After the Flood (Updated)

www.goes.noaa.gov

Rain and floods are not an uncommon phenomena in the Philippines. Just today it rained and God how it poured for six hours. The weather bureau said it was the longest ever recorded surpassing the one in 1967. 

Today's flood was my first in a very long time. The last flood experience that I had was back in 2002. I was just days away from leaving the country for China and I was also sick with pneumonia at that time. Our house in Caloocan was flooded waist deep and I couldn't do anything but watch my brother and my father rummage through the water trying to salvage everything they could from our house. The flood waters receded later that day and I was rushed by a friend to the hospital. That was seven years ago.

With an average of six to seven typhoons hitting the Philippines each year, floods have become an anticipated yet an unwanted guest in Filipino households all over the country come the wet seasons. Blame it on climate change, poor urban planning and sanitation or just plain bad management from the people in power, the floods grow worse each year. It amazes me how the Filipino survives these catastrophes even if the floodwaters seem to rise higher every time a typhoon comes visiting. As a Filipino, I can find fault on a lot of things about my people but never on their tenacity for self preservation. The flood, along with a multitude of problems that this nation faces, has become part of the Filipino human condition. The task that ordinary people face is definitely gargantuan yet the people face it squarely. The tragedies that they undergo are epic yet the people survive it. I've noticed this as I was wading through the floodwaters in Tandang Sora. My friend and neighbor, Oscar, invited me out for a walk and see what was happening outside. Our apartment was not flooded but the streets was already overflowing with rain mixed with river and sewage water. Part of me was excited because I haven't walked in the the rain in the Philippines for a very long time. Yet another part of me was worried about my family in Caloocan which was just a 45 minute jeepney ride away from my apartment in Quezon City. I knew that rains like these would bring floodwaters in our part of the neighborhood as we were near a polluted creek. They told me not to worry and they would keep me updated on the situation.  I try to block the thought out because there was no use for me to worry about my family. I called them and they said they were already bringing the household things to the second floor of our house. They have survived far worse floods before, they can survive this one, I keep telling myself.

I walked along the streets of Tandang Sora with my friend and what we saw was quite unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time. The street was already flooded, some even knee-deep, vehicles were trying to find their way out of the traffic and the floodwaters yet in vain, people were walking outside – people coming from schools and universities, from their work places and probably even from their very homes. Just looking at the rising water I picture submerged houses and shanties in the low lying places in Metro Manila. Homes submerged in a soup of rain, sewage and garbage. Quite a fitting poster for my country. My cynicism tells me that this could have been avoided. That if people, me included, would have had the discipline to manage what they consume and had the local and the national government possessed the right amount of management wisdom instead of traditional politicking and lip service campaigning, laid out a concrete plan of action on disaster control combined with a realistic urban planning, then this could have been a different picture altogether.

There is one good thing about the flood. It never discriminates. Outside the streets I saw jeepneys and buses alongside with fancy cars submerged in floodwater. I saw people in plain clothes walking alongside people with fancy clothes looking for a dry place to tide them through the heavy rain. Young, old, rich, poor, straight or otherwise were all walking in knee (some even chest) deep pool of watery shit.

In a way, it is very biblical. This is probably our punishment for being too human. I don't think it's nature that is our nemesis but ourselves for we have been way too proud of our humanity that we forget that even the minutest of our actions reverberates through the cosmos. Drenched with rain and floodwater in the middle of Tandang Sora, I asked myself if we deserved this – this punishment. Perhaps, but my humanity got the best of me. I knew at the back of my mind that it's not man against nature but man against himself yet I am comforted at the former and I pretend not to know the latter. Part of being human (which means it's not just a Filipino trait) means that we have the capacity to disguise thoughts that do not appeal to our emotions – we put layers upon layers of thoughts until they are covered and hopefully never to be recovered. But once the rains come pouring and the water rises, truth reveals itself plain as day. The plastic bags, the soda bottles, the shit, the vermin come all gushing out the streets like it was being played by the Pied Piper in our heads. We are too human sometimes, I reckon. Perhaps an ark is sufficient with us not in it. I imagine the world would be a far better place without humanity in the picture. Call me an anarchist but it's probably true. But then again, my spirit of self-preservation kicks in. And like the rest of the humanity that is drenched in this rain, I battle the flood and walk against the rising tides trying to find something, someplace warm and dry.

