Batong-bato ka, mas lalo na ako

Kanina pa ako nakatengga sa kwarto

Nagbibilang ng mga alikabok

Ina-identify species ng mga lamok

Ang mga duming nagkalat

Electric fan, beer at laptop

Mga damit at gamit na wala sa ayos

Nililimitahan ang aking pagkilos

Sa lahat ng problema natin sa mundo

Isa lang ang solusyon dito

Tatakas ako

Takas tayo

Rinding-rindi na tenga ko

Sa paulit-ulit na tugtog ng XpressMusic ko

Masyadong mabagal ang Tattoo

Puro virus naman internet shop sa kanto

Sarado ang Jollibee, South Star, at Mercury

Kanina pa ako hindi mapakali

Ano kaya kung ako ay mag-yosi?

Umpness, wala akong pansindi

At honga pala may exams pala ako

At nag-uumapaw na mga proyekto

Sa lahat ng suliraning ito

Alam ko na gagawin ko

Tatakas ako

Takas tayo

Pero teka tinatamad yata ako

At siyempre magpoprocrastinate na naman ako

Saka na lang tayo tumakas

Hindi pa ako naghihimagas*

Tulungan mo na lang ako

Mag-organize tayo ng mga gamit ko

Labhan mo lahat ng damit ko

Habang ako’y nanonood ng Naruto

Sunugin natin mga baul ng pera ko

Para mag-free up ng space sa kwarto

At siyempre pagkatapos ng lahat ng ‘to

Inuman tayo magdamag, libre mo

Hindi na pala natin kailangang lumayo

Solusyon sa mga problema’y naririto

Tulugan natin ang lahat ng ito

Paggising nati’y wala nang mga ‘to

*himagas = dessert

But I will just lick it dry

You can try to call the Student Tribunal

But you’ll always get a bad signal

You can report me to the police

But not until you give me a kiss

You can’t forever hide in your shadow

Cause in the night we’ll be sharing your pillow

You can seek refuge in your circle of friends

But whose gonna stand by you when daylight ends?

I will

I will help you count sheep

I will watch you smile in your sleep

You can throw any sharp object at me

You can put poison in my red iced tea

You can stun me with a taser gun

Or run me over with a bus, I don’t care, have fun

I know just where you’re going next

Your house, I know its coordinates

Cause I attached a homing device in your Islets

of Langerhans And it won’t come off easily, I promise

(Although it automatically snoozes when it detects

When nothing is covering your epidermis)

I also use Google Earth

To confirm your (x,y) wherever you are on the planet

I devised an algorithm

Which enables me to know your whims

I would know when you feel like splurging

Or what color is the undergarment you’re (not) wearing

You can burn the ground I’m treading

Or dilapidate my face when I’m hibernating

Or take away all the oxygen in the air

And put more free radicals in the ozone layer

You can vacuum out all my hemoglobin

And send me off to fight with Green Goblin

You can force me to do the Macarena

And blast me off to the nearest supernova

You can spoil the plot of an adrenaline-pumping movie

Or annihilate the phosphors in the CRT of the TV

You can draw ill-conceived stick figures of me

But a few arcsecs more and you won’t let go of me

I sprayed pheromones all over your room

And left a message with subliminal hums

You can plot the ultimate scheme to assassinate me

But when it’s all said and done you’ll be stalking me

Stalk me. Please?

Dinner at Ineng’s, Petron Katipunan

Chapter 3 na ng World of Goo (nag-stop pala ako nung August Chapter 2 Blustery Day, ewan ko kung bakit, tas nang bumalik ako Chapter 1 Regurgitation Pumping Station, di ako makaalis-alis. Haha Tnx Arolf.)

