Not a Deity

What I find to be quite fascinating is the assumption that I have mastered how to read maps. The Street Directory pocketbook comes in handy whenever and wherever I feel like exploring. Of course, that incident where I got lost at Normanton Park was an exception. Although sometimes I question my capability to interpret maps, especially after having navigated the streets of Metro Manila using some intricately illustrated map guide. And getting lost. Perhaps I just missed a few turns. Either that, or that it is not unusual for the inexplicable detours and changing of façades to occur the way they do in Harry Potter movies. Fortunately, nothing like that manifested in the city of fines.

The map pocketbook was my trusted ally. I was again exploring some unknown roads. The MRT voiceover’s eloquent pronunciation, uhtrm pahk, sounded more sophisticated than how I would have otherwise pronounced it. I have reached Outram Park interchange.

Usually, the roads are not as distant as they appear to be. I kept that in mind as I opted to walk instead of taking another ride. I was looking for a building that’s sandwiched between Chinatown and Outram Park stations. In a few minutes I was able to locate my first landmark, the Pearl's Centre. It was 10:00am and the stalls have just started to open. There were kiosks whose merchandise ran the gamut from jade ornaments and bottled ginseng roots immersed in water, to the jelly-esque body enhancers named Freebra and a myriad of delightful paos & dumplings. I was almost tempted to try one of those stuff -- no, not the dumplings.

But the heat was sweltering. Any stopover could alert my sweat sensors which I did not want to happen. I continued walking for about a few kilometers until I reached the junction. It was good to know that despite the heat, there was no visible sign of air pollution around. In fact, since I got here I did not feel the need for a hanky to cover my nose.

I crossed the road as soon as the green man lit up. In contrast to the bustling scene alongside Pearl's Centre, the opposite side was quite serene. While the inner roads were lined with shophouses, the overall mood was more restrained. Perhaps it was too early in the day. Indeed, with the quaint bars, restaurants and cafes in its every nook and cranny, nightlife must be all abuzz with boisterous laughter and sinister grins.

Walking further, it was impossible to miss the grand colorful Indian temple. This tall, imposing building tapers towards the top as dozens of sculptures adorn its exterior. Each sculpture was interesting on its own, some being a hybrid of human and an animal. It reminded me of the way my college professor described one sacred temple in India where thousands of kamasutra sculptures cavort brazenly. But that sudden imagery in my head was quickly thwarted after I trampled on a few slippers. Perhaps one of the deities detected my blasphemous thought. Hundreds of slippers were strewn outside the door, some even reaching the sidewalk. I could only imagine how the devotees inside the temple manage to survive the prevailing temperature in their layered silk saris.

I was still thinking about the interesting cross-cultural kamasutra location of the Indian temple within Chinatown when I realized that I have reached my destination. It did not look like a school at all. Yes, I kept my options open and entertained the idea of working as a lecturer. It was still fashion-related and I thought that I wouldn’t lose anything if I at least tried. I repeated that line of thought in my mind as I stood in front of the building. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls almost blinded me as it glistened under the sun. The main door led to a cozy, carpeted reception area with two plush sofas and a low center table. 

I politely interrupted the ladies from their casual chatter. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr. Siew. I’m here for an interview.”

One of the ladies handed me a form and asked me to fill it out while waiting for the interviewer. Ten minutes later, I was ushered into a narrow room that’s barely enough for me to spread both my arms across. Not that I was made to spread my arms, or legs for that matter. A guy named David asked me to show my portfolio to him while waiting for the Principal, Mr. Siew. After a short and casual interview, he toured me inside their school premises. It was a relatively small building with around 4 to 6 floors, with each floor having just 1 or 2 classrooms if I remember correctly. Each stairwell was adorned with wall art in pops of colors that would impress every child-at-heart.

