Tabo

I.

My first experiences in a college dorm were ushered in by my three roommates in Yakal.

I had the unfortunate chance of meeting the first two guys we will call X and Y, X was a Chem major, Y was a shiftee from the College of Arts and Letters. X was a chain smoker, he was puffing when I came in the dilapidated room with my bags. Smoking was totally against the rules, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Hello.” I nodded to X.

“Anong pangalan mo ‘tol?” said X.

“Dave.” I extended my hand.

“Ano college mo?” Y emerged from behind the partition. He looked like the emaciated version of Jimmy Santos.

“Architecture.”

“Siya ba papalit kay Mike?” X asked Y, ignoring me. He started blowing smoke rings.

“Dun ka sa taas na bunk, ‘tol.” Y pointed at the only empty upper bunk.

I nodded meekly and began emptying the contents of my bag inside my closet. The mattress was threadbare, it had a very suspicious stain which looked like vomit, and smelled like it to too.

I muttered under my breath to suck it up. Getting into a campus dorm took a lot of effort and I’d certainly save a lot of money because a boarding house cost about a thousand bucks more. I went to UP Shopping Center to buy a bucket and a dipper because the dorm manager required it.

After dinner by myself, I started walking the next few blocks ungracefully with my new bucket and dipper in hand. When I got to the room, it had a solitary fluorescent lamp by the study table flickering; the back of the room was in darkness.

I jumped as the door suddenly opened and an unfamiliar guy walked in. I was afraid I might have gotten inside the wrong room.

“Uy! Ikaw ba kapalit ni Mike?” He smiled.

He moved closer to the light.

Damn, he was cute. He had some sort of chin dimple, and the first thing I notice was that he was wearing maroon shorts that I’ve seen only varsity people wear.

“Ah, oo. Dave pala name ko.” I managed to stammer.

“Harry.”

Turned out we both went to Melchor hall (he took up Civil Engineering and engineering students used the 1st-3rd floors, while the College of Architecture was at the 4th and 5th floors). He occupied the bed at the bottom bunk, just below me, which kind of sent a tingle up my spine.

I was right, he was one of the varsity players. I heard him open his closet and he lifted up his shirt and got a towel. I pretended to read my novel as I faced the other way and tried to ignore him, which was hard really since every time he sat on his bed mine moved.

“Pare, pwede palang humiram ng tabo?”

“Oo ba, nasa ilalim ng study table.” I said, turning around.

I saw him smile sheepishly, shirtless and looking so fine. If my heart was independent from my body it would have leaped already. I didn’t know it, but I was smiling like an idiot for the rest of the night.

II.

The semester went like the usual. Living in the dorm was quite alright, even if I don’t get that much privacy and quiet. Those times when we do architectural plates or if I study for a major exam, I make it a point to work during the wee hours of the morning when everyone is asleep. X and Y can be pain in the ass especially during their noisy guitar sessions, which could have been forgivable if either of them could sing or play guitar.

The bright spot for me was when Harry was there. When I did computations for Elementary Surveying which involved sine and cosine, I asked his help and he obliged. It was in his turf, I guess. It was doubly hard for me because far from being mathematically inclined, he was leaning over, his chin almost touching my shoulder as we sat closely and it was very ticklish where the warmth of his breath would touch my skin (kilig!). He was good with numbers but his hard biceps kept brushing against my arm as I tried to input data into the scientific calculator, I kept messing it up haha.

In return, I swore to become his total slave. Kidding. Well, he wasn’t the usual dumb jock so I couldn’t offer much help except when he asked which shirt looked better on him for a night out. He also had no girlfriend, but obviously he is a catch so many girls flirted with him to no end, luckily the ladies were off limits in the male section of Yakal bwahahaha! I swear if the guys brought home a girl to the dorm I’d scream bloody murder.

One of X’s most brilliant ideas was to hold a party right after Final exams, and by party I mean three bottles of smuggled Ginebra San Miguel with a few of his cigarette butts stubbed on my study table. Y had a classmate over who was in charge of “tagay”. Harry was there, plus me so that made five of us in total.

We were on our third round of passing the plastic cup with pure gin, when I started feeling tipsy. We swapped stories about profs, gossiped about the girls. Well, Harry mostly just nodded along as X spilled the lewd details.

Maybe it was the alcohol I felt so acutely running beneath my veins that made us all chummy. By our fifth round Harry was leaning on to me, there were gin blossoms on his face and he was slurring his words. I was still listening to their stories. We all decided to crash past 2am. X didn’t make it to his bed, he fell on the floor and promptly fell asleep. We left him there. Y and his classmate tried to pass through the window to leave the dorm because they lock the main doors at night.

I helped Harry to his bunk, when he suddenly spoke.

“Tabihan mo ‘ko.”

Uh oh, I know that look. My heart pounded so loudly, I thought the whole dorm would wake up and storm in.

To be continued here..

Hari ng Sablay

Recently I was tasked to do the closing remarks at our Case Presentation at the Center for Behavioral Sciences in Cebu and as usual, I had another case of the all too familiar nervousness. Well, it was minor this time- my hands had slight tremors (like some side-effect of an anti-psychotic drug haha!!) as I read the names of the guests, but the whole speech itself was not a complete disaster. I doubt though, if most of the audience noticed since it was near lunch and I gather, we were all hypoglycemic.

I've never been much of a public speaker (I wonder why they keep asking me to do that. Is it because I am among the oldest in my batch? hehe), especially if the audience is new to me or somehow their numbers exceed a hundred.

Some people are perhaps born with a certain gift- an inclination for the arts, a knack for mathematics and spatial perception, or a natural skill of a wordsmith. I was not among those fortunate, in fact I was among another bunch: the "trying hard" category. In the process of "trying hard"- to be a designer or writer or manager or public speaker or adventurer or nurse for that matter- I think I've had more bloopers than the average person.

Doing something one is terrified of can be quite unsettling to say the least, but I do it anyway. Charge it to experience and never mind saving face. Humor helps a lot when I look back at all those things- forgetting lines in front of a thousand people, or turning red as a tomato as you feel prying eyes on you, shamelessly approaching editors and real-life writers, or carelessly assisting a delivery...

I'd like to think one day I'll outgrow all that. But for now, how many more blunders to go? I say, bring it on! ; )

Gatekeeper

There are certain things one has to remember when being in the Psych ward, such as: number one, sharpen your peripheral vision- you never know whether your once-calm patient would suddenly have the irresistible urge to pull your hair or perhaps throw feces at you (excuse me for those eating at the moment). Number two, treat your patients with respect you would give to a fellow human being- so when someone bites you don't bite back (kidding), just maintain control and restrain your patient. You are the sane one, remember? Number three, stay calm. When chaos erupts don't run for the nearest exit, it's your job to make sure patients don't hurt others- or themselves.

