed throughout my body. My eyes throbbed and laser beams shot out of my eyes and hit a row of cars parked along the street. Shrapnel, shards of glass and metal objects flew in every direction. People were in panic and there was a mad scramble to get out of my way. My hands began to pulsate with power and as I raised them to the air, a wave of kinetic energy radiated from them and caused the buildings nearby to disintegrate and go up in flames. After my fury ebbed, I stood alone in the midst of ashes, burnt out metal structures, severed body parts and unidentifiable debris.

That didn't actually happen. All I did was send an SMS to my mom expressing my dismay. After a few minutes, she called me and instructed me to go to Limketkai Mall to meet my aunt there who was going to lend me money. I then took a jeepney and stared at the buildings and cars that the jeepney passed by.

Limketkai Mall has been recently renovated. It used to be an open-air mall and when it rained, the shoppers would scurry from one boutique to another. Now, it has been enclosed and fully airconditioned. It had also been renovated in such a way that the Big R building, owned by whoever owns the Robinson's chain of malls, could be accessed through a series of corridors from the main building. It was a wise decision because what used to be occupied by air and nesting birds has now been usurped by boutiques, shops and stalls. The skating rink had also been converted to a large auditorium, which has lately been graced by Sharon Cuneta, Apo Hiking Society, The Lettermen and other foreign and local acts. The end result of the investment of millions of pesos is a sprawling mall complex.

I entered the mall through the entrance beside Plaza Fair and traversed half of the mall to the Big R building. I was suddenly possessed by an obsessive urge to check my account again. When I reached the ATM of my bank, I had to catch my breath because of the very long walk to get there.

I was again disappointed. To dispel my anxiety, I ambled past the Barbie and Disney novelty stores.

The Disney store is the modern day equivalent of the prehistoric tar pit for parents who raised their children on Disney movies. Life-size stuffed toys would lure the children into the store with their parents who would be chasing after them. The brats would point to dolls, toys, slippers or t-shirts and demand that their adamant parents buy them one or all of the items. Tantrums, copious tears and rolling on the floor would ensue and the embarrassed parents would to go to the smiling cashier.

It was around 3:30 pm that I received an SMS informing me that my aunt and my cousins were at the entrance beside Mercury drugstore. I hastily went in that direction and saw them milling about outside the drugstore. My aunt handed me her card and the two of us headed to her bank's ATM. I quickly entered her PIN and the amount I needed to borrow, thanked her profusely and briskly walked to Rosario Arcade, the entertainment center of the mall, and took a jeepney to Gaisano Mall.

The only ticketing outlets for boats in Ketkai is for Cebu Ferries. The guard informed me that there were no ships bound for Cebu that day and suggested that I go to Gaisano because there are many ticketing outlets there.

The Gaisano stores are made up of two buildings. The older building is called Gaisano City, a department store, and the newer building is called Gaisano Mall. The two buildings are connected through a three-level overpass.

The ticketing outlets are actually in Gaisano City. To get there, I entered the ground floor of Gaisano Mall, went out at the exit at the other side, crossed the street and entered the ground floor of Gaisano City.

To my great relief, the ticketing outlets for shipping lines and airlines were in small cubicles arranged in a row. it was around 4:45 pm that I finished booking a bunk in the Tourist Accomodation on Trans Asia for that night's voyage at 8 pm and a seat on Cebu Pacific in its flight from Manila to Cebu on April 28.

As luck would have it, Butch was in Gaisano Mall . I told him to meet me at Chowking because I was planning to have an early dinner so that when I get back to the house, I would just have to put finishing touches on my luggage. Butch entered the restaurant at around 5:05 pm and I was already digging into my Lumpia Shanghai Lauriat. I just gave him some money as my treat for my passing the BAR and let him order whatever he wanted to eat. It was the shortest meal we ever had together. Within thirty minutes of hurried conversation, I had a quick update on who was sleeping with whom.

It was around 6:30 pm that I got back to the house. It took almost an hour for my ride back from the mall because of the rush hour traffic. My aunt and my cousins, who were earlier at Limketkai Mall were lounging in the living room. They helped me load my things unto the Pajero, which was offered by my cousin for my use, and some of them accompanied me to the pier.

When the boat was sailing away from the city at 8 pm, I was already ensconced in my bunk and sending SMS's to my friends, telling them that I wont be taking them to dinner because of shortage of funds. (to be continued)

Chronicle No. 18: On to the Pitstop(Days of Panic,Part One)

After months of indolence, oversleeping, drinking innumerable bottles of C2 and One Tea and watching DVD's until my eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets, the universe decided that I needed excitement and stress in my life. Lot's of stress.

Our oathtaking was to take place at PICC in Pasay City on April 25, 2007. I had to be in Manila by the 23rd for I had yet to get my clearance from, and pay the required fees, at the Supreme Court. To get to Manila, I had to take a bus from Ozamiz City to Cagayan de Oro City to get the stuff that I left there. Afterwards, I had to be in Cebu City by the 21st because I had to take care of my barong tagalog, which was mailed to Queenie's house(see my list of Friends) by my sister from Tacloban City, follow-up on the toga rented through a classmate and make arrangements for my things while I would be in Manila. Also, my 5am PAL flight was on the 23rd, which I would take with my classmates with whom I had arrangements for my accommodations in Manila. Yes, I was going to traverse the Philippine archipelago from Mindanao to Visayas and then to Luzon. Trundle out Regine Velasquez and let her sing snippets of the WOW Philippines theme song, "Hali ka na, biyahe tayo! Ipadama sa pamilya ang saya... ng Pilipinas!"

As early as April 16, my mom had already sent me money for my oathtaking and travel expenses through a series of bank-to-bank transactions from Saudi Arabia. It usually takes two days for the amount to be credited to my account but by Wednesday, the 18th, it wasn't there yet. Since I was running out of time and eager to get out of there, I decided to go to CDO the following day and just check my account there.

On a bright Thursday morning, my sister and her husband dropped me off at the pier in order for me to board the barge and get on the bus for CDO. As the bus hurtled through Lanao del Norte, I stared out the window, lost in my thoughts. I had passed through that route countless times for the past six months that I had lost interest in the view.

I arrived at the bus station in CDO at around noon and took an hour's ride on a jeepney in the oppressive summer heat to my ancestral home. Upon my arrival, I stashed Leticia(my black trolley bag) and Eric(my Eastpak backpack) in a room and proceeded to gobble down a piece of chicken adobo and a plateful of rice. I washed it all down with lots of cold water to rehydrate myself. I rushed to change my sweat-stained and dirt-stained shirt and walked briskly to the highway to hail a jeepney. During my thiry-minute ride to the city proper, all the water I drank evaporated through my skin pores.

I finally got off at Divisoria where the regional branch of my bank is located. Divisoria, is not an imitation of its namesake in Luzon. It was meant to be a dividing strip of mini-parks and streets in the middle of the city to contain the fires that ravaged the area in the 1920's and the 1930's.

Divisoria, has been a venue for a lot of public events and occassions: significant events in local history, political rallies(some of which I'd taken part of), parties, campaigns, promotional gimmicks, demonstrations, hunger strikes and fairs. The city government had recently started turning the area into an instant tiangge on Friday and Saturday nights. The transformation is aptly called, Night Cafe, and traffic is cut off and rerouted to surrounding areas.

