Nanay and Tatay and Fried Chicken

Showering with My Parents

I had Sunday lunch with my parents today to celebrate their wedding anniversary on Monday. Since I have work on Monday, I told them I'd take them out to lunch on Sunday. They happily obliged. Nanay and Tatay (Filipino for 'mother' and 'father') came in early and they arrived in my box apartment when I was about to take a shower. As usual, they were both arguing about something trifle – this time it was about my father's shoes. My mother is waving her arms in her usual fashion while she tries to wake up the neighbors, and my father wincing at my mother's every gesture. When I reached my twenty second threshold, I told both of them that I needed to take a shower and the three of us should be leaving in a few minutes. That seemed to settle the two of them. I was about to step into the bathroom (which was like three paces from my doorstep and one pace from bed) when I suddenly realized that I do not have a bathroom door. Tatay was already settled in my bed and Nanay was fiddling with my computer and asking me how to open You Tube (or "yu choob”).

I felt really weird all of a sudden. I realized that I am gonna be showering naked in my capsule of a bathroom with both of my parents just a fart's smell away. It's like back when I was nine or ten or two when I caught both of them doing the nasty. I was playing hide and seek with my nephew and I decided to hide under my parents' bed where I know he wouldn't find me. True enough, my nephew didn't find me, but I was stuck under the bed for almost an hour because my parents came in from the bathroom (yes, back when gravity still had a slight effect on them, my parents used to shower together). Now I couldn't get outta the bed you see because their room was off limits and both of them would have a cow if they see me under their bed. So I bidded my time. Well, they did too. I was hoping that they would just get dressed but no, they decided to do the quick nasty. To say that I was terrified and scarred for life would be overstating it. I already knew about sex. I didn't know much back then but I knew enough. 

Ugh.

The picture of my mother and my father doing the deed brought me back from my childhood reminiscing to my bathroom. I needed a shower badly and I was really sweaty and rank from running. So what I did was to just to switch off the bathroom lights so there would be some decency left in me after this ordeal. I realized that the only way to survive this ordeal was to be casual about it. I got my towel and my change of clothes and put it beside my kitchen sink cum pharmacy (which was a half pace away from my bed ¼ pace away from my bathroom door). I stripped off my running gear and put it in the sink (I live in a prison cell, but a nicely painted one) and got the water running. I started showering while talking to both of them about this and that, mostly about Manny Pacquiao's latest bout with Clottey. “Do you think he'd win (Pacquiao)?”, I shouted at them while in mid lather, just to make everything sort of casual. “Does the pope shit in the woods”, my father quips in English in a very staccato fashion then laughs at his own joke. Then I hear my mother saying something about bears and the pope and about my father at laughing at his own jokes.

Waiting for the Taxi

I decided that we should take the taxi since it was gonna be a long walk to the restaurant if we were to take the jeepney. Besides, both of them already have weak knees. We were walking towards the taxi stand and I noticed that Tatay was lagging behind. I told Nanay that we oughta wait for Tatay but all she said was, 

“Hayaan mo yan, makakasunod din yan sa atin."

Naaaah, don't worry about it, he'll catch up.

She didn't say it with contempt or anything but just in a matter of fact manner. My father is growing old. He will be 73 coming June. I looked at my mother and I saw the same thing. She is more resilient though. Her knees may be weak but she still has that youthful vigor in her that I cannot not see in my father these days.

They used to be young, my parents. They used to have that vigor that boasted of their youth and boldness. They used to fight like Stanley and Stella. I remember how they'd wake up the whole neighborhood with all their insults and their mockery of each other's parents, siblings and uncles and aunts and past lovers (my father's side only since Tatay was Nanay's first and last). My siblings and I would hear the crashing noise of broken plates, glasses and windows. My sisters would be crying a little and my brother would be in his room and I'd sit by the stairs and wait for the shouting match and the throwing to end so I could count the broken plates and glasses later. One of my sisters would be cleaning up the the mess they made in two hours or so. The house will be quiet after the fight, like it was just bombed by the Japanese or something. Stanley would be out somewhere with his drinking buddies and Stella would be packing an overnighter to stay with her sister (whom my father had an affair 15 years later). We all know that she would not go to her sister's and that my father would be back just after midnight, pissed drunk lying on the floor sleeping on his own vomit. Mother, the dutiful wife that she is would be cleaning him up and bringing him to their bedroom. We'd all wake up to a nice Filipino breakfast the next day – tapas and tocinos and fried rice and sunny side ups and all. Of course the whole spread is served on plastic plates and cups. Thank God for Tupperware. Living with my parents is like living in a soft core Prince of Tides alternate universe.

I have never realized how long that I've been gone till I saw Nanay and Tatay in their old age. I worry about them. I don't tell them that I do because they'll worry about me because I am worrying about them. I asked Nanay for us to slow down a bit to wait for Tatay who seemed to be taking his sweet time in walking. He doesn't look frail when he's walking and all, he's just slow. His walk reminds me of Yoda sorta – slow but sure and with such fortitude and resoluteness. He doesn't seem to mind that we went ahead and we were waiting for him at the taxi stand. He finally arrives and the crowd goes wild. I hail the next taxi so we could go to the Quezon Memorial Circle or the “Circle” as it is more popularly called. It was the place where I just took my run this morning. My mother used to tell me that they used to go out on dates at the Circle when they were younger, that's why I decided to take them there for their anniversary lunch.

We got into the cab and I told the driver to take us to the Circle but to first make a stop at the nearest ATM so I could withdraw some money. The AM radio was abuzz with Paquiao's latest bout with Clottey and it was no wonder why the streets were almost deserted in a Sunday morning like today. Filipinos are besotted by Manny Paquiao and so are my parents. I hear my father talking to the taxi driver about how Paquiao will win against Clottey and how he's going to be the next Flash Elorde. Flash Elorde has been dead for years and Manny Paquiao has broken every Filipino boxer's record. Yet even this fact is common knowledge to all of us except my father, the driver promptly agreed and told my father that Paquiao was going to win this game even with his hands tied.

Eating Fried Chicken

I decided to bring them to Max's. It was actually my mother's idea since they are both fond of that restaurant. Last week when I was asking her where they wanted to eat, she just told me anywhere except fast food, Chinese food or some weird food. Like me, she didn't want to go to some restaurant in a mall since she hates going there unless she wants to buy something quick, so Max's at the Circle was the restaurant that came to my mind. I remember taking her to a Max's restaurant some years back and she liked the food.

