#13: Two High School Fantasies

Roughly two months ago, around 2am, I was laboring in front of the editing computer with my husband. We were getting tired of the voice-over from the project we were doing so hubby opened the TV and tuned in to MTV. The set wasn't anywhere in my periphery so I just listened to the music, if there is any musicality at all in any of their offerings.

Tene-nono-nenet tet-tenononenent.

          Tene-nono-nenet tet-tenononenent.

I was hearing this guitar riff. It was a little catchy so I glanced at the screen and glimpsed the eye-lined face of the singer who used to be my high school fantasy. He was still a drummer then. All this time I didn't know he is fronting this band. He looked straight at me for one moment. Then he went back to trying to look silly by doing his antics again while holding this megaphone.

Ok. Back to work. Tene-nono-nenet tet-tenononenent.

                                      Tene-nono-nenet tet-tenononenent.

I did go back to work but with that half-a-second, he was able to hold my gaze. He is not handsome, though his smile does something charming to his face. But that's beside the point because he wasn't smiling when I saw him. What got me is the intensity he can exude with his gaze. I think that's what fascinated me ten years ago. And it is still what fascinates me now.

The annoying VO stuck in my head already has a companion. Pleasantly and painfully in there also, was that half-a-second stare.

After two days of being enslaved by the editing we were doing, hubby and I decided to drop by Conspiracy. They are featuring a famous rock band, famous enough to command a 150-peso entrance fee. But tonight, it's for FREE! More reason for us to drop by and check them out then.

We went in, trying to hunt for an extra booth. Hubby being easily irritated by crowds and noise, asked to stay outside until the main band's appearance. I, being stubborn and determined, searched further and found college blockmates instead. So I got both a seat and people to talk to.

Now that I earned us some seats, I went back out to invite hubby in. It was so crowded that I was partly annoyed by this skinny guy in black clinging on the door jamb; he was blocking a third of the already crammed doorway. I squeezed against him on my way out. Hubby's not around. I squeezed against him again on my way back in. I miss my hubby easily so after a while, I went again on my way back out to search for him. That was the only time I realized that the guy blocking the door was my other high school fantasy.

This high school fantasy inspired me so much then that I was able write one of my best teeny poems. He wasn't fronting the band then. He composes the songs, plays the keyboards and sometimes the guitar. Ten years ago, he was just quiet, always in the background. His magic was in his quietness. No pretension, no flash. Just his profound and painfully romantic poetry. The Lord knows what I would have given ten years ago just to have the chance I have RIGHT NOW in this present time.

Right now, that my skin brushed against him three times in one hour.

Right now, that I can inhale his scent all I want.

Right now, when I can steal a caress on his hand that commands notes and words that move me.

The only difference is that RIGHT NOW, I don't need them anymore. There is NO MORE MAGIC. He is just too… too… showbiz now. The mysterious quietness is gone.

I'm not sure if I should feel sad or silly. Sad, for the 15-year old Anne because the chance that she'd been yearning for then came ten years too late. Silly, silly that I'm even pondering upon this irony in my life because I know I can't care less. Heck, I mean, he looks sapped, bleached and greasy nowadays.

Two high school fantasies in two days. Two different reactions. Interesting.

#12: Anne Went Away For Three Days

And she returned right when her appetite did.

It's ironic how I wrote about my gastronomic fantasy just a few days before this experience. As all my friends know, I love eating! What's better is that the Lord blessed me with a fairly active metabolism so I can eat hefty amounts of food every now and then. Though still I'm no hourglass; I don't know where the waist ends and the hips start. Being more straight than curvy, I make up by having proper posture. But that's beside the point.

I woke up some Saturday ago with this slightly nauseous feeling in my head. It was the last day of Hermeneutics class. I passed on breakfast and went ahead to prepare so I will be early for our final quiz. I resolved to just have my usual Saturday morning breakfast of coffee and crackers in the class since they are offered during sessions for free. But there was a change of plan when a good classmate of mine bought me a slice of banana bread for no reason at all. I expected myself to relish and enjoy my upgraded breakfast when I noticed, I'm not very interested with it at all. I weakly nibbled on the delicious bread. I'm not a breakfast person so I thought that was understandable. Now this is what I did not understand.

