Karibal ni Tito Donnie

One lonely night, the prince bird decided to fly away from his grand cage. With no particular direction, he asked a fellow bird working at another fast food chain if he can drop by at his villa and stay for the night.

As the other bird saw the tears on the prince bird’s eyes, he felt pity and decided to cancel his previously arranged appointment, trying with all his might to comfort him.

The prince bird wasted no time, he poured his heart out. He had a litany of heartaches that two cans of Pepsi were not good enough. So the other bird opened the last litter of “sadike” wine (home made concoction) from his ref if only to play a Good Samaritan to such loneliness.

The other bird would have been excited at the prospect of learning the exploits of the prince bird, how comfortable living his life at the grand cage must be, but instead what he discovered shocked him to the bones.

In his disbelief he narrated the events by writing an e-mail to “yours-truly” with the intent of letting the readers know how the likes of Tito Donnie manage to appear “kawawa” or victim of hustling by young boys in Saudi while his kinds do their most repulsive scenes.

But the sordid details are so long and some of the description abhorrent, that I will try to encapsulate the story using my own words.

It all probably started with the notebook issue. No, it’s not a spiral or catleya notebook, but an electronic a.k.a. laptop. Tito Donnie promised the prince bird to buy a new one so he can hand over to him the old one.

After the much-talked about O2 or PDA (personal digital assistant), the prince was so eager to finally put a check mark on that item on his “wishlist” by which, he claimed, Tito Donnie promised anyway. But the promise failed, and all hopes receded.

Since then, cold war ensued. The prince bird does his usual thing of playing innocent or “busilak” to his potential preys, while Tito Donnie literally reached out and befriended other birds. He would directly invite them to pay him a visit and do horrendous plays for a pay.

These birds, I was told, would be asked by Tito Donnie to come to their home cage, together at a particular time, get them served and entertained. But at the end of the day Tito Donnie would eventually ask them to do “thing” with one another, even right before the prince’s very eyes. Tito Donnie, as the prince bird lamented, would take in all the pleasures like only a sick mind would care to have.

And since each bird desires to taste a piece of heaven as the prince enjoys, or at take least one of the items in the “wishlist”, they would “perform” as if they are in a film.

But that is not the most detesting part. Accordingly, the prince bird is usually made to “perform” with the rest, under the threat of Tito Donnie of cutting his monthly allowances or sending him away from the comforts of staying in the cage should he refuse to do so.

And so the prince bird is forlorn. Torn with a dilemma of having to choose between taking-in-all-the-monetary-support-he-could-have and doing-“it”-no-more-but-give-up-Saudi’s-only-comfort-he-can-easily-find.

Now the prince bird knew he could not ask for “foul” for in his heart it is in silence that he can keep everything all in. He needed Tito Donnie, and he is determined to stay with him.

Seemingly, as the letter sender suggested, the only rival Tito Donnie has with his beloved prince’s love and attention is not an outsider or third party person but his own detesting insecurities covering behind the power of money.

Truly, we all have our own evil do deal with.

Boylet Ni Tito Donnie

A bird is still a bird, whatever way you call it. It is in its nature to glide through air, to fly, to be free. And even if you cut its wing, it will find ways to get out of the cage, however nice and convenient inside. Because a bird's place will always be out there, flying side by side with fellow birds.

One should not wonder then why, while Tito Donnie slaves his butt out his boss' frivolities, his prince is away from the splendid nest mingling with the rest of his kind.

After all, it was not explicitly mentioned in the contract that the bird prince cannot fly from time to time to be with his friends, or that he cannot invite such friends to come and visit the beautiful cage Tito Donnie offered the bird to treat and call "his own".

Perhaps, the nature of being proud of accomplishment is not exclusive only to human kind. "Bird kind" has its own brand too. But the birds have uncanny ways. They not only brag about their feats of hunting down big preys such as Tito Donnie, they even scan territories and prepare traps.

After mulling through the contacts of his benevolent sponsor, the bird prince pays the roll a visit with particular interest to those whom he feels to be "potential provider" should he decide to "switch cage". Or perhaps the bird has this gut-feel of impending moment when "Tito Donnie-could-not-take-it-anymore-and-finally-gives-up-on-him".

And so the prince turns into a nightingale singing his seduction at Barkley square. One after the other, he gives himself up and lets them sip the taste of his charming juices. Like in any business, the prince knows that in order to reap, one must be willing to sow. And so he offers himself initially free. And after each "first" meeting, the bird coy a mused rhyme that the encounter was "sikreto natin 'to pre" and was mere "trip lang dude."

