ES2PIDO|Estudyanteng Pinoy Dormitorian

Five days ago since I last browsed the internet with flawlessly fast speed and unlimited access to almost every type of website. Now, five days in a row, myglobe.com.ph, plus the forever living Yahoo!, is the only website that I could visit in my danged multi-operating system computer that runs 800 mHz with a broadband speed of 4 kilobytes per second. I wanna faint.

*UPDATE* - Oh great… thanks to Juice and Rob, I am finally informed about that hemorrhagic, abominable inanakanangpakingshyet earthquake in Southern Taiwan that caused haywire in our internet connection. And fiascoed IDD? GAWD! THAT WAS F*CKING TERRIBLE! HOW CAN WE RECEIVE OUR REMITTANCE TODAY? GRAARGH!

(My regular visitors might be aware that) I am fond of intimidating people, though at times I’d rather refrain looking like one because of my continuous attempt to have some fashion overhaul. Of course, I intimidate people for a purpose… for a cause… occasionally, to speed things up.

The very last time I waited long enough was 18 hours–and it’s for a swimming spree. I don’t know how blind I was when I braced my batchmate’s house in Silang, Cavite to have waited in such a splendid amount of time. Now I’m done with it.

I was uber punctual years before I joined the student publication, though sometimes I reach our rendezvous 5 minutes later. The only thing that kept me waiting is someone that would accompany me waiting. If I’m alone, I always think about the kamote (sweet potato) sprouts to plant in my backyard. Kamote sprouts… holy cow.

I know the feeling of someone who have prepared so much for an appointment, especially in early meetings, compromising other priorities such as late-night TV viewing (no. 1 priority other than doing assignments) and other recreations just to sleep early for the rooster wake-up. Only to discover that on your next precious day you find yourself savoring free facial makeup from the particulates suspended in the air. Filipino time.

Filipinos don’t want to wait for others, so they rather see others wait for them by intentionally slowing their pace of movement in taking a shower, dressing up, wearing the stupid pink blush-on powders and all–the main rationale of this internationally-acclaimed Pinoy tardiness. They intentionally keep others waiting, to the point that these people would look like instant celebrities even if their faces don’t qualify to be one. And then they will apologize, in a tone like you’ve only waited for about 5 minutes simultaneously with the cake you’ve dropped on the floor (which, they claim, is still safe to eat).

So I started patronizing the custom to be more Filipino. I’ve suffered enough. I’ve longed enough to bear with all their excuses. If we agree to meet at 7:00, expect them to come at 8:30. Which, in fact, always happens. I envy Lea Salonga. When they are expected to come at 9 am, everyone comes thirty minutes earlier, then they start their production at exactly 9. The Japanese run on their satellite-subscribed clocks. If it’s rush hour, it really is rush hour. Here in the Philippines, rush hour is when you forgot to bring your attaché case at home in the middle of a rowdy traffic.

But for a mandatory and obligatory paid service like my internet connection? No c’est la vie’s for me.

Whenever we have connection problems, I always call our service provider’s customer service hotline 171-2310. 2310, note that. Then you’ll hear Christian Bautista or Josh Groban singing their all time hits, which is kinda nice, but will pull your ears off when listening for a long time. Then it’ll take you forever waiting for the customer service representative to accommodate you.

And finally…

(December 24, 2006)

Globe: Welcome to Globelines Technical Support Service, may I help you?
Neil: I didn’t listen to your recorded advisory to ask you about this. What the hell is happening to our broadband connection?
Globe: (swallows, getting a grip for some English twang). Well sir, can I ask your name first?
Neil: (hysterically provocative) I’ll give you my mom’s name instead since she owns this account. (insert mommy here)
Globe: (cleans throat). Uhmm, ah eh… can I get your internet phone number?
Neil: I gave you my mother’s name already. Ok, fine, wait just a minute.
(hangs phone to get our monthly bill)
Neil: (insert number here).
Globe: (typing, and typing, just to prolong and divert the conversation). Okay sir, can I confirm that you live in Cavite area.
Neil: Obviously, yes.
Globe: Well, for now, your account is subjected to network restoration that’s why you are having difficulties in connecting to your broadband connection.
Neil: I think the recorder said that already.
Globe: (silence, pondering about my previous statement.)
Neil: Approximately how long is this so-called ‘network restoration’?
Globe: As soon as possible, sir…
Neil: How long is this soon as possible?
Globe: Sir, you just wait for the connection to resume, sir.
Neil: (mild angry tone, without breathing) For 5 days straight?! I think that’s unfair for us your customers to pay 15 hundred bucks for an internet connection that stops once in a while—you know, we are doing all our documents for the following year, and then you give us this network restoration that’s taking 48 years to finish? How long should we wait? And we still have to pay 1500 for the bill on the 29th? That’s totally unfair, ma’am.
Globe: Sir, we cannot do anything about your problem for now (with a placating tone). But I promise you that your account will be on the priority list to regain internet access (with typing sounds) as soon as our network restoration is completed.
Neil: (silence)
Globe: Umm, sir, can I ask your name first?
Neil: Neil. Neil Bernardo.
Globe: Okay sir neil, you’ll be connected in the next few hours after this phone call.
Neil: Okay. Thanks.
Globe: (with a somewhat mild breath) Thank you for calling Globelines.

