i was supposed to leave early for makati for an interview in a writing firm when i saw not one neighborhood netcafe open early in the morning. the night before, i already have an impending headache threatening to crack my head (up there) like a split earthenware pot whose shards kids will use as pamato sa piko. the throbbing in my temple transmogrified into a full-pledged cranial earthquake when a computer in UP rivalled the celerity of the snail and refused to have me download sample of my literary works to be submitted to the firm. end of it, i had to forego my chance to join the in-house writing team of a giant real estate corporation. i decided just to goof around until such time i will drop by zenkit's house to coach her in her graduate school reporting and, more importantly, until the right timing when gorgeous and hunk will be lounging around gateway prior to their obligatory night out at the bar.
the mall i chose to linger around in was screening a digital gay film and curiosity getting the better of me, i forked in my last remaining hundred bucks (one ham in gay lingo) for a movie ticket and a pet bottle of iced tea. my headache doubled upon realizing what deplorable movie i was watching: bad acting, bad editing, bad story (the pederasty motif reminds me of the movie's oedipal counterpart "sarung banggi") bad soundtracks (except for the soothing "moon river" while the teener protagonist was running in the asphalt--huh?), makeup so overdone i almost took the movie for a pirated, drag version of "memoirs of a geisha." i appreciated only the lilting batangueño tongue used in the parts shot in the countryside--reminds me of good friends barok and legalboylet. as i left the theater, i already turned into a runny nose and cold body with human attachment. i thought of engulfing loads of water to hydrate myself to wellness, but i saw crowded washrooms instead of mineral water kiosks. i settled for my favorite sago gulaman and almost purchased a siopao--till my craving was doused by the dimsum's exorbitant price. i transferred to the posh mall of shangri-la and checked out powerbooks for its discounted titles. i looked hard for a softbound copy of jorge luis borges' fictions, to no avail. 'twas enough to make me flush myself for losing my reservation right over the latin american's "ficciones" anthology when i didn't return to booktopia at libis first chance i got. what can i do? it was just a month after when i acquired enough money to buy the rare book.
realizing that it's about time i stalk on my crush and his friend at the gateway, i proceeded to the mrt to whisk me from one posh mall to another. having taken out my contact lenses, i belatedly saw a warning posted on the ticketing counter saying "no liquids of whatever form allowed." uh-oh--the bomb scare in the airport has infected the magnetic aerotrain. first, no pets, food and beverages allowed; next, no tin cans. now, no liquids. what's next: no cellphones allowed or, worse, no humans permitted? all the same, i braved the queue, the contact lens solution, eye drops, facial cleanser, anti-perspirant, hair gel, and body spray be damned. seeing a mother being asked by the guard to taste the milk preparation before being granted entry, the horror dawned on me that maybe mr. guard will have my lips and my kikay kit liquids do close contact! aaargh!
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