Party in the House

The little RockStar Diva turned one year four days ago. She’s my little niece Kirsten Marie also known as KIM. But her party was held last Sunday in our place. It was the very first time that a kiddie birthday party of that magnitude was held in our house.

Kim was so blessed to have parents who would go out of their way to solicit from friends or relatives anything that would help them for the preparation of the party. Money came from baby KIM’s godparents, from friends of her parents and even from her uncles and aunts. For my part, I provided the very Filipino videoke machine.

Though a child as young as 1 year old would never truly appreciate, much more remember anything that happened during that day, I think there’s a certain level of fulfillment and satisfaction that was generated from hosting such a party. In this case, Kim’s parents were so happy that the party was very successful. That certain feeling of fulfillment may not come for me.

A lot of kids came to the party. Some were Kim’s neighbors and others came from houses near our block. They came after 3 o’clock, just in time after the polymer play sets were installed and the clown has already prepared for the program.

Some important physical elements of the party:

The Birthday Cake – A double-layered chocolate cake with icing of white and pink. Refer to the picture of the cake and identify all the figurines of certain fairy tale characters. The cake was ordered from nearby bakeshop and it arrived a little late though.

The Portable Kiddie Playground – To have a kiddie party, it’s a brilliant idea to have these colorful playthings installed so that kids would get to feel the party. Those kids-at-heart had their pictures taken too.

  

  

Food – My mom was tasked to prepare spaghetti for the party. Her Filipino-style pasta was well liked by the kids who came for the party. ‘Flavor of the road’ avocado ice cream, hotdogs and mallows on sticks were also prepared.

The Clown and the Kiddie Games – Kim’s parents hired a party outfit to provide entertainment and games to the party. Part of the package were the balloons of various shapes and sizes, the tarps bearing the party theme which were placed behind the cake and another at the front gate. The jester was in control both the games and the program.

  

The Kiddos – A lot of kids came to the party. Some were Kim’s neighbors and others came from houses near our block. They came after 3 o’clock, just in time after the polymer play sets were installed and the clown has already prepared for the program.

Minutes before 6pm, the children’s party ended. The kids went home with their parents and guardians. Each carrying balloons and a box full of goodies. The kids had a wonderful time.  It was the ‘kids-at-heart’s turn to celebrate Baby Kim’s birthday. Officemates and friends of Kim’s parents came.

At 6 pm, the videoke sessions started. But it was a good thing though that no one dared to press the number for the “My WAY” song because our neighbors would have thrown stones at us or somebody’s life may be cut short. Guests managed to reach only up to a Bon Jovi classic.

I invited some friends to come over but then they all begged off because it was a short notice invitation and that they have other set engagement. My dad did not even invite anyone from his office because he thought that it was not his party and also because he said he did not contribute anything for the occasion. Friends of my sisters Ken and Ellen were also invited but then they could not come because the event fell on a Sunday and there will be classes and work the following day.

Neighbors also came and celebrated with us. One of the highlights of the party was when mom approached me and told me something that I thought was pretty disturbing. Mom was somehow excited and eager to tell me something about what our neighbors told her.

She said one of our neighbors wanted to pair their daughter with me. This particular neighbor is a nurse married to a seaman and they have 4 kids. Her eldest daughter has recently converted to another religion upon the influence of the boyfriend. The neighbor wanted to split the two up. She told mom that if only they would be given the opportunity to choose a man for their daughter, they wanted to pick someone who’s stable and mature. She specifically told mom that she wanted me for a son-in-law.

Mom quickly told me of another neighbor who had 2 daughters working in the United States as nurses. One is already married and the other’s still single and available. The mother has been looking for someone to be paired with her daughter because the latter was not interested to be matched with a foreigner or a Filipino gold-digger. The daughter was also afraid of picking a man who would marry her not because of love but because of the prospect of migrating to the so-called land of opportunities.

Mom knew about this because we shared the same laundrywoman with this neighbor. And it was Ugly Letty, the labandera who squeaked about the vacancy for the position of a husband to a neighbor’s daughter. Well, mom’s ears were enlarged when she heard from Ugly Letty that our neighbor wanted a single and available engineer for a son-in-law. It was Ugly Letty who gave recommended me to the neighbor.

These revelations made my mom grin from ear to ear. I was a bit amused by what mom told me. Seemed to me that mom was holding to the thought that I’m straight and that I still have plans to get married. I just laughed everything off.      

A Day of Death, Life, Departure and Reunion

About a week ago, I was able to course myself through a series of contrast. I witnessed and experienced a pair of opposing elements last Sunday.

A Celebration of Death

At the crematorium in Benevola Memorial Park, a few hundred meters from my place, the remains of my classmate was burned and turned to ashes. The final rites were administered in the presence of family and friends. People came in white and black. The mass was scheduled at 10 am. The priest was already at the crematorium by the time I got there.  My dead classmate was not yet around.

Several schoolmates and friends had already arrived, minutes before the convoy of vehicles reached the site. I saw the white casket again. It was placed near the conveyor that would take it to the incinerator. The makeshift altar was placed in front of the coffin. Immediate family members sat near the altar while the rest of the people sat outside but under a tent that was prepared several hours before.

For an hour, everyone said their prayers. Some were coupled with tears of wretchedness and grief. The Story of the Good Samaritan was the Gospel for the day. How apt for somebody who was allegedly ‘abducted, robbed and killed.” The man’s life was taken away from him. Not one good ‘Samaritan’ came to rescue him. Help came rather too late.

A necrological service followed after the Holy Eucharist. His batch mates gathered at one side of the building while the rest of the people were invited to see him for the very last time. At the crematorium, members of his family gathered around him. All of them wore tailored whites. All of them wore eye shades. Some of them broke down in tears. The mother couldn’t bear to see the son go and she passed out in front of the coffin.

Everyone felt sad for what happened to him. I felt sad for the family. It may be hard to accept the way he died. Death being the only certain thing in this world but it came to my classmate so soon. An announcement was made, urging everyone to stay for a few hours more. Cremation would take 4-5 hours. His ashes would be brought back to their house.

Eulogies were already scheduled to be delivered after the packed lunches were served. I said my personal prayers to him. And I wished him well, wherever he may be. While he was slowly being carried the incinerator, I said my goodbyes to my classmates and friends I went home in a hurry.