Na-miss ang first quiz sa Rate Processes (pero umepal sa calculation ng mass fraction)

Nasabi ko na rin na busted ang ilaw sa aking desk (5 months na). Nareinforce ang fact na wala akong kaalam-alam sa kung sino-sinong souls ang nakapalibot sa akin (mga ka-corridors ko sa mezz). Apparently, kilala ako at ang room na aking inooccupy nung isang dormmate nang sinundan niya ako. Naisip na pwede namang tinanong na niya ako right then and there, at icommit na lang sa memory ang mga sinasabi ko. Kaso mas gusto niya ata na sa record book.

Humingi kay Mom

Napapirma na rin si Sir Umali. Di ko na alam kung ano ang gagawin since bukas na ang last day. 6pm-9pm class niya, past 6 dumating. Ewan ko, parang pababa na ako, tas bigla dumating siya. Laking tuwa. Nagpagupit siya. Waha. At nasa desk niya yung note na ni-slip ko sa door niya.

Nakausap si Nadygne.

Napaniginipan si Nadygne.

Gumawa independently ng homework

Violation sa dorm, dumating ng 10:30pm

Nilibre ni Elisa ng ice cream (plus Bisoto at popcorn)

Nakapanood ng TV (GMA7) kasama mga Tita ni Rachel. Sino dyan fans ni Carla Something, mediocre daw ang pagiging thespian niya sabi ni Jessa.  

Na-witness ang pag-shriek ni Chinkee dahil naipit siya ng taxi door pagsara ni Arolf (birthday gift ni Arolf). Naconfuse kung ano ang nangyayari kaya natagalan bago ko to napagbuksan.

Nakita si Yvette sa 7-11

Walang pumili bilang groupmate sa Mat E 103. Groupname Topaz, kagaguhan lang. Di pala gemstone ang corundum.

Nilibre ni Anpy ng sinampalukang baka.

Nakipag-usap for a second sa seatmate. Naks naman si Kuya Miggy. Kaklase din si Kuya B.A.

Nakatulog 1pm-2:30pm. At yun nga, nanaginip.

Hindi napagod sa paghang-out with friends

Nilakad from Pook Palaris to Molave

Ni-unwrap na si Book

Nasabihang non-participative. Haha I will try to progress next time.

Nagcrave ng yosi. Tsk2.

Mga gagawin ko mamaya:

Uber-late submission ng Homework sa Mat E 12, at isa pang late submission (gagawin ko bukas)

Processing ng Change Mat Form (Dept, Admin, Cashier, OUR)

Matulog 12:30am.

At the start of this school year however, the lift seemed destroyed, so I had to make do with the classical stairs, which had never felt more extended, exaggerated, stairs-ful, and downright redundant. Even if it promises to reduce my ballooning waistline and manhandle my Body Mass Index to the appropriate metric, I couldn’t care less. I want the elevator’s ambient temperature that’s fit for optimum metabolism. I love watching how my perspiration and tiredness gets usurped by the elevator’s air particles. I love overhearing people’s amusing rants and ramblings. I enjoy smiling to a million acquaintances and exuding warmth and enthusiasm to strangers. I want random talks with random people. I love breaking the speed-of-sound as I rush to the closing door, and getting satisfaction from the rare instances of successfully barging in, all the while simultaneously unreceptive and paranoid about the admiration from the awed folks (“Wow! How did he do that?”) and frown from the irate people (“What a waste of time.”). I am grateful for people pushing the <|> (instead of the >|< ) button for me and blissful having the opportunity to press that button for other people.  I want the elevator, with all its efficiency, kindness-generation, and (false) connotations of bacchanalianism and couch-potatoism. 

However, going to-and-fro my classes in Eng’g, I learned to accept that some good things come to an end (though I’m not quite sure if it’s  to make room for better things). P&G Room, where my exam in Mat E 101 was held, could have been better travelled with a quick elevator ride, but I totally forgot that the elevator had already resurfaced, so I had to utilize my bipedality.

Needless to say, I was breathing like a horse when I reached the room on the fifth floor, and all calories from the pH-metered-jelly-infused hors de oeuvre from Yakal Open House quickly evanesced. (It didn’t help that I was also dehydrated since there was not a single unused drinking glass at the Engineering cafe. Screw you, Gloria’s Eatery (or whatever you are called), both of you.)