The restaurant was quite empty on a Sunday. I surmised it was because of Manny. Everybody was waiting for that fight, my parents included. I was probably the only one who wasn't. It's not that I don't like Manny Paquiao, I admire the dude's methodical boxing, but I'm not that really interested in boxing or the glory of the Filipino people and all that jazz. And besides, I kinda had the feeling that he'd win anyways. Now, if I knew that Paquiao would lose, then I'd prolly watch it. Not that I want him to lose or anything, because Filipinos are die hard Paquiao fanatics and I could be put to death by stoning if they get as much of a hint that I want to see Manny lose. I'm just saying that it would be an interesting and noteworthy scene to see Manny Paquiao lose a game, not because of his personal title as the Pound for Pound King or any of that crap, but because of the millions and I mean millions of people rallying for him. I mean, imagine the grief of the Filipino people if Paquiao loses. People will cry. People would grieve. My parents would have a bad day. It would be like the day when the Marcoses fled to Hawaii back in 1986. The masses would have lost their hero, their Jake Sully that will free them from the grips of oppression, poverty and hopelessness. Manny Paquiao is not just a Filipino for the Philippines, he's THE Filipino. He's bound to lose a fight, that's a fact as the laws of the universe would suggest. I just hope by the time that he does lose a bout with somebody, the whole country is sure of itself already and does not need a Messiah-Jake-Sully figure to look up to. Fat chance.

The place looked semi deserted with just a couple of tables occupied by couples eating away their fried chicken (Max's is known for it's fried chicken). The waiter seated us to a bigger table since we were three. When we got hold of our seats, I saw that Tatay was a bit giddy all of a sudden telling Nanay that's it's his first time to eat at Max's. I just smiled at my father's statement because true enough, my mother started telling my father that it's just his Alzheimer's acting up because they have eaten at Max's so many times and the fried chicken here was his favorite.

“Ah ganun ba?"

Is it?,  

says my father.

“Oo nga, ang kulit mo talaga!"

Yes, how many times do I have to tell it to you?!

says my mother.

I kept smiling at the two of them knowing that this is a normal interaction between my parents ever since my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's years back. I tell both of them that we should start ordering and signaled the waiter to bring in the menus. A nice looking waiter approaches us, he's probably mid twenties, a bit on the chubby side and with an affable smile on his face. I tell my mother to order anything they like, but she tells me to do the ordering. I know this routine, she knows what she wants from the get go but I play along by telling her that I know what I want (which was their all day Filipino breakfast) and she should order what they want since it's their day.

“Sigurado ka ba?"

Are you sure? 

she asks me. I nod.

“OK”, 

she says then flips through the menu.

I ordered the breakfast plate and they ordered the whole fried chicken, pansit (fried noodles), spring rolls, chop suey, 2 cups of rice, soup and halo-halo for dessert. As the waiter was taking note of our orders, my father couldn't help but tell him,

“Anniversary namin ng asawa ko ngayon kaya dinala kami ng panganay kong anak dito para mag celebrate" 

It's me and my wife's anniversary today and my eldest son took us here to celebrate.

“Jusko Bibing! Bunso natin si Omar!"

Jesus Bibing! Omar's our youngest! 

tells my mother, with fork gesticulating and all. Then she adds to the waiter in mock whisper, “Pasensya ka na, matanda na kasi eh."

I'm sorry, old age.

My father, still possessing the faculties of hearing, was quick to tell the smiling waiter, 

“Ay ganun ba? Ay sorry, may Alzheimer na kasi ako. Bunso naming anak si Omar." 

Is it? It's my Alzheimer's acting up again, I'm sorry, Omar is our youngest. 

I was slightly embarrassed to be honest, because the whole restaurant prolly heard the whole thing. I tell the waiter that we were good and he got our menus and went to the kitchen.

While we were waiting for the food to arrive, I asked them if they wanted to do something else after lunch, like walk a little around the Circle or watch a movie somewhere or something. They both said lunch was okay and they wanted to get back home quick so they could catch the Paquiao fight. My parents, on their 52^nd year of being married wanted to watch Paquiao on tv.

The food finally came and we started eating. Nanay called the waiter to ask where was the bottle of Mang Tomas liver sauce but the waiter told her that they only have Jufran Banana Ketchup at Max's. Mother just shrugged and continued putting food on my father's plate.

Truth be told, I like watching my parents eat. I dunno why, but I can see this intimacy whenever they eat together. Ever since I was a kid, I have never seen them eat by themselves. They've always eaten together except when they are fighting. Sometimes they even eat on the same plate. Nanay would always eat Tatay's left overs, which is a rarity nowadays (to think that my father is pushing mid seventies!). I honestly think that a sure sign of true and enduring love between two people is when one eats the other's left overs. I watch my mother as she puts chicken and chop suey and noodles on my father's plate. She may not admit it, but she loves the bastard. I try to be the dutiful son by setting the dinner conversation and talking about anything that I could think of – Manny Paquiao, my siblings, neighborhood gossip, my job, the coming elections, the Marcoses and more neighborhood gossip. At one point during the meal, I asked them about being together for fifty-two years and how it felt like going this far and my father, seeing an opportunity to exercise his ever infinite wisdom told me,

“Anak, ang sikreto sa isang pagsasamahan ay ang pagiging committed sa isa't isa at ang pag amin ng kani-kanilang pagkukulang, pagpapatawad at pagsusumikap na punan ang bawat mga pagkukulang.”

Son, the secret to a lasting relationship is to be committed to each other and by admitting one's shortcomings and by forgiving the other for these shortcomings and by working together to fill these shortcomings.

My mother snarled in mid-chew and with a bone in her left hand she said,

“Hay naku Bibing...”, in which the closest translation would either be “Jesus, Bibing” or “Yeah, right.” or “Shortcomings my ass.”

Tatay didn't seem to mind Nanay's last comment and continued,

“Inaamin ko, marami akong pagkakamali, pero nanghingi na ako ng tawad sa Nanay niyo.”

I admit that I did a lot of shitty things in the past but I already asked for forgiveness from your mother.

Nanay just grunted and put more food on Tatay's plate.