Festivity of Life

Dad has turned 54 last Sunday. I greeted him at the strike of midnight at the kitchen while he was searching through the cupboard for something to eat. He found a bunch of oversized bananas and pulled out one unit. While he was peeling it I jokingly asked him how it feels to be a senior citizen. He threw the peeling towards my face and smirked saying that he’s not yet eligible for discounts in bus fares or in pharmacies. He still has several years to achieve dual citizenship. By dual he meant that he’s a Filipino and at the same time a senior citizen.

I made sure that I greeted him on his birthday because a few years back, I forgot to call or text him on his birthday. I remember now that it his 52^nd birthday that I failed to contact him. Parents often become sensitive when they reach the age of 50. Parents would say that it is very important that their children must remember the days in the calendar that are special to them. Birthdays, anniversaries, father’s day and mother’s day are but a few of those events that we, the children, should remember.

In my dad’s case in 2005, I was so pre-occupied with work. I was lost in thought on my job because that time, a freak accident happened in the production line. A reactor was leaking midway in the process and being the head of manufacturing, I was stuck in the process area to spearhead the corrective measures and contingency plan of aborting the said reaction.  I completely forgot that it was July 15.

It was already 7pm when I left the plant. I knew that it was payday so I dropped by an ATM machine and waited in queue. There were several people from the export processing zone who were waiting as well. I thought about the accident in the plant and I was trying to analyze why it happened. Then my phone rang. Dad was on the line. He said “Hey, it’s less than 5 hours before my birthday ends. Don’t you want to greet me on my birthday?”

My jaw dropped to the ground and I covered my open mouth when I realized what I haven’t done. I was silent for a while and then I gathered myself and greeted my dad. I knew that he was hurt. I never forget to greet him. Not until that time and so I beg for forgiveness.

Dad was cool with it though. He said accepted my apologies and that his hands are open to accept donations in cash or in kind. Well I was forgiven when I sent him money for shopping. I finally realized that it’s expensive to forget a birthday of a beloved someone.

But last Sunday, we celebrated his birthday at lunchtime, with the dining table filled with lechon, pancit, inihaw na isda and dinugu-an. Dad was all smiles when everyone remembered to greet him on his birthday. The little RockStar Diva provided entertainment. My sister Ken sent her greetings. Surprisingly, the prodigal daughter called up to greet him.

Fears of Departure

Just when the sun had finally set, I left home for the airport. I’ll be away from home for about a week to attend the mid-year conference. I had already packed my things the previous night. Barely an hour before my scheduled flight and with the boarding pass on hand, I waited for my officemate at the pre-departure area.

I remembered my conversation with my batch mates while we were waiting for the necro services to start. We talked about how tight our schedules have become because of work, family and responsibilities. One batch mate asked me if I was still living with my parents. I said yes.

After 6 years of being independent, I finally realize the advantage of staying within the confines and comforts of home. I told them that with this new job and assignment, I have to be practical and prudent. My brother and sister will soon be flying out of the country for some nursing jobs in the states so I will have to stay with my folks and take care of them.

I don’t see my parents as a burden to me. Our house had become so big because the residents have become fewer and fewer each time. I could feel the emptiness starting to fill in the void of the bungalow. I know that somebody must have to volunteer to stay with my folks and I realized that the most qualified person to that is me.

My other batch mate told me that he prefers to remain in his parents’ house because he could not bear to see himself to live alone. He’s afraid of coming home to an empty house. He feared loneliness.  He said he didn’t mind living in a house that extends to the family of his brothers or his grandparents.

Another batch mate had a similar thought about the advantages of living with their parents. As long as there is steady inflow of income, there wouldn’t be any friction or problem if she stays within the loving arms of her mom and dad.

The Reunion

The plane touched down ahead of time at the Centennial Terminal 2. Bro Bear was already waiting at a convenience store near the hotel that I was going to be billeted. My officemate and I were able to move out of the airport at 9.30pm.

We got a cab and proceeded to the hotel. I haven’t seen him for a while. My Bro Bear of more than 10 years. And I was glad that I got several chances to fly to Manila for some work-related activities. I am glad because I get to spend it with him. Nights in Manila would be lonely without him. My hotel bed will be empty without him by my side.

I always hope that he’ll be there, in almost all of the time that I’ll be in Manila. From my room at BSA Towers, I went down 10 floors and rushed out of the hotel on to the streets of Legaspi and into the 24-hour convenience store where my petit ami was patiently waiting for me.

Reunion with Bro Bear was always sweet.

         

Through the Paraskavedekatriaphobia

Yesterday was a weird day for me. First of all, half of my time was spent at home just by staring at the faucet and waiting for water to come out. I was afraid that I might be staring at it for the entire day and stinking in the process. How nice of it to fall on Friday the 13^th. Dad and my brother Lester were so unlucky. They left the house without taking a bath.

Well patience had its own reward and I was glad that MCWD decided to supply us with water. Mom ceased to pray for the rain god. I called her at the lawn and asked her to get inside the house. The dishes had been piled sky high by midday and so I was glad that there’s water again to clean the utensils and the chinaware before the cockroaches and the mickey mice can partake of the leftovers. I thanked the heavens that I was able to take a bath.

I left the house for Manalili St. by 2pm. At my dealer in the downtown area, I got the sad news from the manager that an item is up for editing or cancellation this month. I had a negative sales performance last month and now, another case of a machine to be returned because of a consignment between the previous sales representative and the dealer. I’m sad because the item costs more than 300 thousand pesos. 

I had to commute from Manalili to Talisay for my next dealer visit. In a passenger jeepney I overheard this conversation: 

“Uy, kumusta? Asa ka gikan?” (Hey, how are you. Where have you been?) 

“Uy Glenn, pauli na ka? Gikan mi sa Bangkal, sa Lapu-lapu.“ (Hey Glenn, are you going home? We just came from Bangkal in Lapu-lapu City.) 

“Nag-unsa man mo ngadto?“ (What did you do there?) 

“Nangadto mi sa katong bahay nga naay eroplano sa atop.“ (We went to a house with an airplane on the roof.)

