Existential Crisis

More Than This by Patrick Ness
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Maybe if I read this in my younger years, I may have had appreciated the theme more. It has an existential philosophical question from a 17-year-old that most teenagers can definitely relate. But in the pacing of the reading experience, I find it challenging that all becomes so fast once you get past the Part One.

This reading experience only took two days tops, but the pause was too long to mention, since the first ten chapters gave me an absolute boredom, I even ventured into leveling up both in Mobile Legends and Ragnarok M, and downloading Xbox games via Steam.

This is not your regular young adult fiction, I give you that. But this is better to be read by teenagers, not by an adult tita who prefers slow proses of the mundane.

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A Year Later

"Why not we meet each other? Just say hi and be awkward together?"

That was my proposal when we first saw each other. We used to be part of a group chat that talked about MBTI personality types. He's a shy INFJ (MD) and I am a bubbly ENTP (CPA). 

I was attending a birthday party when he said he's going to watch Aladdin to de-stress (he plans to go alone after a toxic incident). When I said I want to watch a Disney film too, albeit I'll be coming from Tagaytay, he was a bit hesitant. But when I counter-proposed that I'll be arriving for dinner at 7, he suddenly replied "OMW".

I came on time; he was there earlier than expected. He had that vantage point when I was lost in Food Court, with my imperfect eyes and confused mind, braving the cacophony of the crowd. He was behind me by that time, little did I know that he was actually watching me from afar. 

We said our Hi's, and then we took a Ramen Nagi for dinner. We both aren't fond of Chinese, something that made us click. We talked of work, but not the usual résumé-like; He chronicled his unusual gig in Project Management, while I contributed an anecdote about refining a Mop's patent and its financial projections.  Ramen was good, but we ate them quick. Both of us are actually afraid to be late for the premier. Both of us loved Disney and music; theatres and grandiose of sounds with its production. I remember the Bollywood vibe of Aladdin, and I still remember that loud thump at the beginning of the movement that jolted us both. Pareho kaming magugulatin. 

But before entering the movie house, he steered me away from the queue and asked for something else, "My moral compass wants us to drink something". He was craving for a milk tea. He saw a Gong Cha stand near the Director's Club and he insisted to treat me on a sweet drink. We ordered the best sellers and mentioned his name. The tea came, but not on his name. It was "for Grace!"

No one was on that queue. There was no queue at all. We were both weirded and both laughed wondering where did the name came from, when I clearly said "Kris". 

Kristofer, with a K. 

It has been a year since that first date. And a lot of things happened in the past twelve months (including Covid-19 and our opposing socio-political views), but we have decided to stick together through thick and thin. Pandemic or no epidemic. We choose to understand our differences and we choose to be kind with ourselves, and with each other. He'll be definitely surprised when he reads this long prose, but this is how I express my romance.

I love you bb.

Authentically Play Pretend

Four weeks have passed with no clear-cut news returning to our normal lifestyle, whether it is about going to the office, or malls for grocery shopping. Summer is here and it is getting hotter. As an extrovert, I have tried almost everything — housekeeping, rendering additional WFH hours, being the grocer for the family, reading the books I bought from the last Big Bad Wolf sale... and my ultimate escape, talking to people online.

At day 32 of the Enhanced Community Quarantine, I saw a tweet that "TIL that there is a Facebook group about being an ant, so why not engage in being one?" This may be her detox route: joining in Facebook groups. Being in a tribe and play pretend. Because after all the little realities in the outside world, I am still antsy and anxious about the current social climate. That at this point, we are stuck in the complete standstill. No stable aid, no mass testing.

In the Ant Colony, there is No Bureaucracy. Not even a Democratic realm. Upon entry, you will be given an ID (AntElla-4651) via filling up a Facebook comment, then you can go and select your role if you are a soldier or a worker ant. And, you will S E R V E the Queen with no further questions. Early posts contain candies to lift, juices to drink and carry to the Hill, and help others when they are lost. You are not allowed to speak with a complete sentence, only key words. Some action words being invoked in the commentaries are the following: 

LIFT

CARRY

ASSIST

SLURP

CHAIN

BITE

I shared it with a group of new-found-friends who are also into memes and definitely bored in the ECQ, and instead of tiring ourselves monitoring the daily news and President's sessions. We relax our critical mindset and go with the flow of being an ant - serving the unquestionable Queen. We never knew who is the real Queen, or if there was an uprising; not even a log of a massive dissent. We just engaged with the flow, keeping the ant line intact. Escaping the critical thinking and acting as pawns. 