Hours passed and the waters receded all over Metro Manila. Tandang Sora's electricity was restored just a few hours ago, the reason I am writing this in Consuelo (my laptop). Our house in Caloocan was obviously flooded almost reaching the second floor. I was rather disappointed that they failed to bring my grandmother's antique narra table upstairs because it was one of the only heirlooms she bequeathed to my mother before she died. It was heavy after all and I couldn't expect them to bring it up. Somehow I know that the narra table will survive this flood like it has survived the previous ones. And like our narra table, the Filipinos will survive this flood. I watched and listened intently to the news on television for a few minutes, a first ever since I arrived here two months ago. Even Cory Aquino's death and funeral didn't make me watch the news as intently as I was watching the news for a few, brief minutes. Perhaps it's because this flood was personal and it hit closer to home. The networks didn't have to hype the news today. Drama was everywhere. A lot of homes were havocked by the typhoon and the flood - from shanties made of a mosaic of plywood and carton boxes to houses built of stone and expensive wood.  Many families were even stuck in the rooftops waiting for rescue. I am thankful for two things – one was that my family didn't have to go to the rooftops and the other was that there were a few casualties, 46 in the last count. Still, the look on the face of woman going home from work and realizing that the home that she help build with her family is now submerged in floodwater with her mother carrying her two-year old son and holding her five year old daughter waiting to be rescued is still not a cause for relief. The sad fact is that my country has been experiencing Katrina for decades and people both in the government and the private sector are not doing enough to prevent a solvable problem.

The Filipino rises from the tides. We are no stranger to typhoons and earthquakes and landslides. The country has survived centuries of colonization and has survived wars and countless of political upheavals. We have survived far worse and we can survive this one. After all, it's just but another flood... another Katrina and Milenyo among countless others. The question is, until when can we keep rebuilding our homes and our lives after every natural disaster or political upheaval comes in our midsts? Can our spirit of self-preservation still keep us afloat if the next flood comes? I do not know the answer but one thing is for sure, after the floodwaters recede, that mother of two who just got back from work along with the thousands of mothers affected by this flood, will collect the remains of what was once her home and she will put dinner on the table and her children will eat. My mother along with my nieces are probably doing the same thing right now – rebuilding a home trying to collect the things that held memories left by this flood. Hopefully, they will eat dinner at my lola's narra table.

This flood was my baptism. When I left the country seven years ago I realize that I have shed a lot of skin that was Filipino and that was of my former self. I have decided to come back for many reasons – some I know and many that I do not have any knowledge of. This was probably one of those mysteries. I do not know if I came back to shed the skin that was China or to reinvent myself yet again for the n^th time. I do know this – that I am here, experiencing this flood and what came after it and I am taking it all in. I came back two months ago and felt very alien to what I once called my home. But now after the flood, somehow, I feel quite familiar.

*************
for those who are interested in helping the victims of typhoon 'Ondoy', please follow tthe links provided below.  

Filipino Bloggers Vigilant with Typhoon Ondoy Floods

Where to send donations for victims of Typhoon Ondoy

or you can donate directly through the following


TXTpower.org (via PayPal)
Philippine National Red Cross 

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. 

Hey HO! Let's Go.

Yes I am alive. I know I haven't blogged in months and I have no excuse except I that I couldn't write. Yes, I have what you would call a Blogger's Block. I shall attempt to write something tonight, substantial or otherwise.

Here we go.

I am based in Beijing now. I've been here for almost a week. I finally was able to get out of THAT city. But don't tell anyone to what I am about to tel

l you, okay. I miss THAT city. Well, how can I not? I lived there for 7 years for crying out loud. Now, Beijing. The Big Smoke. The Big B. The Olympic City. Beijing is so hyped up right now that it could run for a democratic/republican/independent whatever nomination. It's polluted as f*ck. No wonder they call it the Big Smoke. The day I arrived in the Big B, I could not see a single edifice farther than 100 meters. And to top that, the weather was humid. And I was carrying 8 pieces of luggage (see picture below).

Anyways, I decided to move to Beijing NOT BECAUSE OF THE OLYMPICS, but because my clients are based here {yes I still whore my ass despite the fact that I am turning thirty this November} and its closer to almost {well, almost} any place in China, flights and trains and all.

I already have my flat set up. It's way smaller than the flat that I shared with Wendy – two bedroom, a tiny vestibule that can pass as a bathroom, a kitchen in which I cannot use the gas stove {building policy, but there is a friggen gas stove – they should've just removed the friggen gas stove if I am not allowed to use it}, AC{thank gawd}, cable {like actual cable with foreign channels} and the whole shebang. It's small, yeah, but I like it. Why you ask? I don't have neighbors in me building. All the other rooms are offices during the day and are empty as a Ben Affleck movie at night. You know what that means eh? ORGIES, PARTIES and SACRIFICIAL RITUALS! WOOOHOOO! I can't wait to run nekkid and drunk. My flat is fairly new as I can still smell the paint. I like the place. It's so obscure and I get some sort of privacy and autonomy. Opposite my building is a huge college dorm building for foreign students. There's a coffee shop at the ground floor called “College Perk” with the same logo as “Friends'” “Central Perk”, only that there's no Jennifer Aniston {Thank Gawd}and the coffee's just ok-ish but real expensivo.