With these in mind, around fifty of us tiptoed through the double-locked (from the inside and from the outside) iron gate to finally meet with our patients for the first time. Being fidgety amateurs must give off some kind of potent pheromones because even catatonic patients rolled their eyes, as if they could sense the fear permeating from our pristine white uniforms.

Though I cannot divulge certain information or descriptions, I can say as much that I'm thankful my patient was neither too unruly nor violent. But of course, either due to fear, inexperience, or the language barrier (my first language is Waray, while patients are Cebuano- and though we tried to improve our Cebuano speak the past months, it was simply impossible to be fluent in a short period of time), blunders are unavoidable. For example:

Female Psych Patient: "Gwapo, hampa hampa ta!" ("Handsome, let's f*ck")

Granting that I knew only a few Cebuano words, I uttered the first Cebuano word that flew to my mind: "Unya, unya!" (Later, later!)

I was supposed to say "Dili pwede" (No, that's forbidden!)

I kept scribbling on my little notebook (praying I'd be able to decipher my notes later) during the history-taking and kept jumbling names calling one patient "Sheena" when her name was Shiela, or "Myra" when her name was Myrna. No wonder they all had puzzled looks on their faces. I must have confused them further.

Towards the end of the shift, I somehow found myself with my back against the steel gate. My only task was to open and close the gate for the food and medication deliveries. Temporarily, I suppose, with the few minutes of little to no interaction with the patients, I found myself more useful than a nuissance.

Another day approaches, with the hope that I get to be more efficient than a human padlock.

Crush-ed

I.

Youth. This was embodied in the demigod standing on a pedestal, talking with his followers. Even from afar, I could relish the sight of his soft, almost feminine features- if not for that strong jaw and that masculine aplomb.

I was seated at my station, taking calls. While the eight hours of non-stop chatter was immensely dragging, I would console myself by stealing a glance at the Queue Desk to see Larry and his pale face beaming.

I’ve been at my job for about a year now, and his, even less. I belonged to an earlier training batch, but even so, he got promoted to Workforce Analyst in a short period of time.

I felt the need to go to the restroom, so I had the chance to call Queue to inform them (I hoped he would be the one to pick up instead of the girls).

Ring…Ring…

“Queue desk, Larry here.”

“Ah, ahm this is Thad. Break...”

“Ok.”

“Ay, washroom break pala.”

He laughed.

Great. Nice, going Thad.

I got up from my seat and hauled my ass to the restroom.

Looking at the huge mirror, I adjusted the black sweater I bought a few days back from ukay-ukay.

Heaven and earth.

No, heaven and purgatory, I though wryly.

Larry the 5’8 demigod, with his perfect teeth, ruler-straight nose, and sharp fashion sense. Me, (all 5’6 of me) with my tragic outfit that once belonged to someone else, my less-than-sophisticated sensibilities, and timid demeanor.

Ok, so I wasn’t exactly bad looking. I tried smiling at the mirror- open and friendly. Ugh. I looked like a high school kid on meth. I ruffled my hair and tried to look sexy. Fat chance.

I finally exhaled in frustration and went back to my station.

II.

Is it just me?

I could’ve sworn he was looking my way. I turned slyly to my side and pretended to write something on my notebook. Don’t look!

I looked. Yup, he’s definitely looking.

“You’re imagining things, weirdo.” I chided myself.

When it came to my one hour break, I opted not to go to the drop-off like the rest of my mates who went for a smoke. The 12th floor was recently opened, and the new facilities included a billiard table, a foozeball table, and a very cozy couch. I wanted to nap for a bit at the new Rec Room before returning to my toxic calls.

I sat down at the edge of the couch, alone. The recreation room was dark (it was 2:00am) and chilly, so I wrapped my sweater around me and drifted off to sleep.

I had this feeling of something warm next to my thighs. I realized, there was someone who sat beside me. My heart pounded.

The person shifted, causing his thighs to rub against mine. Curious, I stole a glance to his side. The room was only illuminated by the faint glow of street lights below- and his silhouette was unmistakable: short spiky hair, sharp nose, and tiny bow lips.

It was Larry.

His eyes were open, but I couldn’t really tell if he was looking at something. He just sat there beside me in that couch, as silent as he was still.

Eventually I had to get up and get back to work. When I sat down, I still could not shake the feeling that someone from Queue desk was watching me.

III.

“There’s this guy.”

“Uhuh.” My seatmate nodded.

“He… well he doesn’t really do anything like talk with me, but he keeps doing things.” I confided.

She raised an eyebrow.

“He passes by my station on purpose on his way to the restroom, even though it would take him longer versus going straight from the Queue desk aisle to CR.”

“And then I catch him looking at me during the shift.”

“So?”

“Alright, let me ask you this, do Workforce Analysts have fixed breaks?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s the other thing! Whenever I take my break- even when it was moved repeatedly during schedule change, he is always at the Rec Room the same time I’m there!”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

“He sits beside me even when the couch is empty and he could’ve sat on the opposite side.”

Now my friend leaned over in interest.

“Who?”

Our conversation was interrupted by our supervisor who signaled we should leave the locker area and prepare for calls.

We hurried to our stations. I took a seat in a station hidden from view from the Queue desk. Just as I guessed, Larry passed by and spoke to the manager whose station was closest to mine. I tried not to look at his face as he stood there with his hands on his waist.

It was the third night of us playing the you-look-at-me-and-I-look-at-you game.


IV.

I made up my mind. I was going to gather up my courage and speak with him. Make friends, or beg him to stop sitting beside me at the rec room (like a piece of delicious pie I can never have a piece of), anything but this torturous silence of not knowing.

I took calls for an hour, and kept glancing at Queue desk. Larry wasn’t there. Perhaps, he swapped with another Analyst, I thought. Maybe he is to come in an hour later.

At 2:00am I went to take my one hour break. I slept alone in the rec room. When I got back, I tried to casually ask my Team Manager:

“Karen, isn’t Larry supposed to be in tonight (I knew he wasn’t off till the next evening)?”

“I’m not sure Thad.” She said.

But Larry did not show up during that shift. Or the next.

The pantry was abuzz with the latest news. HSBC was hiring, and Larry was among those who were pirated. It was rumored that they offered almost double of what they were earning.

I slumped back in my chair, feeling like I’ve lost something precious. I know it was silly because we never even really talked- I never really knew if my crush also took a liking in me.

When my shift ended I lethargically stuffed all my things into my locker, and walked to the elevator. The door slid open and the handsome chinito inside smiled at me.

“Down?”
“Yes.” I said, revived and smiling like an idiot.