“Naa ba gyuy in-ana nga balay?“ (Is there such kind of a house?)

“Naa uy. Nangadto mi sa bahay atong gipatay ba. Katung bayot nga gisaksak sa motel. Pagkadako sa bahay. Walay lain nga dakong bahay didto dapita. Tinu-od lagi, nay eroplano sa ibabaw. Kernel man gud sa airforce ang amahan. Ang mga igsoon sad adto sa airforce man sad.” (Oh yeah, there is. We went to the house of this guy who was murdered. That gay guy who was stabbed to death in a motel. The house was really big. There’s no other huge house in that area. It’s really true that there’s an airplane on top. The dad was a colonel in the air force. His brothers were in the air force too.)

“Mao ba. Tinuod gyud diay nga naay bahay nga in-ana.” (Is that right? So it’s true that there’s such kind of a house)

“Naa lagi.” (Yes there really is)

It was weird overhearing the conversation about a person that I happen to know. The dead man was defenseless against such biased conversation. The men got off at Pardo. I got off at Talisay.

Going up to the office of my dealer, I met Lando at the stairs. He was having a conversation with a parlorista. Lando will be given additional area to cover starting next week. Consequently, his boss informed him that his operative plan or quota for the rest of the year will be increased. Because one of the dealer representatives had resigned, Lando had no choice but to take over the accounts in Cebu City and Bohol.

With the extent of his area of coverage, Lando decided to go on a vacation next week. He already asked permission from his boss. He said that his dad is due for check-up next week and that he needed to be there for the man. His boss granted him a 3-day leave.  I reminded Lando to be extra careful. The weather has not been good for several days. The seas are rough and unsafe. The trip to Ozamis might be too diffucult. But Lando was not worried about the travel at all. He’s worried about leaving his boylet Gino behind.

After work, I went to The Coffee Bean at IT PARK to wait for Dad to pick me up. While I was making my reports for next week, I received a text message from someone who found a wallet of somebody from somewhere. I thought that it was just a joke. But then the person ‘texted’ me again and told me that the wallet had my calling card in it and that she’s been trying to return it but didn’t know how.

The wallet belonged to one of my dealer’s sales representative. I had no choice but to play the liaison between the loser and the finder. The finder was a school teacher in General Santos City. She had already reported the item to the police and had it recorded in the blotter. The loser on the other hand was very grateful that an honest person found her wallet. Lucky for her, the wallet wasn’t picked up by a wrong hand.

Dad brought along my sister Ellen and my brother Lester. We stayed at the coffee shop for a while. Dad always chose seats outside of the coffee shops so he could light his cigarette sticks and smoke. It’s unfortunate though that he brought along his two children. They were against his smoking. Every attempt to smoke was thwarted by my siblings and it had frustrated Dad. In his disappointment, he stood up and told us that we need to leave.

In about half an hour, we arrived home and I saw Mom with a pen and paper in hand. She’s about to reply to the letter of the prodigal daughter. Though she’s glad that my sister finally wrote a long letter, something about what she wrote made us wonder why. She said she has already applied for citizenship and that she’s waiting for her schedule of exam and interview. If she’s granted citizenship she’s planning to apply for a government loan and use it to pay for her 4-year online study.

Some questions bothering us now. How’s she going to support her baby if she’s planning to study full-time? Does she have plans to find a better paying job to fortify her qualifications now that she’s applying for citizenship? If she became a Canadian citizen, will she have plans to visit the Philippines and ask forgiveness for the hurt and pain she had caused?

Dad told Mom to put the pen and paper down. Dad didn’t want to rush the reply. The questions made him want to think things over before replying to the prodigal daughter’s letter.

It’s almost midnight when I sat again in front of a computer screen. Friday the 13^th is almost over. At least nothing worse happened to me and my family.  

Help!!! I need Water! Water!

I had an English teacher once who uttered something to my sister’s classmate. She said, “Nariyu, if only dee plant could talk eewusay wuho-tur, wuho-tur, I need wuhoo-tur!” (Nario, if only the plant could talk it would say water, water, I need water).

Today is Friday the 13^th and what a nice way to kick off this very lucky day by depriving us with the most basic of needs…WATER. I blame it on MCWD, the local water treatment and distribution company, which failed to inform us of the water supply disruption.

  

I blame my obsessive-compulsive sister who have read about the disruption announcement in the newspaper but failed to inform us that it’s scheduled at the end of the week for 2 days. I blamed it on us too for not being prudent enough to store water in our drums and plastic containers.

Dad usually wakes up early in the morning. He would rise up from bed and go directly to his car and have it cleaned and then he’ll take a bath and proceed to work. I woke up and found out that he has already left for work and I wondered if he’d cleaned his car or if he’d taken a bath at all. I do not know either if mom was able to prepare his 3-in-1 coffee when there was not even enough water to be heated up to the boiling point.

Scarcity of water in the house had pushed my blood to the boiling point. I’m seething in disbelief that we were not able to prepare for this disruption.  We do not have a water tank nor a deep well pump because we thought that they would just be difficult to maintain. Besides, water pumps are run by electricity so that would spell out an increase in domestic power consumption and eventually, higher electric bill. In times like this, I wished we do have a standby facility to provide us with water at any time and at any circumstance.

Our water pipes ¾ inch in diameter, schedule 80, GI pipes with threads on ends (oops, in my livid state I still managed to be technical) span about 20 lengths from our house up to the main tapping point. Mom had this terrible deal with 3 or 4 neighbors when she allowed them to tap their water lines from us. The conduit bore 4 to 5 branches that cater to the same number of houses.

Our house was found at an elevated spot and is the last end of the channel and so we’re always served last. Transport phenomena of fluid in a conduit pipe would reveal that the fluid passing to the exit point located at a higher elevation will be of lower pressure and volume. If we could translate it into a simpler example, it’s like if MCWD decides to resume its water supply today, the 3 or 4 households who share with our pipeline would be able to enjoy the benefits of having water for several hours before we would even notice a drop of water falling out from our washroom faucet.

Mom was ranting about the laundry. The clothes were scheduled to be washed today. Heaps of school and office uniforms will have to be washed next time. Mom had no choice but to ask the laundrywoman not to come today. She asked her to come back on Tuesday. 