Meanwhile, as malicious forebodings begin crawling behind Tito Donnie's "it's-ok" smiles, he is little-by-little being succumbed to his own paranoia. He then starts inquiring as to the smallest details of the whereabouts of his prince, checking the latter's mobile phone and internet conversations, so he can find clues that will verify his suspicions.

"I have already spent so much on him. So, no one can take him away from me," Tito Donnie kept on telling himself.

But will he be able to fight his so-called love and investment once the bird prince finds a prettier cage with more abundant supplies?

…and so Tito Donnie's invisible war ensues.

(you may wish to read other comments at the journal section of www.pic-link.com)

Maskara ni Tito Donnie

One of the few benefits of expats working in ME is the free board and lodging. Termed as accommodation, employers usually put these people (except for married couples or family) in rooms sized for 2 to 4. This is generally fine, but the bad thing is one doesn't get the chance to choose whom he wishes to share the room with. Worse, other nationalities share in the picture at times. It's like prison cell, you are damped together, and if you find yourself surrounded with big time criminals, you are doomed big-time. But freedom has its ways of yearning.

For those who got their way, having one's own accommodation and accessorizing with all the luxuries is only the beginning. Because for them complete freedom could not be had unless they share their possessed amenities with relatively younger guys - to the point of having to give them up one by one.

But there is irony playing here. Though they finally found freedom, some slowly build their own prison walls by making a "cover". They pretend and shout to the world that the young men that sleep on their beds, use their internet connections, sing to their Mediacom karaoke machines, apply their fountain-of-youth stuffs, and eat their food are - for purpose of misleading the paparazzi's - their relatives. Usually, they instruct their "kid'o cum lover" to say "pamangkin kita" when asked.

I'd say prison because in the process, they limit their world, they constrain their moves, and spend their time together sneaking to avoid any possible confrontation with rest of the pack.

But let me lay down a premise. People are wise nowadays. They know how to distinguish a lie from big fat one. Unless one can mask up a "to-the-detail" lie, then he is up to something. But if not, it's like keeping a bomb waiting to happen.

So, when your neighbor grins whenever he asks the lovely young guy comfortably parading his boxer shorts along the hallway how he is related to you, and the latter answers back by saying you are his "tito", it's probably time to panic.

Check out the mask you're wearing, maybe there's something bizarre painted on it.

Stardust Sentiments

During Sundays I always hope that radio station of oldies-but-goodies stuff play "Stardust" by the great Nat King Cole. I don't really know why I learned to love the song, probably because I love the movie "Sleepless in Seattle" so much (of which the song is part of its soundtrack), or that maybe I have an old soul (as they say) that old things appeal to me.

I remember the tune was playing on the background when Mang Rudy, an old-timer in the ME shared his memories of the old Saudi Arabia.

He recounted the days when Pinoy workers practically paved the way for major infrastructures in the deserts; how they bore themselves to work to ease loneliness and relieve homesickness. Those days, he said, no Filipino channels, internet, and celfones were in existence. Long distance calls were glorious recitation of memories; to receive a mail was a joy to be had.

And now the purple dusk of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart

But so much is the love of Pinoys for pageants that in those days holding beauty contests (in secret!) was one of very few sources of entertainment. You may wonder how, since no female counterparts were present, added to the fact that interaction with them was almost equal to a grave sin.

But Mang Rudy has the answer: engineers, architects, laborers, and mechanics who wear safety helmets and gears during the day suddenly transform themselves in a Barbie-clad dresses, painting their nails with fascinating colors and strutting the catwalk in high pointed heels. Just-like in prison, they were made to wear amorous accessories and make-up to complete the total transformation.

But such events were not exclusive for Pinoys, according to Mang Rudy. At times, other nationalities participate by being sponsors; others watch and befriend some of the contestants. And out of such meetings, each one has juicy story to tell. Had those things not been prohibited, organizers promoting repeat shows would have made a glamorous money making business then.

But that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

But with the new breed of migrants in ME, no more similar shows ever had. Well, except this last year when a similar but failed attempt happened in one of the suburbs of Jeddah. Now, adding more pinoy female expats in the ME in the equation, the demand started to shift – but not for genuine female pageant, but rather for a male beauty show clad in skimpy outfits.

One can just wonder if such events were mere manifestations of loneliness, or their performances borne out of an inner feeling. My guess is only good as yours. With Mang Rudy's recall, it indeed opened more questions, than answers. We can only hope that he further his recount of the past. But until then, we leave the memory as they were.

The nightingale tells its fairly tale
A paradise where rose is blue
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love's refrains.