Trouble with Margaux

I had forgotten what day that was, what my troubles were during that time, and how far I’ve fallen. But the feeling returns to me as swift as rushing trains; that melancholy, the seemingly bottomless pit of despair.

I sat on the cold tile of our small bathroom, with bottles of pills in my pocket. Today, I thought, I’ll end all my troubles. The incandescent bulb cast long shadows, making fixtures look like grotesque puppets laughing at me.

Weeks ago, I was as vivacious as any fifteen year old- an active member of the student council, a consistent honor student, a girl with a loving family and good friends. The trouble started when I got involved in the family problems of my ex-boyfriend. Towards the end of the school year, I had a lot of requirements that I needed to accomplish, otherwise I will not be given clearance and consequently won’t be permitted to enroll.

My parents and siblings prodded me constantly. Overwhelmed with hopelessness, I sank into depression. One day, I found myself alone in our house, I thought: this is it. I calmly collected all pills and medications I could find around the house, took a last look around and went into the bathroom and locked myself in.

It really is true what they say- your life flashes before you when you are about to die. Memories flooded my mind- happier times, and happy places and then I knew it would be extremely difficult for me to let go. I suddenly found myself crying uncontrollably. Something compelled me to walk out of the bathroom, whose walls had begun to feel like they were closing in on me.

Sunlight hit my face, and I walked slowly towards the bookcase where a framed photo of my family was displayed on top. Randomly, I picked up a book and noticed a yellow sticker on the spine. I recognized it immediately.

My heart was filled with warmth again, and I was reminded why I’ll never, ever be alone. The passage on my sister’s book was one of the greatest lessons I ever learned, it read: “Jesus is Saving You.”

Note: Based on a friend's story when she once attempted to take her life.

Stage Fright

The lights seemed to hurt my eyes. Despite the constant whirl of the electric fan beside me, beads of sweat started to trickle down my temples. I was aware of my breath, and every pounding of my heart.

“Dear Brothers and Sisters,” I began.

“The reason why Jesuth (my tongue seemed to stick to my upper teeth!), our Lord, wath (damn, not again!) both popular and unpopular during his time on earth was His teaching which was ah, uhmm, contrary to the values of the world…”

Each time I spoke, my chest seemed to tighten, even as I kept telling myself to calm down. Epinephrine must have been pouring inside me by the buckets. My vision seemed to sharpen, as I saw every single face, all two hundred and sixty plus, gazing at me.

Luckily, this was only during rehearsals. I was asked to read impromptu, and at that time I was feeling problematic over the status of one of the projects assigned to me. Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was because I was unprepared, but damn! This was an unfortunate time to make bloopers.

Four out of the six sections submitted the wrong format, and I spent what was supposed to be a day of rest correcting the errors. With the help of five people however, we were able to submit the 725 slide presentation just in time. With that out of the way, I assured myself the possibility of me screwing up my part in the ceremony was null.

I practiced with Sister Isabel till I sounded as credible as any lector. The problem was that I am used to speaking fast, and I was certainly not accustomed to sounding as perfect and as flawlessly modulated and well paced as an electronic teller.

During the ceremony, in front of close to a thousand people, I got up to the podium calm and collected. I opened my mouth and screwed up- well, I didn’t mispronounce anything or spoke too fast- I did worse by missing some of the lines. To people who heard without really listening, they couldn’t tell what I did wrong, but those who listened to the words I uttered- their brows were probably bunched together from trying to decipher what it all meant. My mates told me I did ok so I thought great, no one noticed.

One day, I happened to bump into Sister Isabel.

“Thad, was it the electric fan?”

“Excuse me?”

“You missed some of your lines!”

“Sister… (I lost my head for a minute there Sister, that’s what happened. Memory gap, stress induced amnesia, stage fright…)

…Yes , it was the fan.” And I gave her a dazzling apologetic smile.

Thus concludes my short career as a lector.

Dean's List Mom

The first thing on my mind, when I wake up in the morning, is to go over the tasks to be done for the day. I gather dry wood for the makeshift stove and boil water in the kettle for my coffee.

It is still a few moments before dawn, and I continue with my household tasks. I pick up a measuring cup and fill it to the brim with rice grains from a container. Four cups. That’s enough for my husband, my two children, and me.

I iron my uniform and hang it at the back of the door as I prepare for my bath. By 6:00 am I’m ready to leave the house. I take a quick peek at my sleeping children before I quietly let myself out the front door.

On the hour-and-a-half jeepney ride to Tacloban, I try to read and review the concepts for the day’s discussion. I arrive in school with barely minutes to spare as my first class begins.

The hours pass quickly as the day, full of lectures, quizzes, researches, projects, and return demonstrations, turns to dusk. My spirits are already flagging, my body, exhausted. I take in new assignments and new requirements to be accomplished in a couple of day’s time.

As I make my way home, just before I reach the jeepney stop, I go over the things that still need to be done: cook supper, feed the children, clean the house, wash the dishes, do the laundry, and study.

It was already dark when I arrived in our town. The street lights cast a warm glow to our little home as I walk past the gate and opened the front door.

“Mama!”

I was greeted by the biggest grins from two little boys. Relief washed over me- I was home, and I was reminded what I’m working so hard for. I put down my books and gave my sons a big hug.

the origin of blue balls

I met my first boyfriend through an EB, and our first date (and my first kiss ever) happened in the middle of EDSA dos rallies.

I remember sneaking out of my boarding house near UP Village to meet Jon in Philcoa, so we could attend the evening mass at EDSA. There was hardly any room at the MRT trains and we were squeezed in like sardines with everybody else who planned to attend the rally that night. Jon and I spent most of the night on the street sometimes joining in the chanting (Erap resign! Erap resign!), chatting with other students, and checking out news reporters as they televised the latest developments of the rally.

At some point we got hungry and decided to grab burgers at a 24 hour Wendy’s somewhere. It was really dark and to me it was all a blur of incandescent lamps from the Meralco posts, the constant blinking of traffic lights, and the glaring neon signs of establishments.

“May I take your order?” Said a bored cashier at the counter.

“Two shrimp sandwiches, fries, and large cokes.”

He paid for our food. I remember feeling giddy at that time- it was the first time a guy, a goodlooking one at that, took me out on a date! I was a late bloomer and never really explored the whole dating thing till I was a senior in college.

Jon was a student at FEU (fascinating for me because I rarely get to meet people outside of my campus). I forgot what his major was because I wasn’t really listening to his words, I only watched his lips moved as he spoke. Like watching a VCR, I put it in slow motion so I could see the shape of his mouth better. Really cute, even with a bit of mayo on the side of his lip. I wouldn’t have minded licking it off.

I excused myself. All that naughty thinking got me so excited I already pitched a tent in my jeans.

“I’ll just go to the washroom.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said.