The exam went on for three hours. (It’s a good thing the Cannes Film Festival hakot-awards Iberian flick, The Orphanage (El Orfanatu?), didn’t exactly leave a scar on my heart. Otherwise I would be thinking about the thickness of its plot and its social and moral underpinnings, instead of surface tension of water-acid solution, Ellingham diagrams, and Newton-Raphson iterations.)

Now comes the best part. All the other students seemed to take the stairs. A small number flocked towards the elevator, and yes, I was part of that group. It was done unconsciously, maybe it’s because I usually take the elevator for my ES 11 class a year ago which was on P&G Room, which in turn was only a yard or two from the elevator. There’s Rendel (a classmate in Math 53 or Math 54, ah yeah, it’s Math 53), Jessa 2 (who’s on her way to Cavite, I overheard), Marie (who’s a heroine, as I shall reveal later why), some groupmate in Mat E 10 whose name I keep forgetting, some classmate in Mat E 131 who’s always happy, four or five other unnamed course-mates, and of course, Jessa 1, the second person I have known to have that name (there was a singer named Jessa right?).

Everyone was inside (I was second to the last person to enter the chamber) when that ominous sound rang. It occupied the room in no time, an ear-slitting siren. The message was quick and simple: SOMEONE HAS TO GO. For a second, no one reacted. They probably watched an award-winning movie and were now trying to delve into the socio-political implications, I don’t know. Then, everyone let out an unearthly laughter. Then, when everyone got tired of laughing, reality sunk in.

SOMEONE HAS TO GO.

Everyone looked down, afraid that if they made eye contact with anyone, it would be interpreted as a confirmation of being ready to go. I didn’t move. I grabbed the railing as though someone would grab me and push me out of the elevator.

Near the LCD panel is a more important spec of the elevator: capacity. It claims support  of up to 1000 kg load or 13 people. We’re only 10 or 11 out there, and each of us is (ehem) far from overweight. And of course we’re not talking about Americans here, who are perhaps the sorts that the 13-people capacity pertains to.

Why would the elevator roar out? To scare us, intimidate us? Force us to lose weight when there’s isn’t an extra layer of adipose tissues to shed? Lower our self-esteem by eroding our self-image and consciousness? Nice try elevator, but we know ourselves better than anyone (or anything) else. We are not fatsos and we definitely don’t collectively weigh a ton.

Just when I was about to volunteer (myself or others), two persons had the most scientific (and craziest) idea. They got out of the elevator and sneakily went back in. Their movement was so careful and with utter precision that the decibel count was at its minimum. No one breathed. We knew (or plainly just believed or fervently hoped) that it would work.

Just when the two was back in their respective places, the sound came attacking our cochlea again. This almost reduced us to tears. (Yeah, like we didn’t expect that to happen.)

We looked at each other, asking for comfort. We laughed again. And again. And again. SOMEONE HAS TO GO.

“Yung nakasapatos,” I joked. Everyone laughed. At least half of us were wearing shoes. I wasn’t. I left my Chuck’s at Marikina. And I normally do not wear shoes on exams. Heck, I didn’t even wear them on my first job.

We laughed without end, pausing only to catch our breath. Then someone went out.

She was the single bravest soul in all of Mega Manila. Marie (or is it Mariz?) touched our hearts the very instant she moved and strided towards the door. I noticed her face, it was full of intent, of gladness that she was able to help. It was actually glowing and it would probably help her fend off ghosts as she takes the stairs.

Someday, I also would like to touch others’ hearts and set an example by following Marie’s. And that would mean another experience of (pseudo-)overload and weight realization.

Any problem only poses threats for you if you see them as such. The elevator would nullify your waistline-reduction schemes if you see it as a burgeoning antithesis to health and personality enhancement, instead of an efficient way to get from point A to point B, where you could get random conversations, instantaneous learning, stimulation, and acts of kindness as bonuses.