I did not sustain the group in the next five days. 

When I saw other Facebook friends and common connections going into the group, I left it, feeling too normie with the bandwagon. I wish to be excluded in that tribe, disassociating and cleansing myself of a collective narrative. Also, what is the end-all if I just keep saying L I F T or keep forming a C H A I N when you see your outside world in a suspended chaos? Whether I lift or not, the DSWD is still insufficient with their aids. PNP is still selective with their suspects, and NBI is still favoring the purveyor of fake news. 

It is time to level up and make it local, mirroring the online engagement with the Outside World. After all, there was one group page when I was yeeted because of a seemingly snarky comment: 

Kung ikaw ay DDS, I have nothing to say to you.

What if I was the President? I can propose laws, or solutions, even create a poll to check the real pulse of the Netizen while we are stuck in our homes, and wait for directions. 

And so I came upon this page where I pretend to be the head of the Republic: What if I am Duterte?

Immersion started in the first 24 hours, reading and ingesting the current memes and statuses, getting acclimatized and being on standby, checking if there is any space to express dissent, or at least suggest solutions. Or even vent my personal frustrations. I may live a middle-class home, but I feel accountable to give a voice to those who are unable to air out their cry for help. 

Sadly, there was none. 

What I saw are memes about E-numan sessions, or another round of Delawan vs DDS Dichotomies. Normie trends of Buttercup and Directed by Robert Weide videos are rampant. I felt disgusted at the Polls of "Who you gonna vote in the upcoming 2022 elections?" like the fate of the Philippines is in the hands of the heart and angry reacts. It's another pulse check of who's Delawan and who's DDS. If you become less critical and supporting of the President's decision, you are a red DDS. If you are critical with the refinement of explicating the social climate, you are automatically red-tagged, a notch higher than Big D E L A W A N energy. There is no in-between, not even a third panel of merely thinking Filipinos, socially aware and capable of change. My first 48 hours was an antithesis: I was acting not as a President; I was acting as Duterte.

At hour 72, a plot twist was uncovered: an underground mass party for those blind loyalists for the current regime. If a user has an online footprint of actively supporting President Duterte and reacted on the poll, the other users engage in reporting and blocking the profile, making sure that we are cleaning DDS trolls and sweeping them clean. You see a blind supporter, you report. In addition to commenting critically via twitter and engaging in other online discussions, being the online sweeper made me feel like a contributor in making the online world a better place.

If this is the "New Normal", I definitely dig this gig. 

I survived the next two weeks of being in the underground, attending mass reporting parties and reporting false accounts. Sadly, with the current profile picture wearing yellow, I was unable to infiltrate a DDS group and be an Intel; I was not suit to be an undercover. But hey, gone are the days of sheer boredom. Eyes wide open, mind fully awake: I am your social-justice-memer. I felt the drive pulsating, I was inspired. I cannot believe that the mere clicks and few minutes of reporting and blocking users will be much helpful. And all these were done in the comfort of my home. When there is another cult of mass reporting party, I ride it like a wave, clicking and checking profiles, reporting as hate speech, sometimes spam, and never forgetting the block option. I was empowered in few clicks; I was enamored with the truth that I am contributing to a little change. I challenge the standstill of chaos from the outside world, by shaking the world within.

But then, there was a sudden Halt.

"Ayoko na po mag-stay sa page na ito pagkat hindi ko na alam ang totoo."

A random Facebook user, posting a candid status update received a backlash for being sincere and being self-aware. Instead of respecting the decision, a noise ensued. Instead of giving support, it was negatively criticized. He was done, he doesn't want to be in a never-ending battle of memes, blind loyalist commentaries and underground spying. He had enough. But what he did to me personally was a jolt, waking me up and take a look again from the outside. The world was still chaotic yet suspended. Still lacking aid, short with concrete updates. No legitimate mass testing. 

I left the group quietly that night, not making any noise. No goodbye notes to another comrade who joined the mass reporting party. No tweets, no dissent. 

There were nights of introspection, when the dark comes and throws you a flavorful plethora of anxieties. Sometimes I don't want to be critical anymore, sometimes I don't want to care. Sometimes, I just want to be mute, merely checking or monitoring the world, watching it implode. I just want to be a kamote, really. 