So we made our way to the tiny restroom at Wendy’s where one can’t even swing a mouse without hitting the walls. I turned to face him (there was only one toilet and I thought, should I pee first or maybe he wanted to go first and I go after?).

Just as the door closed, he grabs my shoulders and kissed me on the mouth. He was a lot taller than I was, so he bent his knees and leaned over.

It was a long kiss, and he knew how to work his lips and tongue. I, on the other hand just stood there. I’ve seen how people kiss in the movies, but to have your first one happen unexpectedly, I was caught by surprise and was completely frozen. I just half-opened my mouth , but I didn’t kiss him back. Simply because I didn’t know how to do it.

“Uh.”

“Are you going to use the toilet?” I asked, a bit flushed from arousal.

He shook his head and smiled, took my hand, opened the door and led me to the table again.

I was too shy to make another plea to the toilet, so I just sat there, clutching my abdomen hoping my bladder won’t burst, while enduring the pressure from my erection.

Jon took my hand, held it gently and said:

“Let’s go back to the rally.”

Boys Don't Cry (But They Do Get Contusions)

[Rocky soundtrack, este Wannabe ng Spice Girls playing in the background]

When I was about ten, one particularly homophobic uncle, who was disgusted of my “mahinhin” ways, plotted to humiliate me. He had brought two pairs of gloves for boxing (a sport he always bragged about, which he said he was good at, aside from basketball and track and field) and gathered a small crowd of kanto boys and onlookers for his impromptu sparring.

I was playing Chinese garter with my female cousins and minding my own business when my uncle unexpectedly called my attention. With an evil grin on his face and a piggish glint in his eyes, he asked me to come over.

I was puzzled because he never really talks to me except to call my attention when I sat the wrong way (“Sit like a man!” he would yell). One of the male neighborhood kids about my age also donned a set of boxing gloves. “Put this on.” He said.

I was dumbfounded, and a little scared I guess. I was never into rough play like the boys were, but some of the people started cheering and calling my name so I reluctantly put on the oversized gloves­ on my tiny hands.

Pow! Pow! Pow! The other kid hit me surprisingly hard on the face and my saliva flew out of my mouth. I daintily wiped the sweat off my forehead, which was starting to pour. My heart started to pound wildly. In the corners of my eyes I saw a hint of satisfaction on his face, like he thought justice was being done or something. Ok, now that ticked me off. I knew then I had to win...

Uh oh, seventeen years later:

It was another one of those bad ideas of mine which sprung from my philosophy “I’ll just try it once to see what it’s like.” I was packing an extra five pounds or so, and the idea of monotonous weight lifting to lose the extra weight didn’t appeal to me as much. So I climbed five flights of stairs to Guiseppe’s Ringside to sign up.

The trainer, Allan, was a rather robust young man who looked like a clone of Manny Pacquiao. He oriented me on the beginner’s program (complete with that manly or rather sinister expression on his face) and it sounded simple enough: warm up and stretching, followed by footwork and basic moves in boxing like jab and straight punch. Fine. I forked over Php 1,250 to get started.

Session 1:

After a strenuous warm up, Allan and his assistant teamed up to teach me how to box properly.

“Raise your fists and make sure the right fist covers your cheekbone.” (But of course he said it in the vernacular, with a bit of Cebuano twang- I gather they were both from Ormoc or Southern Leyte).

I put on the meanest face I could give (and tried to control my hip swagger, hello Thad this isn’t the runway!) and positioned myself.

“Jab!”

I twisted my body and extended my left arm quickly as instructed, to gather more force and power to my punch.

Bam!

Wow, I thought, didn’t know I could punch like that. Then I had to mind my footwork. I was really starting to feel it.

“Jab straight!”

I punched with my left fist and then with my right.

Pow! Pow!

This is for you, dear uncle.

Pow! Pow!

This my Prof. in Math who failed me twice in UP.

Pow! Pow!
This is for the dutch guy in Puerto Galera.

Pow! Pow! Pow!

Oops. I got a little too carried away and hit poor Allan on the face.

I wiped the dripping sweat off my brow. Next up: the sand bag, then jumping rope.

Damn, I did fairly well with the sand bag except the times when I would stop momentarily to try to figure out what Allan’s assistant said. He kept screaming “Stret! Stret!”

Oh, he meant “straight”.

And the jumping rope- that was a lot of work. I used to be the best among all my playmates, practically dancing “I love you Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear” and skipping to the rope flawlessly. Seemingly hovering like an angel, saving all my clumsy teammates. Now, twenty seconds of jump rope made me feel tachycardic. I swear.

As I headed to the showers, I smiled to myself. This certainly beats sitting around at home, plus I get to kick ass.

Struggles of a Schemer

I was fixing my tie, going over the things I had to do for the day. Meeting with MAD (our director) and the managers, call monitoring for five CSRs, submission of QA analysis, and coaching with a really cute new CSR I had, whom we will call Jon (after my hubby Jon Mullaly haha!). My heart skipped a beat. The first time I laid eyes on him was when the new batch of CSRs were introduced by the Trainers to their respective Team Managers, and damn, he was fine. He was taller than me (which I like), with a boyish face, and chinito eyes. He had a great accent and was a Thomasian student at that time. There was only one problem: he had a girlfriend, also a CSR who was going to be assigned to another team.

“Bakla!”, a female friend (who was also managing a team) tells me, “Ang swerte mo, sa’yo napunta yung guy!.”

“Korek, Mother! Kanino napunta yung girlalu?” I asked.

“Kay Mavic ata.”

“Kausapin, ko kaya si bakla, dapat maging harsh sya para mag-disappear si girl.” I added wickedly.

“Kaw ha, for more conspiracy theory kayo. Ma-HR ka pa nyan. Be good ha, Thad.”

I welcomed the three new additions to my team: Jon and two other girls I barely noticed. I put on my most charming smile. “Hi guys, so you passed training! Congratulations! You can call me Thad; I’ve been handling this team for a year now.” I went on with my spiel, explaining how it works on the floor, my expectations, rules, and answered their queries.

That was about two months ago, and as I made my way to the silver elevators of RCBC Tower 2, I smile to myself- it was going to be an interesting day. I proceeded with my usual tasks with automation, but at the back of my mind was the anticipation of my coaching session with Jon.

My watch read 1:25. I call the Queue Desk. “Hi, this is Thad. Can you arrange for time off for my CSR Jon, probably 20 minutes for coaching? I’ll be using the conference room at the 11th floor, call me there if you need me.”

“Done Thad.” Said the metallic voice on the other end of the line. I run to the male restroom to fix my hair and put on cologne (hehe!). I take a deep breath, and with a smile fixed on my face, I approach his station. “Jon, log out at 1:30, for coaching. Meet me at the 11th floor.” He smiles and nods his head, and proceeds to close his call.