Forty minutes later, they were full. I am drinking my coffee and Nanay is eating her halo-halo. Tatay is patting his stomach telling us that the meal was great and he was sure that this was his first time to eat in a restaurant like this. We had the leftovers doggie bagged (it wouldn't be a Filipino lunch out if there wasn't any doggie bag). My mother was hoping to score a free bottle of ketchup from the waiter, but the waiter wouldn't budge and gave her six sachets of ketchup instead.

They wanted to go home and watch the fight but I told them to drop by at my box apartment first so that they could freshen up before they go back to Caloocan. Reluctantly, they agreed. I just really wanted to spend more time with them is all. I rarely spend time with my parents and to be honest, I don't want to spend a lot of time with them. But today's a different day I guess, probably their anniversary or it's probably the balmy weather that's making me act funny. Times like these I wish I had my own tv so I could let them stay in my box to watch the fight but the thing is I didn't bother to buy a television since I don't really watch TV.

We took a cab and went straight back to my apartment. I looked at the back seat and true enough, the two of them were near dozing off.

Billie Holiday

Watching my parents take a nap on my airbed made me feel fuzzy inside all of a sudden. Fifty-two years is not a walk in the park, it's more like climbing Mt. Everest. It came upon me that as much as my mother hates my father's idiosyncrasies and as much as my father hates my mother's loud mouth, they still sleep (and probably sometimes do the nasty) in the same bed every night. I don't believe in perfect relationships and have never been fond of such. I believe in good relationships but not perfect ones. Seeing them laying in my bed while a Billie Holiday song plays in the background makes me hold to my belief more. They have a good thing going. Gravity may have taken away a lot from their body and their minds, but this one, this one stayed. And as I look at these two ancient figures in my bed, I could not help but imagine if ever I'm going to have something like this. As cynical as I am (I wanted Paquiao to lose just for the sociological value of him losing), I want to have something like this – nothing perfect or rosy but something real good. I am sorta teary eyed by the scene before me (it's prolly the Billie Holiday song). My parents are two lucky bastards. I secretly envy my father, who was already waking up and fanning himself with his hat, from this vantage point. I wanted to tell him that he was one lucky motherfucker to have something like this still going in the so called twilight of his years. I didn't have to, because even though he has Alzheimer's, Tatay already knows that. I guess I finally found the reason for his odd smiles.

They say patience is a virtue...

apparently not to some of the kids who were subjected to the Marshmallow Test.




I think I'd wait and sniff it the whole time. :)

My Weekend... Bow

As promised, I'll be telling you guys what happened with my weekend.  See here, my two friends from high school, Betty and Wilma (their real names), kinda coaxed me to watch the new Vilma Santos flick, "In My Life" because they thought that I could prolly relate to the movie. The story is about a Filipina mother who decides to go to New York to live with her Filipino gay son who is currently dating a Filipino gay illegal immigrant and how the three yadi yadi and life yadi yada and the tribulations of illegal immigrants in the US yadi yada yadi plus the issues of parenting and gayness yadi yada yadi yada true love in time of prostate cancer yadi yada. The movie sucked ass (and not in a good way mind you). It wasn't that I was hoping for a full frontal nudity from both of the actors or even from Vilma Santos (although a full frontal from Vilma woulda been nice), but the movie was just too commercial that it didn't even pretend to be a proper film.  Don't get me wrong,  I'm okay with gay themed films, I'm gay after all.  I'm just way too tired of films purporting to be gay because of the following reasons:

1. that there are gay characters in the movie.
2. that these gay characters would either be a gogo boy, a hustler, a drug addict, a psycho or a priest.
3. that these gay characters would have a full frontal in the movie or...
4. that these gay characters would suck faces in the movie like "normal" people would suck faces
5. that these one or two or all the gay characters would die at the end of the film
6. that these gay characters are not really gay but they're doing it because a gay role does boost ones market value in the business

OK. Just to get things straight (nyahahaha), I don't mind the nudity.  I'm comfortable with nudity.  But it seems that there is a current trend in Philippine Independent Cinema that an indie gay film would always involve nudity in all scenes.  I've seen some films wherein I was absolutely sure that the frontal nudity, oral and anal sex was used because they didn't have any idea what to do with the scene.  Like, OK, there's still more film before that gogo dancer character OD's and dies, so why don't we have a blowjob scene between the breakfast table scene and the dinner table scene and an anal sex scene between the morning that he wakes up scene and the night that he realizes that he was the son of his regular John scene? There we have it! Voila! Gay film 101.  I'm not being a hypocrite.  I like those scenes alright, but they have just become waaaaay too trite for my taste.  ITS ALL OVER GAY INDEPENDENT CINEMA?!?!?! CAN'T WE THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE? I'm sure you guys can Google something up.  The funny thing is, we {me included} know that this movie is gonna suck but we still wanna watch it because this up and coming model something something is showing his dick or getting blown by someone. Let's lay low on the dick show a little and focus more on developing the plot.  Some of these films that I've seen are even story worthy but the problem is its way too underdeveloped. I mean dudes, if yer just gonna fill up a scene with dicks and asses then I've already got  BADPUPPY and SEANCODY and BILATINMEN and BROKESTRAIGHTBOYS and BAITBUS {OK I'M WRITING WAAAAY TOO MANY PORN SITES NOW} for that.

"In My Life" sucked ass for two reasons:

  

One, the title sucked.  I think the executives just thought of a title that their singer baby could sing in the whooooooole goddamned movie.  The soundtrack sucked.  It was all midi.  An independent film could've done better in the soundtrack department.  Two, the plot was trite and waaaay too predictable.  It's like, haven't I've watched this before in the Hallmark Channel?  I paid 160 pesos for this? To see John Lloyd and Lucky Me brush lips for .5 nanoseconds?  OK I didn't pay, Wilma did. I did like the way Vilma Santos acted.  I love it when she acts her age for a change.  Although there was a lotta shouting which gave me a headache.  

Here's a thought.  Why can't we make Filipino gay films...

• wherein there are no gay characters in the movie?  {is it even possible.  YES, I think it is. Eversince Moulin Rouge, I think anything is possible}
• wherein nobody would die of AIDS, cancer, accident, natural calamity or sheer boredom
• wherein the characters are actual people NOT commercial model beef cakes
• wherein the characters are actually gay? 
• wherein the plot is not copied from another gay film?
• wherein the title didn't come from a song?