I miss Changchun {me old city}. I miss the visibility and the way the locals speak Chinese. Beijingers have “R”'s in every word they say {well not every word but you can notice the r's every time they say something}. I miss my friends in Changchun. But I needed to leave, move on, explore new horizons and shit.

Anyways, I have almost finished unpacking and shit and my clothes smell like sawdust. Good thing they already delivered the washing machine when I got back from my run so I spent half of the day washing my clothes.

*!*!*

I miss this one guy. I ain't telling you his name. But yeah. I miss him. I miss taking showers with him. {Well he gives a good scrubbing, yo}.

^%^%^%

I've been watching a whole lotta TV lately {cable}. For the first time in years, I was able to sit in front of the tube for two whole hours. I couldn't believe CNN could be so riveting.

@$@$@$

My internet connection is super duper fast. Well, I paid for it. You know whut that means....... PORN.

&*&*&*&

I had a meeting yesterday with one of my clients. Let's just say that this particular client is not in my favorites list. I'll give you the cliffnotes version. Let's call this client Charlton Heston. Charlton Heston acquired my services for some yadi yadi. Since it was money, I took the job. You know me, I never say no to money {*Omar genuflects in front of Chairman Mao's smiling 100 Yuan face and makes the sign of the cross}. Wrong move. The client is bordering insufferable. Insufferable I tell ya. I tried almost every tactic in book short of blowing the dude. He's just not sure about what he wants and whenever he gets all rattled up he blames the help (moi). Sucks being a whore, but hey, its a living. A friend and colleague actually advised me to go slow and sorta lead him to a firm decision or some sort of commitment. I followed this friend's advice and guess whut? Didn't work.

Okay, So I was in a meeting with Charlton Heston. I haven't even sat down the chair and he starts barraging me with all these yadi yadi yadas that I am not doing what I am paid to do and shit and that he and his committee is not satisfied about the outcome and shit like that.

{Backgrounder, Charlton and his committee asked me to do a project and I agreed, provided they provided me the actual material for the project. Before I agreed, I briefed Charlton at what I actually do and the method and the means that I will employ should I accept this project. Charlton said he was ok with it. To clarify, I repeated to him him that this is what I do and these are were the means that I employ and shit. He said he was ok with it. So, I said yes. What went wrong then? The material came in trickles. The committee didn't like the means that I employ to do the project – It led me to the conclusion that Charlton didn't consult his committee or he didn't consult them that well since he was always flying from one city or country. Then he blames me. Of course, blame the help when the shit hits the fan}.

So he goes on and on about me not being prepared for the meeting and not even bothering to answer the issues he and his committee pointed out in his last email. I wanted to say something real bad ass at that moment but I held my tongue. Because if I did, it wouldn't have accomplished anything. I came meeting to do business and clearly, he wasn't. He was livid. But I was having a good day so I let him go on and on and on. Yap yap yap yap yap. I even acted contrite just to feed his ego. You see, Charlton was angry because I was incompetent and his justification was that I didn't came prepared for the meeting and that I don't even have a hard copy of his last email, which was the topic of the meeting that day. The clincher is, this whore did not receive any email from Charlton Heston. Old Charlie forgot to send me that one important email that would have justified his frustrations for the project by projecting the whole failure to the hired help because he was flying from one city to another. I knew there was no email from the start of the meeting. I wanted to point out that to old Charlie but he wouldn't let me. So, there I was channelling the beautitudes and trying to be meek and humble of heart.

Finally. I dropped the bomb. I asked Charlton, “What email are you talking about?” {with matching, meek and humble facial expressions plus eyelashes}. He says “What do you mean what email, THIS EMAIL {points to the paper his holding}.

MY MOMENT!

I looked at the paper. Looked at him and said, “I didn't receive this email. Your last email was dated XXXXX. I can check it now in my inbox if you wish. If I'm wrong, then I will apologize, my mistake.” He flinches. He runs to his laptop and checks his files. No email. Couldn't find anything. NADA.

Then he looks at me. I look at him {still with the meek and humble of heart expression and eyelashes and shit} and I said, “May I?”.

He steps aside. I open my Gmail account. I typed his name {I tag all my emails. THANK GOD FOR GMAIL}. All the emails he sent me appeared. All dated. But the one email that he was holding in his hand was no where to be found.

He is silent.