I would never quit using the elevator.

“I think smoking is bad for my health. Therefore I quit thinking.”

                                                                     -Dexter Brylle Matos

Guy 2: Uh, Prisoner of Azkaban ata. Tama, Prisoner of Azkaban.

At this point, you might be gaping at how details-devoid this conversation is. Alright, a little background. I was on my way home, on a cost-effective bus, a day late of schedule because I had to tend to my procrastinating nature (which would be the last of it). Guy 1 was on seat no. 38, near the window, lighting up his 38th stick. My eyes were glued to the video-on-board, and my ears were slapped with about 40 potential LSSs. Every part of my olfactory organs was adjusting to minute changes in light, both ambient and from the tele.

It was quite hard, my eyes were squinting because the subs were too distant I needed more magnifying power. And the songs, although on shuffle, well, I’ve heard them for at least a thousand times. It didn’t help that the movie was the only HP flick I’ve watched in a silver screen. To paraphrase, I was able to extract every possible utility out of HP 3, and now that it’s on a tiny CRT, what marginal benefit can I possibly get? Granted, that was quite a few years ago. But it would certainly be much, much nicer had it been any other HP movie, specially the Half-Blood Prince. At first, I thought it was actually the 6th, but then the cast was so younger-looking, there was Boggart and Buckbeak, and yes, Sirius Black and a werewolf professor, at this point I had an almost enlightening moment. But instead of Eureka! it was “teka, napanood ko na to ah!” I was so outraged, defeated. I needed to light up.

Guy 2 happens to be me. I’m on seat no. 40. Okay, so that’s enough setting of the milieu.

In some normal auspices of the universe, I would have responded by: “Sorry, di ko alam eh.” This would entail no more conversations would follow. I would be safe with my own self, my own mind, my own quirks, my own self-destructive thoughts, my own LSSs. But then, I don’t know, I just said the truth. Of course, this effected irrational thoughts and psychoneurotic perceptions, but these were so minute I never got to notice them.

Guy 1: Ah. Pang-ilan na to? Pangalawa?

Guy 2: Pangatlo. Akala ko nga yung bago eh.

Guy 1: Akala ko din nga.

Save for Harry Potter movies 1-5 and Naruto Shippuuden episodes 8-56, I never attempt to brush through with anything (anime, TV series, movie, book, even some music, websites, etc.) mainstream. Hence, I have only the vaguest idea about Twilight, UAAP, and local bands. I have no idea about philosophy, world history, communication, economics, society, politics, current events. I don’t know anything about gourmet, foreign language and culture, driving a car, literature, sports.

I don’t know what I’ve been doing with my life. All I know is where to eat food, open my mouth so food can enter, watch Nicktoons, sleep as much as possible, procrastinate, eat food, procrastinate. None of which bodes well for positive human interaction.

So what do I know?

Guy 1: Ang boring ng mga trip na ganito. Ayos sana kung may kausap. Kaso yun nga, pag nag-initiate ako ng conversation, hindi naman substantial ang sagot.

Guy 2: ???

By the way, prior to that, I devoured Sumo strawberry (which reminds me of Starbucks) wafer sticks with the finesse of a pig, shamelessly rocked out along with my MP3s like I was the only passenger in the bus, and voided my middle ears of waxy stuff, yes, yes, I did it in the bus, because I’d no time for it in the dorm, and no one would recognize me anyway.

Guy 1: Yosi?

Guy 2 looked at the package. Marlboro. My kind of yosi.

I didn’t even hesitate (well, maybe I hesitated for a picosecond). I took a stick, and inserted it in between my lips. As soon as I made the first puff (after lighting it up first, doh), the familiar sensations enveloped me.

I was a crying kid, and he gave me a piece of candy.

And that candy completely blurred the lines between my egotistic personal bubble and his.

We talked about school. We talked about mummification, cave formation, Marijuana, Mike Cosa, psychology, fraternity, Machiavellian government.

