August 21st, 1AM

[It was a cool August night, and a rare chance to take a holiday. But instead of being stuck in my bedroom, I pretended to be a doctor that day, inviting resident doctors to a seminar.

But there are other stories that day... about plans for the future, with donuts and black coffee. About nothing, but going up. And there's this]

Yellow lights glimmer like fireflies in midnight. The city is still awake, while its inhabitants are about to sleep. In the midst of fewer vehicles, walking paces and fluorescent convenient stores, there are two souls sighing their declarations of love and consummation of lust.

There are two pairs of eyes, looking at the city below and enjoying its view.

Two lips entwined, in I love you's and suppressed moans. Two pairs of hands, touching and owning one another. Two souls thrusting and celebrating a little piece of heaven - that their little bubble has created and contained.

Such is the language of admiration and affirmation; that no matter how noisy the city is at night, these two jejemons, or so-called batang-hamog, enjoy the luxury of being on top of the world, having their little solace and peace.

Sulking and Burrito

Newsflash: my SoKor trip is now cancelled, thanks to that Daegu cult activity infecting around 80 in one go. It has been more than a year since the girls booked the promo flights, more than a month to check on available hotels and rough-drafting the itinerary (especially Korean skincare shopping). We even got our visas approved, hoping that this new wave of SARS won't catch us. One of the girls almost got her visa on cancelled status, but was all a bluff — only to find out that we are cancelling the travel 48 hours before the actual flight.

I even prepared for a week-long leave for this, only to realize that the #HeySeoulSistas hashtag will not be appearing on my instagram feed. Hays, andaming tampo na, good thing I can avail this day as a leave.

So, instead of a Seoul day, today is designed to be Errands day. I am tasked to pay all outstanding bills, to recheck all my savings, and to buy groceries and medicine for Mama. After that, I deserve to have a date. You have to take me to dinner. We talked about this: cancel flight = extra moments for us. You said this can be done, "Ano ba naman yang Corona, hindi naman tayo mamamatay diyan."

Tasks ticked, sunset came and went. I text you: 

Nasaan ka na? Bakit hindi ka nagme-message?!

By nighttime, I feel resigned. It has been a day of errands sans date. You stood me up. I have a feeling that you have no reliever on your ER shift (which is most likely, news always mention the lack of medical personnel and our dismal healthcare). Heck, you never replied. It's another episode of a solo dinner. No, I am so used to eating alone, and so used to promises being kept, this is why I am sulking. Andami ko na ngang tampo, dumagdag ka pa. 

Today I learned that: I go to this specific Army Navy bistro and sulk away my clingyness by eating their Burritos. I dunno, if I keep track of all the errands day, this will be the third time. What a perfect night to revolt, actually — I go to that very place you aren't fond of, like a rebel soldier joining the resistance, eating dishes that you don't like.

Everytime I go to this place, I have assigned myself a mission. It's all straightforward, no room for rants and raves. I am drafted to order straight to the counter, taking mental notes of each and every item on the menu. You read the green sign. There's Steak, Chicken, Carnitas; there's Vegetable burrito. The more I feel the need to sulk, the more I eat their PI varieties - Adobo Flakes and Sisig baboy. PI may mean Private investigator, but for me, it was my personal trashtalk to the circumstances - Putangina. "Mam paorder po ng putangina burrito - the Adobo flakes, yes."

I position myself next to the spicy condiments - the Green Chili sauce with one month expiry, the Caracoles ageing six months, and that seemingly artificial salsa hot sauce, with an age of at least two years. Then there's salt and pepper, the typical couple go-tos when you feel the need for splashing additional taste. 

However, I'd still stick to that fresh Salsa by the counter. The same salsa that you loathe,  because of its distinct aroma. And you don't like its aftertaste. Realizing this throughout our dates, my mind blasted to that side dish, took a cupfull and let its smell reek in me. This, I believe, is my weapon, for sulking tonight. I imagine you squirming and telling me to take it away, and I will guffaw at your pathetic defeat. I should eat this with gusto, ASAP.

