nemesis

Years ago, when I was in college, the teachers regarded me with utter dislike. I do not know if this declaration stems out purely from paranoia, but that is beside the point. One of them in particular, treated me with such loathing it could only be described as 'a burning desire to annihilate'. She was my English 5 teacher.

When she looked at me I could feel her eyes boring into my skull, as if willing it to burst so she could check if there's anything of value inside. It didn't help any that I almost always sat with two of the peskiest people God ever invented: Carlo and Paco. Whenever Mrs. G's eyes traveled in our direction, her glance, no matter how fleeting, always sent ripples up and down my spine. The two boys, it seemed, were made of some impenetratable material. They wouldn't have recognized a bazooka if Mrs. G hit them on the head with it.

To pass the time, Carlo would draw weird things in MY notebook, unleashing his inner-bitch. I would sometimes wonder why his drawings often featured guns and every manner of mutilation. "Carl," I said one time, "why don't you draw something light?" He drew Jesus on the cross.

Paco, on the other hand, would do origami from Carlo's drawings. And sometimes, much to Mrs. G's disgust, he would habitually disappear for fifteen minutes to participate in a drinking roulette at 3J's. Then he would come back again, somewhat stuporous, and sheepishly remark, "nag-chismisan pa kami ni Milady."

By the end of the semester, my notebook was reduced to six pages. But I managed to pass the subject. Mrs. G gave me a 76. Maybe she figured if she failed me, she would have 50-50 risk of seeing me again in class.

Coming out of Davao Doc after an interview last month, Mrs. G and I ran into each other. "Hey," she said, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to teach here." I flashed her my sweetest smile.

"What?" "Why?"

"Well, why not?" The smile never left my face.

"Are you sure?" She needed more than just convincing. She needed to know why the universe should allow me to become a part of her existence again. I was the boil that wouldn't go away.

"Yeah. See you in the halls."

When I looked back, Mrs. G was scratching the occipital region of her head.

Hah! So much for bliss. The plague is back to torment you, again and again, and again.

...and again.

it's raining porn!

You read it right. As I proceeded to punch the cursory keys to open my mail my eyes were accosted by couples cavorting about in very compromising positions. Looks like the pervert who used this PC before me forgot to sign out.

While I was wildly entertained for a couple of minutes I quickly regained my composure and checked my decency meter. Okay. Everything is intact.

Hey. I am not about to sit here and lie through my teeth about not having seen anything like it before. My friends and I were die-hard fans of Rosanna Roces before she became a has-been. And as she bid adieu, tasteful porn (or IS THERE such a thing) has also, mournfully, become a thing of the past. Now all that's left are saucy movies with titles such as "Buco Pandan", with no social relevance whatsoever. Just pure, hardcore, in-your-face kababuyan. Don't get me wrong. I haven't seen Buco Pandan, but my sources are VERY reliable. And while they are extremely horny creatures, they go for cinematography that leaves something to the imagination.

It's one of the proverbial 'signs of the times.' Filipinos are becoming more and more liberated. Liberated from what, you ask? Liberated from the bonds of modern day pharisees who like to dictate the rules of social acceptability or morality. Whichever applies.

I am all for liberation if it means we are going somewhere. I do hope we are. Sincerely. But the way things are in this country I can't say if we're really moving forward or just hallucinating.

Wake me up in the next century.

please and thank you

I applauded the world last night. Despite the horrific situation in the Middle East, despite the bumbling government system, despite myself, there exists a hope for mankind.

Our car's spark plug is kaput. We took the jeep to SM and back. The ride home was unexpectedly pleasant. It was the only time in the world that I took public transport and didn't mind so much the assault to my nostrils. You would think you were in another planet. The people in the jeep were kind and polite to one another. Yes, really. In place of the common cuss-words I heard the words "Sorry," "Paki," "Excuse me," and "Salamat." Really.

I've never enjoyed a jeepney ride more.

Isabela has taken to watching telenovelas. And because of it she has developed a highly amusing habit of acting out. She would say of some unfortunate situation as a kitchen spill, "Dios ko, lagot ka." In the bathroom she would laugh like Sally as I pour water over her head. Sometimes she would even lie still and say things like, "Patay na ako. Lagyan mo ako ng flowers pati lights." My daughter is only two and a half years old and already she has vivid ideas of the dark side of life.