After bashing Yael Yuzon, he asked me what my favorite local band is. Well, I’m quite partial to Spongecola, but since he made it clear that he dislikes it, to avoid conflicts, I didn’t answer at all.

He tried to ask me what my stand is on President Obama. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what or how to answer.

Whenever the talk is about stuff where I have only the slightest ideas, I become mute. Maybe it’s defense mechanism. Maybe it’s to avoid forming impressions and prejudices. Maybe it’s the possibility of stupid and shallow perceptions on things. Maybe it’s for diplomacy.

But really, the main reason is apathy/total lack of interest whatsoever. Also, with courses in Speech Communication, Basic College English, and English for the Professions, I am still struggling to express myself, which, needless to say, is worsened if you don’t know anything about the topic. And, somehow, in social interactions, my amygdala seems to be my cerebral cortex. Plus, I also get bored/tired easily.

But I have the choice whether to accept the things as they are, or as they could be.

And now, I’m going to choose the latter. Nothing is ever too late. The world is a dynamic paradigm, continuously evolving and metamorphosing, with little regard on time.

Indeed it is a fact that no one is an island, that the world is an ecosphere of interconnected living things. It is your choice if you get smashed by its turbulence or be a positive contributor towards making this world a happier and nicer place. I will carve a niche, yes I will, and stop existing for myself, and start living for the biosphere. Naks.

I will start appreciating all the many members of the ecosystem (those I sing Videoke with, play Airhockey with, eat Tofu with, go to the same classroom with, take a picture with, share the same LCD projector with) and try to overwhelm them with enthusiasm. If I have to invest on being both booksmart and streetsmart, and overdose on nicotine and Stresstabs…

On that trip I made a very valuable lesson. Although I’m not quite sure what it was.

Instead, I’m quoting this conversation from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams.

And here’s a clip of one of my most favorite Spongebob episodes.

I’ll parody Patrick and Spongebob’s conversations:

Eytz: Mike?

Me: (turns around) Go. Run away like all the others. No one would want a friend as ugly as I am. (sobs)

Eytz: Sure they would! It makes them feel better about the way they look!

Eytz: Maybe a story will cheer you up. (picks me up and seats me) It’s called “The Ugly Iskolar ng Bayan”. Once there was an ugly UP student taking up BS Materials Engineering. He was so ugly that everyone at Triple M died. The end.

Me: That didn’t help at all. (starts crying)

Eytz: What is wrong with you people?! Afraid to look ugliness in the face?! (picks me up and waves me around) Well, HERE! LOOK AT IT!!

Eytz: IT’S UGLY, ISN’T IT?! LOOK AT IT, LOOK AT IT, LOOK AT IT!! I WANT ALL OF YOU TO LOOK AT IT!!

Arolf: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

1) Someone asks you your year level (or when filling out the year level field in your Form 5) and you don’t know what to answer. You utter out the first two digits of your student number instead.

2) Only you notice the haunting similarity between Meteor Garden and Boys Over Flowers. You ditch the latter for being so hackneyed and unoriginal. Nobody in class got a clue about the former.

3) On the first day of classes, you mistook the teacher for a classmate. All your classmates mistook you for the teacher.

4) You take Facebook app LivingSocial, and you get something like this:

5) You’ve been in a UP Fair at least three times. Your classmates never heard about Champ Lui Pio or Raymund Marasigan.

6) The guard at Melchor Hall wouldn’t let you enter without an ID. Looking at your yellowing ID, he asks you “Ikaw to?” every so often. Others can enter without scrutiny.

7) Your classmates love GEs. You don’t give a damn about ‘em (you’re done with them).

8. You’re the instant leader in a group. Your groupmates don’t show up in any meeting.

9) You find your classmates too immature.

10) You’ve had a Friendster account since pre-Cambrian.

11) Your High School batchmates are done doing creative shots for the College Yearbook. You still can’t get over with the fact that your High School yearbook photo shoots didn’t turn out quite well.

Now the million dollar question is: Am I too old for college?