PI Burrito comes and I look at it: MESSY. But its colors and its variety, it kind of shades my dark mood. The cover, albeit a plain wheat, has a strong mexican aroma. Top it with Caracoles and some splash of Salsa, the mind zones out from sulking and in to munching.

I eat the whole lot in less than 10minutes - swallowing like a real soldier. Suddenly, my sulking dissipated. I don't feel mad at the world, or at the circumstance of the little reality that caused my sulking. In a span of 10-minute self-diner date, I forgot the truth that I got stood up, and I received a message to confirm it: you are extending your ER shift tonight. I go out of that bistro with a sigh and a happy tummy. After all, "Come in Hungry, Walk out Happy."

So, sulking addressed and done. I choose to understand. I walk home and turned on the TV. It is only later tonight that my mission changed. No more of the green and white interiors. No more of the status of being drafted. And no more happy tummy. Because my tummy got worried upon the President's announcement that effective immediately, the whole Luzon is now declared under Enhanced Community Quarantine (ECQ).

There will be no Sulking, there will be no Burrito rebellion. There is only a Pandemic.

Closing Books, Not Closing Doors

I used to believe that a proper goodbye should be done to every liaison we have with another. There shouldn't be ghosting, or any disappearing act, or an episode who left us hanging. It kind of hurts, that alienating feeling of not knowing how a story ends. So even though we did not work out after a year of online communication and an out of country travel, I decided to write him a closure letter. Read or not read, it gets cleared, at least on my end.

----

Hello Engineer,

I think I need to tell you this. You know I really hated ghosting, more than hurting. 

Remember the time you have ignored me from the day I met your mom? Nagsumbong ako sa isang traveler friend, seeking answers to your questionable behavior. He mentioned that there is this group chat that acts as sensates and provide support, and somehow, explanations. 

Last 8thJun, I met an online friend who was part of that support group, a chat about MBTI personalities. He's a doctor, and it's an auspicious day to watch Aladdin and to destress by drinking Gong Cha. After that came another date, and another. Last 12th, he confessed. And then two days later, I decided to commit. 

I don't know, Engineer. Sometimes life gives you such random inexplicable singularities, to which a switch had flicked. Perhaps too good to be true between this person and I, but I choose to join in his little bubble. I want to fully commit in this art of dance. 

I hope you can find yours too, and incidentally, when we see each other in future travels, we have little bittersweet smile in our eyes, realizing a possibility that never happened. Again, I am closing our books, but I am not closing our doors. Padayon, kaibigan.

Ella

Naruto Dimple

Again, this is my personnal narrative. Names are deliberately changed so that those who knew the characters will not be stalked. Him and his self-absorbed social media footprint. 

It was Day3 of the Vietnam itinerary. Desert sunrise trip cancelled because of the rain from the prior day, so we opted to visit Cu Chi tunnels. All tours are unavailable, so we embarked ourselves on a DIY trip. We used to do conversations in transit so on the bus ride, we continued in our nostalgic narratives. 

Of course, with our senses at jumpstart, we re-discussed the day's logistics, expected expenses, and re-calculation of the ETDs and ETAs. Where to eat will come at a certain point, we were not hungry yet. Then comes those wishful thinking about goals for the family. I mentioned, "As long as buhay si Mama, I soldier on". He planned to create a grander ancestral home, a big place for a reunion whenever he comes home.

Today, I wonder if he is into that goal still or he just say it to symphatize with me and my large family...?

It suddenly got shifted to the books we read (and I knew at once that he is not a reader, he was just saying the books he curiously browsed in his younger years), Game of Thrones memes (because I have little interest in doing a marathon of the whole series), and next travel plans (Dubai on November 2020, Tokyo on Olympics was also proposed).

"Si Grace andun sa Japan."

"Grace? Ex mo?"

"Oo, yung pinakahuli."

Then he goes along with their backstory, on how a third party came into equation, who's losing who, and how the new boyfriend overlapped their "sila pa" episodes. He also explained the little things that caused the breakup: lapses in video calls, zero "I love you" declarations, and the fail of the routinary Hello and Goodnight's. He then stated about being too noisy in facebook, about relationshits being very glaring in social media.