Going to the Night cafe is an olfactory experience. A gulp of air is a mixture of the smells of grilled meat, leather, fabric, strong perfumes, sweat, urine and cigarette smoke. One must constantly make sure that his mobile phone and wallet are still in his pockets or in her purse because a lot of people would be jostling their way through the maze of stalls and tables.

From the time I graduated from the nearby Xavier University five years ago, more fast food outlets, restaurants, bakeshops, boutiques, banks, bookstores, video stores, convenient stores, pharmacies, ticketing outlets, internet cafes and beauty salons have set up shop in Divisoria. One can basically do all his errands and buy his necessities in the area. I did not enjoy such conveniences during my tenure there - a sign that there is no justice in the universe.

The moment I got off the jeepney, I immediately went straight for the ATM machine. " As of 2:21pm, the money has not yet been credited to my account" I told my mom and sisters through an SMS. It was the first of the series of Balance Inquiries I made that afternoon at thirty-minute intervals. To pass the time, I decided to avail of the airconditioning of Dunkin Donuts, the official tambayan of Xavier/Atenean(as people studying there would insist on calling themselves) students since time immemorial. I sipped a cup of iced mocha and sent SMS's to my friends.

Thirty minutes later, I went back to the ATM machine and checked my balance. Nothing. I went to Netopia to check my email and, of course, my Friendster account, and after thirty minutes, checked again. Still nothing. I began to panic. I needed to be on a boat to Cebu by tomorrow evening and I had yet to book my return flight from Manila to Cebu on the 28th before the seats ran out.

Countless Balance Inquiries later, I felt solidarity with Sisyphus, who was condemned to roll a heavy boulder that would tumble back to the ground, up a hill for all eternity in Hades, and I was in a very, very foul mood. At that moment I imagined that the host of The Amazing Race appeared and said " You have reached a Roadblock. To get on with the race you have to do either of the following: a) throw tantrums and curse at anybody passing by or b) go home". Since it was already evening, I chose B.

I got on a jeepney and sat on a corner, sulked and glowered at the other hapless passengers. I was in 'hemorrhagic mode', a term coined by my friends. When I am in that rare state, I would lash out at everyone at the slightest and innocuous provocation.

When I got home, I cooled down by sucking on two packets of frozen chocolate milk and then took a bath. I barely spoke during dinner and immediately retreated to the room I shared with my cousins and slept away that day's aggravations.(to be continued)

Chronicle No. 17: The Night It Came Out

Of course I screamed my head off, who wouldn't?

After I confirmed that my name was indeed in the list of successful examinees, my sister picked up her phone and started typing messages to everyone we knew with a vengeance. My brother-in-law, on the other hand, was bouncing his knees on my back while I was seated on the floor. Minutes later, my mobile phone rang. It was my mother." I'm so relieved that you passed! I'm going to feed everyone in Cagayan de Oro, Tacloban and Ozamiz!" she sobbed with occassional bursts of laughter. My sister, Zyrah, also called but was rendered speechless and could only sob on the phone. My relatives were more hysterical than I was.

Text messages flooded my phone. They all contained congratulatory words and expressed how proud they were of me. People I didn't know and people I haven't heard from in a long time sent me their greetings. Even Maico's aunts, none of whom I've ever met, checked the Supreme Court website for my name. It was my high school classmate, Jose, whom I've only met once on a street last January since I graduated from high school, who confirmed that I passed.

For the next four hours, I talked and sent SMS's on my phone, reliving my call center days - seven days to be exact. I was stuck to the sofa with the charger attached to my phone. Soap operas and Pinoy Big Brother blared on the television screen unnoticed.

Despite the fact that a lot of people had already professed that they saw my name on the net, I was still in disbelief. Success, rarely comes into my life since the universe seems to find it amusing to heap pointless trials and tribulations on me. My usual reaction to success is denial. So, eventhough I was busy thanking the well-wishers, I still wanted to make sure. Nothing can be more embarassing than telling people that it has all been a mistake. Fortunately, around 11 pm, our former dean called and offered her congratulations. I relaxed.

It was around 1 am that I went to bed, but, I couldn't sleep. The events of that night were slowly sinking in. " I now have the power to appear before any court in the Philippines. What do I do now?" I asked myself. Six years ago, I never dreamed of becoming a lawyer and now that I am one, it's surreal.

My primary reason for going to law school was to put on hold my looking for a job. I realized in my senior year that I didn't like the degree I took. I had no choice but to graduate because my epiphany happened in the first semester of my final year in college. My roommate then was very enthusiastic in going to law school and I was infected with his enthusiasm. He didn't finish law school, I became a lawyer.

While rolling around on my bed, I occassionally shot my fists to the air and silently mouthed "Yes!". In between bouts of joy, I pondered what I should do next. I didn't know what I was doing when I entered law school and I still don't know what I am going to do as a lawyer. At least, I am now guilt-free since I had justified the hundreds of thousands that my mom had spent on my legal education.

The following afternoon, I found a concrete proof of my triumph in the last and wrinkled copy of The Manila Bulletin in Ozamiz City. Seeing my name in print finally sealed my fate.

Chronicle No. 16: The Betesticled Charmed Ones

I have always been a sucker for shows involving magic and the supernatural. As a child, I badgered my yayas for folklore and I was also encouraged by my grandparents who were into the occult. Even when I was in college, I researched on the Wiccan tradition and arranged my Monday nights around Charmed, which used to be on Studio 23.

On a Saturday night last December, I watched my first episode of Supernatural on Studio 23. I was alone in our ancestral home in Cagayan de Oro and I couldn't help but look around and see if there were ghosts near me. I desperately needed excitement in my life so last February, I toddled over to the local "video store" and bought a complete season.

Supernatural, is about the quest of two brothers to look for the creature that killed their mother 22 years ago and to look for their father who suddenly disappeared while he was hunting. When they say 'hunting', what they mean is looking for supernatural beings and destroying them.

Dean, played by Jensen Ackles and Sam, played by Jared Padalecki, were taught by their father how to hunt at a very young age. Their father's obsession started on the night when he found their mother stuck to the ceiling, dead and bleeding. Sam, was still an infant and Dean, was four years old then.

In Charmed, there were three beautiful and sexy sisters, while, in Supernatural, there are two handsome(as repeatedly declared by the female leads in the series) and sexy brothers. The sisters had a Book of Shadows, that contained information about demons and other creatures and how to vanquish them, while, the brothers have their father's journal that has instructions on how to torch the suckers. The sisters defeated their enemies with their powers, spells and potions, while, the brothers deal with their quarries with shotguns, pistols, salt, holy water and lighters. If Charmed was for those who fancy themseleves as witches, Supernatural, is for those people who'd like to be ghost hunters or supernatural investigators.

I learned a lot of trivia from the show, like, the only way to get rid of a vengeful ghost is to salt and burn its remains. Ghosts, are also around if the lights and everything electronic flicker or malfunction. This is because of the electomagnetic disturbances created by their presence.

The thing I like most about the show is how they interweave sibbling squabbles and father issues into the plot. I have grown up with two older sisters and my experiences with them are totally different from those who have brothers. Supernatural, gives me a glimpse of how it is to live and grow up with a brother through the interactions of Dean and Sam.