Honestly my gay brothers and sisters in the film industry, we could really do much better.  Say that Maximo Oliveros movie about the blossoming of a 12 year old gay kid growing up in the slums of Manila, I liked it.  Sure somebody died in the end but it had all the right elements.  It had the right mix of comedy and drama and struggle.  AND THERE WASN'T ANY SHOUTING OR NUDITY INVOLVED.  

Nuff of that already.

The highlight of the night was not the movie.  Actually there was two.  

First was the chicken that I ate in Don Henrico's. It was AWE-SUUUUUUUM. If you ever eat at Don Henrico's in Manila look for the Captain Crunch Something something Chicken. I think I ate about 10 or something.  Yum.

Second was because of what happened after the movie.  See, my friend Betty loves and jizzes over John Lloyd Cruz although I don't know why but she just adores him.  He's not a bad actor by the way.  Anyways, I was telling her throughout the entire film that John Lloyd looked like one of our classmates back in high school, Paul {not his real name}.  You see, Paul here, is supposedly a closet case.  Now I don't care if somebody's a closet case because I was once in there myself.  Whatever floats yer boat, I always say. It's your business to be in the closet because maybe you have an ample amount of closet space or maybe you're closet value has gone up two points and it's worth a timeshare.  Good for you!  But it infuriates me when some people in the closet mind OTHER PEOPLE'S CLOSETS {straight or gay}. You see, Paul has an attitude.  He likes to OUT people who are not in the room. Like one of my good friends in high school who got pregnant early. She's an intelligent and independent woman who just happened to get pregnant before she got hitched.  We had sort of a highschool reunion in one of our classmate's house 5 years after our graduation.  During that get together, he started talking about her being pregnant and all like it was something vile and to be despised at. He was talking as if he was standing on top of Mt. Fuji or something. Then there was another recent incident wherein he said to a group of our former classmates that another former classmate in high school is gay. The person in question was not in the room {of course}. He delivered the "news" in such a way to illicit a booming reaction from our male highschool friends who reacted like this:

"LIKE WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MC SCRUNGY IS GAY?!?!?! WOHOHOHOHO. WHODATHUNK DUDE?!?!"

then they went on drinking their beers and pissing in the wind and shit.  

I'm glad I wasn't there at that time or I could've said an expletive or two {maybe three}.

OK.  So it appears that I don't like Paul.  OK I don't like him.  Well so does Betty and Wilma.  So while we were watching the suckfest movie that was IN MY FRIGGEN LIFE, I kept commenting to Betty how John Lloyd looked like Paul and like a true John Lloyd fan, she kept defending his honor.  So yeah, the banter went on the entire movie until the movie finally FINALLY ENDED WITH SARAH GERONIMO SINGING IN MY FRIGGEN LIFE! Credits.  Lights on.  AND LO AND FUCKING BEHOLD WHO DO I SEE ON OUR SAME ROW ACROSS THE OTHER AISLE!?!?!??!?!?!?

ASHTON FUCKING KUTCHER!

ANDERSON FUCKING COOPER!

WALTER FUCKING CRONKITE OH HE'S DEAD

KANYE FUCKING WEST WHO CARES!

BARBARA FUCKING WALTERS YESSS BUT NOT REALLY!

Paul! 

Fucking Paul. 

And not only fucking Paul! 

Fucking Paul with a fucking guy!

THE UNIVERSE RULES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Little old humble me was not only flabbergasted but in times like these when the Universe decides to reveal one of her little secrets to lowly persons like me, what does one do?

I PANICKED GODDAMNIT!

Here's what I said on verbatim

"Paul?

..... Paul?????.....

PAUUL!!!!!!"

Mind you, I did all this with my right pointy finger pointed at him.  I think I pointed at him three times like with every name there was a point. 

 "Paul? (point).... 
Paul???? (point) 
PAUUL!!!!!! (point point) 

OK. It was four.

I should've called him Blanche at that time because he was as pale as a mayonnaise when he saw not one, not two, but three of his former high school classmates watching the same  gay film that sucked ass, in the same movie theater, and seated in the same row with him and his "companion". Now Betty and Wilma were a bit slow on the uptake and thought I was still joking. But when they looked at the direction where I was looking they were both......

gleeful.  

If you would've seen the look on their faces it was like they were in  a MasterCard commercial. 

Whereas I, was in total panic.  You see, I was still so overwhelmed that the Universe had decided to bless me with glad tidings on that night that I didn't know what to do!  I hate this about myself.  Fuck I screwed it up. Well, said Wilma and Betty.  I think I did really.  Wilma was about to throw Paul the bone laced with cyanide while Betty was about to cheer her on {they were both friends of the preggy girl that Paul decided to broadcast to our friends years back} when I kept talking and talking and talking.  Honestly I wanted to laugh like laugh that sinister laugh that would ring throughout the walls of that cinema so I could vindicate all of Paul's victims of his Kanyeistic acts back in high school and after but I couldn't because I might die of so much rapture and bliss and as much as I would have wanted to, I couldn't because I still had to write my Great American Novel which is about a Gogo Boy from the Bronx who decides to leave his night job to help poor people in some Third World Country so he could find meaning in his life and thus end up finding the love of his life who happened to be his father in two previous lives. (How do you like them apples?!?!? Huh huh!)  So I kept talking and babbling just so I wouldn't laugh.   

Fuck me hard till Tuesday.   

I screwed it.  

I still hate myself for screwing it. 

Wilma and Betty made that known to me a number of times during the night and they decided to play a practical joke on me by changing one of my contact names on my cell {I think it was Wima's} to Paul's name.  I still hate them for doing that.  

Still, I had fun that night.  See, the funnest part was after Wilma and I got out of the cinema.  We were waiting for Betty who was in the ladies room because of the impending flood that was about to come gushing out between her legs.  As we were waiting outside, Paul and his companion were coming out {no pun intended}.  See, Paul took his sweet time to leave the cinema thinking that the three of us have already left.  What he didn't know was that Betty drank a whole gallon of iced tea at Don Henrico's and she just held the floodgates during the movie because of John Lloyd fucking Cruz.  So Paul and his companion were there.  He definitely saw Wilma and me. Well I waved to make sure that he saw us.  In a panic, Paul and his companion didn't know whether to turn left or right thus they ended up bumping each other then turning right before giving the two of us a quick wave goodbye. 