"Kaya ba ganyan ka-self-absorbed ang Facebook and Instagram mo?"

"Oo. ang hirap bumalik sa nakaraan at isa-isa mo syang binubura. Kamukha nun si Mikee Cojuangco, alam mo ba yun? Dalawa dimples sa labi."

The actress got me triggered. I was that Mikee Cojuangco!!! I remembered my parents saying those because of the similarity with my smile.

"Tumingin ka saken nang maayos! Dalawa rin ang dimple ko, may naruto dimple pa nga ako oh! Biloy lang yan! Alam mo, ang kailangan mo ay hindi [Move on], kundi [Move forward]! Ang kailangan mo ay ang taong makakatanggap ng past mo na yan."

I was a that point that I wanted to hit him with this punchline "Kasi ako, tanggap kita!" 

But I can't.

I just looked out at the window, a boiling passion dissipated. Clouds from this little black kettle meddled with thin air. I just stared at this motorcycle city called Ho Chi Minh, hoping he felt what I wanted to say. 

All I sensed was silence.

Perhaps, that's how it should all end: with silence.

#TheEngineer: Yatto, Ai Mashita!

Describe your first date:

We ate breakfast at 1:30 AM with my mom as the third wheel.

These are all personal recollections so please bear with me as I write down the things that has happened in this UK Spring Bank Holiday.

When he suggested that we can meet before he goes to his license renewal, I took the chance. We were both in Batangas and I don't have extra leaves. I was excited with the pasalubongs and to see him.

Monday morning, he called me saying he's on his way... Mama stopped in her steps and realized, 

"Anak, naiihi ako, ninenerbyos ako." 

He called again saying he's a few blocks away, and when I saw his car, I was calm. It was like meeting an old friend you have never met after a long while.

I was sleepy and hungry. Hunger won at the moment he offered a place to eat. Too shy to ask and tell the stories of the weekend, Mama became the conversation starter. She and the Engineer walked down the memory lane of the City, of how the roads were used to be, how was his flight home, his college years, and some tidbits of the family life. Also, they have the region as the common ground: the Ala-eh-kabayan-bias. 

I was the dayo, so I listened to their convos, nuances of the pronunciation included.

Tapsilog, Longsilog and Miki-bihon are our breakfast. The bihon is Mama's order, to which she said to us, "I think finally, we learn to share a meal." Be it an elder blessing or not, I expressed my grace outloud thanking the food, the souvenirs and the gift of company. I was grateful that he was with us, ready to help. 

We talked of his plans for the day, as Mama talked of hers. Then he opened up about the plans of our trip and made disclosures to Mama of what has happened that made the change. #SaysaysaSaigon

The Bihon was shared and half of it was spared, placed as a takeaway and we soldiered on. He offered the ride to Balagtas Terminal and check if there are buses available. When cousin Cora says that there are no buses and the crowd keeps on increasing, I became frantic and said that the crowd would take at least 4 buses to subside. He then offered another ride to Lipa Grand Terminal, before he goes on his way to LTO. After all, we still have time he said. 

Most of the moments on the road are filled with my sleepiness, FM music, and Mama telling family anecdotes, including my backpacking escapades. 

Other kotse kronicles include:

1. Gardening, to which he randomly asked: How would one know a fertile soil?

2. Mindoro itinerary, him gasping: 11, andami!

AND

3. Addtl Bus logistics 

Engineer: You can take a Jeep from Lipa to Calamba if all else fails

Ella: Goodie, UPLB as the last stop. Mama we can actually call for help from (ex-turned-friend)

Mama: Naku anak, hindi pinangangalandakan ang dating suki sa bagong suki *Talking about an ex to a potential is Taboo* 

He whispered, "I kept wondering at the analogy of the context." and I whispered back "You're the Batangueño and I am the reader, we both exactly know what she's saying." and I said "Yes, mama. I'm sorry."