I had a brief conversation with mom while I was in the room thinking of how I could still do business without ever leaving the house. Mom was suggesting that we should ask our neighbors to disconnect their pipeline from ours and have them apply for a water connection on their own. I told mom that we need to call MCWD first and clarify from them if we have the option to reduce the number of household that is currently tapping from our line. If not, we could inquire if re-piping is possible.

I was supposed to leave the house before lunchtime because I was already set to visit two of my dealers today. But I am the type of person who does not want to report for work without even taking a bath. I would not be able to survive a day outside without ever washing my skin or cleaning my hair. I have hairs in almost all parts of me and so I could not imagine myself to be an enemy of hygiene and good grooming and at the same time be an unwilling host for lice and microbes. Frequent shower trips and proper hygiene are what separates me from the apes.

And so I’m stuck in the house. I decided to stay at home and wait for water to come. How could this household with 5 members survive the day with only 4 6L jugs of Wilkins and half of the family pack of Absolute? They are not even enough for my bath. Never even enough to flush the toilet after I take a dump.

Instead of client visits, I decided to do telemarketing instead. I could not afford to go out unclean, with a funky smell emanating from my shoes. I could not bear to face my clients for fear that I may be speaking about the advantages of the products while showcasing the whiteness of my teeth and the halitosis from my breath. By telemarketing, no one could sense that I’ve not taken a bath and business will go on as usual, even just in my day-old boxers and shirt.

I hope the heavens would help me with this problem. Somehow, the sky is not blue. The sun is not out and the cumulo-nimbus clouds are hanging so low as I see them through the window of my room. I hope that the rain would fall. I hope it would rain hard. I rather experience heavy downpour than to spend Friday the 13^th hostaged in the ‘comforts’ of home with my ithchy – bitchy boxers on.

Wait… I saw Mom placed some plastic ‘labadors’ and palangganas near our downspouts. She’s out there in our lawn. I saw Mom lift her head to the sky and prayed silently for the rain to fall.

Café Ethiopia 88

At the junction of F. Cabahug and San Jose de la Montaña one can find a small coffee shop called Café Ethiopia 88. It’s in the same compound as Binugoy Ang Kaon nga Kinawboy and is just right across the 24 hour Korean convenience store.

I’m sitting here now at the coffee shop, in one of its 4 sala sets, trying my best to describe how this unique coffee shop caught my interest. My first visit to Café 88 was last night, after meeting Bridget and Biba for a dinner at Lemon Grass. It was Bridget who brought me to Café Ethiopia. It was just a few blocks away from where he was billeted. I feel quite ashamed for my self because it took a Caviteño like Bridget to show me, a half-Cebuano this cool spot which had been established in Cebu for many years.

And now, after my brief business visit in Talisay City, I decided to drop by the coffee shop again. It was only four o’clock when I got inside Café 88. Ms. Teresa, the shop owner greeted me at the coffee counter.

“Hello, you’ve come back. Thank you for visiting us again. Did you enjoy your coffee last night?”

“Hello po Ma’am Tere. I’m here again. My mocha coffee last night was great. I have to drop by and taste your Kilimanjaro.”

Ms. Tere is not your ordinary coffee barista. She’s obviously a coffee aficionado and it’s deeply reflected on how she would entertain her customers, especially those who came by for the very first time. Bridget introduced me to Ms. Tere. She exudes this bright attitude and warm reception towards her customers.

In an inviting manner, she would tell you to pick a coffee cup from her extensive collection behind her counter. She had this huge black shelf with cups of various shape, color and size, arranged neatly among the six wooden layers. I took my time to choose my cup. Bridget has already picked a small blue cup and saucer painted with small orange flowers. At the topmost layer of the shelf, I chose a simple cup of black and white stripes and ordered a mocha coffee.

I was told that their regular customers have chosen their favorite cups. Whenever they come to the shop, they already know what cup to use. They would just have to point to the cup on the display shelf.

From picking a cup to a preferred coffee strength, Ms. Tere then asked me if I wanted my coffee strong or mild. Mocha coffee had this bitter chocolate tang but I was not quite sure about their version of a strong brew so I asked for a mild concoction.

Bridget and I sat on a couch near the counter. The barista-owner began her ritual of coffee brewing. Sitting and waiting for my mocha, I couldn’t help but notice the oddity of the place. African masks on one side, wooden Thai panels of intricately carved flowers hang beside a poster of the jazz musician Dizzy Gillespie.

The coffee counter was adorned with posters bearing Japanese calligraphy. Maps of the island of Cebu, and the Philippines were found at the foot of the counter along with the photocopied maps of Africa and South America framed simply in wooden molding. Walls of coral pink complimented the red adobe floor and the brown painted molding that supports the white ceiling.

I called Bro Bear on the phone and had him talk to Bridget. I, on the other hand, continued my exploration. There were small Japanese umbrellas placed beside four pink scented candles. Three identical lighting fixtures with wooden bladed fans hang directly above three identical floor mats. An African carved figure rests upon an old English dictionary. A Victorian lamp nestled on top of an antique Indonesian side table bearing copies of the Manila Shinbun and some Japanese comic books and magazines.

The place was a fusion of almost anything from anywhere.

I saw Ms. Tere deep into her brewing. All her coffee were single-prepared and were done using the old-fashioned way. She didn’t have commercial coffee makers similar to those found in popular coffee shops. What she had were a pair of small hand driven coffee bean mill and crusher, coffee pots made of glass, ceramic or metal and a filter holder.

Bridget passed the phone to me. I heard Bro Bear’s voice on the other end. He asked me to describe the place. He asked me if the place looked “sosyal” or if it had functioning aircon units. I said that the shop is air-conditioned and is not smoke-free. I heard the word “sosyal” again when Ms. Tere approached me and allowed me to smell the crushed coffee beans in her hand.

I said goodbye to Bro Bear and ended up the call. Folger’s and Taster’s Choice were no match for this particular variety. She said the beans were from Japan. Most of their beans come from the country where she usually visits. She’s not from here actually. She’s from Pampanga who worked for some time in Japan. She’s fluent in Nihonggo, which explains the periodicals and the comic books and the posters. She had a handful of Japanese people who visit her coffee shop everyday. Bridget told me that it was in Japan where she learned and appreciated the art of coffee brewing. Her passion for coffee has led her to put up Café Ethiopia 88.

