Thank you, Ma, for all your love. We love you.

Sit back, put your feet up and enjoy the ride.
Here we go again, adrift at Cubao Expo. We spotted Humidor but it didn’t look like that we could snag some dinner food there. The door was open and I could feel the coolness of air conditioner and whiff cigarette smoke. There was a lady girl standing by the door and I asked her if they’re serving dinner. She pointed us to Alan’s Grill.
We were hesitant to settle immediately since it looked like there were beer-drinkers aplenty inside Alan’s grill. I turned my head around the neighboring establishments and saw even more beer. Inside the restaurant we went.
It seemed as if the food were priced a bit too high–imagine the veggies at two-hundred and up. So, I told Jayce, “if all else fails, fried chicken.” Hers was pork chop. The servings weren’t a mouthful nor a handful. Each serving is for a pair so we stayed for a little more than we should chewing and chatting. In between, I was drinking my buddy beer and she her fave calamansi juice.
Our waiter was very helpful that I thought he was Alan himself. Feeling relaxed in front of the over-working electric fan, I just kept my beer coming–bottle after bottle after bottle (just three) while enjoying Jayce’s company.
And we couldn’t take our eyes off the collage painting of the Aquinos and the Marcoses. I told Jayce that Ninoy Aquino is the founder of the NPA (New People’s Army) according to my grandfather who really loved Marcos’s governance.
After my last bottle of beer, we walked to find a desserts place–Sweet Ecstasy. From the outside it looked like a milkshake shop which Jayce would love. At the counter, there’s a gym-kind of guy who exuded a celebrity-kind of aura (he’s plastering a smile on his face). As he went out, Jayce asked the servers at the counter who he was because he looked familiar. Al Galang, that’s who. I remembered him from a chismax teevee show. It was like Al versus Hayden kind of thing.
Jayce was curious about Cerveza Negra shake but just by reading the combination of those two words made me squiggle my mouth so she ordered some Nutella cookie instead and I, Red Horse beer (sixty-five peso expensive for a small bottle).
We hang by the art gallery and tried so hard to start a conversation when the two of us were staring at a piece. I thank the alcohol for kickstarting a topic like how artists never talk about their pieces and poets let the readers interpret their words and Inception lets you think that there’s part two. But she thinks everything that transcends the normal is epal. I guess we really are in a third world country.
Happy 55th birthday, tita Gie. Thank you for welcoming me into your family. We wish you more happiness and blessings. We love you!
After celebrating tita Gie’s birthday dinner, I asked her to “unearth” her oldest picture which is her youngest-self picture. All we could find was this picture taken when she was 23 years old in 1979:
And the birthday soon-to-be mom-in-law’s most recent picture:
As the car in front of mine overtook onwards, a weird-looking pedicab emerged in view–a block of text on bright red paint caught my eye enough for me to tailgate this cruising balut vendor.
A balut or balot is a fertilized duck embryo that is boiled and eaten in the shell. It is commonly sold as streetfood in the Philippines.
Source: Balut (egg) on Wikipedia
We see how funny and ingenious our fellow vendors could be (also seen ubiquitously on jeepney decorations).
The transcription:
R3S-Balutan
Fragile
“Distancia Amigo”
Loaded with balut eggs
Sorry po sa kaunting delay!
The English transcription:
R3S-Balutan
Fragile
Distance, my friend
Loaded with balut eggs
Sorry for the slight delay!
Here’s a photo of Wild River Disco taken on April 27, 2011.
Anti-human trafficking agents of the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) have rescued 16 girls, four of them minors, in a popular Pasay City disco bar known for its lewd shows recently.
Tempo
Mamachari are bicycles from Japan. They are made for riding around the city and are designed to be practical for things like riding to work, doing the shopping, taking the kids to nursery etc. Everyone’s got a mamachari in Japan. Literally everyone. To say that they are ubiquitous is an understatement. Mamachari are everywhere and are ridden by everyone – old/young, female/male, students, salary men (businessman), mothers, grandmothers and fathers.
What Is a Mamachari?
What’s really efficient–getting stuck in traffic on a short route or going through the long intestinal insides of the city?
That yummy taste when you’ve got a buy 1 take 1 cheeseburger deal? Yes, it’s the same banana peel that gets a comedy laugh when you slip because of it.
Morning people notice this–shirtless men walking on the streets to buy gel or something and women carrying towels also walking on the streets.
I’ve learned to play the guitar practicing the song, “Line to Heaven” by Introvoys. It’s a very easy D-A-G-A said my cousin.
Remember that time when all you need is water from the tap? Then a corpse got stuck in one of Manila Water’s pipelines.
Once, I’ve used Ajax bar soap on my skin because I took a bath at the laundry area.
Just like roses, rice have come to us in different colors.
When we were kids, the best stage we’d really like balloons taken home by mom from parties was when they’re already hovering mid-air.
Some people, they do not learn the meaning of life–they realize it. I, on the other hand, realized the meaning of couch potato during my six-month stay in our house which turned into my parent’s house after graduation. I was being rooted to the couch sleeping at 4 AM and waking up for lunch.
I was told once to never trust anyone with the name Ricky or Randy.
What does hair on your head mean to you? Definitely, hair (facial or wherever) – its meaning varies from culture to culture. I would not try to explore deeply the Filipino culture but my own (and maybe yours, my good reader).
This is the first hair on my head out of my mother’s womb:
Nobody could say, “I styled that hair” but nature itself. Until we’re one. Hair begins to grow into our eyes and onto our food. So mom and grandma morph into instant beauticians and take the bowl out of the kitchen to stencil our unadulterated hair to works of art.
What do you remember about your first hairstyle/cut?