(Call dropped.)

My point? If you pay a thousand bucks for a broadband connection that stops once every five minutes, dial the Tagalog customer service hotline and speak with all your greatest English twang in a professional, but less procrastinating, tone.

And don’t accept c’est la vie, no matter what. Take advantage of the semi-socialite caste system.

Christmas break is no Christmas break for me (and to the rest who would want to agree).

One big headache for us junior journalism students is our Law of Mass Communication subject, where intimidation and provocative discourse are the delicacies of our Wednesday quorums. Where every Wednesday is always Hell Day.

It was only last Monday when we only realized our super high, but super high(?), Cavite State University Library slash museum has already purchased (in spite of all our frustrations for their ‘yellowish artifacts’ in the building) a complete set of Supreme Court Reports Annotated (SCRA). Since our campus has opened admission for students in Bachelor of Law, these SCRAs would be accessible for our law students (ah ok) and to the rest of our colleagues who wished to end their lives through over nose bleeding¹.

But unfortunately, the library staff is still enjoying sniffing the aircon odors of the hardbound books delivered. They have to bookmark them on the catalogue, yet, so no borrow. My classmate (who went there) just smirked.

We’ve already planned an option to go to the UP Library or the Arellano Law Library for the SCRAs. But the threat of our intimidating prof professor (who was amazed by yours truly, haha) that we will lose our lives if we don’t summarize the so-claimed SCRAs forced us to pay gold. Imagine our faces when we heard our professor that these 15 (minus one, I dunno why) SCRAs are approximately a hundred page each. Plus the f*ck factor.

Are you kidding me? And who’s gonna research everything?

“Neil, tinatanong pa ba yan?²“, one exclaimed.

For the trip, the whole class has to contribute a hundred peso each that would accumulate three hundred pesos for our fare, one hundred pesos for the initial photocopy of the SCRAs, and only a hundred pesos for my lunch. Life is so unfair.

“How about my talent fee? My recreational fee? Labor? And the VAT (Value Added Tax)?”

A book flew in mid-air.

——

10 am, and it was the last day of Arellano Law School to accommodate students in their library. The ultimatum was so bad, so many students have already queued for the photocopy of the SCRAs inside the photocopying center beside the library. Ate Gen (a classmate) and I, with all our paawa effect³ powers, wins immunity–we convinced the lady to pend our SCRAs first… to think that she still has to look for 200 more SCRAs already queued by the students since Tuesday two weeks ago. Oh well, life is just so unfair. (evil laugh)

We still have to wait until 5 pm for the output, so we decided to cool ourselves in a nearby mall. Unfortunately, both of us are G.I. Geographically idiot, that is. We have to guess what mall is nearest to our location. I’m no Manila boy. We lived in Manila for 5 years when I was too young to worry about wearing only my undies outside our house. A bus en route to SM Southmall passed by. Great! Southmall is nearby, we thought. But before we even reach a quarter to Southmall, we gaze outside our window and saw planet Earth.

It’s SM Mall of Asia.

Finally, setting my third world foot on le supermall grande royale.

We got off the bus and walked along the roadsides of the highway, thinking that the mall is nearest to us. But it isn’t–the mall is just so big. We didn’t think it’s a kilometer away from us. I don’t mind walking on long distances, but Ate Genipher has to bear with my misadventures. Poor Ate Gen, she has no choice but to walk with me along the highway. We thought of riding a jeep, but will the jeepneys hover for us? We walked instead.

What did we do in MOA?

Nothing but to go to the restroom and eat chicken–for 7 hours straight. We just walked and walked and walked and envy the Metropolitan elite who doesn’t bother spending a lot inside that prestigious shopping center. What can I do with a hundred peso allowance inside the 3rd largest mall in the world?