Dean, is the older of the two. He is rough, cocky and stubborn. He always follows their father's orders found in the journal and he constantly wants his father's approval. As older brothers are apt to do, he constantly picks on Sam. He drives a black Mustang, wears a leather jacket, plays Black Sabbath on his stereo and hums Metallica when he's nervous. He is the better fighter and shooter of the two and he also supresses his emotions because he does not want to have chick-flick moments.

Sam, the younger brother, is sensitive, perceptive and rebellious. He left home as a teenager because he didn't want to hunt and have anything to do with his father and brother. He wanted a normal life but his girlfriend was killed by the same creature that killed their mother. He was about to go to law school on a scholarship at Stanford when his girlfriend died. He also constantly questions Dean's blind obedience to their father's orders and chafes under Dean's alpha male personality. Part of the show's mystery is the gradual development of his psychic powers on which Dean commented, " Who is the hotter psychic? Jennifer Love Hewitt, Patricia Arquette or you?"

The two of them operate as a single unit. Dean, having the brawn and Sam, having the brains, they travel across the US shooting poltergeists, vampires and other creatures while following the trail of their father.

Supernatural, is fun to watch but I only watch it during the day so that I wouldn't have to imagine a ghost with empty eyesockets sitting beside me. The plot of every episode is predictable. An episode usually starts with a person or persons going missing and then Dean and Sam appear on the scene and start figuring out the mystery. It's supernatural detective work with occasional flirting with the female leads. The episode ends with either Dean or Sam burning or blasting away the bastards.

The show didn't give my brain a workout with its simple plots and dialogues. But, as the series progressed, I realized that it is also about things that I only have theoretical understanding of, like, loyalty, family and love. Dean and Sam, have to work together despite their squabbles and differences to accomplish their mission and make their family whole and safe again. Whether they succeed is something to look forward to in the next season.

Chronicle No. 15: Shooting Arrows to the Sky

The reason why I created this blog is because I am fulfilling my need to be heard. Not everybody share my interests and not everybody can comprehend what I say despite my best efforts to express it in simple language. Most of the people I encounter don't know what the hell I'm talking about and sometimes I wonder if they are stupid or if I'm just inadequate and boring.

My dilemma is the premise of the movie, Babel, masterfully directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu. It involves four stories of people who are in Morocco, Mexico and Japan. All have different stories to tell but they have the same dilemma as mine: Nobody seems to listen to us.

Inarritu, moves seamlessly between the four storylines in a subtle and elegant manner. His direction brings out fine performances from his actors and he brings honest and uncomprising images to the screen. He also gave the characters three-dimensionality in emotionally complex scenes.

The movie opens on a Moroccan family, who owns a herd of goats, in the Moroccan desert. Yussef, is the middle child between an older brother and a younger sister. The two brothers were given a rifle by their father to shoot jackals. Since they were in the boonies and extremely bored, Yussef takes time to peep through a hole in the wall to look at his younger sister while she was undressing. The sister obliges Yussef with flirtatious smiles.

While watching over the goats and having no jackals to shoot, Yussef and his older brother decided to test how far the rifle could hit a target. They aimed at a tourist bus. Yussef, soon regretted what they had done, but was scared to tell his father what happened since his father had started reciting how the shooter would be dealt with by the law. He was afraid that he would get into trouble. Fear of the consequences for what we have done would always silence us and prevent us from telling the truth. Trouble did come and by the time he screamed out the truth to his father and to the police, it was already too late.

Richard and Susan, played by Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett respectively, were American tourists in Morocco. They wanted to patch up their marriage while spending time together on a vacation. It was not going well. As Susan took a nap on the bus, a bullet suddenly got lodged into her neck. They had to go to a very remote and small town to seek medical help and, Susan,was stitched up by a veterinarian to stop her from bleeding to death. For a week they stayed in that town, awaiting help from the US embassy. Richard, had to do everything for,Susan, since she couldn't move and the bullet was still in her neck. There in the small town and in a small room, Richard and Susan began to truly hear and listen to each other.

The worst thing about their situation was that the US government knew about Susan's condition after a few hours she was shot. Still, they did not respond immediately because they had to follow some protocols and bureaucratic processes. This is the problem with all governments, they know that their citizens are suffering but sometimes they ignore the cries or take a very long time to respond to their needs. Governments should learn to listen and comprehend.

Amelia, wonderfully played by Adriana Barraga, is a housekeeper and a nanny of the two children, a boy and a girl, of Richard and Susan. She wanted to go back to Mexico to attend her daughter's wedding. Richard, rattled by what happened to Susan, wouldn't hear of it. Out of her desire to be there for her daughter and against her better judgment, she took the children with her.

After the wedding, they were driven home across the border by Santiago, played with appropriate paranoia and drunkenness by Gael Garcia Bernal with whom Kates(see list of Friends) has a passionate relationship. At the border, while they were being questioned, the very excitable Santiago panicked and drove across the border, into the desert and dropped Amelia and the kids in the middle of nowhere.
Later, Amelia was interrogated by the border police and was told that she would be deported back to Mexico. She tried to explain to the indifferent officer, in her halting English, that she's very poor, that she has worked in the US fpr many years and that everything she has is in the US.

We have all heard stories about people doing whatever they can to escape poverty. We even live in a country that everybody is trying to get out of. We have heard so many and similar stories of hardships that we have become indifferent and would no longer listen to other people's pain.

Chieko, given life by the very raw Rinko Kikuchi, is a deaf-mute Japanese girl who can only communicate through sign language and lip reading. She's emotionally estranged from her father and is deeply hurt by the death of her mother who, she claims, understood her.

She desperately craves attention and wants to be loved and appreciated. Teenage boys, dense as they are, got turned off when they found out that she's a deaf-mute. To get their attention, Chieko, took off her panties and lifted up her skirt to show "the hairy monster" to whoever would look. The stunt freaked the objects of her communications even more.

In her desperation, she committed the ultimate act of self-expression and was rejected by the handsome policeman who came to their apartment to ask her father about a rifle he gave to a Moroccan tourist guide, which was used to shoot an American woman. In the end, her father saw how emotionally frail and alone she was and finally reached out to her.

Among the four stories, it is Chieko's story that I can relate with most, but, I don't have the compulsion to show my version of the hairy monster to the public. I have always found it difficult to reveal myself to other people and I can only be fully at ease with my fellow weirdos and neurotics.

In the Bible, it is said that God scattered the builders of the tower, by confusing their languages, after their king shot an arrow to the sky. I don't think the builders intended to insult God.I believe they just wanted to be closer to Him.

My blog is my arrow that I have shot to the sky. A flying arrow is bound to fall somewhere and be found by someone. I am hoping that somebody out there would come across my blog and fully understand what I have to say.

Chronicle No. 14: The Political Correctness Indicator

At the Golden Globe Awards, Sacha Baron Cohen clasped his Best Actor trophy and said "I had my co-star's two wrinkled Golden Globes on my chin and I said to myself 'I should get an award for this' ". After he delivered his acceptance speech, i was more determined to watch Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. I wanted to watch it last November but Janice dismissed it as slapstick and a waste of time. Our country being the Philippines, one can still watch movies before it is released in VCD and DVD formats by the producer.

This movie exists to offend and I had a grand time at being offended. The star of the movie is Borat, a reporter from Kazakhstan, who is ordered by his government to make a documentary about American life and culture. As he travels across the US, he meets people in actual situations with hilarious results.