When we saw the Lipa Terminal and I was a bit sad that we are ending our short meeting, I said my thanks and my goodbyes. It was unceremonial, I think? No hugs, no PDAs. I was that old friend that said "Be careful and see you!" as I made my exit from the shotgun role.

How the morning sun warms up your skin, feeling the gentle breeze as you are about to start the morning jog -- that's how I felt about meeting him after a year of long chats with passive replies, of days filled with one answered call in the course of a year. 

I prayed to God of grace and of feeling auspicious on the day we met again. 

The Paravan that We Loved

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“...the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again.

That is their mystery and their magic.”

If there is one thing that got me engaged in the verbosity of Roy, it is how she elicit the context thru the little things; and the accumulation of such creates a big narrative as grandiose as the South India, and as huge as the backstories of the countries Caste system. Such histories gives me an avenue of introspection of how the people behaved in such a way throughout the story.

The God of Small Things is about the story of fraternal twins, Estha and Rahel, on how they were able to see each other 23 years later after that sudden change in their lives. Part family saga and part social commentary, the book does not only dwell with these two; but also to the lives of their mom, their Chacko, their Baby and Mamachi and Papachi, Sophie... and the Paravan whom they deeply loved.

What I loved in their story is how the context was built up. One clear example of this is the scene (view spoiler)[where the Plymouth was in the middle of a protest, and Rahel saw Velutha (hide spoiler)]. In that page alone, you have seen the collective sentiments of Kerala at the time, their religion and beliefs, their passion, and their desire to establish change. This vivid imagery is comparable to the Zengakuren books -- books that tackle 1969 Ideologies -- like Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and like Haruki Murakami's Norwegian wood.

What the book made challenging though is the build-up on the first few pages. Perhaps this was because of the intention to give us a context of the environment we are about to immerse to. Through its slow pace, we engage our senses; so authentic, that we can almost smell the scent of Ayamemnen, hear the Malayalam language, and see the depth of the river near the Paradise Pickles.

In here you don't discover untold stories; rather, you have encountered them before. Just the same, such a story was told magically that you want to hear it again.


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Silver Lining

The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I cannot deny it. After all those long episodes of me hating Patrick... I shed a tear as I closed this playbook of his.

Why Silver Linings? And why Playbook?

The metaphor of this book is the resolve of the protagonist Pat Peoples in addressing the unresolved issue that currently lingered in his life. Told in a scratch-slash-composition-slash-playwright-slash-reflections-in-a-first-person-perspective, Pat writes his "situations" from the last day in the bad place, and his daily situations as he deal with moving back with his mum and dad, looking for more ways to be fit, being in-sync with understanding the essence of reading classic and contemporary fiction, and his ultimate goal of being with his wife again. After all, every person has this one shot at the silver lining.

I, for one who is brutally frank and blunt to tell this: (you may rant but this is still my review) I don't fully comprehend the rationale of Pat's way of thinking, somehow made me appreciate where Pat's way of thinking coming from. He has suffered enough out of loving too much, and his search for his way home is very passionate. I admire him for that because I believe men (like him) who are very passionate in doing things and putting all efforts to make something happen is getting fewer and fewer as the day goes by.

It may not have the same picture of way home he was expecting, but he has found a solace as the book ends. It gives a not-very-mushy feel like any romantic-comedy-flicks, but after all his effort to losing lots of pounds, getting back in touch with his interest in football, his perseverance to understand the author's perspective in The Bell Jar, and practicing difficult dance steps... we see that he has achieved the feeling that he is needed, just like how much he needed someone to be with.

I watched the movie first because of the actors Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper (with the black garbage bag he kept on wearing which I don't really get at first), but I was glad that the movie director gave a different interpretation from the book. I am glad that both the book and the movie are wonderful, however different their takes in Pat's case are.


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Three Men, One Woman: One Nation, Three Stories

It has been a while since I read Ermita by F. Sionil Jose. When a bookish friend demanded a review for this goodread, I was pressured at two situations: (1) How can I convince my co-members from the TFG to vote this as the book-of-the-month for Buwan ng Wika thematic read; and (2) How can I convince my other co-members from the PRPB to read the same.