I cannot think straight. This French guy beside me smells like a rotting corpse. I know he's French because I took a glimpse at his monitor and I read words such as "Le coe'ure" or something that spells like it. Maybe he's a French terrorist. I could feel my brain cells popping with every breath I take. Even camote-powered fart doesn't smell this bad. This is a very bad time to talk about politeness and goodwill.

Maybe some other time. I have to get out. Goodbye.

pilipinas: asan pa nga ba?

"Welcome to Dumoy Baranggay," the sign said. Deplorable. Dilapidated. It's quite an infliction to the senses. You would wonder whether there were funds being forwarded here. Might have been a re-routing of some sort. Yeah. Directly to the pockets of the esteemed officials you voted for last election.

If I were someone powerful, and I REALLY wish I was, I would change the way things are in this country. I would declare martial law and eliminate the terrorists, the corruptors, the criminals, and yes, even the rallyists I see on tv everyday. Why do I bother with these unhealthy thoughts? Because, apart from an inexhaustible amount of dry wit, homicidal thoughts are all I have.

Have you seen the wedding of Ruffa the other day? I have. And I must say it was too extravagant for good taste. The flowers alone must have cost a fortune. Sixty varieties flown in from twelve countries. And the cake! Ten feet high embellished with Swarovski crystals and 23-carat gold! I heard it took a month to put together. Anyway, there was Ruffa, looking all pretty and I must say extremely relieved because her groom showed up despite the situation in Turkey, walking down the aisle while wisps of billowing smoke followed her to the altar. How tsk, romantic. It was almost biblical. After the cermonies the whole wedding party partook of the banquet as served by Le Souffle. Ubber chic. My guess is anywhere between three million bucks.

You could donate an entire school for that amount. But perhaps I am just sour-graping. Lord knows what I would do if I looked like Ruffa and had somebody like Ylmaz to suck my toes every morning.

This is what I am getting at. The Philippines is where you find the richest of the rich and the poorest of the poor in a single setting. You see the huge chasm that divides them. And you'd give anything to fill it. Like arrange for some people to get killed. And the poor shall inherit the earth.

Good day to you.

ruffa and other grim possibilities

I am so in touch with the showbiz world. Tomorrow, Ruffa ( of the infamous 'take it, take it' fiasco) is going to get married. Meanwhile, the Turkish airspace is abuzz with all sorts of American flying war-thingys. Ruffa's groom is stuck. The wedding is going to be held in the Philippines. Unless Ruffa's sweetcakes is an energetic swimmer, there isn't going to be a wedding.

Yesterday I had the most amusing time of my life watching Etta Rosales and Dr. Amanda Cruz bitch it out with each other on national television. While I am not one to question the motives of rallyists, I had my bets placed on Dr. Cruz. If words were physical blows, Etta Rosales would've ended up in one of the more expensive hospitals in Metro Manila. Clearly, she was no match for the powerful mouth of Dr. Cruz. Unless Etta's brain is a vacuum, and words just disappear in the black hole of her mind.

Considering Cruz's abandonment of tact, and Rosales' far-flung responses, I am truly suspicious of this theory.

Maybe you don't know what I am talking about.

Back to Ruffa. Why can't they just postpone the whole thing? If she really does love this Turkish millionaire, she wouldn't think twice about not risking his safety. Then again, if this Turkish millionaire really did love Ruffa, he'd be here, come hell or high water, to attend his own wedding tomorrow!

Or maybe they should just have the wedding in Turkey and exchange I do's while scuds are flying overhead! To profess your undying love for one another while the threat of danger is in the air, that would be history-making romance. Ooh, I'm such a romantic!

The moral of the story is this: If you're a very rich person living in a war zone, it really pays to have your own airspace.

free scud missiles for everyone!

Contrary to what you may be thinking, I am not about to give you my two-cents worth about the war in Iraq. I might mention, however, that there are some people I would like to SEND TO Iraq. But I am not going to ruin my morning so to hell with Satan's Spawn, et.al

As always, I was doing my laundry this morning when upon bending down to pick up something I dropped I noticed two mosquitoes clinging together in flight. It appeared to be such a difficult business as both were flying so low, and it occured to me after I have been watching them for several minutes that I was actually doing something perverted. I was intently watching two of God's creations having sex. And having just used the words God and sex in the same sentence, I conclude that I am in desperate need of a social life. I am definitely bored. And bordering on promiscuity, I might add.

