Feeling refreshed from a deep eight-hour sleep, I found myself in front of the bathroom mirror washing my face and pinching my cheeks. No, it’s not because I forgot my fave cheek tint back home. I slid the bathroom door half-open and took a glimpse at the two snoring girls sleeping on the queen-sized bed. I closed it. And then I opened it again for another peek. This time with a tender giggle that only pre-teen girls (and boys?) watching Justin Bieber would make. I looked back at the mirror and saw a demigod calm figure brimming with excitement and joy. After all, it was officially the start of our vacation.
I tiptoed my way out of our room and into the kitchen. Thankfully, there were a lot of pots, pans, plates and utensils made available for our use. I quickly boiled some water in a soot-covered aluminum kettle and started to rummage through the ref fridge. Like most common Pinoy motherless households, this fridge was empty filled with bottled water and a few stuff:
Eggs, check.
Strawberry jam, check.
Cream cheese, check.
A jug of Sunkist apple juice, check.
Unidentified packets of meat, check.
Moldy ginger… priceless!
Nothing that I haven’t seen yet, I thought. I had been hoping to surprise myself with anything that would make me realize how “uniquely Singapore” this household was. I opened the cupboard and my eyes scanned the items one by one like a platoon sergeant inspecting his lined up soldiers before a drill. There was a can of Milo, a bottle of Del Monte ketchup, 2 stacked cans of Spam, a box of Kellog's cornflakes and a pack of red onions. Sigh. I guess the former tenants have already “Filipinized” the kitchen. I took out the box of Kellog's only to reveal 3 bottles of condiments, all with the hieroglyphic Chinese texts on their labels. I took the bottles out one by one. >>
I was about to do a quick taste test to satisfy my curiosity on why the dark and light soya sauce were both black in color and looks pretty much the same. Suddenly a familiar high-pitched noise pierced through the air. It was the “pot-pot” -- a unique pitchy sound coming from a small trumpet-like instrument with a hollow, round rubber on one end. A single squeeze on the rubber creates this magnificent sound that could spell breakfast for the hungry. It was the very same sound that reverberates through most neighborhoods in the Philippines every morning. It is the sound that has become some sort of a badge of honor for our dear bicycle-riding pandesal vendors. And while we have an array of bicycle-riding vendors selling a myriad of other goodies, only the pandesal (freshly oven-baked plain bread) vendors were associated with their signature “pot-pot” sound. (The puto & kutchinta vendors may argue this, but that’s another issue.) And so it was such a bizaare moment. How could this be? Have we influenced Singaporeans this far that they have already embraced our pandesal craze?
The yelling guy accompanied his “pot-pot” with an incomprehensible language. Was it Chinese? Malay? Indian? It could be any of these but it was definitely not English. The yelling and the “pot-pot” started to fade away. My grumbling stomach and quarreling intestines must be playing tricks on me. I ran towards the lattice-grilled kitchen window to hopefully confirm my suspicions. I looked down from the eighth floor window but by that time the guy had already disappeared. No more “pot pot” and no more yelling. Maybe next time, I thought.
Pouting and sleepy-eyed, I deeply exhaled in disappointment. I had no choice but to burst the bubble on top of my head with images of warm and delicious pandesal. But as I was gradually raising my field of vision from way below upwards, magic happened (cue the hallelujah choir).
There they were, rows upon rows of bamboo poles perpendicularly stuck against the entire building wall of the opposite block. Each bamboo pole carried an array of colorful articles of clothing from tees to shorts to blankets and undergarments. All caressing the wind like banderitas (small flags) during fiesta. Finally, my eyes were seeing something “uniquely Singapore” right outside our window. I couldn’t stop smiling ear-to-ear.
“Well, well, well, so this is how the first world dry their clothes,” I uttered in amazement.
I was still relishing the moment when I heard the water boiling. I turned around and was shocked to see my friends -- my housemates and vacation buddies – standing by the kitchen door. Marie* was holding sachets of Nescafe while Ruthie* was carrying a cup of Lucky Me. They must have been awakened by the “pot-pot”. As I poured the boiling water onto our coffee mugs, their puzzled faces stared at me like I was a lunatic smiling to myself for no apparent reason. But we were all hungry. They spared me the unnecessary questioning and just gobbled up on anything edible on our table. And right before we took a final sip at our hot coffee, we all raised our mugs (yes, both the coffee mugs and our now cheerful faces) and gave a toast to a wonderful “vacay”!
*Names were modified to protect their privacy.
1 comment:
natawa ako sa moldy ginger lols
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