Terrible Heat

I promised myself I will minimize complaints, especially about things I cannot control. Like the weather. But the extreme heat of summer 2010 is getting to me.

I get constant migraines. I don't like moving from air-conditioned to non-air-conditioned rooms as it makes me dizzy. I am constantly thirsty, especially upon waking up in the morning. Perhaps I'm also coming down with the flu so I have been generally feeling a bit under the weather this week. I try to drink several liters of water a day just to make it through.

I am not ignoring the sun's benefits, especially since I love to do the laundry and clothes line-dry quickly in summer. I just hope that we get some rain soon, and not in Ondoy proportions, please. There is such a thing as too much sunshine.

So this is not a complaint. Just a statement. I'll do the (pro) rain dance if needed.

New Rants

Maybe this is due to the unbearable heat. Maybe it's the series of difficult events that have happened to my friends and me. I just felt like posting two questions that have been bothering me for sometime now:

1. Why does Road Watch and all other traffic updates on the radio broadcast live with that irritating beat in the background? The traffic announcers sound nasal and scratchy - think A.M. mono effect - and given that unnecessary background music slash noise, who can understand what they're saying? A motorist stuck in traffic, tired from work, late for work, or out of patience? The announcers also mouth their updates at the speed of light, and seldom do I catch what I need to her when I need to hear it.

2. Why do Shell gasoline attendants ask me if I want full tank V-power even before I can speak? Is it because of my old Velocity sticker? Or is this SOP? It irritates me when I'm rushing and just need a quick pit stop and there they are, offering me a product I cannot afford.

I try not to be masungit anymore. I am grateful for many good things. I just needed to vent.

Tuloy na Tuloy pa rin ang Pasko

I watched the Philippine Madrigal Singers at the Philamlife Lobby for Christmas Treats, a one-hour concert for the benefit of streetkids. I think the message of this song is very apt for Filipinos.

Tuloy na Tuloy pa rin ang Pasko
Apo Hiking Society

O bakit kaya tuwing Pasko ay
dumarating na
ang bawa't isa'y para bang
namomroblema
hindi mo alam ang regalong ibibigay
ngayong kay hirap na nitong ating buhay

Meron pa kayang caroling at noche buena
kung tayo naman ay kapos at wala nang pera
nakakahiya kung muling pagtaguan mo
ang 'yong mga inaanak sa araw ng Pasko.

[refrain]

♫♬♩♪
Ngunit kahit na anong mangyari
ang pag-ibig sana'y maghari
sapat nang si Hesus ang kasama mo
tuloy na tuloy pa rin ang Pasko

Mabuti pa nga ang Pasko noong isang taon
sa ating hapag mayroong keso de bola't hamon
baka sa gipit, Happy New Year mapo-postpone
at ang hamon ay mauuwi sa bagoong

[refrain]
Ngunit kahit na anong mangyari
ang pag-ibig sana'y maghari
sapat nang si Hesus ang kasama mo
tuloy na tuloy pa rin ang Pasko

(Instrumental)

♫♬♩♪

[refrain]
Ngunit kahit na anong mangyari
ang pag-ibig sana'y maghari
sapat nang si Hesus ang kasama mo
tuloy na tuloy parin ang pasko

[coda]
Tuloy na tuloy pa rin (Tuloy na tuloy pa rin)
tuloy na tuloy pa rin (Tuloy na tuloy pa rin)
tuloy na tuloy pa rin ang Pasko

tuloy na tuloy pa rin ang Pasko ♫♬♩♪

Shameless Plug for Jollibee :)

I passed by Jollibee before going home to claim some freebies courtesy of my BPI Credit Card (ayan may free advertisement pa ng aking paboritong fastfood at paboritong bangko, Proudly Pinoy). I meant to eat something on the way home as I had anticipated that the rains would cause streets to be congested all the way to QC. I was right.

I was snacking on the regular fries while waiting for a taxi outside Robinsons Place Manila, my newest hangout due to its proximity to my office, when a man, who must have grown old begging, held out his palm to me. I stopped chewing mid-fry and handed him the packet of fries that still had a good amount of potato left. The man eyed my Jollibee bag and said, "Tinapay!" (Bread!). I shook my head and said, "Para po sa anak ko ito" (This is for my child).