Wanting to celebrate the conclusion of our Hermeneutics session, my motherly classmates brought pansit, lumpiang shanghai, putong galapong and rice. It was a nice FREE meal so Anne dug in…

…and felt dizzy at her third mouthful.

After that, I had to force myself to eat just so I'd be able to finish what little I put on my plate. My tongue said it was tasty but my body and brain was telling me to stop. I felt sick the rest of the day and it didn't stop there. My body was better the next day but for the next two days, my appetite disappeared. Just like that. POOF! That felt so weird for me. Even if I was served chunky spaghetti or inihaw na liempo with suka (which I was craving for for two weeks), I only ate around four spoonfuls and I'm done. I can't even say I enjoyed it. I just tasted the smoked, slightly salty meat, the tangy vinegar and onions and that's it. IT EVEN BORED ME! Sheesh… Would you believe that? No eye-rolling, breath-taking thrill.

That so freaked me out. I have become one of those ridiculous people who see eating as a necessity more than a pleasurable privilege. I became someone who just pushed their food around their plate, eventually leaving half the serving uneaten. I have become one of those I thought I CAN NEVER understand. Now, I'm even able to empathize with them because I realized, these food-pushers have such a sad, sad life. I went through this for three days.

Just before I became depressed about it, I sautéed some cabbage and fried a fish and shared this lunch with my husband. I started chomping and nodding in appreciation and smiled. What do you know? The zombie is gone and I am back! I guess the strange virus flew and left me. I brightened up the moment the salty, sweet, sour and bitter are not just data sensed by my nerves. These tastes went back to becoming blessings, pure guiltless pleasures! Well, at least provided that you eat right, heehee! I learned that as long as I have the ability to enjoy the simple blessing of eating, it won't matter if it's just veggies and fish or a sirloin steak. I'm glad it didn't take a complicated meal to make me discover that goodness.

#11: Allow Me To Be Self-indulgent

I knew we were experiencing the Great Depression when I found myself craving for restaurant food. We just finished our Guinisang Sardinas dinner and for the last three consecutive meals, we ate the same thing. Sardines is really fine for me but eating it consecutively is another thing. I asked my husband,


"Do you think we'll be able to afford a nice sit-down dinner in a semi-fine-dining restaurant anytime in the future? Yung kumpleto, may soup, main course and dessert, coffee... ayun?"
"I'm sure, sometime in the future", he answered smiling faintly, probably feeling for me, understanding the food-lover/adventurer in me that is being frustrated by our present state.
Encouraged by his answer, I closed my eyes to push my fantasy a little further.
We'll drive to a resto, something like Annabel's or Cafe Bola... something like that. We park then we will be welcomed by the hostess. We'll sit down and ponder upon the order, this time looking at the food that I really like and not the price I can afford. We'll probably have French Onion Soup with French bread on top crusted with melted mozzarella cheese.. I can imagine the soft, brownish, caramelized onions. On the side, we'll have a simple Caesar Salad. After that, my husband will order a fillet of fish (as always) with some creamy sauce or pesto sauce on top and brown rice, I will have garlic pesto pasta with... hmm, chicken But that's too boring. Garlic pesto with pine nuts and Parmesan cheese and Italian bread sticks. Or pasta puttanesca! Right... with parmesan garlic bread (I love garlic!) Or if I'm not having this, I'll have Cordon Bleu and garlic mashed potatoes and some exciting vegetable dish on the side. Finishing our meals we'll proceed to order his creme brulee, still flaming when served, and my blueberry cheesecake... yup, tart berries, creamy, firm and smooth cake, melts in my mouth, contrasted by the crumbs in the crust... maaaaan, I'm sinning now... As we're downing our desserts with a cup of cappuccino, I opened my eyes.
And felt so much better. I felt so happy!
I don't know why. I was expecting to be a tad deeper into my self-pity but instead, it comforted me. Because I discovered that I've eaten enough good food to remember how they feel and taste in my mouth and to fuel lavish fantasies such as this. While others can only fantasize about the next pandesal that they can afford, I go rattling French and Italian in my mind. I don't feel so sorry about the sardines anymore.
If you once afforded, or can still afford a Chowking lugaw, a sidewalk mami, a Starbucks ensaymada, a bag of rolled oats, Ma Po Tofu from North Park, a handful of Judge gums from the nearest suking tindahan, a chili rice from Wendy's or a nice hot garlic shawarma, be grateful. You have something to smile about.