She placed a white paper in a tapered glass filter holder. She poured the crushed mocha beans into the filter. Boiling water flowed from a brass metal pot onto the beans and through the filter paper. Then an olive porcelain pot collected the mocha coffee dripping from the holder above it. The coffee was poured into my chosen cup. Ms. Tere served my mocha together with a Japanese cream, a jar of brown sugar crystals and a small plate of rosquillos.

That night, she demonstrated the art of bridging. Bridging was about the manner of putting cream into the coffee. Using the coffee spoon, cream was made to flow from the stem of the spoon down to the surface of the coffee. It has to be done only when the cup is half full. It’s more like adding cream without the need for stirring. By bridging, the cream just mixed with the coffee on its own.

Bridget had consumed his Kilimanjaro without bridging. I did the bridging as instructed. The cream flowed down from the spoon, on to the surface of my mocha coffee. Swirling patterns of white began to form against the black surface. I watched the pattern dissolve into beige.

I lifted my cup and drank the rest of my coffee. It was such a different coffee experience. And now, I’m here again at Café Ethiopia 88 to allow myself to feel the same familiar feeling of appreciation for a coffee brewed well.       

So-called Love Gone Weird

It was way after lunch time. And there he was, sitting in front of me in a fast food joint across the dealer’s office. He had ordered a chicken teriyaki meal and a cup of caramel sundae for lunch. He looked at his food and checked the sauce that was poured on the breaded meat. I noticed a pause. Then the silence began to cast frowns on his face.

He dropped his utensils, rested his head on his right palm and gazed blankly at me. I could sense that something had been bothering him for days. He used to be so jolly and ebullient (thanks for this word Rein) but lately, the fun and jovial blood in his veins were drawn out by volume and donated to charity. For months he had been deficient of enjoyment. He had been deprived of happiness.

“Hey Lando why do you look so sad? Is their something you want to tell me?” I asked.

Lando, not his real name, smirked a bit and rearranged his brows. He’s one of my dealer’s technical salespeople. He locked his stares on the food that he ordered, shifted his gaze to me and then words began to spill out of his mouth. “Do you ever get jealous if you found out that other men are flirting with your partner?”

“Why do you ask Lando? Did you get jealous at someone lately?” I asked back. I split my burger steak into quarters, forked a tiny portion and shove it to my mouth.

“I checked Gino’s cellphone. There were text messages in the inbox that came from a certain Louella. I read the messages and i realized that Louella’s not a girl. In the texts she was asking for Gino to meet her some time because she missed her.”

“So what did you do after you read the messages?”

“I deleted them. In my anger, I erased Louella’s number from his phone as well”

“That’s jealousy alright,” I said while looking at my mobile and found out that the time is already past 1.30pm.  “Did you tell Gino about this?” I continued.

“Well I mentioned the messages to him and I asked him for some explanation. He assured me that he would never meet Louella in person.”

“Did Gino have a gay lover before?”

“He told me he did have one lover before I met him at Jollibee Colon. They were together for just a short while.”

“Do you still believe that he’s straight?” I asked. Long pause. With a shake of the head and a smirk on the face, he uttered “NO.”

“How so?”

“Because I asked him one time. He said bayot kung bayot , gay if gay, he doesn’t care. Do you think Gino’s gay?”

“If I tell you yes, would you be bothered?” I replied.

“No. Not at all. Gay or not, I don’t care either. I just don’t know why I’ve fallen for this guy. A lot of my friends told me that Gino’s a call boy and that I should get rid of him soon. I confronted him about it and he said that he isn’t.” Lando started to dig into his caramel sundae.

I ate the second quarter of the burger steak. “So what seemed to be bothering you now?”

“I got fed up with him last weekend. Imagine. I washed my clothes last Sunday. I woke up at 9.30am, started washing at 10.30 and I finished 2 hours after. I cooked rice last night and made sure that we still have something for lunch the following day. All we ever needed was the viand. Gino was such a lazy man. He was still in bed the whole time that I was washing. I checked on him after I hung my clothes to dry and there he was, still sleeping.  We didn’t have anything else for lunch except for the rice I set aside from the previous night.”

“Now that’s pathetic,” I remarked. “He doesn’t have a job right? And he’s staying in your apartment the entire time while you work from 8-5 Mondays to Fridays. So what’s he doing in your house when you’re out here working? I hope he’s doing some household chores.”

“What would you expect from a 17 year old boy? He doesn’t even know what a call boy is. He can’t cook. He said his mom never allowed him to. He doesn’t clean the house too. He’s been staying at home doing entirely nothing. There was one time though, when I came home from work, I noticed that the house was cleaned and my dirty clothes were washed. I was so happy that somehow, my twink had started to change for the better. But my happiness was short-lived. He said ‘Kuya, if you’ve noticed, I did a lot of cleaning today. Could you add another 20 pesos to my daily allowance?’ I almost slapped him with my sling bag.”

“I didn’t know you’re giving Gino a daily allowance. He’s out of school and he does nothing in your house. What’s the allowance for? Does he give money to his mom?”

“No he does not. His allowances are spent on computer games and cell phone loads and his PONDS facial cream. I don’t even get it. I’m giving money to someone who’s not part of my family and yet I have not given anything to my parents”

“Exactly. Is he actively looking for a job?”

“He said he is. He’s going to start next week. He’ll be working in a fast food branch nearby, part-time.”

“So he will be earning money already. I assume that you’re going to stop his daily allowance.”

“That also pissed me off. He’ll be working soon and he’s going to earn money but then, he’s asking me not to stop his allowances. Gino is insensitive. I would be expecting him to contribute for the rent and utilities.”

I was about done with my lunch. I had a few more questions. “Lando, tell me honestly, are you really happy with your relationship with Gino?”

“Frankly I’m not. I’m stressed and worried and exhausted already. Friends keep telling me to dump him and kick him out of the house because they thought that he’s just using me. I know I’m not blind but then my heart beats for him. I didn’t know what spells he threw upon me when I first met him 5 months ago. I’m 25 years old and I’ve been waiting to have someone beside me when I sleep at night.”