We reached the topmost floor where David and I entered a vacant classroom. The Venetian blinds cast a stark shadow onto the long tables and the room temperature was suffocating. He turned on the a/c and told me that the Principal should be in any moment. Ten minutes passed and no Mr. Siew in sight. Fifteen minutes. Twenty-five minutes. I almost didn’t notice the time as I was being regaled by David with stories about the students participation in various activities. Finally, Mr. Siew arrived. He did look the part: tall, stern and bespectacled. During the interview he asked if I would be interested in being stationed in Vietnam. He said that they are currently building a new school there where the lecturers will be housed in a separate dormitory near the area. Mr. Siew even showed photos of the site and an artist’s rendition of the new school. He visually painted for me this imagery where the lecturers would drive in bicycles to and from the school, that a huge market is located strategically, and that a laptop will be provided.

Sounds like a Vietnam fairytale to me. But things just couldn’t happen so quick and easy. Besides, I just got here. Hopping over to another country is a blurry scenario. On the other hand, the idea of me playing Heidi b*tching around the students seems like a cool idea. But that’s just not me. What have I gotten myself into?! David escorted me outside as I was trying to recall whether I did confirm or not. Being a local, David volunteered to give me a tour of the nearby bars someday. Such a gracious host. Meanwhile, Marie and I would be transferring to a new house soon. So many changes, so little time. On my way back and passing by the Indian temple again, I wondered if things would be easier as an eight-armed Durga incarnate.  

                                                                 

Photo: Durga (www.iloveulove.com)

Swipe, Tap, Press and Go!

I guess that the more progressive a country gets, the slimmer the people’s wallets become. Not that I have been casually observing the buttocks of every Cruise, Pitt or Depp that I see on the streets. (Okay, maybe sometimes, but only to check on the quality of the pants’ tailoring. I promise!) Society and economy dictates that all your wallet needs is your credit card.

Forget about the gazillion membership cards that you tend to acquire whether consciously or unconsciously. Or the old ID’s that only remind you of how horrible those 2x2 photos look, constantly putting the blame on “bad lighting”. Or the “important” receipts that accumulate almost on its own. (Am I describing just my own wallet here?) The only thing that matters that grants access to your dream purchase-of-the-moment relies on that one (or a few) mighty plastic. In a world where every item that you buy wrings you off of your hard-earned moolah, this is all you need. And maybe that one evidence-of-undying-love photo of you and your loved one is an exception.

But if survival from the daily commute is at stake, another card should not be left out: the EZ Link card.

It is convenience right at your fingertips. Just top-up at the automated machines in every MRT stations and you are good to go. It can be used for both MRT and bus rides. Actually, there are credit cards that have already incorporated this functionality. But for individuals like me who prefer using debit card or cash over credit cards, the EZ Link card on its own is just as efficient.

I was pondering on this whole premise of convenient living as I sat at the upper part of a double decker bus. Another first for me. I have always wanted to ride on one of London’s scarlet red double decker buses. And I have always envisioned that scene where the minute I take that first step inside the bus, chimes would harmoniously ring as if my wish has just been granted by a fairy godmother. But since London is thousands of miles away, this orange/purple/white SBS Bus, neatly wrapped in ads, would suffice.

                                                                       View from the double-decker SBS bus

Cool! I’ll just take in all the sights that my bewildered eyes could handle. Whenever I find myself sitting inside a vehicle, there’s a constant reminder at the back of my mind telling me to keep my eyes open. After all, we can only make the most of our eyesight. Because when the time comes that we die, we can spend the rest of our time sleeping. But that’s just my morbid thought speaking.

I never got the chance to ride Manila’s double decker buses back when they were still in existence. I was too young then. By the time that I took my first bus ride on a regular bus, no chimes rang. Horns did. The traffic and pollution then were not as bad, but the passengers’ buzzers were all already out of order. They were nothing but mere accents to an already aging vehicle.

I continued by sightseeing. Singapore’s lush greens: perfect. Well-paved roads: nice. Stoplights that work – where green means go and red really means stop: finally! The calm 40 kph travel was only interrupted by the necessary brakes at designated areas. Just press the button before you reach the desired stop and the ding-dong goes. The driver will then be alerted. By the time you reach your bus stop, the doors will automatically open for you. And if you are polite enough, you should observe the door rules: enter by the door nearest the driver, and exit by the door on the bus’ midsection. I try not to forget to tap my EZ Link card whenever I enter/exit the bus because the penalty can be costly. But then again, what isn’t?      