I was weak in the knees, and tendrils of excitement worked their way up. Good thing I had my jacket, or else the tent situation would have been visible through my slacks. Ok, before you judge me, I’ll just explain what happened as I finish my story:

The sensor beeped as the magnetic strip of Jon’s ID touched the surface. He opens the glass doors as I wait for him with folders and papers in my arms. He opens the door to the conference room for me.

Thad 1: “Ah, such a gentleman.”

Thad 2: “Girl, pagkakataon mo na!!”

Thad 1: “Shhhhh..You are here for a coaching session. Behave!”

The room was dark, with only a few lights from the opposite building and Makati Med filtering through the drapes. My fingers feel for the light switch. Click! The room brightens as the fluorescent lights bounce off the glass-and-steel interior.

“Have a seat”, I said, indicating to the comfortable swivel chair. I close the door and pause for a moment to inspect him. He was even cuter up close. He needed a haircut, his hair was a little unruly, but it only served to enhance his chinito eyes. He wore a black polo top which hugged close to his body, and the front of his tan slacks showed promise as it draped nicely over his lean legs.

I pull a chair close to him and I place the folders on the glass table. For a moment, our thighs touch.

Thad 2: “Ayyyy! Sarap naman. Shit, kinikilig talaga ako, as in!”

Thad 1: “Gagah, ingat ka. You might get fired for this. Say goodbye to your apartment, your vacations, your gimiks, and your credit cards.”

Thad 2: “Hmmph!”

“Jon, you are nearing your three month mark, and as you know, we have to evaluate the performance of each CSR prior to regularization.” I was suddenly shy. I found it difficult to look into those eyes, baka matunaw ako. Ching!

“I’m very happy with your performance (in bed! Squeals Thad 2, giddy with his nearness); in fact, you have one of the best stats in the team, even compared with tenured CSRs.” I open the folder and take out some trackers.

“Talaga Boss?” He smiles with those teasing lips, and his chinito eyes get even chinkier.

Thad 2: “Sheeeet ate, ‘di ko na kaya to! Love ko na sya! I love you, Jon!”

I try to focus my thoughts. Talk about his performance; stop looking at his crotch, you fool!

“Yes, I really think you have potential to be one of the leaders in the group. With consistent good performance, I bet a promotion is just around the corner.” I blabber some more as I sit there drinking the sights. With his ego pumped up, he sat straighter. Nice shoulders, I thought.

Thad 1: “Stop looking at him like he’s meat, perv.”

Thad 2: “Girl, hawakan mo ang kamay!!”

“I’m really impressed.” I say, and then I softly pat his arm. “How did you find the experience finally taking live calls on the floor?” I asked blinking my eyes flirtatiously.

Thad 2: “Eeeeee! I bet he likes me. Didn’t he just give me signals?”

Thad 1: “You are imagining things. He is straight and he has a girlfriend.”

Thad 2: “Still, make a pass. Malay natin diba? Maka-homerun tayo dito!

My internal struggle continues as my conversation with Jon progresses.

“I encounter some difficult calls, but I try hard to handle them before transferring it to a supervisor. Other than that, I enjoy my time since we actually have a good schedule.” Jon said. He unconsciously runs his fingers through his hair.

Thad 2: “Aw cute! Cute sya talaga, ate!

“And the only way we can keep a good schedule is if we improve our performance as a team- and that always comes with each individual’s efforts.” Should pat him again? I asked myself.

Thad 1: “No!”

Thad 2: “Ate, go na!”

I glance at my watch. 1:47- the exception time was about to end. Damn! “Jon, I think that’s all the time we have. Obviously, I’ll be recommending your regularization, given your excellent performance.” I stand and collect the papers.

Jon, happy with what he heard, puts his arm on my shoulder (I’m melting!). “Boss, thank you ha!. I hope you spend more time doing side-by-side y-cording with me so I can do better with my calls.”

Sigh. He towers over me, I glance up to him and smile. “Sure thing.” I switch the lights off as we leave the conference room. Thad the goody-goody won this round (or maybe it was the fear of having my credit cards taken away?), and I didn’t make a pass. But with his arm still on my shoulder, I still felt the warmth of his closeness.

Edna's Avarice

Edna was a young girl who came from a poor family. She was the eldest of eight children, and considering the fact that she was also eight years old, it wouldn’t be a far off conclusion that her parents took the divine directive “go forth and multiply” too seriously. Her mother, a laundrywoman, spent her time hunched over a big basin of dirty clothes (and was again pregnant), while her youngest child- a year-old baby- clung to her bosom. They lived in what is referred to as “squatter’s area” or in some countries “the projects” or “ghetto”. Her father specialized in drinking and getting her mother pregnant.

But Edna wasn’t your typical girl. She was mean and deceitful. She thought: God have given us so little and others so much that it should only be fair for me to steal. She bullied little brats in kindergarten and stole her classmates’ lunch money from their bags.

She didn’t spend the money though- she hid it under the floorboards at home when no one was looking. She wanted to buy a cell phone just like what some of the kid’s parents at school were using. Oh how shiny they looked! It had a tiny television and one could listen to music at anytime. It sure beats watching black-and-white television from the neighbor’s window. She knew she had to steal a lot to be able to afford that. Early morning, she would get up before her mother, tiptoeing past her siblings who were asleep on the wooden floor of their stilted shanty. Dawn barely broke that day when she went to a corner and held the money in her hands (some of them were crumpled bills and some, coins) and counted them three times. She unconsciously hummed a song.

“Fifty five, fifty six, fifty seven…” Her tiny fist gripped the money tightly.

One of the coins rolled towards the kitchen. She quickly crawled after it before it could fall into the spaces between the floorboards. Then she noticed a round, flat object on the ground just below the sink. A coin purse!

She picked it up. The worn zipper was stuck, but inside there were two folded one hundred peso bills. It must be her mother’s. Mrs. Morales had paid her mother for the laundry. She glanced cautiously at her mother’s sleeping frame before slowly trying to pry the coin purse open and taking the hundred peso bill.

“She’ll probably think she had lost or spent it.” She then returned it to where she had found it and carefully hid all her money, wrapped in cellophane, between the overlapping floorboards under the boxes where they kept their clothes.

The next morning, she awoke with the voices of her parents screaming like sirens. Shit! She thought.

Her mother hurled a volley of insults at her father while her siblings cried and gathered behind. Her father looked ready to hit her. Edna rolled her eyes and pressed her face against the pillow. Fucking drama so early in the morning.

-to be continued-

Nicotine (Excerpt)

He waited till the plane was just a mere speck in the pink sky. It was dusk. The hairs on his forearms stood as he felt the first chill of the evening air. The talahib swayed lazily, oblivious to the turmoil of emotions that racked his heart.