“But what would you lose if you decide to end this relationship? You’ll lose nothing at all. You could always replace Gino with someone who’s mature and independent and financially stable. You don’t deserve the stress, you don’t deserve all the worries and all the frustration that he has been giving you. I think it’s not worth saving the relationship.”

“But I love him. Choz” 

I looked into my phone again and checked the time. It’s already 2.30pm. I stood up and told him that we should get back to the office already.

I said to myself that the decision rests entirely upon Lando. It would only take a simple analysis to decide the fate of his relationship with Gino. Lando’s predicament was very simple. Yet the so-called love has gone weird and made everything complicated.

High School Life… The Junior Year

I feel the need to complete my recollection of my high school experiences. For me to move on with my life, I need to leave behind some strings of memories of being a Junior in Sci-Hi. Here goes.

Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. I belonged to the section of what once was considered the farthest planet of the Solar System. Pluto was governed by the Troll and we were its minions. I say “its” because the troll was fond of uttering words by biting her tongue with her uneven teeth. Words like “that’s”, “its”, and “sits” were often stretched at the end. They come with showering saliva and thus one would wonder if the Troll was cursed by a snake.

The Troll was our adviser and she was equipped with balance beams and Bunsen burners. No one dared to deviate from her orders. Disobedience was taboo. Unkempt hair was not. Why was she called the Troll? Because when I was in Pluto, cute multi-colored hair trolls were the fad. Our adviser was not at all cute but she represented the real hobgoblin from far away land. She would always come to class late. Often times without taking a bath or without brushing her hair.

Her minions chose me to be the speaker. I took the challenge to head the class. But I had few regrets in accepting the position. The Troll demanded a project from us. The project was to uproot the bamboo roots at the corner of the science building, the one near the stairs, fronting the gymnasium. She demanded that we cut off the grass and replace them with ornamental plants.

In her ugliness, she instructed us to launch a beautification program. Well, the program failed eventually. We managed to uproot some of the bamboo but not all. So we built a plant box around it and covered it with dirt. The plant box was as hideous as the Troll. The sight of the ugly plant box sent the gnome to an angry mode.

She huffed and puffed and flared her nose while her hair stood up in a ka-me-ha-me-weeeeyy fashion and she bellowed: “Whatsssssssssss thissssssssssss????” No one dared to speak out. Realizing that her minions were revolting against her rule, she retreated to her room and banged her door. Eventually, we got low grades in Chemistry because of the incident.

We also met Astroboy in our Junior Year. We were scared of him not because he could propel himself towards the sky with only his black brief on but because he would always stand near the door and ask each one of us the question: “Wherzzz your futmuhpzzzzz?” Azzzztroboy taught valuezzzzz educazzzhun.

The foot mops. Wow. For what purpose were the foot mops. It was a strange sight to behold. Students were in frenzy before and after classes. Students running here and there, looking for these shoe covers during break time. Students dashed up to the lockers of their classmates in search of the requisite mops. I detest the foot mops. We looked like stupid mascots. We had no choice. We would not be allowed to enter the room unless we wear the mops.

We also met Mrs. Z. One time she ordered us to check our seatmate’s test papers. She dictated the answers to the multiple choice test. She said, “number five… letter zeee.”  The choices were only up to letter m.

“Zeee?” the class said.

“Yes letter Zeee… zeee as in zarrrr! (she meant jar),” she answered. One, two, three seconds after, our faces brightened with glee. Jebra, Jipper, Jero, Jars of Clay, they all begin with the letter J.

J stands for Junior in the JS PROM.

Our batch had the most painful experience with regards to prom. Back then, we thought of holding the promenade outside of the school yard. The tradition was to hold the ceremony at the school oval with the reception or dinner party at the gymnasium. This tradition was rather boring and since it has been done in the same venue for so many years, we were desperate to hold this event in another place.

As the president of the Junior batch, I lobbied for the move to break the tradition and hold the JS Prom outside of the school. Along with the rest of the officers, we made our plans and presented them to our parents. Our parents had no choice but to support us in our cause and thus we launched our preparations and made a few ocular inspections of venues. We visited Casino Español and the Capitol Social Hall and our hopes were raised. We were thinking that our prom would be the best.

During our foundation day, we put up several booths and we raked in a lot of money. We also went to exclusive villages and sang Christmas carols to raise more money for the prom. We wanted to hold the Prom in Casino Español. But it turned out to be a major disappointment.

We presented our proposal to the principal but she rejected it. She would insist that we should stick with the usual practice, because as students, we were expected to follow the tradition. According to her, ceremonies like JS PROM should be done the same way as before. It was the principal’s first encounter of the proposal to hold the prom outside of Science High.

But we could not accept the rejection. We set another time with the principal and pushed we shove our proposal in her face. It was no surprise that she reacted differently. She immediately instructed all third year students to proceed to the gym and she called all the teacher-advisers to attend the instant meeting.

At the gym, in her pug-like cake-powdered face, she trembled in anger because of the proposal. In her mind she thought that our batch had an ugly trait, that we were stubborn and that we exhibited a behavior unbecoming of a Sci-Hi scholar. She feared that we might start a revolution. To her, any attempt to go against the norm was a sign of disrespect and disobedience.

We squat on the floor. We waited for her to fall into a trance. We couldn’t look at her face. There was silence. The silence was frightening. She broke the silence and said, “Who’s the batch president?” I stood up. She asked me to explain the proposal. While I was explaining, she was looking around, scanning our faces but she was not listening. She simply didn’t want to understand.

She cut me short. “Shame on you,” she said. “Why would you insist on something different when you knew for a fact that it’s always done the same way, year after year after year. Don’t you know that it’s a shame to break tradition?”

I remained standing as I tried to digest what she said. In my anger, tears fell from my eyes. But I did not wipe them off my cheek. I bit my lips and clenched my fists but I fastened them at my side. I looked at the principal but I glared on the Troll who was standing at the right side of the pug. The Troll was the batch adviser yet she did not support us in our cause. She sided with the pug. And I hated her. AZtroboy waz nowhere in zight. We were defenseless.