There is no plot. Just a series of hilarious events culminating to the part where Borat tried to put Pamela Anderson Lee into a matrimonial sack while she was at a book signing at Virgin Records. Pamela, really ran for it.

I have never been to America, but one thing that the movie showed me was that Americans are obsessed with political correctness. Borat, ignorant of such delineations, did things that politicians(there were three congressmen who made cameo appearances) would never dare do. He came across a gay pride parade and invited two muscular gay men to his hotel room for a game of wrestling. He met with the leaders of the feminist movement and made chauvinistic jokes and wondered why the women didn't laugh with him. He even went to a Christian gathering, presided by a state supreme court justice, and had himself subjected to a prayover by the church members even though he was a Muslim.

While I was watching the movie, I realized that I too had become obsessed with political correctness. Sometimes, I found myself wondering whether I should laugh because the self-righteous voice in my head kept scolding me for finding Borat's antics funny. The movie even made fun of some of my convictions but I couldn't help but giggle. I must stop taking myself too seriously.

America, the benevolent country that she is, can be tolerant of transgressions but her tolerance has its limits. The hostess of a very formal dinner with the city's top businessmen will smile even if you hand her a small bag of your excrement and will even show you how to work the toilet but will not hesitate to kick you out if the hooker you invited shows up at the door. America, does not like it if you sport a mustache and if you have a Semitic lineage because you are going to be suspected of being a terrorist. Uncle Sam, would also be very offended if you sing " Kazakhstan, greatest country in the world/ Number one exporter of potassium" to the tune of The Star-Spangled Banner, during the opening ceremonies at a rodeo.

Since the movie is supposed to be a documentary, do not expect prestine cinematography. Sometimes, it's like watching an amateur video which gives it an at-the-scenes feel.

I finally saw the part where Sacha had his co-star's testicles on his face , but, I am more interested on how the participants of a real estate convention felt when they saw two naked people barge into the convention room and rolled around on the stage as they tried to strangle each other to death.

Ultimately, the movie is a test of tolerance. It pushes you to think and rethink and to redefine what is acceptable for you. You won't get insights into the meaning of life or love, but, instead, the movie serves as a litmus paper to test your level of political correctness.

Chronicle No. 13: A Geek Remembers

I was the kid who sat alone in the playground. The kid whom everybody did not want to include in their games or in their team. The kid who didn't talk, who didn't fight back and who cried after the other kids had finished taunting him for fun.
I wanted power, I wanted revenge and I believed that I would become greater and stronger than they would ever hope to be. I survived high school, enjoyed college, panicked and went to law school. By then, I had forgotten about my plans for vengeance and was just preoccupied with getting a good job and earning a living. I had immersed myself in the concerns of mundane everyday existence. That was until I saw Heroes.

Heroes, is a TV series about ordinary people: a stripper, a nurse, a painter, a techie kid, a convict, a cheerleader, a comic book geek, a politician and a police officer, who discovered that they have extraordinary abilities and gradually realizing that they must work together to save The Cheerleader from murder and then New York City from a nuclear explosion within five weeks.

The TV show charts how the characters came to terms with who they really are and how they would become great and strong in their own ways. There's no Spiderman moments involving dialogues like " With great power comes great responsibility". Fear, the most natural reaction to something totally new and different, is the theme of the series. There were a lot of hair-raising scenes, especially those wherein the characters first discovered their powers. Upon discovery, their reactions were different. Two of the characters were overjoyed to discover that they are special. Most of them, however, hated their powers and tried to conceal them and pretended that everything was normal. One mysterious character, Sylar, turned into a serial killer and used his stolen telekinetic power to slice out other people's brains.

The concept of the show is a fusion of New Age ideas, Darwinian theory and Philosophy. While watching it, I was strongly reminded of The X-Men, The Tenth Insight and The Dark Tower series of Stephen King. I could also hear my Philosophy of Man professor reciting the basic philosophical questions, as what the narrator did in the first episode,"Why are we here?" ,"What is the soul?" and "Why do we dream?". In relation to these questions, Mohinder Suresh, the geneticist in the show, has this to say "Perhaps, we're better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. That's not human nature, not the human heart. That is not why we are here"

What makes the series compelling is that it treats the concept of the show seriously. There's no melodrama, no sentimentalism, no effort to make the audience like and sympathize with the characters and no gratuitous violence.

The characters come from different backgrounds. Nathan Petrelli, who is a congressional candidate, is manipulative, self-centered and has the ability to fly. Niki Sanders, who maintains a website and does strip shows for $40 per thirty minutes, has super strength and is ready to do anything, good or bad, for her son ,Micah, who can manipulate anything electronic. Her husband, D.L. Hawkins, is an inmate, can walk through solid objects and used to lead a gang of criminals. Isaac Mendez, is a heroin addict, lives for the next heroin shot and can paint the future when he's high. These people may not be model citizens but they are called to be heroes.

The comic scenes are handled by my favorite character, Hiro Nakamura, and his friend, Ando. Hiro, can bend time and space and is the character most thrilled about his newly-discovered power. " I used to be behind in class. I was pathetic. Not anymore!" he declares. He also quotes a lot of Star Trek and utters cliches such as "Every hero must learn his purpose. He will be called and tested for greatness.", "A hero does not use his powers for personal gain" and "I want to boldly go where no man has gone before".

Hiro, is the one who is tasked to bring the heroes together. Ando, tags along and is a believer in Hiro. One person who believes in you will give you the strength to do amazing things.

The thing I like most in Heroes is the absence of snazzy visual effects. Things, especially those involving the characters' powers, just unfold naturally and normally on the screen. The cinematography mimics the frames of comic books. The scenes and characters are boxed in by objects or follows the shadowy silhuettes employed by comic book artists to convey mystery and suspense.

Looking back, I am sometimes amazed that I didn't turn out to be a psycho killer. I am forever thankful to those people who believed in me. People have done good and bad things to me and it is because of them that I have become stronger and better. It has been a very long and painful process, just like what the characters in Heroes are going through, and I hope, that one day, I too, would become a hero.

Chronicle No. 12: The Need to Moisturize

It turned out that the dermatologist doesn't accept appointments via phone. My mom, my great benefactor, decided that we should just go to the hospital where one of the dermatologist's clinics are located.

The next day at ten in the morning, we were already outside the clinic. We were told that the dermatologist is very popular and flocks of people go to her like sheep looking for green pasture. The clinic hours are from 11:00 am to 12:30 pm, everyday at the hospital. In the afternoons, she can be found in her other two clinics in Divisoria and at Robinson's. I was already number six on the list and more people came in list down their names after mine.

I was the only male patient waiting for the dermatologist to arrive. People looked at me with interest. They were amazed with my height and I have gotten used to people looking from my feet to my head. Two women beside me were talking about white spots on their skins. One woman said that she was advised to eat a lot of seafood.

It was around 12:30 pm when my name was called. My mom and I were already very hungry and were tortured with the scent of grilled pork wafting from a nearby restaurant. Dr. de la Paz, my dermatologist, greeted me and asked me to sit down. I then explained to her the diagnosis of my previous doctor as she listened intently with occassional nodding of her head.