So it is. 

When an online friend said that we can create a world where we can be only be a vegetable and be a peace, I was in. This time, I created such world.

It sucked. Haha! What do you expect? Talking vegetables?! Heck, we aren't even Vegans in the first place. I created the group for the sake of friendship and showing support by creating fun content. But how can you create content in an inanimate being? They don't show dissent, the plants are not even critical or compassionate. There were just there - existing. 

No goal. No end.

Suspended and at standstill. 

Anxiety was brewing again. 

Back to the drawing board. Back to zero. Back to the times when I die of sheer boredom, with lots of time in my hands brought about by a week-long leave. How can I help by showing fun and compassion, and actually, with lesser negativity brought about by the chaos of the outside world? I am really tired of being too critical, of listening to the news and Presidential announcements. I am tired of this Pandemic ruining my daily life, merely getting by.

Then one random Saturday, we saw a post in a local group page containing constitution and its provisions for tribunals and by-laws. It was the same group page who yeeted me! Muted for my candid reaction, just because I expressed my dissent. In that realm where members should be "Empath" and often misunderstood, they should be the bigger person who can understand the context. And yet, they made a mini-government out of it. Was the page fun after that? I cannot answer, I was blocked two days ago. 

Which is why when someone proposed a jump-start of spreading care and fun in this stagnant daily life of Enhanced Community Quarantine, I was up for it. I joined in the promotions of spreading an overwhelming care.

It was a Saturday, most of the people are in rest. It was nearing Prime time, that is why more are focused in their handheld. A massive invite was begun. Not only in the local setting, but also in abroad. With lots of people staying home and investing in the social media, the tags and invites were rampant. Make a comment witty and do the plug, easy peasy. Membership count was rad, 88 members in the first hour, then at Monday it exceeded the 420 mark. 

As I am typing this, the membership goes to 867 and counting!

A huge play of pretend for me, I was not an INFJ. I was an Ne-dom. "The Great Debater". ENTP. Known for "possessing a wikipedia-like of ideas, critical thinking and charismatically empathic". But when you think about it, this psuedo-science of knowing one's MBTI type is not meant to put oneself in a box, but to actually learn the cognitive function stacking and to understand people. In that way, you equip yourself on how to authentically put the care. 

One hurdle we have faced when building this little realm was convincing the true INFJs to join the group. After all, why do they have to pretend? What if they get bullied with their weaknesses? But I digress, the group page is to actually say what if EVERYONE was one? Will we make the world a better place? Or will it burst out due to the lack of authenticity? Are we simply watching the world burn? This simulation was answered by a paradox:

Just using INFJ logic here, so pardon me. If this group was made to "Bully INFJs", How could we bully them if we are "pretending to be INFJ"? Wouldn't a bully go to where the INFJ's were already instead of making a page where "everyone pretends to be an INFJ" in hopes they will join so they can be bullied?

So no, we are not aiming to bully people. We are actually exposing the negative qualities and making everyone aware of themselves. After all, the first step to self-care is to be self-aware. Perhaps most of the non-INFJs are playing pretend at this point still, but sometimes the satire crosses over as truth, and albeit the care may trigger the skeptic, we learn to critic which is healthy and the unhealthy; filling ourselves with an overwhelming acceptance, with an authentic amount of care. My stay-home lifestyle was a little lighter, a little happier.

Is the Philippines still at standstill? I am not 100% sure, all I know is that there are movements in bits and pieces; awareness on the outside world is getting higher. Help is somehow on the way, testing to the OFWs is mobilized. Information dissemination is ongoing. The President, even though it is not enough, starts to finally care.

Or maybe, the outside world plays pretend.

「유리화」 A Glass Picture

The Glass Hotel by Emily St. John Mandel

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


In some of the book reviews that I have read, Emily Mandel discourages reading the award-winner Station Eleven in the middle of Pandemic, as it may cause an anxiety. However, she wrote it as if she envisions this new reality, and the counterlife - a what if - in case Covid-19 Pandemic goes as huge as the Georgia Flu, ending the current civilization?

The same counterlife is reflected in this new work, The Glass Hotel, where characters traverse not only in one realm, but also project in the other. Miranda of Neptune Logistics, an administrative assistant that drew the comic book Station Eleven, reprises her role in The Glass Hotel, but in another reality - she is now an executive of the same shipping line, intending to investigate the disappearance of Edna St. Vincent Millay. The latter, being the main character who works at Hotel Caiette disappeared from one set of reality to the next, and on to the next.