Nah, we just took the SCRA photocopies and fled.

—–

I misunderstood Christmas.

Spending is sharing in itself. By just purchasing the cheapest baratillo/tiangge⁴ items for your gifts to your loved ones (haha) you’ve contributed much to the economy of the black China market. You fool yourself in disbelief that your hundred peso t-shirt (which in just one look you’ll determine it’s ‘made from UK’^5. Whatever) is in fact bought for at least 30 pesos a piece from the pier.

Spending for many gifts is troublesome. Receiving many gifts is more troublesome, especially when you receive an item that’s for sure a good buy from the tiangge, or you just receive the same item over and over again.

Christmas brings the spirit of tranquility and sharing. So why not share your belongings to the Budol-budol⁶ gang? If someone points a dagger at you, smile and greet him Merry Christmas. Then give your everything. Savor the spirit of Christmas, where crime rate is at its summit every year.

Christmas brings back your childhood memories. When you have godchildren already, you’ll recall every single rule of Hide-and-seek simply by not replying to them when they ask you the very most hated question of all the Christmas seasons that have passed especially if you run out of money–”Namamasko po!”⁷.

In our case, we simply placed a large cardboard with a big “Patawad po!”⁸. So whenever someone attempts to sing outlandishly out-of-tune in front of our house, no wonder they suddenly stopped singing. And hello? Some children even carol as early as December 9. Sheesh.

Christmas is New Year’s Eve.

Now this is stupid. The heck these Filipinos fire their PVC guns and crackers during Christmas. Hello? Isn’t Christmas a solemn celebration of the so-called birth of Jesus Christ? Why fire up super lolos and kwitis, huh? Stupid Filipinos. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Christmas break is Christmas break. Yeah right. The right opportunity for all the teachers and professors out there to lazy on their attendance for the remaining two working weeks of December and piled every unnecessary project to be submitted on the resume of classes. Yeah right again.

Christmas’ Misa de Gallo is “Simbang Gabi” in Tagalog translation, meaning “Night Mass”. Now this is funny. You take a shower and dress up as early as 10 pm and wake up 3 am without brushin your teeth. What else? You cannot listen religiously to the priest’s sermon because you are worried about your posh and glimmer or is just that you are already holding your nose for the mixed-up oxygen and carbon dioxide. You are worried because you might not see your loved one. And you only go to early because you have a date so you can eat puto bungbong and bibingka⁹. And it’s not a night mass. Duh? 3 am a night mass?

Christmas is Christmas. There are doubts about the exact birthdate of Christ. Just like our very own CvSU Centennial Celebration’s arguments on its exact date of establishment, Christmas is said to be born on September. So why celebrate?

Christmas is supposed to be happy.

…

Why can’t I?

1 - An idiom in the Philippines–when someone is bombarded with high falutin English vocabulary, they nosebleed. 2 - “Is there any need to ask about that?” 3 - “Have mercy on us” effect 4 - open-air market 5 - Ukay-ukay, term used for open-air shops selling smuggled second-hand clothes/items from abroad. 6 - A popular syndicate in the Philippines that hypnotizes victims for money 7 - “Begging for alms” Christmas edition 8 - Sorry. 9 - Native delicacies in the Philippines occasionally served during Christmas season

(This is an uber long post. It’s been a week. I have a lot to prattle about. ^_^)

It was December 8, and my semi-dusted yellowish uniform that looked expensive at first glance (can be used as substitute for katsa aprons in elementary home economics subjects, hehe) seemed to have rigged my sweat pores like fully-opened faucets in our kitchen. Exotic heat was pouring in and out of our jeepney. I reached Dasmariñas around 1:30 on a jeep en route downtown from Indang, Cavite. But I didn’t seem to notice the flashy banderitas made of unused wrappers of Oishi and Jack’n’Jill junk foods clinging the cables until some retard blew his trumpet out of tune right in front of my window. It’s my former highschool classmate, looking at me while holding his ‘flute’ and his naughtiest grin.

The traffic shocked me. The short-tutu-skirted girls with overworn makeup and germ-infested batons shocked me more. Few rolls of our wheels, it was followed by an abominable monstrosity—a parloric beauty—err–animosity homosexual with charcoal complexion and face value of a Tyrannosaurus rex holding a banner “Viva La Immaculada Concepcion—Naic, Cavite”. Talk about the current trend of beautiful muses, I nearly fainted to vast humiliation. Thank God I’m not from Naic.