After examining my arms, my tummy and my chest, she laughed and said "It's not scabies. See the scaling?" She touched a bump on my tummy." It's not fungi." She spread out a book filled with pictures of all kinds of skin diseases and pointed to a page." This is pityriasis rosea. it's not serious, just inconvenient. The cause for this is unknown but they appear when the skin reacts to the weather. They can be itchy and the marks disappear after three months if they are not treated and new bumps appear everyday."

As she wrote on her prescription pad, she smiled and said "Don't worry. I have had many patients with this skin condition recently. The weather is a bit unstable nowadays. Sometimes, it's too hot, sometimes, it's too cold. Your skin is not used to the weather fluctuations." I have sensitive skin after all!

She prescribed betamethasone lotion for the red bumps, cetirizine tablets, a kind of antihistamine, in case I couldn't stand the itching, and, Dove soap and baby lotion to moisturize my skin. I need to constantly moisturize to prevent the occurence of pityriasis rosea.

After lunch, my mo and I went to Robinson's to buy some groceries and the stuff for my new beauty regimen. I learned that there are many types of Dove soap. There is the Cream Bar with moisturizing cream, a Fresh Moisture Bar with hydrating milk, cucumber and green tea, a Pink Bar and a Beauty Bar(see the difference in seven days!). There were some boxes with a sticker that said " Take care of your skin and a girl's self-esteem". One peso of my purchase would go to the Dove Self-Esteem Fund. I chose the Cream Bar because it has moisturizing cream but I vowed to try the Fresh Moisture Bar the next time I buy Dove.

My mom handed me a big bottle of Johnson's Baby Softlotion 24-Hour Moisture. She has been a lotion user for as far as I can remember so i trust her judgment. If i have enough money in the future, I plan to try high-end moisturizing lotions and skin care products. but, i won't go along with the skin whitening craze. I love the fact that I have a lot of melanin in my skin and they will protect me from skin cancer caused by UV from the sun's rays. The ozone layer is thinning, so I need all the melanin I have. I would also probably venture into SPF lotions.

When we got home, I was greeted with mantras of I-told-you-so's from my relatives. The short lectures on going to th specialist when having health problems continued for three days, delivered by a different relative every few hours. Friends, also sent me SMS's chastising me for my rash decision of quitting my job."You already had a job!" they exclaimed."You just threw it away for a wrong diagnosis." Mini lectures on going to the specialist when having health problems subsequently appeared on my phone.

I was so relieved that i didn't have scabies. If I did, I would have suffered severe psychological trauma and my obsessive-compulsiveness would have kicked into overdrive. I would have imploded from intense misery, self-pity and a dash of existential angst. Since, all I have to do from now on is wash myself with Dove and rub myself with baby lotion, I will be able to take care of my skin and my self-esteem.

Chronicle No. 11: A Real-Life Shino

The red bumps on my arm first appeared when I got down from attending a fiesta in Bukidnon. They itched a little and gradually spread from my left arm, on my chest and belly to my right arm during the five-day training period and two days in Incubation.

By early Monday morning, I dragged, Wowie, to a nearby community hospital. "Ah! What's this?" exclaimed the doctor as she examined my arms and chest."This is contagious" she informed me."Good thing it hasn't reached your face and eyelids." Wowie, giggled and carefully handed me my phone and wallet, taking care not to make direct contact with my hand.

Based on the doctor's findings, I decided to resign since my skin condition would take a long time to treat and I had to meticulously disinfect my clothes, my bed and everything I touched. Plus, it would be embarassing to ride a jeepney and go to work with weird-looking bumps on my skin.And I might infect someone else. I asked the doctor to make me a medical certificate and write it in medical jargon to conceal the true nature of my skin disease. She wrote:" Scabicidal tissue on the upper anterior thorax and extremities."

The HR manager exclaimed "So sayang! So sayang!(What a waste! What a waste!)" after receiving my medical certificate. I also sent SMS's to my friends all over the Philippines informing them that I had resigned from my job because microscopic insects had invaded my skin. They sent me SMS's in return expressing sympathy, empathy and encouragement.

Kates, the hypochondriac, sent a very enthusiastic response "Scabies?Really?Gross!:-). I read in a medical book somewhere that a mite,like, mother thingy burrows under the skin and lays eggs there causing pus-filled bumps. I thought it's fascinating though. It's so Aliens. You're Sigourney Weaver! Scabies ranks as my favorite skin disease next to psoriasis."

There were two theories on how I got scabies. One, was that I must had gotten it from my seatmate, who was wearing a jacket in the midday heat, on the non-aircon bus going to Bukidnon. Another, was by a decomposing mouse under my bed and the mites abandoned their dead host and migrated on me. One fact was clear, scabies can be acquired anywhere.

The doctor prescribed permethrin lotion, a synthetic derivative of the naturally occuring insecticide pyrethrin, for my scabies and antihistamine tablets to prevent allergic reactions like hay fever and rashes. I confined myself to the couch and warned my relatives not to lie on it. An aunt of mine gave me a bottle of Lysol disinfectant spray so that I could disinfect the bed and the couch. The doctor also advised me to iron all my clothes and to sun my bed everyday.

Having a skin disease was the worst kind. The physical discomfort was only secondary to the social discomfort. My cousins gave me a wide berth and Don Joe(see my list of Friends) kept on asking me in what ways he could be infected with it. It also didn't help that,Janice, started calling me, Kori(short for korekong or scabies). But, I was spared from depression since the side effects of antihistamines were drowsiness, dizziness, blurred vision, tremors, digestive upsets and lack of muscular coordination. So, I spent half of my days passed out on the couch, a male version of Marilyn Monroe as Ana(see my list of Friends) put it.

In Naruto, there's a character called Shino. He had tiny insects, which he used as weapons, living inside his body. Obviously, the inspiration for the creation of the character was scabies.

My mom, concerned about her adorable son, arrived from Ozamiz just in time for my follow-up check-up, which was a week from my first check-up. There were also doubts shared by my mom, aunts and uncle if I really had scabies. They insisted that the red bumps on my skin looked different from the usual appearance of scabies.

During the check-up, the doctor said that my scabies got complications. My bumps now had fungi growing on them, particularly on my belly. I was aghast because I had taken two baths per day and applied generous amounts of permethrin lotion on my skin ever since I was diagnosed. She prescribed an anti-fungal cream.

When we got out of the hospital, my mom said suspiciously "I don't think she knows what she's doing." She has been a nurse in Saudi Arabia for eighteen years so there was a valid basis for her doubts.

"Who's the best skin doctor here?" she asked my relatives when we got home. This was great. I was going to see a top-notch dermatologist. I hastened to dial the number of one of the three clinics owned by the dermatologist and asked for an appointment.

Chronicle No. 10:Talking to People in the Land of the Free

By the second day as an incubee, I had gotten used to saying "Hi, I'm Lloyd! I'm calling in behalf of Food Engineering Magazine. I just need to verify some information so that I can send you a free subscription, would that be okay? I'll be very quick."

Before we hit the floor, the seven of us were once again gathered in the training room. Frog Princess reminded us to get at least eight completes or else.

Within ten minutes after I logged in, I got my first complete of the day. I talked to the secretary of my contact somewhere in Alabama at around 8:00 am, Central time. In my excitement, I forgot to ask the verifier question "Can you tell me the first letter of the state in which you were born?" and I had to call her again with profuse apologies. A trainor approached me and told me that I would be deducted points for it. I hastened to dial another number and proceeded to have an hour of ringing, voicemails, answering machines, circuitous phone systems, wary receptionists and dropped calls accompanied by a resounding bang of the phone by whoever answered my call.