Characters arriving and leaving and suddenly appearing kept me amused and frightened. In my mind when I read along was: Why do some people leave so easily? Is there no anchor in them that keeps them grounded? I am seeing characters doing this part of their life and then doing a polar opposite in the next, like Leon Prevant who was once an executive turned vagabond, living the bohemian life traversing from one state to the next. Perhaps this reflects the current trend of us - that we are merely floating in this plane, or time has tick-tocked slowly, not aware of what day it is. This feeling of slowness is not causing boredom, but intrigue.

The novel has a 30-year timeline, but the highlight was in The Office Chorus to which a Polar paragraph has been set:

We had crossed a line, that much was obvious, but it was difficult to say later exactly where that line had been. Or perhaps we'd all had different lines, or crossed the same line at different times.

It was the Financial Crash of 2008, where a Ponzi scheme was busted by the FBI. Jonathan Altaikis is a rip-off of Bernard L. Madoff - a market maker, who was arrested for Investment advisor Fraud. (view spoiler)[What I knew of 2008 Financial Crisis as a student studying for the Accountancy board exam was the Lehman Brother Scandal and the burst of the Real Estate bubble, plus the new rules relating to the Financial Reporting of Derivatives - aka IFRS 39 (hide spoiler)] I must warn you, although the book is about Financial Crisis and its consequences, this was not the beginning of the tale or the end of it. You'll realize when you read this in one sitting.

There are pieces of stained glass in the novel, some laid out in the first chapter, in disjointed thoughts of Vincent. If Station Eleven is a mosaic, The Glass Hotel is a kaleidoscope, giving you flashes of imagery when you see a striking quote, or an alluring statement. In addition to the Polar paragraph, I was stricken by this:

Why don't you swallow broken glass?

can also be paraphrased as

Why don't you die?

That cursed statement is seen early on in he book, but was given full picture near the end. Emily Mandel wanted you to not only to see the colors, but to actually focus of them. However, too much focus make you dizzy, and make you ask if you are still there - or if you have traversed to another plane - a counterlife?

Perhaps when you are done reading, you'll feel off, and ask yourself what today is, because you will never realize at glance that you are still in your corner: staying home in the summer heat, battling this Pandemic. Oh, if you can only wish for a counterlife.



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Paglipat

Sunog. Tupok. Bumberong walang pakinabang.

Abo, yun na lang ang aking naabutan. 

Wala na ngang ayuda, wala na ring tahanan?

"Saan na tayo pupunta? Sa lansangan na naman?"

"Kailangan kong mamasada, Tatang! Wala tayong ibang aasahan!"

Ito ang bahay na biktima ng pagkakaton

Sa biglaang under construction

"Tatayuan raw ito ng condo?"

"Ha? Biglaan naman?"

"Walang notice? Sino bang may-ari?"

"Ngayon talaga?! Quarantine na nga!"

Hala, ang iniisip sari-sari. 

ECQ na nga, dumagdag pa ito

Kung kailan ang kailangan ay tulong?

Habang ang mundo sa labas ay magulo

Ang munting bula ko'y unti-unting naglalaho

Drinkable Less

Less by Andrew Sean Greer
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Endearing.

I read this during the country's Enhanced Community Quarantine (ECQ), looking for a work that can take me places. After reading the blurb that the character is embarking on a journey, I thought of joining him, as I go through the pages. Well, the book takes a lot of getting used to. There are times that I fell asleep (and being caught by my mother leaving my kindle open). I am not sure if the Pandemic is behind the loss of focus, but I got bored in some chapters.

After all, I am not good in reading satires.

Less is your lukewarm black coffee. Drinkable, but not as exciting as a steaming hot drink. Perhaps the author made it that way. Maybe it is his way of communicating the sentiments of entering middle age, of being torn, and of being too gay to be added in the Gay Canon.

I feel for Less sometimes, especially his desire to tackle unfamiliarity in his travels (or getting out of the usual tourist spots). He seeks newness in the mediocrity. He looks for a difference in a realm of indifference. He is searching for that lost time, and he is trying to make himself whole, by writing a new novel.

And he did. And with that, he deserves my hug. What a Cinnammon boi, he is. He deserves love.


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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.