I almost forgot. It’s fiesta already.

The Y-intersection going to our downtown was closed for the entrance of the mile-wide parade of musico bands and some array of motorcyclers who, well, were showing-off their motorcycles of republic cheapstakes (Harley-Davidsoners wannabes). It means I have to walk for 15 minutes from Waltermart-Dasmariñas down to a one-way road straight to the town plaza with my 10-kilo baggage of soiled clothes pungent in smells you can find in your backyard. Had my black retractable umbrella ready, but carrying three bags and one portfolio envelope? I wanna have a tan instead.

The crowd just got more crowded and garbages plentier and more rainbow-colorful when I had myself nearer to the municipal plaza. Then I saw the people looking at my direction. I gradually resigned. “Me artista ba?” (Any celebrities here?) There will be stars, but the fact that the populace was staring at me tickled me for a few milliseconds then reality bit me to consciousness. The parade is about to enter the premises, which brought them to anticipation. So I went inside a franchise of Video City across the street and savored the air-conditioning.

A few hours before the procession, right after our long exam in French (which was easy I didn’t need a review) my classmates were like 5 volume tallies plus on their mouths when they voluntarily invited themselves to be my guests for the fiesta. I diligently replied,

“Practicality is the philosophy of our subdivision, so don’t expect perfect accommodation. Better if you don’t bother asking me about the fiesta or else I’ll kill you (put a smiley here.)”

I rejoiced when I saw them disappointed (more smilies here.)

Seven years in a row, and it seemed like it’ll be endless—evading potential eager-beavers to crunch on our house in feasts for the local patrons that we apparently am not devoted to spent bucks. Perhaps we cannot afford to loot our wallets thousands of pesos for an extravagant serving of spaghetti, pansit, kare-kare, afritada, fried chicken, hotdogs, lechon, (insert more Filipino cuisine here) since it’s December, and there’s a lot of things to spend for December.

Christmas is upcoming. New Year’s Eve is coming. Lawyers are coming. Why spend for fiesta?

It’s the tradition that has been deluding, IMO, Catholic Filipinos in celebrating, as well as glorifying, patrons in our locale which were appointed by the corrupt friars of the previous Spanish regime. Albeit the religious bias of having the patron an inspiration for thousands of Filipinos has been proclaimed by religious individuals who kept on losing in debates, I suppose it’s not the will and the likeness of these patrons, in case they still live in this world until now, to have their devotees stashing money for them using lechon, tarpaulins of politicking holiday greetings, and amateur singing contests, even if they needed their money for the next decades of their lives. Our patrons didn’t prefer us making stupidity out of our devotion to them. They just want us to be wisely good citizens of the country.

Yet I somewhat argue with my own statement for some reason I don’t understand.

Fiestas have been a form of social gathering where those who haven’t been meeting for years come to reunite and those who cannot afford to buy a cup of rice and a can of Ligo sardines come to gormandize. These feasts even contributed greatly for the popularity of Filipinos as the most ‘hospitable’, where all houses are open for dining and taking home other people’s utensils secretly, like what our neighbors in Aklan used to do.

People will come as your friends. After eating, that is the end of your relationship until you set another buffet next year. Also, fiestas project that all residences/houses are open to visitors. I disagree. Placards written with “Beware of Dogs” in most houses are retained, if not enlarged, even if no one cares about their existence. We do that as well, though we’ve lost our dog already. No placards. Just me looking at everyone provocatively ^_^.

Showing off is synonymous to spending a lot during fiestas. The more recipes you serve, the more plates you use in serving for the visitors, the wealthier you are in the eyes of the kidnappers. Even those who have nothing would dare grace the competition and spend everything in just one day without fearing they might not eat on the next.

Traffic is purgatorial. (But traffic is hellish in Manila with or without fiestas). You must consider jogging thrice every week in case during fiestas you are caught in the middle of carbon monoxide. If the parade of the security guards holding brasswind instruments is quite mile long and you are a regular commuter, good for you. Walk along the roads before you see San Pedro. If you are rich and you’ve pimped a car already, bwahahaha. Good luck waiting.

We have no time nor enough money to afford fiesta galore unless someone initiates to invite us to come to their place and have our stomachs filled with all the goodness of their accomodation that all thrifty guys out there always dreamed of.
—————-

UPDATE: I have removed the other minor articles that made this super long (but read-worthy, still ^_^) I’ll post it soon. ^_^

No updates still. Bleh. I will not post it again unless you ask for it.