Approximately an hour after I made my first complete, I got another. I talked to a polite man also in Alabama. This time, I was careful to ask all the necessary questions to make a complete. After four minutes, I said with enthusiasm and in a voice that carried to the adjacent cubicle "Okay, we're done. Thank you, Robert, and I hope you would enjoy your free subscription to Food Engineering Magazine and have a wonderful day."

The others I called were either very polite or just banged down the phone after I delivered my opening spiel. If the contact says ,no, we were supposed to make two rebuttals like "It's absolutely free" and "Maybe you can use it as a reference". I had one female contact who said "I know it's free but I'm not interested. i have no use for that". I rebutted."I KNOW it's for free. Please take me off the list" she said in a polite yet ominous tone. I wished her a lovely day.

Ten minutes before lunch(12:30am-1:30am), I got my third complete from a guy who worked at Frito Lay in Nebraska, which is also in the Central timezone. During lunch, we compared notes. Greg, who worked at People Support for more than a year and worked in sales for a car company before that, got six completes. Argie, got one and Chris, who was assigned to Storage Magazine, got depressed because he got none. The other incubees did not volunteer any information.

Throughout the next six hours that I called Americans, I discerned the characteristics of the people I called in the three timezones. In Eastern, the respondents were cranky and rude. I had more phones banged on me than in the other two timezones. I only had two completes from Eastern and the people I wanted to talk to were usually not available. They also have the most complex phone systems. Almost all of my calls there had to go through automated phone systems that usually forwarded me to voicemails.

The receptionists in Central were usually old women and were mostly polite and patient, except in Texas. The receptionists in Texas were stern, tense and stressed. If I was not quick in stating my purpose, they snapped at me. I also had my most number of completes from Central. The contacts there were willing to spend time answering my questions and patiently repeated their answers if I didn't hear them properly.

Among the three timezones, Pacific or California was the most interesting. we only got to call Pacific within the last hour of our shift since Californians are the last people to go to work in mainland USA. I got to hear muzak in the form of live radio streaming, company jingles, Fallout Boy, Matchbox 20 and even Red Hot Chili Peppers! The receptionists were young and suspicious. Also, most of my contacts were on vacation and I was told to call back on Monday.

Most of the receptionists I talked to were either Latinas or Asians. They hesitated to give out their names and I even had to tell them that the first initial of their lastname would do. They still refused. I guess they must be illegal aliens and were just careful not get caught by immigration officials.

I also talked to a stern woman who manages a wine company."What's this about?" she asked. I delivered my opening spiel but she cut me off,"Where did you get my number?"

"We have a research team for that."

"Why?" she asked.

" Food Engineering magazine is a magazine for those who are in the food industry. It contains news, features and information on applications, developments and issues on food processing technology."

"Is this one of those things where we supposedly get a free subscription and we suddenly get billed?" she asked in a guarded tone.

"No. It's absolutely free and there's no catch at all" I said while cramming all the sincerity I could muster into my vocal chords.

" Not interested" she replied curtly.

By the end of our shift, I managed to get seven completes. Greg got thirteen, Megan got five and Chris got three.. We didn't get lectured and we were allowed to go home early.

Chris, Greg and Ken caught up with me at the corner where I was waiting for a jeepney. They asked me to join them at Mindy's near Divisoria. Since it was one of those rare moments that I felt sociable, I agreed. We took a motorcab and weaved our way through the early Cagayan de Oro traffic.

At the restaurant, we had delicious burgers, bottles of Red Horse and the three of them smoked to their hearts' content. We talked about weirdest fears, types of obsessive compulsive behaviours, armed robbery experiences, dogs and ways to get away with not paying jeepney fare.

When it was time to go home, it turned out that Greg and I were going to ride the same jeepney home. He told me about his experiences, some family history and his hobbies as the near empty jeepney raced its way to our respective destinations. When Greg reached his stop, he shook my hand and got off the jeepney." See you on Monday" I said while I lightly scratched the red bumps on my left arm.

Chronicle No.9: In the Incubator

We were now known as, Incubees. Only seven of us made it after our simulation calls with the Manila-based Quality Assurance people. Some trainees had mysterously disappeared during the five-day training period while others did not please the judges of quality agents.

Those of us who passed were informed via SMS a few hours after our shift. We were told to be at the office by 9:00 pm that day. I also received queries thru my cellphone from my co-trainees, asking if I made it. In our group of four, only I was allowed to continue.

Ten minutes before nine, I strolled up to the office entrance and saw Chris, Greg and Ken smoking near the door. They waved smoke away from their faces as they congratulated me. Fely, Megan and Neil were seated on the benches. When I stepped into the lobby, Argie was peering at the announcements on the bulletin board.

At around 9:30 pm, we were herded by our trainors to the training room. We were told that we were in Incubation, then we will be in Apprenticeship, then on Probation and ,finally, we will be Regular. The Incubation and the Apprenticeship will be for two weeks each and we will be under a bond of P3,800 for a month just in case we get kicked out or resign from either of the programs. We were allowed only two days of leave and we were introduced to a new account, Storage Magazine. During training, we only did, Food Engineering.

The call center we were in is an outbound call center. We were doing the publishing accounts, which required us to call people listed on our database, offer them a free twelve-month subscription and ask them to do a survey. We were to follow a script on our computer screens, may rephrase or rearrange the questions if so specified, but must not mislead the customer or say anything not on the script.

We can be sanctioned for not saying the opening spiel, for failing to ask the verifier question, for typing the wrong address or zip code, talking to a person other than the direct contact, his replacement, his spouse, his secretary or direct assistant,or ,for failing to state the enumerated parts of the question even if the client was already screaming at us or threatening to put down the phone. Punishments range from written reprimands to suspension to outright dismissal.

At around 11:00 pm, we were already given our log-in passwords to the intranet and the IDEFISK. I was one of the four people assigned to do, Storage Magazine, a renewal account. We basically call the subscribers and ask them sixteen survey questions in order for them to renew their free subscription.

I eagerly put on my headset and started dialling It rang. And rang. I dialled another number. Same. After an hour of listening to the ringing, somebody answered. I was about to launch into my opening spiel when I realized that it was just voicemail. I dialled another number and an answering machine spoke. For the next thirty minutes, ringing, voicemails and answering machines were all I got.

One of our trainors summoned the four of us to her station."Tell me what's wrong" she asked us in Tagalog."Why aren't you talking to anybody? You need to talk to somebody because you need to have at least three completes per hour." Unperturbed by the glaring of her large and slightly bulging eyes supported by large cheekbones, giving her a faint resemblance to a frog, I replied "It's because nobody is answering. All we get are voicemails and answering machines." She sent us back to the floor with the mandate to keep on dialling and to step on it.

About fifteen minutes later, another trainor tapped me on my shoulder and told me to switch to Food Engineering. Now, we're talkin!

My drive immediately fettered out after fifteen minutes when all I got were more ringing, voicemails and answering machines. After lunch(12:30 am to 1:30 am), it got better. I was able to talk to receptionists but still got forwarded to their boss's voicemail. At least, I'm talking to real people.