He craved for a smoke. His hand felt the bulge of the crumpled half-empty cigarette pack on the pocket of his shirt.

“Shit.”

The big vein on his forehead started pulsating, marking the onset of one of those bad headaches he got. Like a thousand hammers beating on my skull. He thought. By now the sky had darkened to a deep purple hue, and he had not moved an inch since he first stood there. He crushed the cigarette pack with his fist and tore them to bits with his fingers.

Like a madman, he suddenly squatted to retrieve the torn cigarette bits on the damp grass. Just a whiff! He collected them on his palm and sniffed it. Ah! The sweet smell of tobacco entered his nostrils. The pounding seemed to lessen each time he took a sniff. He buried his face on his palms and inhaled deeply.

There was no moon that night, only the electric lights of the nearby houses of Fisherman’s Village illuminated the nightscape. The bay near the airport brought a taste of saltiness in the air. Miguel stood up and wiped his hands on his dirty jeans.

He slowly started his way back to the road, stumbling clumsily in the dark.

How Thadie Got His Groove Back

Part 2: Dorm

It was 30 minutes till my Statistics Finals in Diliman and I needed to take the edge off. Some people would drink, some would meditate, I on the other hand (excuse the pun), decided to do “the thing”. I tiptoed to my small room at the end of the hall.

It was still early in the morning, and I could hear the soft snores of my dorm mates. I glanced at the hallway one more time before gingerly closing the door.

Click! The sound of the lock as it slid into place. It was quiet enough to hear the neighbor’s TV from my closed window. Some sort of morning show on. Crap. With my movements as slick as a hot knife through butter, I unzipped myself and lay on the bed.

Ok. Think of the hunky Law student two rooms down the hall. Remember he always walks around in his underwear?

I started to touch myself.

Oh yeah, I remember that afternoon when he slept with his door open. That was some feast for the eyes… Wait till I get my hands on that-

Without me noticing, my pace was getting quicker and my elbows started banging on the wall.

“So close, so close…”

“Shit!” I noticed the time: 10 minutes till my exam begins. I fixed myself hurriedly and ran all the way to the venue which was in the Law building.

Surprisingly, I was able to answer most of the questions (yeah, considering this was take two shhh!) with ease, and I finished ahead of time. I submitted my paper to the proctor and left.

Maybe it was because I fantasized about my lucky charm- my Law student dorm mate’s crotch- that I was able to do well in the exam. Hello, the venue was in the Law building too! I giggled to myself.

The guys were having the usual Friday boozefest when I got home later that day. I was about to refuse (as I normally did) when the landlord’s son invited me to join, but he suddenly pulled me to the center of the group.

He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Pare, narinig ka daw nila kanina nagja-jakol.”

Me, looking incredulous: “Excuse me?”

I put on my purest I’m-a-lamb-and-I-am-wholesome look to profess my innocence. Good thing I was saved from further inquisition and embarrassment when another dorm mate chimed in. He said his maid once caught him jerking off at home, and told his folks.

“Wala yan!” Another ones relates his own story.

The embarrassment was now gone. I picked up my first gin-pomelo drink and raised the glass.

Cheers, guys.

Boneyard of Lost Promises (Excerpt)

(this short story will also be included in the second book)

The hot wind blew fiercely, carrying with it fine bits of sand. The landscape was barren, with but a few sand dunes to interrupt the large expanse of flatness.

Armando felt bits of sand enter his eyes and mouth. He tried shielding himself from the hot sun with his tunic. He could feel the soles of his blistered feet burn as he walked.

“Excuse me.” He tried speaking with the others walking alongside him.

He could not see their faces; they wore black tunics which covered their bodies except for the eyes. They walked as if they were in a hurry to get somewhere, but all he could see were only miles of nothingness.

“Excuse me.” He insisted.

He tried to block the path of the person behind him but all he got was a flash of anger from a pair of eerie, almost shining eyes. The figure moved past him without a word, and disappeared into the moving crowd. He felt his skin burn. His sweat felt like drops of acid in his eyes. Where am I? He looked around the wasteland. The figures seemed to pass by him like a black river.

“Where am I?” He said aloud. But the wind only drowned his words.

The Longest Day

What would be officially known as the longest day of my life finally ended at 10:00 pm last night. I had been up and about for 18 hours, struggling to accomplish one task after another.

The day started at 4:00 am. I woke up, silenced the blaring alarm clock, and wiped the sleep from my eyes. I had but a few minutes to prepare. I gathered my RLE kit, Thermo tray, Lab gown, and my backpack. My immaculate uniform hung at the back of the door, and my shoes shined to perfection.

Taking a shower early morning had me shivering. I hurried and changed despite the cold, and stepped outside the house. The full moon greeted me as I walked about 50 meters to the highway, with my Thermo tray and RLE kit on my right hand and my white coat to be worn over my uniform draped on my left.

I arrived at the Hospital at 5:00am, with my stomach grumbling. I had not had time to have breakfast- but I wasn’t worried about that, I was worried about attending the morning endorsement and the rounds.

I was finally given a patient. A little boy of 10, who came down with Dengue fever. They had come from Sogod, Southern Leyte, which was a three hour drive from Tacloban. I proceeded to check the boy’s vital signs whilst he was sleeping. Normal. According to his mother he had fever yesterday in the afternoon, but it had already subsided. The IV fluid was almost empty.

I stayed with them for the entire shift, finishing the Comprehensive Health History by interviewing the mother, while assisting in any way possible such as helping the boy eat his breakfast, assisting his mother who did a half-bath, doing environmental sanitation, and other simple tasks such as getting hot water. Being a student nurse, I was neither allowed to sit or eat or accept an invitation from the client to sit or eat.

After my shift, a couple of my mates decided to have a meal. We went over our experiences on the second day of our hospital exposure; laughing over our novice mistakes- it would not be uncommon to hear something like:

Student 1: “What’s the respiration rate?”

Student 2: “80.”

Student 1 hisses: “Are you crazy? He’s not tachycardic! Check again!”

Student 2: “Shit, I think that was the pulse rate. I’ll check again for the respiration.”

Student 1: “Are you going to auscultate his chest?”

Student 2: “Nah, I can observe the rise and fall of his chest.”

Then Student 1 smiles at the significant other of the patient, trying unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness.

After satisfying my hunger, I went home to change. Time for Swimming class. Today was no ordinary meeting- we had two practical exams- Butterfly Stroke and Breast Stroke. I was able to swim the entire length of the 50 meter pool, and back again to demonstrate the two strokes.