Anyways,

Congrats to Yeng Constantino for being the very first Pinoy Dream Academy Valedictorian. I knew it ever since she made an astounding 8-week top of the chart hit ‘Hawak-Kamay’ (my favorite). Kudos! Astig kang bata ka! Yahoo!

“Naku, Neil Brian, manang-mana talaga kayong lahat sa Daddy niyo^[1],” Mom uttered after she has slapped my thighs about a hundred times already for not waking myself up on time.

My Dad had been self-supporting; his drunkard father didn’t support his schooling. He spent his teenage years selling pan de sal and street varieties and worked with his uncles sculpting wood and escayola^[2] in Paete, Laguna. Luck opened opportunities, and he found himself working with a wealthy Arab national for Islamic carvings even though he finished drafting technology in TUP. Now, a China-based American designing firm promoted him to be the supervisor of all the craftsman in Dolan Designs.

“Hay Neil, sanay ka nang turuan ang sarili mo, kaya yayaman ka siguro pagka-graduate mo.”^[3]

I have never been punctual.

According to my mom, I always do, and even prioritize, unnecessary things like my father. Overdues are our meriendas. We spend more that we should. Not necessarily referring to money, but in an exemplary, we kill time for drawing for long hours, we read for long hours, we use our PC for long hours. Therefore, we sleep for long hours. I love sleeping.

I learn without learning.

I do not focus on my studies religiously. But I learn. I am not bothered in my grades, but I worry about my scholarship (we’re under austerity measures). Anyway, my professors love me because I am smart. Haha.

“Mamaya na”^[4] habit

I love cramming. My dad loves cramming. But we always finish on time. And if we didn’t, we still make it. Much of our delight.

Mom even finds our dad’s resemblance when I eat and walk. And sometimes, she tells me I have inherited most of my dad’s characteristic traits than my brothers. I pondered.

Yes, we know how to handle a spoon and a fork. But even if I have a fork on my plate, I use my hands to churn on the meat and use my fingers to dip it in ketchup, soy sauce, or the Filipino Mang Tomas sauce. Then the spoon comes in filled with rice. Baboy^[5], ano?

I am not flat-footed–all my brothers are. But the bulk on our knees make us pace like we’re gonna tumble somebody down. We don’t walk awkwardly… I don’t know
what my mom was saying. Though I’ve noticed the bone bump on my brothers’ shoulders which I don’t have and is not related to the previous sentence.

I am the fairest of them all. No, I am not Snow White. But I sometimes been compared to a skinless turnip beside three potatoes. And most of the time, I am told to be the best-looking. Haha.

I am the most intelligent daw^[6]. I disagree. Though I have grabbed most of our academic and interschool competition awards at home, I still salute my Kuya for being so logically smart. Think about the most common sensed-tagged syllogisms in the world, and he can abide. I just sophisticate and complicate things. That’s why in decision-making, Kuya is always there. The house can live without Neil saying anything.

I am more inclined to art than the rest of my brothers. They assumed I am more willing to spend my life in aesthetics than them by just placing all my masterpieces to theirs. But I suppose I have just affiliated my talents to a wider scope, and not only in art. I don’t know how to explain it… I just avoid comparing my craft to my brothers because I find it merely bragging. Haha. Showing-off.

Even if in my utmost sincerity to have identified my Dad’s resemblances in me, I still pave more slots in our contrasts. Which I apparently have no time identifying.

————-

I think I am getting more serious in my studies. I didn’t notice in a snap I’ve already bought an Inquirer newspaper a while ago thinking that it’ll help in my bad writing (which I demonstrate right now.) I’ve also done our assignments in advance. Gawd. I don’t wanna be me.

————-

Me and my three siblings had the greenest thumbs in arts–the deepest exaltation of my Mom that none of us had the similar stick-figures she did when she was still making fun of her expensive fountain pens. None of us are not capable of drawing lines straight without rulers. And I never compared my craft to them, though I am easily flattered when my younger brothers consult me when they are troubled in some drawings which I respectfully responded with…

“Tinuruan ko ang sarili kong matuto sa ganyan, kaya matuto kayo sa sarili n’yo…” ^[7]

Bwahahaha.

Not because of selfishness, but of independence. I’ve been independent in nurturing what is now my specialty. I didn’t rely much to our Dad. Cite the number of years he has been spending working abroad. I don’t want them to be so dependent to their older brothers like what other youngest siblings do in their families. (Mind you, I’m not the eldest.)