As soon as I alighted from the bus, I walked towards the stoplight to cross the road where I pressed the button for the green man. After a few minutes, it went flashing. I found myself catwalking again. But this time in a cadence that rhymes with the loud timbre coming from the stoplight’s timer. It was 20 seconds or so of a resonating rhythm that sounds more like a laser-spewing outer space pistol.

It is this kind of pampered modern city that anyone can easily get used to. But reality remains. Not everything in life is as easy as swipe, tap, press and go!   

Job Hunt Series, Part 2

Weather Forecast: A cluster of nimbus clouds are heavy; Its bagful of surprises about to fall.

If there’s one thing that I have rediscovered, it is probably the fragile art of being patient. I consider it as an art because there are intimate ways of communicating with, nurturing and interpreting it. You learn to appreciate its technique on your own terms. And when it speaks to you, your heart and mind listen. And yet it is fragile. Fragile because you could lose it in half the time that you spent imbibing it. But if it’s any consolation, it is not a black-and-white thing of whether you have it or you don’t. In fact, I consider it more like water flowing out from a faucet where its intensity can be adjusted. Living away from my comfort zone taught me this. With my resources gradually dwindling, time quickly disappearing and hopes gently fading, life was becoming a litmus test of patience.

But just like any piece of art, its intrinsic beauty can be better appreciated if you take a few steps back and look at the bigger picture. I remember the first time that I saw Juan Luna’s historic masterpiece “Spoliarium” at the National Museum in Manila. As part of our field trip in elementary school, my classmates and I were instructed to queue up as we silently pass by this ginormous oil painting. I couldn’t understand it then. Standing merely 5 feet away, all I know was that it’s an important piece of art that was painted in dark hues and whose 4m x 7m size dwarfed all of us. Sixteen years later, I went back, this time on my own. With no restrictions to queue up or hurry the pace, I was able to see it in a different light, staring at the painting’s full glory. And while we have learned about its history back in the university, it was only right then, standing halfway across the immense hall, that I was able to appreciate and understand its beauty and impact.

                                                              The Spoliarium (from pinoytumblr.com)

Unlike a painting though, life presents circumstances where it is difficult to tell whether you are already looking at the bigger picture or not. And so as I was pondering on the level of patience that I should be working on, I realized that I have a few job interviews lined up. The big picture in my mind features more than just my pathetic state of joblessness. More importantly, it emphasizes the fact that being overseas in itself is an opportunity that not everyone has access to. I must not give up.

I prepped myself for the interviews and thought of nothing but positive would-be scenarios. I was hoping for an actual interview this time, unlike my first time at Bukit Batok. This time it was within Jurong East, a bit far from Tiong Bahru but distance shouldn’t be an issue. After an MRT and a bus ride, I reached this industrial park. “Not again,” I thought. But this one was not as isolated. In fact it is surrounded by residential HDBs. Within the compound, there were a lot of men busy packing and loading up boxes onto a huge lorry. There were forklifts and boxes everywhere. The screeching sound of the packing tape in action pierced through the air like a cat’s claw scratching a blackboard. I approached one of the friendlier-looking men and asked for the entrance to the office building. It was sunny and everything seemed to be turning out fine.

Exploring new areas is always fascinating to me. It gives that jittery feeling of anxiousness, excitement and curiosity. I reached the second floor together with a guy who seemed to be looking for someone, his walk more frantic and determined than mine. His yellow-and-red collared tee screams DHL. The labyrinthine corridors are narrow that it could only fit about two and a half persons on its width. Some areas lead to a wider hall while some lead to locked doors. Now this may sound like something right out of a sitcom show, but the speedy DHL guy who was just a few feet ahead of me actually bumped into a clear glass partition. I wished I could save him the embarrassment by pretending that I didn’t see him. He looked at me right after the bump and just proceeded as usual. That guy was really in the zone. On the other hand, thanks to that painful warning, it could have been me.