So that was my night with my two highschool friends, and with the highschool classmate that we didn't like and with the Universe telling us that life is really worth living sometimes.   And by the way, Paul doesn't in any way look like John Lloyd Cruz.

Back in the Tropics.

I keep forgetting that I am in the tropics. Just this morning, I woke up hoping that I could do my 40 minute run. I've been running almost everyday ever since I got back from China since I am close to the park and since the gym memberships here are atrociously priced. And besides running is the only activity that keeps me sane in the Coconut Republic. Well, that's not really true since I have another activity that also keeps me sane but you get my point. 
 

So I got out of my bed and did my usual waking up routine – which consisted of scratching my nuts a little, then bathroom, then scratching my nuts some more, then lighting a cigarette then I opening the door so I could do some stretching as I psych myself on how this day was going to be the day that would change my very existence. As I was doing this routine with my eyes half closed, I was thinking of breaking into song about how morning was going to be one of those a beautiful Coconut Republic mornings and how this day was going to be the bestest day of all because I was going to meet THE (SECOND) GUY OF MY DREAMS. I imagine it like this....

I would be meeting my second prince swarming charming today by a serendipitous event like he would accidentally hit me while I was running with the Italian car that he was driving then I would lay semi-unconscious on the pavement as he frantically gets out of his car and rushes to my side. He sees me. Well he sees my the blood gushing out of my nose first then he SEES me. Music plays in the background (Carpenters' “Solitaire”). My nosebleed stops. He wipes my nose with his designer tie. His cellphone rings to the tune of The Lion King's “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”. He throws it away (but not too far because he'll be getting it later). He asks in a real low husky voice if I was alright. I couldn't speak. I nod then I pass out because I lost too much blood from my nosebleed. He carries me to his car and he brings me to the nearest hospital. He donates his blood (we have the same blood type). I am saved. The doctor tells me to go home. He offers me his place. I cannot speak. I nod. He carries me to his Italian car and drives us home. We live happily ever after for 6 months until he succumbs to some rare illness that affects hair follicles. I am inconsolable for a long time (like two weeks give or take) then my first Prince comes to rescue me from my grief and we leave my late husband's manor with and live happily ever after in our small house in the Maldives, living our lives in bliss as we help rid the world of hunger, disease and tacky shoes. 
 

Where was I? Sorry for the segue. Oh yeah. I was planning to break into song as I opened the door but I didn't. It was raining outside. Fatherf*ck (I'm trying to be non-sexist) it's been raining for 5 days!!!!!!!!! 5 days damnit! I'm asking the Universe if I should already start building an ark and start collecting stray dogs and cats and canned tuna. 
 

Then it hit me. I am in the Coconut Republic and not in the Noodle Kingdom anymore. Sigh. This is depressing me. Not because of the fact that I am in the Coconut Republic (I'll get to that later) but because I'm currently listening to Björk and it's really fucking up my mojo. 
 

(Change music to Jack Johnson's “Staple it Together”)

Ok. Where was I?

Yes. Coconut Republic. Noodle Kingdom. Missing it. 
 

Yeah, I really miss the Noodle Kingdom. It became intense the other week. My box arrived the other week from China. It mostly consisted of books and some of the many trinkets and whatnots that I have come to possess in the Noodle Kingdom. I sent the box to Caloocan over a month ago and addressed it to my mother. My mother called me the other week and told me that she was at the post office and they were trying to “tax” my box. TAX MY BOX?!?!?!?! The bastards at the post office tried to tax the junk that I sent from China? I would've gotten rid of them if I weren't one sentimental fuck. I went online and googled PHILIPPINE POST OFFICE CORRUPT AS FUCK. I got results. They were many. I went to the official website to download the international parcel tax rates in PDF form and lo and behold, it was a bad link. The bastards over at the PHIL POST wont let the people know the actual tax rates for local and international parcels. So,I texted my mother to tell her to let them “tax” it as long as they issue a receipt and she gets the name of the issuing officer. My mother, who comes from a generation of women that fought the invaders, showed the text message to the A-hole issuing officer and she ended up going home with my box “TAX” free. She was the only one among the claimants who was able to bring her box home. Assholes. WELCOME TO THE COCONUT REPUBLIC OMAR!

I realize that I am really back in Kansas now and I left Toto in the Noodle Kingdom. Part of me is sad because this means I have really left The Noodle Kingdom for The Coconut Republic. Mind you, it was by choice and it had been a long time coming. The Cliffnotes version – I've been in China waaaay too long that I need to get out before I wake up one morning regretting for not leaving.

To be fair, I knew what was coming. I am Filipino after all and I have lived here for 24 years. I love my country so don't get me wrong. It's all a nice heap of halo halo for me. I'm adjusting is all. But while we are on the subject of adjustment, lemme just give you a brief rundown of the things that I am adjusting from

• Traffic. I knew traffic was bad in the Metro, but I never remembered traffic being SO BAD.
• Taxi Drivers. Gaaaaah. I think I even have to bring my own meter every time I ride a taxi in Manila.
• Weather. It rains and it shines. When it rains, it really rains. When it shines, I sweat like a pig in heat. I miss air conditioners.
• TV and News. Nothing really interesting. I'm glad I don't have a television in my apartment.
• Telecom companies. Calling anyone is expensive as shit.

 Although there are perks in being in the Coconut Republic. Here are some

• Lugaw (Congee). Yum. I eat it almost everyday. It's one of my comfort foods.
  
• Jollibee. I don't eat it everyday, but when I need my Amazing Aloha burger I just go out of my box apartment and go to the nearest Jollibee outlet which is like a two minute walk from my place.
  
• Family and Friends. Good to have them. Can't live without them.

I live in the tiniest apartment ever. My land lady says it's 20 square meters, but I think it's more like 15. I'm not complaining though, because I fell in love with the place. It's an easy clean (II still wipe my floor 20 times a day) and I like the smallness of it. I feel like JK Rowling pre-Harry Potter. Who knows, I might be able to write my Great American novel one of these rainy Coconut Republic days.

