Permit me this, for tomorrow is another day of struggle
Holding down at least two jobs while maintaining pultaym status in this certain organization—this has been the story of my life this past decade. On the upside, I am what could be said as galing-galing naman. On the downside, I don’t have a real social life. (On the latter, when I get the chance to see some friends it’s only to help them set up their labor unions or to donate blood for a sick relative.)
I am no doctor but I’m absolutely sure where I get this 40+-inch waistline and this occasional eye tick. I am one highly-strung, stressed-out and always-in-a-hurry case.
A good day for me is when my car sputters to life in three tries; when there is water running from the taps; when I am not flogged down by the MMDA; when I do not receive a distressing text from a volunteer; and when I am able to accomplish half of the million errands thrown my sorry way.
A very good day is when I am allowed to sleep past six in the morning and be home before nine in the evening; when I get to watch a TV show (any show) without falling asleep in the first five minutes; and when there is wi-fi connection at the office.
An excellent day is when I still have a hundred pesos in my wallet at the end of the day and I do not receive a text message saying an activist has just been killed or abducted. (My life has sunk as low—thank you, government.)
Okay, stop here if you are no longer interested about my pathetic days. Want more? Get help!
Ok, sicko, let me tell you about one aspect of what a regular day is for me during these troubled times. What do I usually eat these days?
In the morning, after emptying my bladder and splashing cold water on my face, I look inside the ref and the cupboard for anything palatable. I do not know why I still expect something different but I am almost always sure there are only instant noodles or instant pancit canton, pork and beans, and preserved-for-hell canned meat. If I’m lucky there’d be one or two eggs in the ref. I would then prepare and eat all these in five minutes flat.
For lunch, sometime past 1 p.m. I would visit the carinderia across the street from our building and order the usual sinigang, binagoongan, pork steak, lechon paksiw or menudo. The menu hardly ever changes and all these start to taste the same to me. I usually don't have the energy nor the money to haul my ass to KFC just a block away. So I park my bum on a monoblock chair and receive abuse from Vivian, the place’s boss, while she takes her sweet time in serving me her greasy food.
It gets better for dinner. I have two choices: eat at my mother’s house or eat at the CERV dorm. At the former, food is almost always bland. Food is usually better at CERV except for the fact that I am usually so bushed I no longer care if it is indeed food I shovel down my gullet.
Wait! There is more. For snacks I buy roasted peanuts in small plastic packets worth five pesos. These are sold in our building by the parents of two abducted UP students. (The money they earn from this they use in their yet fruitless search for their daughters.)
Now, why am I in such a dark mood now? Well, tonight, I was invited to Tita Lubi’s birthday party arranged by friends and comrades. We met at this lovely restaurant at a difficult-to-find corner in the Cubao Shoe Expo. There was a block-wide power failure at the time and we ate by candlelight. The soft lighting lowered my dinner mates’ average age by about thirty years. And to make sure we stay relatively young we stuffed ourselves with chewy garlic hito, saucy pancit, crispy pata, steamed pla-pla and crispy pakbet washed down with either beer or soda. Grace Saguinsin brought a lovely walnut carrot cake while her daughter made sure every one of us received party favors. Mine was a cutesy Spiderman 3 pen.
Do I make sense here?
I don’t care if I don’t. Tonight, I sleep with a happy tummy.
‘Night, boys and ghels!
naiyak ako, bukaneg... naiyak...
Posted by: - - nENe - - | October 23, 2007 11:13 PM