In case you were wondering, yes. I killed those dengue-carriers mid-fornication. How did I know they were in fact aedes egyti? Easy. They were low-flying. And it was morning.

Last Thursday I went to the NBI to get a clearance. And as luck would have it, someone with the same name has a criminal offense. I think somewhere in those twenty minutes of disbelief I began to search my conscience if I in fact didn't kill anyone recently. I have to return next week. They have to check the files in Manila. Drat.

Oh, look! It's lunchtime! The kitchen is beckoning again. Cook or be cooked. Husband and daughter just might eat me alive if I don't come home soon.

Ciao.

happy blentines di

Today lovers all over the world are pondering the nameless situation in which they have found themselves. Some wonder how they've stuck around this long, others hope to stay until the next big fish comes their way. Still others seek to find a future, if there's any at all, to their festering intimacy issues.

They say marriage is just a seven-year itch. Meaning after seven years, all the romance is gone. The clock is ticking. U-oh. Significant other and I only have four years left before we can try to prove this theory wrong.

But what am I doing boring you with stories that most of you find so infinitely trivial? There are less tragic things to talk about.

Like Kris Aquino. It's her birthday today. And I still do not have a chance at getting that 4 million something pot money her game show is boasting.

Or the war in Pikit, Cotabato. Red is the order of the day, indeed. Tens of mutilated body parts and dead corpses swimming in blood.

Or that sex-hungry father who raped his daughter eleven times in a row.

Or maybe we could talk about the price of okra these days. Did you know that they sell calamansi por kilo now? Would somebody please tell me why meat and poultry are cheaper than fish? What is happening to the country? Used to be, only the poor ate fish. Now even the middle income society can't afford it.

Ah, there's a suitable topic to talk about. The state of the nation today. We ought to change the republic's name to Pilipit. Because that's exactly what we are all doing these days. Scrimping. Others make pilipit because their tummy is hapdi, or kaput. Whichever applies.

That is why we shouldn't be too happy this valentine's day. At the rate our country is going, we should start planning how to get out of here fast. And hope to really celebrate this occasion elsewhere next year. Preferrably Uranus.

NO, not the body part.

chickenomics

I have a friend who is in the telecom business. He visits me at the house to get free cooking lessons. His one hobby is to annoy and confuse other people. His name is JMV, short for Julius May Virus. This missive is in honor (horror?) of him.

Anyway, during one of those cooking disasters, JMV was sitting on my kitchen counter going on and on about our respective boring lives when suddenly he pipes up, "What's with Nessy and all the other women who can cook? What do they have that we don't? It's not like it's written in the chickenomics recipe book." Nessy, by the way, is the sister of Janice. She does cook up a storm, but I digress.

In that statement of his, JMV was hinting subtly about how bad a cook I am so he goes and shows me an example of a real gourmet, coining that "chickenomics" word in the process. Meanwhile, the eyes at the back of my head could see that not only was JMV not helping, he has both feet (with shoes on) perched on top of my VERY CLEAN, GERM-FREE counter. He was watching me work in rapt admiration (or was it murderous anticipation) for the bad meal that lay ahead. Ay, what can I say, most of my friends like being mean to one another so I'm blissfully unaffected, beyond anything and everything else they have to say.

So I faced him and pointed out that he's not helping, and proceeded to give a long littany on how clueless he is in the kitchen. He wants to go independent for the longest time, mind you, and I am just wondering what mealtime is going to be like for him when he realizes that dream. At this point JMV gives me a helpless shrug, ala que sera, sera.

And I am boring you into a coma again. So much for small talk. I guess this is what happens when you are in limbo, suspended in time and space, not knowing what you're going to do tomorrow when all your friends are gone and there's noone to annoy you anymore. Which is why I'm going to whine some more about the sordid state of affairs called 'getting a life out of this country' in the paragraphs that would follow.

Hah. You wish.

Good day to you.

parallel universe

I am at the mall again, as you may guess. My daughter is with me because our maid is kaput. She has run off, I think, with someone's family driver. My daughter is in a corner, busy with her crayons. I had to buy those crayons so she won't bother me while I'm busy typing my stuff.