I'm still currently unemployed. If you wanna know the truth, I like the idea of slacking for a bit, like waking up and doing nothing but get into my running gear and run for 40 minutes then go back and sleep eat and shit and eat some more then smoke some then think about life and all its vicissitudes and shit. Although I don't think slacking for one year becomes me. My limit is two months then I need to look for a job. I am looking, but commuting for two hours just to go to some fancy business district to push some pencils and play Farmville on Fakebook doesn't really appeal to me. I'm seriously thinking about working in the Jollibee near my apartment. That way, I don't need to commute plus I get free burgers. I'd be like, WELCOME TO JOLLIBEE BITCHES, WHUDDYA HAVIN? D'YA WANT FRIES WITH THAT? MY SHIFT FINISHES AT 5 AND YOU CAN WAIT FOR ME BY THE CORNER BESIDE THE CIGARETTE VENDOR.

meh.

I miss B. 

7 days

I'm off topic already.

7 days

It's been 7 days already and as much as I hate to be all Dawson's Creek about this topic, I'm still going to say this,  I miss the Coconut Republic.  Sure, poverty and squalor live alongside couture malls and shopping centres like the other didn't exist; but it has its charms.   The minute my plane landed on the tarmac in Beijing Capital Airport (an awesome airport I tell ya), I already wanted to go back. Beijing greeted me with its first ever snow. The lady cabbie was ecstatic that it finally snowed in Beijing.   It was sorta romantic and I wanted to talk to the cabbie but I slept during the ride.  I was exhausted.


I so wanted to blog while I was on the road but it was difficult to get Internet access in the Coconut Republic.  Not that there aren't any, there are actually many Internet cafe's in the Philippines.  I wanted to blog with Consuelo (my laptop) but there weren't any free wireless in the places I went to, even friggen Starbucks (tell you more about that later).


My trip to the Coconut Republic would be described as overwhelmingly sublime that borders on the surreal at times. I had a great time, yep and  I actually think I grew up a little.  I stayed more with my family this time (about 10 days to be exact).  I met up with really good friends.  And I traveled with B.

Manila International Airport

If Beijing Airport is awesome that it makes me want to lick the bathroom tiles, the airport in Manila is not that awesome.  It's clean but not well maintained.  I thought that the plane would be landing at the new airport but we landed in the old one.  I had fun at the baggage claim area though.  I was expecting a guy to pop out of the baggage claim carousel (like it did the last time I arrived in Manila International Airport).  After I got Tallulah, I headed out to the arrivals section and was looking for my mother.  It was my niece that found me, Ynah (pronounced as EEEH-nah not WHY-nah). I almost screamed. She's all grown up.  Still small, but she's all ladylike now sorta.  Damn it I'm old! My mother, father and my niece and her partner found us.  I embraced them, and father dear started to tear up for no reason.  I was like "dude, chill". I was secretly happy because my father was never the mushy kind.  Age really does mellow hard men like my dad.  I looked at Dana, my niece and her partner and their three-month old baby Samantha.  Dana's different. She looked more mature, probably because of the baby.  Her partner, Rudy, is a bit quiet and timid and kept mostly to himself and gave me monosyllabic answers to the questions that I asked him.  Samantha, on the other hand, is curious about the stranger in front of him.  She kept on eyeing me with her big round eyes.  She seems at home with the airport environment. Samantha is my second grand niece. JEEEEZUS I feel so old.


Obamarama

I arrived on the 20th of January, Obama's inauguration.  I knew that Obamarama was a world phenomenon but I never expected the massive reception it got in the Philippines.  When I arrived at my sister's house that night I realized how serious the reception for the new American President was.  My sister was watching the inauguration and it turned out that all major networks were covering it. She owns a sari-sari store (Think of a mom and pop store with a 7-11 twist to it) and the neighbors were drinkin beer and watching history unfold.  My sister who's crazy about noontime shows and prime time soaps is watching Obama being sworn in, and so was my whole family.   I even heard my mother telling the whole family that we were lucky enough to witness history as the West inaugurates it's first African American president. The rest of my family nodded agreement.  That time I thought somebody kidnapped my family and replaced them with politically correct clones. My family was never NEVER politically correct. Even the TV reporters were politically correct.  Like whoa.  I was like, whoa.  She never uses the word African American before. She usually uses the N word in Spanish (its common for Filipinos to use that), but how times have changed. You gotta thank the Internet for this Obama win and for making my parents PC.  My parents. PC. Whodathunk. Next thing you know they would be demanding the IMF and World Bank to free the Third World of debt.  But that's too much to ask, I guess.

Traffic

I never realized that it was that bad in Metro Manila.  And I thought Beijing was bad.  You have to go to work at 5 am and go home at 11 pm to avoid the traffic jams. 

Starbucks

I love coffee, but I am not a fan of Starbucks.  I still prefer Dunkin Donuts over Starbucks.  I mean, if I'm gonna pay for a 4 dollar coffee, I would at least expect a free wi-fi and a blowjob (ok, at least a backrub).  But nooooooooooooooo. There ain't no free wi-fi in Starbucks.  I checked.  My sister and one of my nephews and I were waiting for the rest of my family to arrive for some dinner thing and my sister wanted to wait in Starbucks.  Reluctant as I was, I acquiesced since they already found a seat.  I queued up and waited for my turn to be served. I was carrying Tallulah with me and I was a bit groggy since I barely slept the other night and I seriously needed the caffeine jolt, so I decided to order an espresso machiatto.  When it was my turn to be served I ordered a  machiatto for me and two frappucino for the rest.  I said the whole thing to the waiter (barrista my ass), who happened to go to the same church as I do, in Filipino.  Now, I didn't get the memo that when you go to a Starbucks in Manila, you should order in English.  The waiter smiled at me and told me in a sort of patronizing Filipino tone that a machiatto was a small coffee. The lady beside me who heard the waiter's comment sorta smiled (no, she fuckin smirked). Oh, did I say, that she was asking her{grand}kids what their orders were in English 
(WACHA WANT TOO DREENK? DOO YOOO WANTA PRAFUCHEENO OR HWATEVERRR?).  
I wanted to shove Tallulah's ends up the waiter's and the lady's asses and  tell them that I knew what a freaking espresso macchiatto was. Just because I ordered the whole goddamn thing in Filipino and I was wearing non-designer flip flops and anon descript tank top and shorts doesn't mean that they could patronize me.  I have rights yo! I summoned up my inner Oprah Winfrey and told him in English that I have been drinking it even before he had pubes {which he probably now shaves considering his eyebrows were a bit sculptured}.  Then I told him in plain Filipino to make my fucking macchiatto a double. To his credit, he got embarrassed and then noticed Tallulah on my back with an airport baggage claim stub sticker thing still attached to her, to which he asked where I was from (duh my coffeee!!!!!! he was kinda cute tho).  I told him I was from Caloocan {think Brooklyn with extra frills}. I got my orders but I didn't get a double.  I prolly should've told it to him in English.  Fuckin Starbucks.