The PROM was held in the oval ground according to tradition. With the makeshift stage near the flagpole, and the dinner tables at the gym, the ceremony was done in similar fashion as the previous years. The pug and the troll were there, so were our parents. Our parents were angry too because the initial plan did not push through.

At dinner time, parents of the batch officers gathered around the pug. Some were furious and some were pissed. Others wanted to hear explanations why the plan got busted. I watched her being ganged up at the presidential table. And that was the only time that the pug did not enjoy her food and the dinner program.

The following year however, with the influence of the Bride of Chucky, the JS Prom was held at the Provincial Capitol Social Hall. Talk about the shame of breaking traditions.  

Little RockStar Diva

Little niece Kim is in the house today. Yes, this cute baby girl rocks. She rocks the house almost every Sunday. With her around, you tend to forget the things you planned to do. Having her around, all the household chores would be postponed at a much later time. The presence of L’il Kim would make you forget to take a bath.

Today, she arrived with my sister and brother-in-law a little early for lunch. They came from the Basilica Minore del Sto. Niño to hear mass. My sister said that Baby Kim behaved properly inside the church. She was attentive not to the gospel or the sermon from the priest but to the wails and paroxysms of her fellow tods in the house of God. Baby Kim would search the sea of people for those wailers and brats who were not briefed properly by their parents on how to behave in religious gatherings. She would stare at those ‘misbehavers’ and glare at them.

She’s but only 11 months old. Yet Little Kim has manners. She learned her social skills at a very young age. She’s turning a year on July 25. Her birth symbol is Leo, the zodiac sign for the stars. Little Kim is a STAR in her own right. Aside from the fact that she’s the first-born grandchild, she has this talent of drawing attention to herself.

At 11 months old, it’s the best time for babies to be curious of the things they see and hear. Toddlers at this stage could already recognize colors and sounds. Their hands and tongue also come in handy when it comes to familiarization of objects that attract their senses. Baby Kim is so deep into this stage.

She’s almost capable of walking without any assistance but being the STAR that she is, she would demand for 2 adult hands to guide her wherever she wants to go. She’s fond of climbing up and down the stairs. She’s fond of walking double-steps towards my room, down to the family room and back.

Little Kim is a walkathon fanatic. She cares so much about driving her adult assistants to exhaustion. The little DIVA in her has made me burn calories just by guiding her in walking around the house. She’s very hyper-active. She wouldn’t stop walking. In her mind, she would think that walking is the best way to help me shed some weight. She demands pleasure in seeing me undergo some difficulties in walking her around.

This kid values time so much. She makes it a point to maximize her time here with us. She would not go to sleep at siesta time. She would rather crawl towards cabinets and shelves and explore their contents. Instead of taking a nap, she insists to be placed near the telephone so that she could lift the handset up and bang it either on her head or somebody else’s. If not she would stretch the curly phone wire to straighten out the curls or press the alphanumeric keys without end.

Phones are not new to Little Kim. She had Sony Ericssons and Nokias before. But they were no longer usable because she kept throwing them anywhere and whenever she felt like throwing them. And now she’s moved on to the 3G phones and the Motorolas.

She’s fond of computers too. She likes to dwell on anything with keypads. Laptop is on top of her to-do list. She was successful one time in pulling out the “SHIFT” key of my sister’s ThinkPad. She even was successful in standing and dancing on top of my laptop too. And she takes pleasure in seeing our grimacing faces or in hearing us scream in shock and fright. She would open her mouth and laugh while clapping to reveal her 4 milk teeth.

The little RockStar DIVA has also learned some lessons in life. She’s now aware that poking a finger or two through the wire ribs of an electric fan could cause a minor yet painful cut to her dainty un-manicured nails. She’s pretty much aware also that if she do not seek assistance in walking, she would most likely to fall flat on her nose.

Oh Baby Kim with the devilish grin, Little Ms. Rockstar Diva who looks like Bambam or Pebbles from Bedrock, you will be turning 1 year old soon. Your parents are doing their best to grant you your request for a birthday party, 2 weeks from now.

Your mom has been asking around for kids who have time to spare to attend your fairy tale-princess themed party. Your dad has already found a caterer, has persuaded an officemate to act as a clown, has urged his neighbor’s kids to bring gifts for you on your birthday.

Your mom had asked me to shoulder the rent of the videoke machine. She said it was something that you demanded to be visible in your party. Your Tita Ken has already pledged a two-layer cake for you. Your grandma promised to cook spaghetti for your young guests. And your granddad offered his house and his lawn as venue for your kiddie party.

Baby Kim, my little niece, the rockStar with an attitude, I look forward to your party very soon. I’ll pray to Bathala to stop the rain from falling down on your party. Meantime, I thank you, Baby Kim for retreating to your house now so that i could take a bath already and resume with my household chores.

                                    

Rainy Encounter with Ngohiong

I was out of the house today. But it has been raining here in Cebu for several days. At some point, it caused a major traffic bottleneck last week in the major thoroughfares. I would sometimes decide to go home late to avoid the rush night hours. For rush hours coupled with heavy downpour creates severe traffic jams.

Today was no exception. I pondered on the thought of using my dad’s car. I noticed that he left his TOYOTA in our garage yet raindrops continually beat upon our bungalow roof and I thought that it would not be advisable to drive on a very wet day. Besides, I checked the car’s fuel indicator and the arrow pointed near to the direction of E. I decided to bring my blue umbrella instead and commute.

I had an appointment at the laboratory in uptown Cebu with the tech reps of my dealer. We planned to expose ourselves to the operational aspect of the clinical chemistry instrument. The outgoing rep taught us some important reminders regarding the machine trouble-shooting. It took us only a few hours to acquaint ourselves with the instrument. In between serious hands-on activities, we either take pictures of ourselves or watch the pictures and videos from the previous night’s party.

The lecture cum workshop finished at 4:00pm. It was drizzling when we came out of the building. Personally, I do enjoy the day if the sun is not out. I prefer a gloomy rather than a very shiny sunny day. But I do not want the skies to shower the earth with rain either because it limits my freedom to do anything.

I’m usually fond of walking around a block or two, or cross the street every now and then. I am also a great fan of commuting. These make me very dependent on rainless days. I strongly detest bringing of umbrellas or wearing yellow-colored rubbermaid raincoats.