Unexpectedly, our Instructor made us an offer- if we do the IM (Individual Medley) and perform correctly, we need not show up for the following meetings, and the final grade would automatically be 1.0. I felt confident since all my practical exams for Freestyle, Backstroke, Butterfly, and Breast Stroke all got a perfect score. Little did I know that my exhaustion from the hospital duty would come to haunt me.

I started with the Buttterfly stroke for the first 50 meters, returning with Backstroke for another 50. While swimming the Breast Stroke, I managed to swallow mouthfuls of pool water. My legs were starting to cramp. I reached the end of the pool, and returned for the last 50 meters. It was Freestyle, supposed to be the easiest. At this point my energy was depleted. Each arm felt like a ton of weight, and my legs ached as I did the flutter kick. I seriously thought I was going to drown, but I kept going.

“A meter more, a meter more, a meter more…” I kept telling myself as my lungs screamed for oxygen. Finally my fingers touch the tiles. I have competed the medley- and my final grade? 1.0!

Alas, the victory was dampened by the next two classes. A lecture in our Healthcare (in which I forced myself to recite at least three times in hopes I’d be exempt from the graded recitation for the Finals) had me dozing off at least twice. The final class for the day and for the week was the formidable Microbiology and Parasitology lecture. The class was 5:30 to 8:30 in the evening, and by this time I was “empty batt” already. I managed to survive the lecture and the quiz on Non-lactose Fermentors, and just when I thought I would go crazy, we were finally dismissed.

I hurried home, dropped my things at the floor of my bed, and blacked out.

Makabagong Eva

“Libereyted?”

Ang lalaki, may libog sa katawan. Kahit saan mo dilaan- sa titi, bayag, kahit sa tenga lang, mapapaikot mo na.

Ako nga pala si Trudi. Gertrude and pangalang bigay ng Nanay ko. ‘Tang ina, pangalan ‘ata ng matandang Amerikana yun ah. Ang barkada ko ang nagbigay sa akin ng bagong pangalan. Baduy daw kasi ang Gertrude, parang losyang ang dating, ang Trudi bagets ang dating.

Isa pa lang ang naging boyfriend ko, pero marami na akong naka-sex. Ilan? Di ko na mabilang. Ewan ko ba kung bakit pinagbabawal ang sex. Masarap naman ‘di ba?

Fourth year High School ako ng una kong maranasan yun. Katatapos lang ng CAT drill namin, nagpunta ako sa T.H.E. room para magbihis.

“Trudi.”

Napalingon ako. Si Mike, classmate ko.

Bigla kong tinakpan ang harapan ko. “Ano ka ba pre? Nagbibihis ako!”

Hindi siya nagsalita, lumapit lamang ito at bigla akong hinalikan sa labi. Ayoko sana pero tinablan na ako. Hinawakan niya ang kamay ko at pinahawak sa harapan ng pantalon nya. Leche. Matapos nun wala na akong nagawa. Masarap siyang humalik, at hinahaplos niya ang katawan ko.

Sa maruming sahig ng classroom, ihiniga ako ni Mike. Dalawang beses namin ginawa- mabuti pa sulitin na habang meron, sabi ko pa.

Tapos nun, halos araw-araw kaming nagtatalik. Nung College, sa lungsod na ako nag-aral kaya din a kami nagkikita. Di naman ibig sabihin na wala na akong action, ‘no? Marami yata akong naging text-mate. Text-mate sa umaga, sex-mate sa gabi.

Ewan ko ba. Sabi nila mali ang makipag-sex pag hindi pa kasal. Sabi ko naman, enjoy while you can, diba? Tutal, marami din naming mga kinakasal na naghihiwalay. Gastos lang yung kasal-kasal na yan.


“Moral?”


I’m Anne. Dean’s Lister, Student Council President, and a St. Peter devotee. I was raised Catholic and I’ve studied in Catholic schools all my life. Every Sunday I go to St. Peter’s with my parents and little brother (He’s sooo cute!). We ride in Daddy’s shiny new BMW, and have lunch at a chic restaurant after the Holy Mass. Oh, you should see us!

I’ve always been a responsible honor student. I say “Please” and “Thank you”, and always observe the right conduct- in school, at home, and everywhere else.

My boyfriend happens to be the heartthrob of the school. He’s smart, rich, and had good grades when he studied in the seminary. We never had sex (though we fooled around a couple of times, but I’m sure that doesn’t count!) but our love is so perfect! There is a cloud lurking in my horizon, though.

Next week, our school starts community extension program. Ewww! It’s such a gross-fest to be around filthy squatter people. Like, hello! Ever heard of soap? It’s the government’s fault, why we still have these people around!

Our instructor says we should be one with them…he must be crazy!! Yuck! I really can’t keep a straight face around people who smell bad. There was this scantily clad woman in our initial visit at the Barangay Hall- she looked like a prostitute! So dirty! It was like she was sleeping with everybody who worked there. She acted so nice, as if she’s a clean woman. Yuck! I dread going back to that stinkhole of a place.


“Mapagmahal?”


Malena ang pangalan ko, at isa akong kerida. Tama ang narinig mo, kerida ako. Bakit, may reklamo ka?

Haler! Hindi ko naman pinangarap ko ‘to ano? Nakilala ko si Tony nung waitress ako dun sa club. Madalas siya dun, malungkot ata. Limang taon na siya kasal sa Misis niya, pero sa abroad nagtratrabaho bilang Titser.

Ka-table niya si Marie, pero ipinatawag niya ako. Sinunggaban ko na ano? Ang hirap kaya mag-waitress. Palaging nakatayo. E pag i-table ka, me kita ka na, di ka pa pagod!

Valentine’s Day nun nung sinagot ko sya. O ‘di ba ang saya? Di ‘ata araw-araw na may gwapong engineer na nanliligaw sa akin. Tutal wala pa naman silang anak, Ok lang siguro yun. Hmmph, kung alam ko lang, may iba nang lalaki ang asawa nun!

Ibinahay na ako ni Tony. Pero pag-umuuwi ang Misis nya, halos di kami nagkikita. Ok lang, basta ginagastusan ako. Malay natin, baka iwan niyang tuluyan ang asawa niya at ako ang pakasalan.

“Hay naku Malena, ang gaga mo talaga! Ang gaga ko talaga…”

Gym Stories 3

Being gay is hard work. I’m not sure though if this is only inherent to the particular gay sub-species one belongs to, but I’m thinking at some level, all gay men are obsessed with looks. I belong to the “all-around-cute-gay-guy” category (or so I think), and part of my regimen is trying desperately not to look my age (vanity to the highest level, I know).

So here I am slaving away at the gym. I’m madly pedaling, cursing the clock for moving too slow. Five more minutes of cardio, and it feels like and eternity. Then BAM! I see him: an old friend who I last saw when I was in my teens. He is a doctor now, and looking quite fine.