After our shift, i only managed to get two completes. We were told to go to the training room and Frog Princess delivered a lecture on performance and efficiency."You pulled down everybody's performance ratings!" So much for motivational chitchat. Somebody got six completes but still was told to make more calls because he only did 18 calls per hour. Others ranged from 15 to 25 calls per hour and were individually subjected to Her Highness's glare. Nobody said anything about my two completes and I guess I made enough calls to keep them happy."You must make at least eight completes tomorrow or else..." were her parting words before we were dismissed for the day.

Eight?! I got worried. I only made two completes in four hours. I sent an SMS to my mom warning her that I might get kicked out."Well, just go to Ozamiz by Tuesday. I'll be there by Wednesday from Cebu." She is very supportive. Kates, who is doing a sales account in Convergys, exclaimed in an SMS,"You're just new! Rage,rage, rage against the system for giving you high metrics."

And rage I did.

Chronicle No. 8: A Different Kind of Same

It was with much smiling, sending SMS's to my friends and more smiling that I received the SMS from the call center that I applied with. I was to start at 9:30 pm the next day for training. The aluminum thermos mug I bought from Robinson's Department Store last December could finally be put to good use.

I had no expectations about meeting interesting people, making new friends or encountering wise beings because I have been jaded by law school to a large degree. After failed attempts to get some sleep in the afternoon, I popped over to my workplace and went into Discovery Channel mode. Observation is key to surviving a new environment.

There were seventeen of us in the training room. Some of the trainees had already started chatting-up their seatmates and were beginning to form some sort of bond that would congeal them into a group.The questions "Do you have call center experience?" and "From what school did you graduate?" filled the air. I limited my interaction with my batchmates during the interview period. Everybody was euphoric for having gotten into the program.

It felt like I was back in the first day of law school. There was a loud group of people with call center experience, equivalent to the Carolinian Political Science majors in my class, that exuded vapors of arrogance and superiority over the inexperienced trainees. There was also a subgroup of people with call center experience, equivalent to the non-Carolinian Political Science majors, who disliked the loud group, but also had an air of subdued arrogance and were armed with high-pitched derisive laughter. There was also the sexy chick, around whom the straight guys sniffed, and the guy that asked too many questions to the point of absurdity. The silent, the meek and the loners were also represented.

As a certified loner, I gravitated towards the silent and the meek, drawing comfort from the knowledge that I am not alone at being alone. With the silent and the meek, I don't have to make noises to express that I enjoy their company. I just sit around and do my thing and know that everything's alright between me and them.

The training started with the obligatory Introduction and Why-Are-You-Here routine. "I'm bored. I have absolutely nothing to do and I'm here for the money" I declared. The other trainess wanted a career shift, complained that their previous companies used favoritism in making promotions, needed the extra cash for their studies or just wanted to feel independent from their parents. "I don't want to be an ordinary employee" and " I lack purpose in life" were my responses to the same questions asked by my Political Law professor and Property Law professor, respectively.

During breaks, others went outside, smoked and talked loudly about call center systems, call center software and hardware, call center experiences, call center practices and comparative analyses of different call center companies. My crowd and I just stayed in the training room and had casual conversation.It was the same thing I did in law school.

Our trainors used a laptop and an LCD projector to deliver the modules. They just talked and talked and occasionally made some jokes("It's FAX not FUCKS!"). I also had a judge professor who used a laptop and made jokes like:" How do the Japanese pronounce 'election'? It's ERECTION!". The suck-ups laughed the loudest and cracked some witticisms of their own. It was fun watching the familiar dance of Befriending the Teacher. The question guy also asked some far-out questions that drew mocking laughter from the loud group and the subgroup. He also made this comment:" I think the reason why we, Filipinos, work in a call center is that we want to prove to the foreigners that we can speak their language". Our trainors exerted some effort not to laugh.

I also learned some jargon like prepopulated, cascade, DNQ's, verifiers and fallouts. I can now comfortably string them together with my legalese viz. bad faith, mala in se, mora accipiende and jus sanguinis.

Our training ended at 5:30 am. We were given handouts and were told to study for an exam. We were also expected to have a working knowledge of the program by next week. There was a hint of competition in the air. I felt right at home.

Chronicle No. 7:In the Void

Everytime I see KC Concepcion on TV in her numerous commercials, I get bitter. She is younger than I am and she is already raking in millions. She is also pretty and talented and also the daughter of Sharon Cuneta and sired by Gabby Concepcion.Plus, she has a senator for a stepfather. There is no justice in the universe.

My accomplishments in the past four months, which are worthy of note, are as follows: watched seasons one and two of Grey's Anatomy, read A.S. Byatt's Histories and Stories, reread Jhumpa Lahiri's The Interpreter of Maladies, watched 150 episodes of Naruto, converted Mark Jerold(see my list of Friends) into a Naruto fanatic. drank all of the eight C2 flavors and convinced three people to constantly read my blog.

I realized that my boredom has gone up to critical levels because I no longer find channel surfing on cable TV fun. This is very unusual for someone who was raised by TV.

An aunt of mine is handing me her weekly subscription of TIME magazine, which I would finish in two to three hours. In TIME, I have read stories about how a young Indian man became a super tycoon by the age of thirty, how the inventors of YouTube became billionaires after Google bought the rights and how ordinary people became famous because of MySpace, Yahoo and YouTube.

Stories of success can be toxic to an unemployed, bored and penniless person. I have had mini-breakdowns, spells of depression and moments of self-pity and called, Janice, countless times at her office and complained about the world's indifference to my wants and desires.

Kates, has also sent me SMS's containing constant admonitions to stop,Stop,STOP!, whining and be productive, proactive and positive.Right.

In my quest for employment, I only managed to submit my resume to the Court of Appeals-Mindanao and to a local call center. The CA thing went nowhere, but, with much gloating, I got the top score in the exam given by the call center - that's according to Janice's friend who is in the HR. I charmed and deceived my way through the initial, second and final interviews and am now fervently hoping that they would call me.

My friends have also contributed to the gradual diminution of my self-worth. Ritchie, my evil roommate at UP-Diliman, is now hobnobbing with the Court of Appeals-Cebu justices. Kates, is earning bazillions at Convergys in Makati. Joyce, has just finished waving placards in front of the site for the ASEAN summit and will soon work for an NGO dedicated to the urban poor. The Boholana socialite, Kathy,is processing the development plans of the family-owned Mahaba Islet,which is listed in the Department of Tourism's website as one of the must-see places in Bohol, with the DENR. She is also boasting that her mango trees will bear fruit soon.

There are so many things happening to the people I know and to the rest of the world. I feel like I'm in between existence and non-existence. That, I am in another dimension, all alone and just receiving dispatches from this world.

I now know why Sauron desperately wanted the One Ring back, because with it, he can escape the shadow world and be fully alive again. I, on the other hand, must find a way to be KC Concepcion.

Chronicle No. 6: A Choral Concert

The concert had already began when my uncle, aunt and I arrived at the Holy Rosary Agusan Parish. I've just returned from Ozamiz to have a final interview with a prospective employer and my cousin asked me to attend their concert.

The dancers in black leotards with white billowing cloth around their necks and chests were already flailing about in their interpretation of The Prayer. There was only one male dancer, who looked like a karate student in his costume. It seemed that the choreographer did not do research about the song. The English lines in the song are not the translation of the Italian lines as is commonly mistaken. There are actually two prayers in the song by a mother for her daughter, who was going to war.Unaware of the true meaning of the song,the dancers just twirled around in a circle and occasionally clasped their hands together because, hey, it's a prayer. I suppressed a smile and tried to look pious.