And my billion dollar answer would be: Hinde ah.

And your quadrillion dollar reaction would be: Wushu?

(Wushu? = Weh? = Hinde nga?)

1) It’s the right thing to do.

Got an uno in Values Education? Now’s your chance to prove you deserve it. Seriously though, we’ve been taught since forever that helping others is a good thing. And just listen to that small voice absconding out of your inner self’s mouth.

2) Everyone benefits from it.

We are all interweaved. So basically even a weenie bit of help, in whatever way, could send ripples. The ones who receive help? They could finally eat or drink. You? You burn those unnecessary calories. The politicians? Ay ambot.

Utilitarianism. Everyone gets something out of it. Yeah, even that creature who now owns my HBW pen. 

3) It makes you happy.

Self-gratification. Yay, now finally you get to debunk that misconception about you being so slothful. And the smile painted on children’s faces, it melts your heart.

Egoism. No one can help others without benefitting the self. And that benefit comes in the form of self-gratification.

4) You get to make new friends.

Or, at the very least, someone might recognize you.

An alumnus of my heavily endeared Pisay Bicol high school (and now a UPD freshie) recognized me . I was like, wow, you know me? You’re so cool. And Kenneth was there too.

Anyone recognizes this guy (wearing the brown shirt)?

5) All other people seem to do it.

6) A new experience.

It’s not like everyday you get to hop in on a truck, pat in the back by a GMA7 person, talk to a tattoo artist, listen to a driver’s rants, ride in an MRT going in the wrong direction, splurge on a Coke Float hoping it would quench your dehydration, or count the total number of Jollibee branches along Quezon Avenue.

7) Free travel.

And it doesn’t matter that you’re wrapped in shrouds of UVA and UVB radiation, the trip from UPD to Times St. to P. Tuason to Industrial Village was wicked fun! The billboards were amazing, the houses were so-so, you were getting adrenaline rushes every so often, and you didn’t get afflicted with motion sickness. How cool is that?

The downside? Your ventricles wanted to bob out and your chances of being recognized in the dark are nullified.

You get to be part of, um, something.

I actually hated that every two meters or so, someone would proclaim that we are UP students and are members of ******** PARTY LIST. This might sound overidealistic, pero come on, if someone really is genuine in helping, he would just go out there nameless and faceless, not caring at all whether he is being appreciated, much less being recognized. And since when was I a member of a party list?!?!

Anyway, what’s great about this is that you get to be part of something (a group, a program, etc.) that helps. In my case, it was apparently a brainchild of a partylist? It doesn’t matter.

The area has never been covered by the media and apparently, help from the government was far from sight, as lamented by a man that certainly was nagpaparinig: “Puro na lang (Barangay X) at (Barangay Y), parte din naman kami ng (City) ah.”

9) You learn.

If you offered a hand and turned down, do not be disheartened. It means there are a lot of people out there sharing the same ideals as you (but it just happened that they were there earlier). It also shows efficiency is of prime importance, equating to easier reliefs packaging and distribution and faster rate of smiles creation and propagation. And that’s what you wanted all along, right?

Upon wading through murky (and Leptos pyrosis-inducing) water, I can’t help but be sad. It’s probably because the people need bigger help, and we can only do so much. I really hope they get the help that they need.

Everyone seems to obtain happiness from noble deeds. For me, it’s non-sequitur that you get happiness by helping. I believe the core of helping out is self-sacrifice, and when you lose your self, you let go of all the other emotions/attributes, including happiness. But at the end of the day, it’s not important if you’re happy or not. Just. Do. It.  

10) Just because.

P.S.:

To that creature who now owns my HBW pen, I’m in Molave. Please return my pen. You might get a reward.

Kahapon ko pa po sya last nakita 9am s net cafe.

Hindi po b sya umuwi kagabi?

I exchanged text messages with D’rin and Roman regarding the net, Krus na Ligas’ brownout and baha, yearbook, and SmartBro. Jessa was complaining about the brownout and boredom; her roommate Kate wasn’t there to talk to. I tried calling Philip, but a system-generated voice enounced: The subscriber cannot be rich reached.