My eyes work like binoculars. Zzzzztt (checking overall appearance: nice shoulders, nice build, tall, and a cute face) zzzzzztt (zooming towards face: youthful, nice skin, braces, oh a blackhead near the nose, overall very nice).

“Hey!” I exclaimed, genuinely surprised to see him.

“Thad! Kamusta?” He takes the stationary bike next to me.

“Eto Ok naman. Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, for the past two months. Ikaw?”

“I quit gym last June, busy kasi. This month, I started again.” Damn! Why do I keep looking at that blackhead?

“Kamusta sched mo?”

“Medyo busy din.” R. says, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Anong sunod after this?”

“Weights.” I say.

As I made my way to my trainer, I suddenly wished I was lifting heavier weights. I’ve got to make a good impression. Uggh, I this is bad- developing a crush on an old friend.

As I did bench presses, I was weighing the risks. First off, I’d be a fool to risk a 13 year old friendship by making a move, second, I think he is straight and that would be fighting a losing battle.

“Arggh.” I set the weights back to the bars.

Ok, so I’ve decided no fooling around with this one. I grit my teeth and resume doing bench presses. I cursed being here at the gym at this time.

Why are we so pressured to look good anyway? I’ve thought about just letting myself go, but when I think of the consequences, I think I’d rather stick to doing my fitness routines. Being gay is like participating in a perpetual beauty contest, it’s exhausting! This is surely punishment for being so shallow.

I sit up and wipe my dripping sweat. I looked around for a moment and rested.

“Hey Thad, I’ve got to go.” It was my friend, R.

“Sure. See you around.” I say.

He makes his way to the dressing area, and walk towards the pull ups. Guess I better get back to my program.

And oh, R. if you are reading this- I was just kidding earlier. ; )

First Lesbian Kiss

It has been confirmed yet again, and this time with a very reliable, seldom used litmus test to appraise sexual orientation- a kiss with a woman. It was not planned, but after one too many shots of tequila as you know, anything can happen.

During the night of my birthday, while we were singing on top of our lungs, this very pretty, buxom female friend started doing body shots. I was just sitting down minding my own business, quite drunk, and enjoying the strains of some sad lovesong blaring from the karaoke. She approaches me with a slice of lemon on her finger, a shot glass of tequila on her other hand. I shook my head, saying “no more drinks for me”.

She grins wickedly and asks me to bite the lemon. In my drunken stupor, I couldn’t really get what she meant. Was I supposed to eat that slice of lemon? Chew on it? Everything was in slow motion so the slice just dangled from between my teeth. The next thing I know, she drank from the shot glass and kissed me on the lips slash ate the lemon half dangling from my mouth.

I didn’t retch or gag. I certainly wouldn’t say I enjoyed it either. I just stood there, very surprised at what happened. I reach for the beer and took a large swig, trying to digest what happened as the liquid made its way to my stomach.

Then I remembered my first kiss with my first guy friend Noel- the heat, my pounding heart, the passion. I felt none of it right now. Yup, I probably felt more passion pretend-kissing my pillow when I was thirteen, imagining it was Gabby Conception.

And so it’s official. I’m definitely gay- not bi, but gay. Zero attraction for females. Nada, None. Gosh, I can still hear my friend’s laughter as she saw my reaction.

The Day I Wore My Pradda

Ouch, ugh, aww! I cursed my new shoes- they have been digging into the blisters on my ankles. Yeah, I got them yesterday, walking around in these blasted Pradda shoes. That’s not a spelling error by the way, that’s how the knockoff is spelled (sorry, can’t afford real ones when you’re on allowance).

The shoes are sleek and shiny, elegantly shaped, and they could pass for the real thing. The only problem is that they feel like they are made of concrete (the heels) and steel (the rest of it). No wonder my feet were all red and swollen by the time I went home yesterday.

Tok, tok, tok. They made funny clunking sounds as I walked briskly in the corridor. Crap, I see a couple of students heading my way- must stop the clunking. I stopped walking and pretended to check my notes.

“Hmm… Biochem at eight, Microbiology in the afternoon…” I look to the left, then to the right. Coast is clear! With much reluctance, I hold my breath and prepare myself for the pain as these Nazi shoes start once again to dig into the swollen flesh of my ankles.

Tok, tok, tok. I walked slowly towards our classroom.

A Draw

In the blue corner, we have a 90 pound, petite woman. A registered nurse with three kids. She has zero defeats and is currently the head of the matricentric household.

In the red corner, we have a thin boned, 9 year old kid with a 19 inch waist. This will be his first attempt to grab the championship.

Ding, ding ding! The bells signal the start.

Round 1

Thad had a really bad tooth decay on one of his temporary molars (due to his love of sweets), and his Mama notices him picking on the cavity with his fingers. She also noticed that Thad had been brushing his teeth quite often, which would never happen unless he was having a bad toothache.

Mama approaches tries to get a look at the rotting tooth. Thad knew what was coming so he tries to duck, unfortunately the opponent grabs his jaw and forces them open. She sees the decayed tooth and decides that they go to the dentist immediately.

Round 2

Thad retreats into his room and contemplates his next move. He has an irrational fear of dentists and their sharp metal instruments. He knew he must dodge this move by escaping right away.

Alas! His Mama blocks his path, and orders his older cousin to make sure he gets dressed so they could go to the dentist. The two women drag the poor kid to a jeep that would take them downtown.

Round 3

At the dentist’s office, a desperate Thad puts on a very brave fight. They hold him down the dentist’s chair (Mama on the right, my Ate on the left) while his legs kick this way and that.

The dentist approaches and rubs some topical anesthetic on the gum of the diseased tooth with a gloved had. Thad squirms harder, knowing that the syringe was next.

After minutes of struggling and threats from Mama, the dentist gives up. She tells the mother to come back when the kid is calm. Mama pays the dentist for the anesthetic and march outside the office. She finds a jeep, pays the fare and instructs the driver to drop Thad off at the house while she continues to run errands.

Round 4

A very angry Thad hops off the jeepney into their neighborhood. Instead of going home, he goes to the house across the street where his Tita lives as stays there. For two days. He was still mad and was determined not to speak to his Mama.

On the third day, his Tita persuades him to go home, because his Mama might think she was encouraging him to stay. By this time his anger had dissipated.

Stepping into their living room, he notices the floor is clean. His toys were displayed on the cabinet neatly, undisturbed by neither him nor his brothers. He sees his Mama in the kitchen and their eyes meet.

No apologies are exchanged, but they all sit and have lunch together. Later that night, Thad wakes up in the middle of the night feeling his decayed tooth move when he pushes it with his tongue. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, holds the tooth and twists as hard as he could.

The next morning he shows his Mama the rotten tooth he pulled all by himself.