Eventually, I reached the office door. It was locked and I had to speak thru the device on the door. A middle-aged lady, dark and with Indian features, pleasantly opened the door. In less than a minute another lady approached me. She was wearing this black blazer and pencil cut skirt that fitted nicely on her slender figure. She was kinda tall, clearly a Chinese Singaporean, with shiny black hair and nice fringe framing her face. By her stance alone you can tell her position in the company. She took me to another area outside of their office where there was some sort of a common lounge area. I quickly sat down on one of the plush sofas and arranged my bag while she answers a call on her mobile phone.

After the usual round of basic questions, she asked me:

“Why didn’t you apply at *** company instead? Why choose us? They are more established.”

That sounds simple but it almost took the wits out of me. It was my turn to talk.

“Actually I am a case of a hopeless foreign talent who has just applied for a visa extension, desperate to fulfill my dreams in this sunny island of yours. I don’t have any idea of your company, heck I just came across your info on the Internet. I even don’t know that *** exists either. But with that amazing shade of lipstick of yours I am hoping that you’d say yes and together we will work hard to achieve our goals of high sell-thru, brand growth, greater market share and…. World peace. Thank you.”

That was what I was thinking during the 5-second pause. I didn’t utter them. After a few batting of mascara-less eyelashes, I replied:

“Yes, *** may be more established than your company, but your brand being a new player in the industry allows for more opportunities for growth which I would like to be a part of. Besides, unlike ***, your company focuses on the use of organic fabrics which most people are beginning to notice now, and it is also socially relevant.”

It may not be as polished as I recalled but it was something to that effect. I didn’t know which sounded better, the one that I said or the one that I didn’t. (Trivia: That day, I googled *** company that she mentioned and I applied as well. Har-har!)

     

I easily felt comfortable with her. She is not the Wilhelmina Slater type that I thought she was. And as the interview went on I could sense that she was also getting comfy. Too comfy that after about 30 minutes we transferred to her main office room and continued our chat. It was already lunchtime. The other lady who opened the door for me asked the boss whether she would like to go out for lunch. She declined and instead chose to proceed with our tête-à-tête, during which she even mentioned of her colleague John who helps her with the designs. She said that they became so close that they even share personal relationship stories with each other.

After touring me inside her office and discussing more technical stuff, she asked me to meet up with John later in the week for another interview. She then gave me John’s calling card name card before we ended our session with the usual pleasantries. Just like everybody else, I would hope and pray that I will get hired after every job interview. Gut-feel plays a big role, and with hints here and there I would say I have a good chance.

The day came when John and I would meet. He asked me to meet him at a coffee shop near his other office which is located at Tanjong Pagar. The last time that I had been interviewed outside of the company premises I got the job. So judging from that experience I was hopeful that it was a good sign.

I entered the coffee shop with resume, laptop and confidence in tow. I ordered a frappe, texted John that I have already arrived, and chose to sit on the red couch. I envisioned a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit with a huge, uhm, ego. Instead, a cheerful, innocent-looking guy in t-shirt and jeans with a huge, uhm, smile walked towards my direction. The interview was very quick and casual. I actually felt that I have lost my composure when I realized that I have slapped him on the shoulders endearingly a few times. Oops! There were more laughter than nerves. We were still talking about work by the way. It felt more like a getting-to-know-your-soon-to-be-officemate kind of thing. At least I hoped so.

When I went home I remember telling my housemate Joey about this, to which he laughed. I know that was a ridiculous thing to do. I guess when you get carried away, you tend to forget about all your inhibitions… I’m still referring to the interview.

I had another interview the day after. And another one after that. I was on a roll. Just as waiting for a job interview was a test of patience, so was waiting for results. “Look at the big picture” became my mantra of the moment. The succeeding events that would happen only made me scream this mantra even louder.  

(To be continued)

 Names are changed to protect their privacy.

Independence Day

Weather Forecast: Everything is such a breeze.