Yes, I am a member of two book clubs. If this is compared to Ermi Rojo, she is a product of two nationalities.

A daughter of a Japanese soldier who raped a Filipina socialite, she used her situation of being an outcast  – from a student of an elite school to being a prostitute in Camarin; for using this as her weapon to have revenge on men, and for being used as a byproduct of a rotten society.

For a rotten society is composed of bleak political situation, fake economic progress, and false promises sworn to men.

One of the book buddies say in our sessions that if other works of F. Sionil Jose (i.e. Poon) is the novel for the patriotic spirit, Ermita: A Filipino Novel is the book for the heart. And it is. It doesn’t only limit to the life of Ermi as a Filipino and as a prostitute, but also how she deals with life as a woman – and so her interactions with men, particularly the loves of her life.

I cannot discuss the patriotic side of the novel for the story spanned from the Japanese occupation to the Marcos’ times. What I can share are her episodes with three men – with Mac, with Rolando Cruz, and with John Collier.

For me, Interactions with Mac is the most vulnerable since this is the first man she interacted with. Mac is the son of those housekeepers in the Rojo household, ergo, became her childhood friend. Grew in hardship, he envied Ermi for having the opportunity to study in an elite school, while he has to toil just to be able to study and graduate and help his own family. Mac fell in love with Ermi during teenage years. But he feels entrapped by fate – knowing that Ermi is a prostitute, and motivated by hate and revenge. Adding personal ego into the equation, Mac drifted away, and said his goodbyes, taking the hard road of earning success in the other side of the world.

(Side note: an incomplete review, since I have to read the novel again to fully note the other two male characters.)

Sakaling Hindi Makarating: Entry 2

Some side-notes: I wish to have lots of entries being sent to different friends, rather than concentrating on one. That way, you get a variety of letters in a specific moment in time. If you want one, I can send you. Kindly message me your address, together with your ZIP code. 

---

Dear Joseph, 

Kapag naiisip ko na palagi kang busy, naiisip ko ang tambak mong labahin; ang mga uniform na hindi pa napa-plantsa, at ang pagkain mong hindi sapat kasi hindi mo hilig ang gulay (or ako lang ang may akala nito?)

Sana palagi kang maayos, pakatandaan na ang pera naibabalik, pero ang oras, hindi. Kapag may sakit ang isang tao, parang hinihigop nito ang oras mo na dapat ginagamit sa ibang bagay - tulad ng paglalaba. 

Worried ako. O siguro, medyo guilty. 

Kasi naiisip ko kanina sa bus kung deserving ba sa tulad ko ang isang linggong bakasyon, or baka... 

Tumatakas ako sa bagwis ng buhay...?

At kung busy ka palagi at nauubusan ng pagkakataon para sa isang mahabang kwentuhan, paano na ang kakarampot na oras para pagsaluhan?

How do you build connections from fragmented conversations, Joseph? Do we write long letters like this one? Sa akin, okay lang. Mahilig talaga ako magsulat! Ikaw kaya, hilig mo ba ang pagsusulat? Or baka, tulad ng Messenger memas mo -- pure one-line endnotes lang? 

It's actually a wonder how do you make time to connect. Siguro kailangan nasa sa iyo na mismo ang hugot ng pasensya at disiplina. Sana maisama mo ako sa listahan. Na bigyan ng mahabang pasensya sa mga pinagsasabi ko rito.

Mag-iingat ka palagi, pogi. Aasahan ko na sumama ka sa amin sa Vietnam nina Ric & Michael. Ay siya, balik labahan na! Hehe.

See you, 

Ella

(wrote in a bunk bed, Mori Hostel, Singapore)

Sakaling Hindi Makarating: Entry 1

I started the entry only after sending this post from Singapore! It's actually a gift from a barista friend who just came from Kuala Lumpur for holiday, but the photo's too pretty not to share halfway across the globe.

Speaking of, I forgot the message I put there, but I remember that there is a hashtag in the postcard:

#Diga

OH MY GOSH. Hahahahaha