When it rains, I get stranded in some waiting shed, or I hitch with someone with an opened umbrella. When it rains, my pants get soaked in rainwater from the foot up to my calves and I would be raising my hands to hail an empty taxicab. But empty taxicabs are hard to find. When it rains, I lay my eyes across the street, at a waiting shed at the opposite side of the road while I stand vis a vis with other stranded souls.

The drizzle was not so heavy when we came out of the building. There’s a big mall across the street and some of us decided to go there and hang out while waiting for the skies to finish spraying the land with water. Near the entrance of the mall, we said our goodbyes but before we parted ways, one of us produced a flashing incandescent lamp on top of her head.

She said she’s craving for Ngohiong. Ngohiong is a very brilliant idea. Well, I heard of that word before, like 8 years ago when I was still in college. Hmmm, wait….. northwolf mentioned about this last week in the thread of comments in his blog. Ngohiong…. It’s a staple food for the ‘Bisayang mangtutungha’ (Visayan students).

Ngohiong is an enchanting word, and it made me change my mind. I quickly responded that I don’t feel like getting inside the mall at all. I suddenly felt hungry upon hearing Ngohiong. I said to them that I rather take a jeepney ride to Ramos street and then to Junquera extension for a brief encounter with Ngohiong. There would plenty of time to wait for the rain to stop.

When I decided to go, everyone else followed. 10 minutes after, while the rain continued to fall on Barangay San Antonio, we crossed the street of Junquera to a little eating joint near the University of San Carlos for the ever-fabled Ngohiong.

I’ve heard about the urban testimonials on the ngohiong. This so-called 5 spices Chinese food is very very cheap and is delectable in a very cheap way. This is a modified version of the popular lumpia or the spring roll wherein the filling consists of ubod or that edible portion of the coconut trunk and is wrapped in a special ngohiong wrapper that makes it distinguishable from your regular dimsum. Well its being spicy makes it very distinct.

Ngohiong is best eaten hot. By hot I mean you have to dip it in a specially prepared hot sauce while its temp is still at the range where salmonella and listeria microbes cannot survive. And by hot I mean that you have to shed tears while chewing on the chili-dipped ’5 spice’ and attempting to grab a 9 peso bottle of pop that is three-fourths empty.

And so we set foot in the Chinese Ngohiong House on a rainy Saturday afternoon. The place is not your typical spic-and-span type of a restaurant. The tables and chairs are non-uniform, the floor is sticky slimy and uneven, and ventilation is not excellent. In spite of the rundown condition of the eatery, the place was filled with customers, mostly students.

I ordered 4 Ngohiongs, 2 puso (steamed rice wrapped in woven palm leaves) also called the hanging rice, 2 longganisas and a bottle of soda for a mere 49 pesos. I was so surprised that their Ngohiong costs 4 pesos only. I also find the Ngohiong hot. Not sexy hot but chili-hot. I downed it with a bottle of Lift while tears formed in the corners of my bespectacled eyes. In its hotness, I appreciated its palatability. Yeah. It’s very scrumptious.

You couldn’t find a meal in Greater Manila that is as plenty as this for only 49 pesos. One thing nice about living here in non-imperial Cebu is that food is relatively cheaper. At the Chinese Ngohiong House, it is even way cheaper. A meal that costs 10 pesos is very much possible.       

Six Nice Things About Me

Tagged by northwolf, here’s something nice about takeshibear.

I tag Bro Bear, Butchiki, Bridget, Apolinaire and Jher

1. I always make people instant cheer leaders. Every time there’s a fellowship night in conferences and in trainings, and the group needs to present a cheer, I would step up and gather all the members and teach them the steps and the yell. I used the same cheering sequence during the summer youth camp up in the Bernardino Mountains of California to the business dealer’s conference in Bohol. The RAH-RAH-RAHs paled in comparison with the “GET-the-BEAT, GET-the BEAT” chants.

2.    I am a Catechist. Back in the days where I feared the wrath of the heavens, I was a teacher of Christianity. Every summer, for 3 straight years, the catechists would invite children from 5-12 years old to attend these sessions. I handled about 25 children and I teach them anything from Christian songs to bible stories and stories about Jesus, Mary and God.

3. I love languages. I am half Cebuano and half Ilonggo. I could be half Filipino and half Filipina. But I like to learn to speak foreign languages. I got interested with Nihonggo a few years back. My officemate lent me her workbook on the Japanese language. I taught myself to write the Katagana and Hiragana and utter some common Nihonggo phrases. Then I got bitten by the Francophone bug. I enrolled myself at Alliance Francaise de Manille for 2 modules thinking that the French language is an easy language to learn. But there were more than 30 modules to take before I could even be conversant with French, I decided to stop instead. I also attended several sessions of the sign language class.

4.    I am Civic-oriented. I am a Rotaractor by heart. Rotaract is the youth version of the Rotary International. I was the head of the council of Cebu Rotaract Club presidents in Cebu. I decided to become a Rotaractor not because my dad was a Rotarian but because I wanted to be involved with civic-oriented programs. I donated half a liter of blood for Red Cross in one of the blood-letting activities. I was present in most of the medical missions. I got myself involved in the mass-feeding programs at some depressed areas in Cebu City.

5.    I support local tourism. I’ve gone to a lot of places around the Philippines. In my teens, I get to visit the Cordilleras up north and the T’boli in South Cotabato. While I was in college, I get to visit several Visayan islands and some urban centers in Mindanao. And now that I am working, I’ve been to a lot of places, some of them for the very first time: Kidapawan, Isulan, Compostela Valley, Saranggani, Tacurong among others. In every place, I always made it a point to visit their tourist spots, their old buildings, government offices and historical landmarks to learn the history of the place and recognize the value of their culture. To me this is one of the best ways to show patriotism.

6.    I got big ears. Literally and figuratively. I am a listener. I listen to what people have to say. By listening to them talk, I pick up lessons and thoughts and then I rationalize. We were given two ears to make us listen more than to speak. In spite of my hearing impairment, I trained myself to listen a lot and to shut up so I could hear others clearly. The world is already loud enough to be heard. I embraced the gift of hearing because I value my physical imperfection. I might as well use my ears properly.