A good job, just like true love, is elusive. I made that cheesy realization one day as I was observing the goldfish swim inside the aquarium. Swimming from one side to the other it goes, repeatedly moving in circles, only to momentarily stop as if to realize that it ended up on the same spot from where it started. Much like my own personal pursuits.

I’m aware that it doesn’t sound that complicated to the goldfish. Perhaps it was just me trying to stir my idle mind. Besides, who would want to be alone inside a pre-war flat after hearing of horror stories the previous night? Electricity is expensive (among other things) and conserving energy is essential. That explains why the lights are off most of the time even if it looks like a dungeon enveloped in darkness. It doesn’t help that the architecture of the flat permits only a small fraction of sunlight to go in. It was daytime and my housemates all went to work already. The secret goal was to make this flat look abandoned so that no stranger would come knocking. Not that strangers would bother to randomly knock on our door anyway. Just the long, narrow and dark stairs leading to our flat at the second floor would hinder anyone.

I went to the kitchen to scour for something edible. Living with other people aside from your family teaches you the value of “pakikisama” (smooth interpersonal relationship). You learn to adjust, cope and weigh things according to reason and intuition. When Marie and I were still in Bukit Batok, we didn’t feel the need to adjust that much. But that’s because we have known each other for more than a decade. We could share most things with less restrictions and less worries. But with newly met housemates, there are unwritten, non-dictated and perfectly understandable code of ethics which are necessary for peace and order to thrive. But looking inside their fridge made me think twice. I could see the creamy salad staring back asking me to eat it.  Not to mention the ice cream. And the cheese… the pricey cheese that made me appreciate its aroma like that mouse in Ratatouille. I would remember Marie’s “motherly” voice reminding me that we did not have to buy such things as they are still considered “luxury” for the meantime. Indeed, sticking to the budget is key at this point. So before I further get lured, I took out only what’s ours and closed the fridge tight.

But who would complain of having a decent breakfast of sliced bread and strawberry jam, plus a piece of Dole-labeled banana to boot? Besides, this is just the third week straight of the same carte du jour. I prepared a cup of hot Milo and slurped a bit. TOO HOT!!! And not in an OMG-look-at-Zac-Efron’s-abs kind of way. Instantly my taste buds got numb. In my case, whenever that happens, it will surely take at least one full day to heal. On the bright side, at least I could deceive my tongue that it was munching on mango crepe for a change.

It was so quiet. So quiet that it was sort of embarrassing to fart even if no one else was around. (I just didn’t write the F word, did I?) While eating alone in the solemnity of it all was uninspiring, it made me notice the faint sounds that I would otherwise ignore. Like the rhythmic buzzing of the fridge that could tell you its age. Or the mild clanking of the big aluminum wok which moves with the occasional gush of wind as it hangs by the wide kitchen window. Or the unique ticking of the celadon green metal-rimmed (was I right in hearing them say it’s electric?) wall clock which has been around for years – its shape and appearance actually reminds me of the classic and rusty school bell during my elementary school days. In fact a lot of things looked what others would associate with shabby chic. Vintage. Charming!

Right before the kitchen is the comfort room / restroom / toilet. (Is it just me or does that word make you instantly see flashing images of the bowl?) The opaque sliding door adds that Oriental touch to it. Slide half of the door open and it would reveal the shower area. Slide the other half and it would reveal “the throne.” And the cute part lies in the partition which leaves a wide gap from the ceiling. Enough open space to hear what the person on the other side is doing. Bombs away!  >>>

First Twilight at Tiong Bahru

Weather Forecast: Dusk will reveal the moon's riddle.

At the beginning of every new year, most people make it a point to start afresh. Out with the old and in with the new, so they say. This year started with the date 1.1.11 which may sound auspicious for the superstitious. Who doesn’t like the sound of number 1 anyway? And in the modern world where everyone desires to be ahead of the pack, this indeed could be a sign of good things to come.

These were exactly the same sentiments that I had when we transferred from Bukit Batok to Tiong Bahru. New address, new life. It felt like a second chance at a failed romance, a firm handshake that undermines an un-chic outfit in an interview, or simply like opening up an ice cream tub to taste the new flavour. I conditioned myself on what to expect and yet, once there, all the preconceived ideas in my mind went away. Apprehensions were replaced with hope. A frown, with a smile.