I didn't know what came over me. I didn't have any children. What I had was pasalubong for my parents and my balikbayan aunt, and I guess I was looking for gratitude in the man's eyes. I didn't see any. Then he said, "Barya na lang" (Give me coins then). The lady standing on the taxi lane before me interrupted and said, "Manong, binigyan ka na nga ng pagkain eh" (Brother, she already gave you food). The man walked away, sad.

I was saddened by that incident, without knowing that I would later on give the Double Yum with TLC in my bag to someone else: the cab driver.

The Taxi Lane was not moving, and irate shoppers were picking on the mall security guard for allowing people who did not fall in line to get the cabs that refused to stop in front of the designated space. I already had enough bad experiences with cabbies to know that I might have to wait for an hour in that kind of situation. So I did what I had to do. I called my regular cab company, Reno, the garage of which was just five minutes away from my house. They never refused passengers who wanted to get to Don Antonio, as that was their home base as well. I was at ease with their drivers, since they knew that I knew where they worked and could thus report any undesirable behavior.

Anyway.

I waited for ten minutes in front of the Padre Faura exit of the mall, away from the taxi lane so as to avoid having to "fight" for my cab, and when I saw the plate number I was given on the phone, I hailed the cab, and the driver saw me. It was a rainy night and the end of a very long work week. Before I could get in, a man (in black) also hailed the cabbie. I saw the driver motion with his left hand that he was answering a client's call and was not available. As I was taking my seat, I heard a loud thud and immediately saw another man (in white), apparently the companion of the one who hailed the taxi after I did, violently hit the hood of the taxi with his bare hands.

Man-in-white shouted to the driver, "Pulis ako!", and proceeded to hurl expletives at the driver. I gathered that he thought the driver was just being picky, so I attempted to talk to him and explained that I called the taxi company and he was just fetching me as scheduled. Man-in-white refused to even acknowledge my existence. He looked drunk. He then twisted the radio antenna of the car, and the driver protested. They had a heated argument, and man-in-black intervened. He closed the door of the cab, but man-in-white opened it again, all the time shouting expletives at the driver, who was regally defending himself.

Eventually we were out of danger. Or so I thought. The driver could not get over what happened, and made a U-turn to drive directly in front of the men-in-uniform, but a mall security guard stopped him, thinking his passenger (who was me) was alighting, and asked if he could let the "man from Immigration" ride the cab. The driver asked the guard for the man-in-white's name, but at this time said man already flashed the dirty finger to the driver, and they exchanged another round of obscene four-letter words.

Now, I had had a rough week. Month. Year. I was in a car accident last week. The day after, my vertigo struck as the cab driver wound his merciless way around the streets of Manila. Worse, I could not contribute much towards the hosting of my aunt from the States as I got sick with the flu over the weekend. My work was stressful enough for ten people, and I had all the stress-related symptoms ever invented. I was just diagnosed yesterday as having Impaired Glucose Tolerance (IGT) or being in the pre-diabetic stage, and was given medication, and was studying a new diet and exercise plan more suited to my situation. Two weeks ago, I kept a close friend of mine company after her car accident. I had yet to see my first government paycheck for this position. The actual list of whines is much longer. You get the point.

My natural reaction would have been to panic at the scene played in front of me. But I could not afford to panic. I tried to calm the driver down and to dissuade him from courting disaster. He kept saying he could get any policeman dismissed from the service, as he had done so in the past, when his rights were similarly trampled upon. This man, he said, was not even a real policeman! He was not afraid! His taxi company would defend him! He had a witness: me! He had a defender: Tulfo!

I had to agree with him that he did nothing wrong and to utter other words of assurance that he was victimized by a government employee who was on a power trip. I then reminded him to flag down his meter because he had completely forgotten it, so engrossed was he on thoughts of revenge. We had a very long discussion as traffic was bad (usual Friday rainy night stuff), and to cheer him up, I offered him a Jollibee yumburger.

He unwrapped the juicy burger and quickly bit into it while he was driving. He said that he didn't realize that the incident had left him hungry. At last, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was only then that I ate my favorite Jollibee hotdog, which I had been wanting to sink my teeth into ever since leaving the mall.