————-

The faculty of Languages and Mass Communication seemed to have alloted a slot for me in their peer. Like, oh Neil, you’re here. How are you. And they crack jokes, as if they are of the same age as mine. They ask me like I’m their classmate. I find it kinda fishy. They are getting closer to me, and my classmates find an instrument for bridging them to the professors.

The most intimidating teachers of our college getting closer to me? Or it’s just because I am the most intelligent and the most talented student in CAS who worried much on his pimples rather than memorizing the Bill of Rights? Haha. Probably, they are courting me to win another news reporting competition somewhere in Cavite? Or maybe they have just found a use of me in making all their largely-imprinted majestically-presented tarpaulins in our university?

Utu-uto^[8].

1. You’re really like your father.
2. Plaster of Paris
3. Oh Neil, you might become wealthy with your self-orientation when you graduate.
4. “Will do it later”
5. Swine
6. according to some people
7. Teach yourself. I learned everything only by myself .
8. Dumbass.

According to our most reliable re-sour-ces, it’s signal no. 3 in Cavite.

Two days ago, after receiving some late night news updates about a tropical storm fast approaching the Philippines, I was jumping and shouting (subconsciously) like Sarah Geronimo and her panty liner. Classes are suspended in Metro Manila, including nearby provinces. Cavite is spelled in capital letters on the rolling text. A storm mightier than Milenyo and Winnie will unleash its hydrous devastation. Three super typhoons in a row. No classes, alas. No electricity for several days, [*insert cuss words here]. No Ma’am Viado, No Ma’am Diloy, No Ma’am Ilagan. No Cavite State University. Just me and my El amor en los tiempos del cólera.

Few hours later, PAGASA confirmed that tropical storm Reming changed its course, directing its strongest winds in Mindoro as claimed by the forecasts. Metro Manila inhabitants queered. Their smiles imply gimmick and sleeping. But PAGASA further threatened that Reming can pre-empt its direction. I smirked. Suffering is the understatement.

So I fully understand that we’re still gonna have bad weather since Reming’s coverage is humongously wide, not a single pinch of sky blue can be found except the paint job in my room. In fact, signal no. 3 is raised here in Cavite already. The storm warning purportedly states semi-devastation; gales that would swish big tree branches along their direction, and terra-cotta pots smashing in roarness galore. Oh, and don’t forget the parakeets who seemed to silence themselves and produce non-hatching eggs inside their cages. My fear of electricity outage is on its peak. I can’t live without my electric fan.

10 hours have passed. Mom succeeded drying my 7-kilo clothes. Teri is playing Legend of Zelda. I can still hear Willie Revillame singing Boom Tarat. Right now, it’s signal no. 1. I’m yawning.

I wanna throw a stone at PAG-ASA.

———-

Mike Arroyo, and his bite-size wife Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (she does not deserve the prefix) was rushed to the hospital. Some Myna bird told me the fatso First Gentleman is undergoing an angioplasty. Blocked blood vessels? Hahahaha.

And even GMA accompanied her. The hospital staff gagged their mouths to disclose any information about their confinement.

Last week, they prompted to St. Luke’s Hospital for a so-called ‘executive checkup’. The doctor assigned pronounced good health and long life for both of them except Mike’s fats getting flabbier in direct proportion to the amount he’s taking from our shipping line.

Gloria Arroyo was confined to St. Luke’s six months ago because of diarrhea. The next month, she was attacked with flu. The eve of my birthday owned her executive checkup.

Awooo. I wish them fewer days to procrastinate.

[edit] Lying won’t let themselves out of it. Take it from Marcos. [/edit]

————-

I am happy to know that our adopted puppy, MC, has found better home in the hands of my classmate Ara. Only us have the heart to take care of the puppy religiously unlike my housemates who seemed to loved it when it was still small and cute and not barking. They don’t even care about its daily bathing, and of plasticity they claimed they loved the puppy, loved dogs and finally their true colors showed their negligence to it after growing up. I hate them.

———-

Stray cats seemed to have their guts up surging in our residence. Kapal ng mukha. All they know is to flirt with humans for food. And after eating, they scram, as if they don’t know anybody except at par some goon is trying to catch them for siopao. Kapal talaga ng mukha. And they always make sure their leftovers are rolling everywhere. Napakakapal talaga ng mukha. We’ve attempted to extinguish them with rat poison, but their stomachs are tough.

Arrrgh. The nerve.

Categories: Pulitikan