A few minutes ago we were at Jollibee, eating Chickenjoy. Incidentally, someone texted me to ask if the chickens were indeed happy when they were killed, kasi nga, bakit chickenJOY ang tawag?

My daughter and I are in an sweet and sour mode. She said things to me like, "I don't like you, go find a cab and get in!" and "I hope Dr. Mansukhani kidnaps you." All in our local dialect, of course. The latter sentence translates to "Kunin ka na ng Bumbay!" I was doing the laundry, again, kasi and she was bugging and bugging me so I incarcerated her inside our room with the Barney VCD on. When I entered the room again, she said those hurting words. Later she would hug me and say, "Mama, Jollibee tayo." To which I responded with eargerness because it meant I could pass by the net cafe.

Do you know what my husband's stupid dog did to my freshly laundered underwear? He ate it. My God, we've been spending thousands for dogfood and all he wants to eat is my underwear. Of all the gory things in the world.

While I'm here, typing away, I wonder obout the other folks out there who are working. I may be having fun now but I am not getting anywhere with all my whining. It can't buy me chocolate, it can't buy me a ticket to somewhere. As it is, my daughter is getting bored. She has taken to chewing on her crayons. And I don't want to spend thousands again just to purge her in the ER so I think I have to go now.

I will try to get my brains in order so I can write about less mundane things such as the dog eating my private stuff.

Take care, wherever you are.

the world is an oven and i'm the cake

Ay, it's so hot! It felt like my feet were sprouting blisters as I hiked to this net cafe. They're widening the road sa may palengke and it didn't surprise me greatly when I saw that the semento was dry enough to walk on when just the other night nung dumaan ako wala pa naman pino-pour na semento dun.

Is it true what they say about the correlation of bloating and heat? (you know, the hotter it gets the more your body expands?) My shorts were not this tight when I left the house but somehow after walking under the sun for 5 minutes to get to this place I find that my fly is open. The zipper must've given way under the extreme pressure of nagpupumiglas na adipose.

Know what, I'll give you an insight on a mother's thoughts. The other evening at the mall I saw a small boy about Isabel's age. He was uh, cleaning his nose with his digits and sampling the bi-products all at once. And I found myself thinking, " I hope my daughter doesn't marry this guy." How weird is that?

After months of suffering from lack of self-worth I have come to the conclusion that I have gotten this huge by eating my daughter's table scrap. Vulgar-speak, SALIN. I don't know where I got this insane "ay, sayang" mentality. And I am bereft. It is only now, painfully, that I realize, mas sayang yung mga pantalon na di ko na nasusuot. Not that I couldn't get this big on my own. I mean, I ate like a pig before but now I eat like a MAMA PIG. And mama pigs are waaayyyy larger than spawnless pigs.

Wait. I know what this is. This is an odyssey. Someday I will pass this part even though it seems like it's caught in a time-warp. Someday, i don't know how many years more, I will metamorphose into a fat-free goddess and everyone will worship me because even my nose will shrink. Right now my nose is also in heat-and-bloating mode. It looks like a mouse, the one connected to your PC.

Monday I am starting acupuncture. Another of Janice's wild and wacky ideas. According to her she lost her appetite completely. I saw her last night and if you ask me what I thought was missing with Janice, I'd say it's her waistline. But I'm going to the acupuncturist just the same. You know me, anything for a chance at thinness. Maybe I can convince the acupuncturist to bury the needle in my mouth and leave it there for the rest of my natural life so that every time I ate I would feel PAIN.

You know what they say "You are what you collect?" I think I will always secretly hate Yeyet for influencing me with her baboy collection. Because when I started collecting swine I collected the weight as well. I remember a few months back when a friend told me, "So, cows na pala ang kino-collect mo ngayon?" I remember smiling stupidly because I could not grasp what she meant at the time. And so I was always lying in bed at night thinking about that incident, puzzled because I never once thought about collecting bovine. And then it occured to me .... mukha na ba akong baka at iniisip niyang baka na ang kino-collect ko?

Newsflash. Kelangan ko pa palang maglaba at kaya ako nandito ay para bumili ng Tide sa grocery, hindi para magbabad sa net cafe.