Her sister texted me, telling me Philip went home last night but went to school today, and he couldn’t be contacted since. I tried to reassure her by telling her maybe Philip was in the library, waiting for the rain to turn to drizzle or stop altogether. Philip isn’t exactly into the habit of constantly bringing an umbrella with him, and even the smallest of umbrellas wouldn’t fit in his bag. So what would? A pen and a folded bluebook? A calculator maybe? No, definitely not a notebook. “Notebooks are for elementary,” he once said. 

I got a message from the same number, this time it was Philip. He had to walk from Philcoa to Pantranco and beyond. Wow.

At least alam mo n how much your sister loves you.

I sent and received text messages from Riska and Kumi, my lab partners in Mat E 3. We had two formal reports to write, the experiment of one of which I was not able to perform, and in the other, I was only barely present. The tasks and parts were delegated to each of us, less than two days before the submission. And hey, since the weather was so cold, I have an excuse to not do my part. Nah, I’ll end it tomorrow.

I heard news about some kids in the University of Sto. Tomas not being able to go home due to the flood. Someone was being interviewed on the radio. He said he was trying to contact the mayor of Marikina for help. Marides C. Fernando. I know her, I’ve lived in Marikina ever since I decided I’m way too cool for a boarding house. 

There was a news about kids clamoring for Jollibee Philcoa to open so they could eat. And a follow-up news on the kids in UST, informing that the kids are in the 2nd Floor of Engineering Bldg.

The kids here in Diliman were hurdling through hunger (and were most probably with a parent/guardian), while there in Espana, they only have their teachers (and were most probably not caring at all about Jolly spaghetti or Yum! burger).

My yaya (she told me I used to call her mommy) when I was a toddler texted me and asked if I’m okay.

Okay lang ako.

I forgot to thank her. She was the first in the family to text me. It’s not like a contest or something. But I believe in especially rainy days anyone could make use of a nice hello or even a forwarded message from a family member. I normally would flood the room with lachrymal secretions pondering this, but so many good things have happened that I didn’t fell any pang.

I decided to text mom. I, for the first time, texted her a message that isn’t a forwarded or a default one. It wasn’t about a joke that involves a chemist, a biologist, and a physicist. It wasn’t about asking for a raise in allowance either.

ahhh. Baha sa labas.

Uncle Sam called and asked if I was in Marikina. He probably wanted to know if the water seeped through his office. I told him I’m in the dormitory. Then he asked me if I’m alright. I said yes and told him about the baha. I didn’t ask him why he called. He called to know I’m okay. Let’s keep it that way. =) 

Mom replied and asked if I’m okay.

I checked my load and my balance was a meager 50 cents. What could anyone do with 50 cents?

D’rin texted me and asked if I’m okay DilNet is back to normal.

My brother texted me and asked if I’m okay. He hasn’t been texting me since I asked him to give me back my half-grand since I was utterly broke a few days ago.

At least alam mo n how much your brother loves you.

I woke up twice before waking up for good. First, I woke up to pee and found out I forgot to hibernate my PC na nakatulugan ko. Then, I woke up again to read text messages. Then I really, really woke up. And you know what made me really, really woke up? Why of course, my stomach was grumbling, and I was ready to chomp off any carbon-containing matter within reach, including my lone pillow, humerus and my stomach itself.

I reached for my PC and booted it up. I stopped using Plurk two weeks ago (and @Arolf noticed), but today, I felt like flooding it with my ramblings.

hoy_mccoy can’t go out. the rain would ruin my high-end umbrella

hoy_mccoy is starving

hoy_mccoy asks when will the rain stop?

hoy_mccoy says sarap matulog =)

And whatnot.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your POV), DilNet was <insert_nasty_adjective_here> again, so I decided to heed my hunger center’s advice: My son, go out and get some food.