It was a scene straight out of a Jollibee commercial. Comfort food. Pampalamig ng ulo. Pag may karapatan, ipaglaban mo. Mag-Jollibee muna tayo. (Sorry, there simply is no appropriate translation for that.)

I got home safely and paid the driver the usual fare, even though the taxi meter showed a much lower amount, since our drive from Faura to Quiapo was not registered. I still had a Jolly hotdog and a Cheesy Bacon Mushroom to share with my family. I wasn't able to tell them about my eventful night because they were engrossed with the last episode of Tayong Dalawa. Yes, this entry is so Pinoy!

Tomorrow, or sometime this weekend, I will write about two office outfit disasters that eventually turned into blessings. Safety pins and shawls are involved. ;)

By the way, I am not getting paid for this by Jollibee. But if the people behind it chance upon this blog, a two-piece Chickenjoy meal will do. For me. For cabbie (I can get his name from the company). For man-in-black. Even for man-in-white (Cabbie is going to research his identity). Might change his ways, who knows.

A Voter's Voice

These are very interesting times. The icon of Philippine democracy has died, but in her passing a country of passionate people has awakened.

Perhaps it is pre-election year, that is why everything is heightened. Politicians are everywhere, adding color to every major religious gathering in the country - from the blessing of the humongous El Shaddai building, to the Central Temple of the INC where the remains of their leader lie in state currently, to historic restaurants where shifts in the tectonic plates of political ambition have taken shape repeatedly.

I am a voter, and my vote is up for grabs to the best bidder. I will not accept money or any promise of position or power for my vote; instead, I will give my vote to he or she who will stand to fulfill everything that is taught the children in school.

That is, if they still teach children about honesty being the best policy (and not just a standard slumbook or Facebook answer to "what is your motto?"); if they still teach in Admin Law that "a public office is a public trust"; if they still hammer to history students the details of how a peaceful revolution that a united Filipino people put up won against a 20-year dictatorship (I am told by young friends that their knowledge of the EDSA revolution is vague and blurred); and how our parents promised that they will never let anyone squander our riches and curtail our freedom again.

So much has happened since my student days. I grew up and then learned to grow deaf to the nonstop exposés in the Senate that only seemed to indicate that in lieu of the crony-concentrated corruption during the Marcos era, people power only opened the floodgates of the national treasury to greed that permeated every level of government.

I stopped voting at some point. I forget when. I stopped caring. All politicians started to look alike to me. I decided to look away from the headlines and refrain from taking part in the battles waged there. I paid my taxes, worked in government, served in church, but I left it to others more inclined to fight head-on. I went to Edsa twice to topple undesirable presidents. After a while it became a futile exercise, a game of jumping from the frying pan into the fire, and I refused to be used anymore.

There are others like me, who pray for a better tomorrow for our country but feel they are so ordinary and actually have also become too jaded to really believe in genuine and lasting change.

But Cory died, and while mourning for her, my tears, and probably those from those who belong to the undecided, apathetic sector like me, awoke the hope that has been buried in me for a leadership that shows quiet dignity, simple bravery, and humble integrity.

Will history be kinder to us Filipinos now that we are hoping again, opening our hearts again, wearing yellow again? I do not know much about Noynoy Aquino, at least not to the extent that I would normally vote for him to the highest position of the land. BUT. I cannot deny that there seems to be divine interference in the turn of events. Ambitious people who have been jockeying, lobbying, and parading years into the elections were faced with true people power, and heard once more the voice of a people who have long suffered repeatedly under the abusive hands of a succession of disappointing leaders. Plans have to be radically changed now. Dreams have to be realigned.

The choice I want to make when I vote next year is a clear one - black or white, Ginebra or Tanduay, Spandau Ballet or Duran Duran - like in my younger days, KBL or UNIDO PDP Laban - red and blue, or yellow and green. All the other insignificant colors have to fade. All the other inferior choices have to give way.

It is my generation's time to shine. I have held back hope, and I have hidden my vote for so long. Next year, I want to confidently cast it. And I am praying really hard that the one whom I will vote for will not waste it.

I am a voter, and my vote is up "for sale" to the highest, mightiest, worthiest bidder.