As soon as Marie and I stepped out of the cab, Angel came rushing by to help us with our luggage. A dependable friend, she allowed us to stay in their flat for a few days until we find our own place to stay in. Every moment suddenly becomes vivid.

As the old lady on the big screen said, “I can still smell the fresh paint.”

Only that there was nothing fresh in this side of town. Tiong Poh Road is lined with historic pre-war, two-storey shophouses that seem to be out of place in affluent Singapore. It is rustic, quiet and aged. Walking by, I could not forget the lingering smell of what seemed like wet clothes that didn’t properly dry, mixed with 2 or so different scents of incense. The overflowing trash bins along the sidewalk were flocked by the orange-billed black Javan Myna birds whose crowing could send chills to the uninitiated. Their signature crows only remind me of the movie Omen. Not too far away was a group of Banglas (Bangladeshi blue-collar workers) doing some road works. The drilling noise breaks the monotony of the Sunday afternoon gloom.

                                                                                   Javan Myna

Although we were only going to stay there for a few days, Angel’s housemates welcomed us like dear friends. There’s Joey, whose muscles could put Sylvester to shame (the action star, not the cat). There’s the inseparable couple Nico & Ana. And there’s the cheerful Nita, who would be our roommate together with Angel.

But we were not all strangers. Angel is actually an ex-colleague of mine and Marie’s former schoolmate. While Nita and I share a common friend who works for the same company where Angel and I first met. It is a connection that is not too far-fetched especially for today’s Facebook-addicted folks. And the tie that binds us all in that flat? We are all part of the creative industry. >>>

Seeking Speaking Signs

Weather Forecast: Raindrops will fall o'er the weary feet

Lamaze-style breathing was all I could do when I realized that three weeks had already passed since I arrived. The days in 2008 seemed to move quicker than ever. With one more week to go and lots of things to accomplish, I could already feel the pressure. Three time-bound tasks I had to do: apply for a visa extension, look for a new flat, and most importantly apply make-up for a job.

Applying for a visa extension was pretty straightforward. With just a few clicks I was able to gather all the information that I needed and secure an appointment date with the ICA (Immigration and Checkpoints Authority). I could easily notice how systematic their government agencies were by their updated and easy-to-navigate websites.

The second task was to search for another place to stay. New tenants would soon take over our flat and we were left with two options. Option #1: Find a flat with a vacant room for Marie and I to share. Option #2: Find a friend who could let us move in for the meantime while we do option #1.

The third task was the most crucial one. Getting a job quickly was the goal. A job that would pay for the visa extension, pay for the rental & utilities, and pay for the day-to-day needs like food, transportation, salon and dermatologist. Fine, maybe the last two were not really part of the day-to-day needs.

But all these three tasks were way beyond bite-size. Not fulfilling one task could lead to the failure of the other two. At that point there was no other way to tackle it than head on. Sitting on the sofa, I leaned backwards, tilted my head and stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes. As if I was waiting for the roof to open up so I could push the eject button and escape from an impending catastrophe. 

With faith as my only parachute, I was not too sure if that was enough to save me.

My cellphone rang. I immediately thought that this could be the most awaited call. After sending out dozens of resumes online, this could be it. This could be the call that would lead to an interview, which would lead to a job offer, that would eventually lead to my first paycheck. A call that would help me fulfill all the tasks.

But it was Peachy, Ruthie’s cousin. She was inviting me to come over to her place. Having been in Singapore longer than myself, she offered to bring me to interesting spots nearby. At that moment I just felt that her timing couldn’t be any more perfect. Perhaps I needed to momentarily escape from the madness that I was about to sulk in. The eject button had just been pushed.

A few minutes later I was on my way to Buona Vista. Armed with my trusty street directory map and bus guide pocketbooks, nothing could go wrong. Oh, wait... I forgot to bring them. But no reason to worry as I had carefully reviewed the directions last night. I didn’t make a big fuss over it.