I prepped my Beverly Hills Polo Club (BHPC) high-end umbrella, which was like my 1,234th umbrella, and headed straight to Lutong Bahay. I remember my conversation with the saleslady at SM Marikina. She was actually endorsing another brand (Hydro-something) that offered 10% cut on its tag price (which was already a dollar less than BHPC), but my heart was already captured by BHPC. But still, I had to know for sure which was a better buy.

Me: So, ate, ano advantages ng umbrellang eto (referring to BHPC) over that (pointing to the shelf of Hydros)?

Ate (the saleslady): Ah yun (Hydro) kasi may warranty, eto (BHPC) wala.

Oh, so basically the main difference between the two (but certainly not the advantage of BHPC) is that Hydro has warranty to boot. I wondered what made that difference.

Me: Bakit ganun?

Ate: Kasi direct-sales eto (BHPC). Samantalang yun (Hydro) ay ibang kompanya.

That’s it. This is just a hunch, but I think this is why she na nakatoka sa BHPC and therefore must persevere in upselling BHPC umbrellas, was trying to upsell the products of Hydro instead. Maybe she was trying to help the Hydro saleslady reach quota, while not having a regard on her own umbrellas, because either she already reached quota (and I think that would be easily achieved due to the sheer number of products), or no quota is required for direct mall sales.

I however already set my eyes on BHPC, although I was still having second thoughts on whether I could take the responsibility of making sure my umbrella doesn’t get lost.

I watched as the saleslady demo’ed how “windproof” the umbrella was by simulating a really chaotic whirlwind. The umbrella’s framework was “fiber-plastic” I was told. That’s why it offers better rust protection than one with a metal framework, she said. You know, pure sales talk. I hope it was really entirely made of “fiber-plastic” (that is, devoid of any metal/alloy) so the umbrella wouldn’t rust at all.

It was my first time to hear the word. Fiberplastic is hauntingly similar to Fiberglass. And fiberglass is quite confusing, as it could mean the fiber glass-reinforced plastic or plastic fiber-reinforced glass, or the glass fibers themselves. I reported on carbon fiber-reinforced polymers/plastics in Mat E 10, and these composites can be called carbon fiber for short, although the reinforcing agents are also called, of course, carbon fiber.  Thus, “fiberplastic” may refer to a composite having plastic as matrix and/or plastic fibers as reinforcing agent, or it may refer to only the plastic fibers. Anyway.

The umbrella was noticeably lightweight thanks to that “fiberplastic”.

Now, a week later, I was using it (for the 3rd time so) to protect me from the torrents. This umbrella better not be destroyed. I traversed the path to the Post Office, so far so good. But when I reached  Area 2, I almost wanted to run back to my room. The water was so deep it was neck-level (well, in a puppy’s vantage point). I scanned the topology, and searched for a part of the road where the murky water would not reach the wound on my left foot (which was induced by a leather shoe). Alas, there was none. So I gathered all my courage (and antibodies) as I inched towards LB.

The shakes-and-more (pandan jelly, mais con hielo, etc. ) girls were at the forefront of the establishment, and I hung the umbrella on the umbrella rack/nail. I still have worries on its safety (and I think it’s quite normal, given that the umbrella was less than a week old) but the valets inside just wouldn’t let anyone bring his umbrella.

I ordered for a decent meal (decent = 2 viands) and not go for extravagant as a punishment to myself for not waking up early for breakfast and forgetting Herb’s cafe would be serving lunch.

I watched how Marielle Rodriguez poked fun at a contestant (a nanny) in WoWoWee for not properly pronouncing JC, the name of the yaya’s alaga. The yaya had a regional accent and pronounced JC as /Jey-Sey/.

“Hinatid pa ako ng amo ko,” the nanny said. “Hindi ka na nun susunduin,” Pokwang blurted out. “Lalakarin ko na lang pauwi,” the yaya replied. “Magsiswimming ka na pauwi,” Marielle taunted.

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

“Magsiswimming ka na pauwi.”

I grabbed my umbrella and fled.