After the invocation, the national anthem and the opening salvo, the XUHS Glee club sang first. There was a solo done by a soprano called The Memorare. It is a song asking Mary to hear the singer's petition and to intercede for her. The performance was uninspiring. The singer was actually being coached by Jake, the trainor for the three choirs performing that night, while she sang.

However, I enjoyed the XUHS's rendition of The Lion Sleeps Tonight and Agongan Mindanao, the latter was performed with a hand drum. The two songs got the audience bobbing to the beat.

Next came the Holy Rosary Youth Choir. I looked at the programme and noted that Wowie(see my list of Friends),my cousin, was listed as the sole male of the Altos. The choir started to sing Come Again!Sweet Love Doth Now invite and a female dancer appeared at the far left of the altar. The dancer did some facial contortions to express her rapture in inviting Love. She also did some back bending and stag leaps. I didn't get to see more of her dance because my attention was riveted to the choir, which was in the far right of the altar.

"I can barely hear their Bass" I told my cousin, Mara.

"It's because all of them are gay" she replied.

It was the sopranos that held the full sound of the Holy Rosary Youth Choir together. The choir stuck to the standard choral renditions of the six songs on their repertoire. They were not as vocally adventurous as the XUHS Glee Club, but, they were louder because they had more members.

The last to perform was the XU College Glee Club. The choir was composed of XU alumni and I spotted a teacher of the School of Business and Management singing bass.

The college glee club had a mature voice because the members were already in their late twenty's or early thirty's. The audience and I started to get bored as they sang ten songs. As they progressed down their song list, I discerned that the XU college Glee Club was monotonous. They employed the same singing techniques song after song. The sopranos and the altos sang off key in their rendition of Angels We Have Heard on High, which triggered the whispering and the occasional giggling of the audience. Jake, the trainor, did two solos.

I began to suspect that the trainor likes attention. He had this way of smiling at the audience after each song. My suspicion was confirmed when it was his turn to speak."Actually, I am the one who organized this event" and he waited for an applause. It took a few seconds for the audience to understand that he wanted them to put their hands together for him. A man behind me said "Oh, he just wants to be praised."

The numerous cardboard advent candles covered with Christmas lights on and around the altar finally made sense. They were phallic symbols! There is more than one way to masturbate. Aside from stroking your thing in the privacy of your bedroom or bathroom, you can also stroke your ego in public.

The concert was generally pleasant but it got a little sour when the trainor had just got to focus the spotlight on himself. True art is about the work and not about the artist.

Chronicle No. 5:Journey to the West

I managed to get to the Westbound Bus Station in Cagayan de Oro at around 11:38 a.m. I traveled for about 18 kilometers from my ancestral home, which is near the eastern boundary of the city. I took two jeepney rides in the midmorning heat carrying,Eric , my flesh-colored Eastpak backpack, and, Leticia, my black medium-sized Racini trolley bag. I was going to Ozamiz for Christmas.

A Pussycat Dolls' song greeted me at the terminal entrance and followed me as I dragged, Leticia, on the white-tiled floor. As i emerged unto the platform with loads of passengers sitting on benches at my right, I scanned for a bus heading for Ozamiz. A man in brown polo shirt and khaki pants kept saying "Diri Ozamiz aircon.Diri Ozamiz aircon" and gestured to the bus on my left.

I asked the man to open the baggage compartment near the back wheel of the bus and stashed, Leticia, there.

I sat myself on the left side of the bus, in the second row beside the window. Ever since I started travelling from Ozamiz to Cagayan de Oro and back at four years old, I always make it a point to sit beside the window.

Going to Cagayan de Oro every summer vacation during my elementary and high school years had always been the highlight of my year. During our return trip home, I would look at the landscape and note the trees, the buildings, the rivers, the bridges and even the rock formations, as we rode farther and farther away from the City of Golden Friendship. I could still remember how my heart would shrink everytime I see a particular tree or river pass by the window.But, ever since I went to Cebu, Tacloban, Davao, Valencia, Metro Manila and other cities, this trip no longer has its charms.

As the bus pulled out from the terminal, I opened, Eric, and pulled out a pack of Mr. Chips. I didn't bother to buy lunch because I was in a hurry.

The bus conductor played a movie on the DVD player that featured a guy wearing a clown's mask. It had a very long title with the words 'Clown' and 'Payday' in it. The producer must have had hired a music video director because the movie had too many snazzy shots. The camera would focus on shoes, on the chin, on the space between two characters and other objects not related to the dialogue. There was also constant zooming in on cool cars, cool motorcycles, cool helicopters and cool airplanes. Every few minutes, there were EXPLOSIONS!EXPLOSIONS! and more EXPLOSIONS! The director employed the same techniques throughout the movie. It would have worked if it were only a five-minute music video. I got bored and stared out the window.

The lone coconut tree with a small nipa hut under it in the middle of very green rice paddies is still there. The rock formation near the road now has 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness' painted on it in white. It used to be covered in weeds and other plant growth. The small stream somewhere in Lanao del Norte still has clear water flowing towards the nearby sea. The small triangular rice paddy is still there amidst old coconut trees and tall nipa palms.

There are also more concrete houses along the bus route than before. Some of the springs have dried up. The town plazas are more populated and the mini stores now have plastic banners of Smart, Globe and Touch Mobile on their windows. There are also more trucks, buses and cars on the road.

Catherine Zeta-Jones and Sean Connery came on screen in Entrapment. When Sean caressed Catherine's naked back, I cringed. it's like watching Dolphy with young sexy stars in his numerous movies.

After four hours of travelling, the bus finally arrived in Mukas, Lanao del Norte. The bus was going to be loaded on the barge. Passengers were required to get off the bus to get their barge tickets and for safety reasons.

In year 2000, a bus, with passengers in it, exploded on one of the buses. That bombing led to the war against the MILF by the Erap administration.
After getting my ticket and writing my name on the coast guard's log, I carried, Leticia, by her top and side handles and, Eric, on my back as I wobbled up the three-foot wide stairway.

I sat myself on a bench and parked, Leticia, beside me. A boy with hair browned by constant exposure to the sun and sea air, wearing a red shirt and black shorts with thin orange lines on the sides, approached me and asked me if I wanted my shoes polished.

"No", I said kindly.

"I can bring back the brown to it. It's just for ten pesos", he told me with a look that said that I know zip about shoe polishing.

My shoes looked very dull and I haven't had my shoes polished by somebody else before. I agreed.

He first applied red liquid on my shoes with a small brush. After my shoes dried, he applied brown polish from a large Kiwi can with his hands. Then he brushed them vigorously and finished off by briskly rubbing an old sock on them. After each step, he would bang his wooden brush on the wooden box on which my feet alternately rested. My shoes shone a luscious brown. I gave him a twenty.

As I was about to go down the stairs and get off the barge, the shoe shine boy reappeared and offered to carry, Leticia, for me. She was wider and heavier than him. I said, no.I proceeded to disembark from the barge and pulled out Leticia's extendible handle and dragged her out of the pier.

Eric, Leticia and I disappeared amidst the traffic of tricycles and motorcabs of The Gateway of the Land of Promise.