I look at him {still humble but with a slight smile forming, but hardly noticeable}

I cough a little.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Once I closed the bathroom door. I did my best Robert de Niro impersonation from Taxi Driver and I did my victory dance. I texted a friend and told him I'd buy him to have his 7 o'clock free because I was gonna buy him a drink that night.

I went out of the bathroom, and there is Charlton Heston, still checking for the lost email that was never sent.

I sat down beside him and I asked him if he could hand me the hard copy. He did. He's subdued now. More meek. More humble. Mind you, I could've shat on his face and repeat every insult he told me. But I didn't. I didn't come there for a pissing contest. I went to that meeting to do business and to actually salvage something of the project that he and his committee were royally fucking up. It was tempting to actually say a word or two, but the dude was already wounded. And besides, it's inhumane to kick a wounded dog.

He was trying to compose himself. He was rather red. I kept coughing small coughs because I was trying not to laugh. We continued the meeting. He wasn't being Moses now. We were doing business.

I learned a lot after that meeting. A lot.

But the most important lesson that I learned that day was about being quiet in a tumultuous situation. Silence is not a weakness. It's a sharp sword that cuts deep. Shallow waters make a lot of noise, but you don't find the treasure chests under shallow waters. You find the pirate booty in the quiet depths.

THAT AND USE GMAIL MOTHERFUCKERS!

GMAIL FUCKING ROCKS!

{By the way, I hope whoever is reading this shit that I am writing actually doesn't think that I am talking about sex! It's not. I actually do have a job}

Omar's Shitty Post { like this is the only one yeah }

So here I am, in Beijing once again, in a coffee shop drinking an atrociously expensive coffee {$4.00 for a cuppa is waaaaay expensivo... ok I'm a cheapskate}. I guess I'm PAYING FOR THE FREE WIRELESS SO I SHOULD NOT COMPLAIN. I'm thinking of something to write right now. Think........ Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink........... OK. I guess this would be my shitty post for now.

Ok people, let's talk about shit. How's my shit? Well, I noticed that recently in my daily bowel movements, my shit floats. I guess that's good eh? I read somewhere that if yer shit floats on water it means that yer healthy but if its denser than water then yer in bad shape. So I guess I am in good shape. World! Read this! MY SHIT FLOATS! BOOYA TO THAT!

Okay, enough of my shit. So I'm kinda bored right now. I'm waiting for 9 pm so I could meet up with some friends that I met here in Beijing. Oh yeah, one of my friends in my city is having an operation right now. Nothing major, but still, when you go under the knife, YOU GO UNDER THE KNIFE.

On Blogging in The Noodle Kingdom ...

... is no picnic lemme tell you. It just isn't. The world's soon to be largest internet user is more anal than a bottom in jungle heat. And when I say anal, I mean Freud/Jung/Bel-Ami/Republican anal. It pisses me off, mind you. Blogger, Typepad and Wordpress, the three blogging giants in the blogosphere are blocked in the Noodle Kingdom. And so is Wikipedia, BBC {from time to time}, Flickr, YouTube and many others . Do you know how hard it is for me to post a blog? Or to wiki something? Or to google a whatnot or a whuchamacallitsthetipofmetoungedamnit?! Or to browse some honest to goodness porn!?! It's hard lemme tell you!

HAAAAAAAAAARD! {Omar screams at the top of his lungs while looking up at his ceiling while making a fist out of his right hand then punching the nothingness above his head twice... oh yeah there's some drool on his chin too... for effect}.

Beastie Boys is playing in my head right now. Don't ask me why, I like their beat. Whosit, you say? Ask yer mom. Yeah it's old, so what?!


What gives anyways? Why the blockorama? Well, you have to thank the LLAWERIF TAERG. And what is exactly the Llawerif Taerg {GFW to us here in the Noodle Kingdom}? Click on the link above stoopid.


There is one consolation though. I am not alone. The rest of the almost 300 million users in the Noodle Kingdom plus the expats who work here suffer the same fate. YAY! All is not lost tho. There are ways to climb the wall. Thank Jizzms for that. It's slow and everything, and its not 100% full proof, but hey I need my online time. I surf, therefore I am.

It makes me wonder though. With The Noodle Kingdom's internet users rising at a super lightning highly dramatic overexposed Keira Knightley pace, how will Big Brother keep up with the X Ray vision?

Are you there Neo? When will you tumble down my rabbit hole?


NB
Big Brother,
If you are reading this {which I'm sure you are}. I heart the Noodle Kingdom!!!!!!!! Me likey likey! Cheap food and beer and smokes. Likey likey. Seriously though, I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Well, it's just me, I don't know about the rest of the expat community here. But I'm sure they feel the same way. And oh yeah, world peace and shit.