#10: Silly Paper Tokens

I am the administrative arm of our business. Yes, I am the Vice President for Administration, the Administrative manager and the Administrative staff. Heck, I am even the messenger of our little company most of the time that is why I am more or less familiar with the banking rituals. In our bank, when you open an account, you should bring IDs, a billing address to be sure, fill-out forms, sign in numerous blanks, the works. They want the IDs photocopied so they can keep a copy. Twice we opened an account, twice we went out to hunt for a photocopier to accomplish this. This story happened during one of those bank errands when I assumed the role of the messenger.

I dropped by our bank to pick-up our bank statements. I sat at the customer service counter, hoping someone would notice my eagerly-waiting look and attend to my transaction. Five minutes passed by and no one even looked at me. I refused to become impatient  because I can see that the ladies in blue behind the counters were busy. Some are politely smiling at their clients, some are staring intensely at pieces of paper.

That was when boredom opened another of my eye and saw this good-smelling-looking lady to my right. She is probably in her late thirties. On her forearm is a gold bracelet and an expensive but simple watch, on her ears, a pair of pearl earrings. She's just in a cotton collared shirt and cream walking shorts. Her fair, smooth skin tells me she doesn't stay long in areas without airconditioning. It is probable that dust hardly touch her. With pleasant confidence, the woman approached the counter and sat down. A blue lady #1 caught the whiff of money hanging in her presence and immediately, came to her.

'I want to open an account please.'

'Very well, ma'am. Will you please sign these forms?'

'ok.' she smiles.

While this was happening, a man with as much elegance and confidence came in and sat beside the lady. No one can deny that this couple is oozing with an aura of wealth. The simple simply-rich.

Meanwhile, to my left, my other bored eye noticed this small, thin girl in her early twenties. She clutches a tacky plastic envelope that job applicants usually bring to keep their documents in. she stands a little behind me because there are no more available seats. as if to make sure I feel ignored, blue lady #2 notices her first, asked her poker-faced,

'Ano iyon?'

'Mag-open po ako ng account.'

'Dala mo ID mo'

'Pwede po ba ito?'  Handing out her passport

'Ok iyan. Ipa-photocopy mo muna.'

'Sige po.'

The girl places the passport inside her plastic pouch and went out. My attention reverted to the well-off couple. I looked at them just in time to see their messenger come in, IDs and bond papers in hand. He gave them to blue lady#1.

'Ma'am ito na po IDs niyo' said blue lady

'Ok thanks'

Apparently, they were not asked to go out to look for a photocopier, just like the skinny girl beside me, like me and my husband in all the times we opened accounts. In typical sunny bank commercial fashion, the simply-rich smiles as they filled-out the forms and counted cash in 500s.

I felt furious, insulted, discriminated and disrespected. I wanted to go to them and ask them to tell this couple to go out and photocopy their IDs themselves, the way all the other clients did. It would have been fine if they posted a sign saying 'people with big blings and hot cars get free photocopying service'. At least it would have prepared me for this inequality. But somehow I got pasted to my seat as I quickly became overwhelmed with a profound sadness and pity for this world. If you look like money hangs from you the way bells hang from a Christmas tree, you'll most likely be treated well. It is amazing and disheartening how money, or even the prospect of it, can bend rules, define politeness, secure seats and distort loyalties. But what is money? They are units, numbers defined by paper tokens.

In my pondering, I was interrupted by a blue lady, finally asking me what they can do for me. How I wish I looked rich so they could have attended to me earlier and I was spared this depressing scene. I finished my business, went out of the bank, faintly disgusted but also grateful that I don't belong in this world and I won't have to be stuck with these silly paper tokens.