Malls

There are shitloads. And when I say shitloads, I meant shitloads.  It seems that one distinct aspect of Filipino culture in many cities (but most especially in the Metro) is that daily life seem to revolve around malls.  You can find Bayad Centers (where people can pay any kind of utility bill), chapels, fitness centers, medical facilities and the like.  In the Philippines, the malls have replaced the parks as the universal public space.   IT scares me a little truth be told.  I mean, they're nice and all but it's like giving the friggen government a whole shitload of slack which they really don't need.  I look at the state of the public spaces in the metro and to be honest there aren't enough. Granted that its really good but these tycoons who own them malls shouldn't be doing this. I love malls, don't get me wrong; but aren't we a bit mall crazy here?  Back when I was a kid, I looked forward in going to parks because there's grass.  Now, even malls have grass and waterfalls and friggen rice paddies.  And yes, you can solicit for sex in malls too! Senator Craig would have a field day in SM.

Tuyo, Tocino, Sinangag, Bibingka, Julebe

I gained 5 kilos because of these bastards. I ate at Julebe (Hoo leh beh) so many times that I felt for certain that them burgers were not 100% pure beef patties.  Whenever I would take out my nieces and nephews they would always ask me to take them to Jollibee or Chowking (a Chinese fast food joint owned by Jollibee).  They never get tired of it.


Tuyo rocks. I could never get enough of tuyo. Tuyo with  sinangag  and fried eggs is da bomb. Maaaaaaaaaaaan I once was served pasta with tuyo, olives and capers by a friend and it blew me away.  Ohhhh and the bibingka.  When Boo and I  were on our roadtrip, we ate bibingka whenever we can. The best bibingka that we had was in Liliw Laguna  and it was just 30 cents a piece.  30 cents for a piece of bibingka! You don't even get things as good as that in The Noodle Kingdom. 

Thank You
I have to thank some people I met during this trip.
Allan and Auch. No words could describe them.
Oskie and Venus.  I'm hoping I'll be in the Coconut Republic when you two exchange wedding vows.  
Andrew. Quiapo and Binondo would never be the same again. And cheesy 80's songs for that matter.
Cindy and Bingo. You two are amazing and wonderful people.  All the best with the work that you do. 
Iza and Celle. My only link to my dreadful highschool past.  :)
Bogs and Demo.  It was great meeting you two.
Drei. You are so fresh.
Boiet. It was surprising to say the least.
Chris. I still can't believe that you and I have the same camera.  I hope next time its a DSLR.
Ate Aida. Thank you for our talk and for helping orgnize my shit.

The welcoming committee

This was the first time that B and I went to the Philippines together.  In fact, this we were in the Philippines together.  I was excited for all sorts of reasons. As much as I hate admitting this on my blog,  I love the fucker and I wanted him to meet the people that mattered to me.  I mean not all of them because I honestly think he would be overwhelmed with the demographic.  I realized I have to wean him when it comes to my friends. Besides, there wasn't enough time.  We decided to go slow. We decided that he should meet my family and some of my friends. 


My family took him in like he was a long lost son (then that would mean incest, eeww?). It was not difficult to introduce him since they all have been asking when they were going to meet him and all.    Even my father was cool with it (well he is 70 so might as well go with the flow).  One of my nieces, Nee Ann, asked him about our relationship when we stopped by at one of my sister's house in Laguna before going to Manila.  Nee Ann is a 7-year old who loves writing ghost stories while putting on kid's make up (I can't believe that they already produce make up for kids).  She tells me that two of her good friends are gay (at 7) and I asked her how she knew and she said she just knows.    A fruitfly at 7. When she saw B and I coming outta B's car, she hugged and kissed me then looked at B and asked.

Nee Ann: Sino siya? (Who the hell is he?)
Uncle Omar: Siya si B (This is B)

While the two of us were eating baked macaroni that my sister prepared, Nee Ann was seated with us and kept on looking at me and B.  She prolly couldn't help it so she asked:

Nee Ann: Ankol, siya ba yung ex mo?  (Uncle, is he your ex?)
**I mentally choked on my baked mac and mentally gave myself the Heimlick manouver and told her after drinking a glass of coke:

Uncle Omar: Sino nagsabi sayo na ex ko siya (Who the hell told ya that he is my ex?)

Nee Ann: Si Mommy. (Mommy told me)
** my sister was manning her 7-11 while watching primetime soap.  B didn't know whether to keep on chewing or run to the car.  I'm glad he decided to stick to the former.  So I told Nee Ann

Uncle Omar: Hindi ko siya ex.  Boyfriend ko siya (He's not my ex. He's my boyfriend).
** she keeps quiet for a second or two and looks up the ceiling while trying to process the relevant piece of information that I just told her. Then when her 7 year old brain seemed to have processed the whole thing, she looks at me and then at B who looked kinda pale at that point but he's still chewing on the baked macaroni then tells us.

Nee Ann: Boypren? Ano yun?  Boy na pren? O BOYPREN? (Boyfriend? What do you mean by that?  Is he your friend who is a boy or is he your boyfriend)
** I was wondering at that point if B was also mentally administering the Heimlick manouver to his psychic self. I told my neice

Uncle Omar: Boyfriend ko siya.  So tawag mo sa kanya Uncle B, ok? (He's my boyfriend.  So you can also call him Uncle B, ok?)
** B nods at Nee Ann and tells her that she could call him Uncle B. She looks up the ceiling again and then looks back at the two of us and tells us.

Nee Ann: Boypren!? Double boy?! Pwede ba yun?  (Boyfriends?! Double boy? Is that even possible?)

Uncle Omar: Oo naman.  Uso yan ngayon.  (Yep, its possible.  It's a fad thats been around since the mid 90's)

Nee Ann: OK.
* * then she proceeds to eating her chicken while B gets a second helping of my sister's baked mac.

That was my boyfriend's baptism of fire. B got along with my family famously.  I mean, if he could survive Nee Ann, he could survive my other nephews and nieces and my siblings and my parents and my neighbors and the baranggay tanods.