It was midday and everyone else was either at work or at lunch, including my friend Marie. My solo adventure was now taking place. As I sat patiently inside the MRT, I noticed this sign:

 Indeed, Singapore is a fine city. I looked around if any one was bold enough to violate these regulations. No one was smoking, thankfully! I thought the old lady at the opposite side was munching on something. But after a while I realized that with sleepy eyes, tilted head and slouchy posture, she was probably just dreaming of food. There was no indication of anybody carrying flammable goods either. So far, so good.

That Time of the Month

Weather Forecast: An full moon that looms overhead could bring out the Jekyll & Hyde in you.

The first few days of being left alone in our flat proved to be liberating. Ever since Marie had started working, I would spend my time -- apart from job hunting of course -- doing what most young people hate to do: household chores. But I didn’t mind. In fact I was a bit excited. For me, it was an acknowledgement of this newfound independence. The idea of learning something on my own and at my own pace made me appreciate such things that other people used to do for me. And it was easier than I thought.

Of all the chores, doing the laundry using the washing machine is my favorite. It would do its job of washing and drying clothes with the least human intervention. Pressing the start button would give me about 40 minutes to do something else. So I picked up a broom and a rag. The marble flooring actually made the few dusts and fallen hair strands easier to sweep. And with just 2 fairly organized occupants, cleaning the tables on the living and dining areas were no big deal.

During elementary school vacations, my parents would ask me and my siblings to help out in household chores. I remember that my favorite back then was polishing the floor using the “bunot” (dried coconut husk). Sweat would drip all over my body like a leaking faucet as my legs and feet slide the lowly bunot back and forth until the floor became so shiny that a passing ant could see its reflection. Black & Decker eventually made that chore a thing of the past. Although I believe that I owe my toned legs to that unique and practical workout.

I still had a few minutes to spare while the washing machine continued to grunt. I immediately went outside to buy some ingredients. I have always wanted to learn how to cook Adobo, a signature Pinoy dish, but the task seemed too ambitious and daunting for someone who has not yet tried cooking. Boiling water is not counted. So I decided to start with an easy dish: fried fish!

On my way to the supermarket I smelled something burning in the air. Luckily it was not my hair. I then began to notice rectangular, yellow pieces of paper scattered on the sidewalk. Looking around I saw a thin smoke coming out of a huge & rusty barrel with round holes. An old man stood beside it, throwing wads upon wads of that rectangular paper into the barrel. Could this be just a different way of fumigation like the way our elders would sweep and gather dried leaves in the yard to burn under a tree? >>

Job Hunt Series, Part 1

Weather Forecast: A dark rain cloud is building up.

Nail polish!!! I looked at my poor toenails after dragging my feet for a few kilometers. A fresh coat of paint and a relaxing foot spa were what they were gasping for. But at that moment priority went to locating the address on the paper. Yes, after four call-a-friends, three cups of Milo, two sleepless nights and a partridge in a pear tree strong dose of optimism, I had finally decided to stay and give it a try.

Giving it a try means I had to find a job. The wishful thinker in me instantly showed me visions of the privileged life as if I was watching my future thru a hippie-gypsy’s crystal ball. It showed someone who looked like me in the middle of a posh street, carrying loads of shopping bags, bouncing like a flirty cat in a diaphanous DVF wrap and chic Louboutins the way that the winged Adriana Lima sashays on the runway in her Victoria’s Secret. A dapper Noah Mills-lookalike would whisk me away. And the next thing I knew, I’m wrapped in his arms viewing the city lights from a Bentley.

Noah Mills for Gap Jeans

But this is no fairy tale. This is reality. Only that the ubiquitous hidden cameras make it feel more like a reality TV.

As I continued my search within the industrial compound, I kept praying that the resume, which I have been carrying in my hands, would not go straight into the bin. Or that at least it would wilt first before my spirit does. The warehouse-like building looked so cliché -- straight out of a 90’s action movie, devoid of fancy architecture or cool décor, where vintage Seagal would pop out of nowhere and beat the hell out of Mr. Shooli and Kuhol. >>