B, Allan & Auch
B had to meet the two people that mattered to me most, my best friends - Allan and Auch. Truth be told, I was more nervous of the whole thing than B.  I think he was not fazed at all.  He was all B the whole time we were with Allan and Auch.  Allan and Auch decided to cook Sinampalukang Manok (Chicken Tamarind Soup) for us when we decided to visit them at Auch's apartment.  I was expecting it to be bloody and all as it has been known to the three of us that Allan and Auch never liked ANY of my boyfriends. I was nervous as hell to say the least.  Miracle of miracles, the two were ok with B, there wasn't any cursing.  No blood was shed.  B didn't die of food poisoning.  My water didn't break. That didn't mean that the three of them were chummy chummy and all.  The whole experience was a bit formal, but not tensed. It was a bit surreal because Allan was all fatherly and Auch was all butch all of a sudden that it would've given him a stroke had he continued to be butch for the whole day. As far as I know, this was Auch's longest.  I mean his previous record was 45 minutes.  He did it for two hours.  I wanted to tell them just to be themselves because B was oblivious to the whole thing.  I guess they wanted to make a good impression which touched me.  Inside, I was elated, but I still felt weird. 


At one point during the meal, Allan even said the following in a fatherly tone. 

Allan: Alam mo B na kaming dalawa ni Auch ay natutuwa sa inyong relasyon ni Omar.  Maligaya kami para sa inyong dalawa (I have to tell you B that Auch and I are happy about the two of you. We are really happy for you)
** Master Sergeant Auch, who was seated opposite to me couldn't help but raise an eyebrow (for two seconds). I couldn't help but smile, because I knew for a fact that it was genuine. But I also couldn't help but feel like some farm girl being offered by her parents to the sugar baron in order to pay off my family's debt.  All the scene needed  was a cow which Allan and Auch would give to B as my dowry.

B & my parents
B and I decided to take my parents with us on our 3 day trip to the countryside.  They were happy enough to oblige.  I found out later from my mother that they were both excited about the trip because they haven't had a proper vacation in years. 


B drove the whole time.  I couldn't drive.  He has a car in the Philippines and I couldn't, for the life of me, understand why he has a car in the Philippines when he's based outside the country.  He wants me to take up driving lessons.  My parents agreed. I told them that I wouldn't be able to handle my road rage.   B is such a proper driver.  He stops on a red light (I mean who does that these days); even makes way for stray dogs and cats and rats whatever living thing that crosses his path.


We went to visit a monastery that is frequented by a lot of tourists and devotees.  It was a real quiet and expansive place with a small chapel in the middle.  The four of us got out of the car and my father was complaining to my mother about his bladder  and was looking for the men's room so she asked B where the men's room was. I was 20 meters behind them and I could hear my parents talking about bladders and toilets and we were in a friggen monastery!  Good thing there were a few visitors that afternoon but I bet my ass that the nuns prolly heard the whole thing.  Meh, they prolly prayed for us too.  I love my parents.

On the road

The highlight of my vacation was the roadtrip with B.  The best times that we had was on the road and in his car. If it were a motorcycle it would've been more romantic and a bit French, but I guess the car was way better than a bike.  And besides, the hell would I pedal both of us. The car did have its uses.


It was the little things that appealed to me the most.


Like being able to smell him in close proximity with me for 8 hours straight...


or being able to listen and sing the same song over and over and over again until his ears and tonsils bled...


and playing with his hair and his nape in some lazy rainy afternoon en route to some destination...


or sleeping on the side of the road at 3 am because he was too tired to drive...


and to able to hear him snore.


and stopping by some odd place here and there for some bibingka or some pandesal or for some coffee because we were hungry.


taking photos...


going to churches, old landmarks, lazy towns and actually stopping by the markers to read them then to leave them.


to listen to his stories and talk about the future ahead of us...


to not speak to each other because of an argument that we didn't know how it started...


then to make up in the car afterwards :)


holding his hand.




It was intense to be with him the whole time.  So intense that it scared me a little. I dare say it was romantic even. It felt like I was in some early 90's European movie directed by dead filmmaker. It was so good that at the back of my head I was telling myself that this was it. This was it. Nothing more.   This was the film's climax and we're not even half way through because of budget constraints.  My evil psychic twin was telling me to expect the dreadful peripety to come falling on my head like brimstone and he was also telling me that there would never be a denouement or some form of catharsis in this story.  The dread would come to me in moments. Just seconds really.  Moments that I found most memorable and endearing.  I had to mentally slap myself everytime that feeling crept out of my skin.


I realize that trusting him more was irrelevant now.  Nor him trusting me. 


I had to trust us. 


I realized that somehow, I had to learn how to write this story, our story, with him. 

Hong Kong
We parted in Hong Kong. We stayed there for a night in some decrepit building that hosted a lot of tourists and people who were just passing through.  It was cheap.  It was small space on the 15th floor and it looked like a holding cell.  I think his car was even bigger. It was nice. 


We walked the streets of Kowloon trying to find Mixian (rice noodles) and ended up with instant noodles served with Chinese Spam. It was expensive.  We walked and walked till our feet got tired.  He held my hand the whole time.  It surprised me.  In the Philippines I had to stop myself from holding his hand or putting my arm around his waist when we were in public. I slipped most of the times.  He would sorta flinch (he did it a coupla times).  In Hong Kong he was a bit different. He was more forward. 


We parted in the airport.  He was gate 64 and I was gate 28. 
My plane landed in Beijing. It was snowing that day.  I told you that already.


Its been almost a week and I could still smell him. I guess I have it bad then.

on being hungry.

Yes.  I'm hungry right now.  You see,  I don't have anything on my fridge.  Not that I don't have money to buy fiid and shit,  I just keep forgetting to buy groceries.  I must confess, I have been living on take outs for the past 2 and a half months that I have been in Beijing.  Not entirely my fault, the hotel would not allow me to use the gas cooker.  Safety precautions they say.  But its there.  They should have not put it there in the first place.  I asked for another cooker.  They gave me an electric thingamajig, that doesn't work. They have yet to replace it.  So here I am, two months later, still living on fried rice take outs, instant noodles, cheerios (with mayonnaise), oreos (with mayonnaise), Micky D's and KFC's and the whole blah blah yadi yada. 

And I'm still hungry.  I need proper food.  Like real food.  One that includes the 5 basic food groups.  Or is it 6? Meh.  I'm hungry.