Kapeng Arabo, A Review

I’ve been hearing about it, but only until I got a copy from National Bookstore and read about it that I believe. Yes, my friends. Mr. Manny Garcia, the author of the book Kapeng Arabo, has dedicated a whole chapter entirely about this blog, and recent successes (notoriety?) of my journal stints in another site.

I must admit I am honored by the deed of this man. For who would have thought the subjects of my posts would land on a book with international release for all Filipinos abroad to read, at that (I was told).

I must admit as well, as he wrote in his book, that I snubbed his correspondences. Had I known that this man was serious in coming up with the book, I could have entertained his queries and he could have written a more explorative thrusts on the topic.

Lesson learned: don’t be such a snob, or you don’t get to share of fame.

Going back to the book, I simply put Kapeng Arabo as a story of personal experiences of the author and of different Pinoys whom he had exchanged ideas during coffee hang-outs.

Garcia’s approach is much like our modern local authors on the shelves such as Eros Atalia or Carlo Vergara as he managed to come up with light and funny anecdotes but mostly about Filipino’s lives in Saudi. In addition, he was able to integrate well his personal stands on subjects he discussed much to the style of Bob Ong, very candid.

People in the Middle East may have taken me as slut due to stories I discussed on this blog and posts to other sites, but the truth is I have been especially interested in stories of Pinoys abroad: the diasphora, the brain drain phenomenon, the job mismatch, etc. I believe these topics deserve a closer look for they give insights as to how we are going to survive the seemingly degradation of values brought about by what we called “globalization.”

Little did I know, however, that there exist issues among Filipinos abroad, entirely distinct and separate, yet form as inescapable obstruction against one’s personality and distress towards the country, and Kapeng Arabo is such a treat to these “seemingly formed” realities.

I suggest, before you start reading the book, open yourself to possibilities and look deeper into the different behaviors Garcia is trying impart. Whether you’re an OFW or not, you may unexpectedly find yourself in the same situation.

I am especially awestrucked by the premise offered by Garcia that “ang pananaw ng mga taga-Saudi ay hinuhulma ng mga pagkakataon at bunga ng pagnanasang mapunan yung certain feeling of emptiness” (Btw, the book is written in Taglish which I consider extra-treat for easy reading.). This line has probably one of the most powerful statements Garcia said in the book, a line that is explanation enough why OFWs lose focus on their goal and forgo of values while working abroad.

Before I wrote this simple review, I got to read the book more than 3 times, trying to figure the solid story line behind the chapters. But then I failed. Instead, I found out that the book is a collection of solid issues that should be the concern of OFWs themselves. I also found out instead a candid manifestation of the way of life of our kababayans abroad that should also be the concern of our institutions if only for self-preservation.

Much to the anticipation of many whose excitement is usually roused by scandals or tittle-tattle of some sort, I’d like to think that the chapter to which this blog has been discussed in the book in its entirety is intently situated to capitalize on giggles on specific demographics. But for those who expect this to be a full-blown revelation, I am afraid you cannot laugh your heart out, for all the things you can possibly imagine were merely discussed in passing. Nevertheless, I must say he is able to point out the real issues behind sordid details of sex, lies and rock & roll. And I must admit, I never really imagined how deep my topics had impact on the lives of Pinoy in Saudi until I read Garcia’s discussion.

There is simply an ample of significant issues compacted behind the 17 chapters of 158 pages of the book. They range from basic gesture of conducting oneself to work area to earnest yearning of maintaining the status quo. They have one common denominator though, and that is, they all sprung from the simple desire to ease loneliness. And this I feel is the real wake up deal to the reality Garcia claims as personal challenges left uchecked as “higit na mapanganib at nakapipinsala.”

On the over-all, Kapeng Arabo is a serious topic with serious concepts that should be taken with a grain of salt. It is probably to the credit of the author, how this seriousness has shaped into a light reading with wisdom-filled analyses material. Because while he is able to maintain an entertaining mode all throughout the book, he is able to sustain provocative thoughts as he speaks the issues of our time.

I give Kapeng Arabo two thumbs up for its value and style.

(You may find similar entry at www.pic-link.com)

Gays, No Dignity

To be honest, I got some very interesting mails in my inbox. But most of them, I believe, are just similar stories of what I have presented so far. Due to constant pressures from work, it is high time for hybernation. I just couldn't let this one pass.

Dear data,

Whatever happened to your wonderful journals? I keep looking on your blog too, hoping I could find new entries. But it seems you got tired. I hope not, though. While your absence offers relief for some, others like me, still anticipate wit in line of thinking, just the way you write your journals.

I have something to share though. Perhaps your readers may offer views on the matter.

I’ve been in Saudi Arabia for more than 2 years now, working as graphics designer in one of prestigious ad agencies. Prior to this, I used to work in the same line of business in the Philippines. It is no secret that ad agencies are full of so-called “weird” individuals bordering in being eccentric, strange or gay. Nevertheless, I enjoyed every minute working with these people, especially the gays, as they are funny and very smart.

In the Philippines, I have high regard for gays. Though it is still a struggle to become one in our country, they are nevertheless respectable, a class of their own – professionals with firm principles and lofty aspirations.

However, I miss the days when it used to be so nice working with them because they are smart and very professional in ways more than one. I miss the times being with them, because they are intellectually stimulating, highly creative individuals.

But I found out the contrary here. From the moment I set foot in this desert, I woke up to the idea that gays here have NO DIGNITY. And each day that passed by for more than two years, revelations after revelations proved this point - they only know nothing but boys, they are hungry for sexual encounters; they only do one thing but talk about intrigues, so fond of meddling with other people’s lives; they are very rude, for they have no regard to other people’s feeling.

It is such a frustration working with these individuals. If these socially impaired people will stand as beacon of what these gay right activists are fighting for, it will be no wonder why society will have to cast them in hell where they deserve gnawing of their teeth.

L. Lagdameo

I Remember The Boy

Raymond’s exhausted body has been lying on the bed for almost an hour, but sleep seemed to elude it. The darkness that enveloped the entirety nor the soft breeze of A/C did not help either. As he heaved a deep breath and tightly hug his pillows in sheer desperation, he could not help but recall the past.

A while ago in the chatroom, a familiar nick popped in his laptop’s screen. He was latent. For few seconds, he got excited. Thereafter, he burst with anger. It never dawned upon him that such frivolous nick would train him down the memory lane. Memories which he thought have long been safely buried at the deepest part of his heart.

It seemed like only yesterday when he was bursting with love, happiness and contentment, and everything imaginable. Francis, one of the contenders for the title Mr.Riyad 2002, decided to live with him.

He got Francis everything he could ever want – colognes, TagHuer, O2, PS3, 24K neclace, and "so-you-name-it’s". He even sponsored Francis' basketball team, and allocated 1,500 riyals monthly allowance to be remitted to the latter’s family in the Philippines.

In a place where sadness seems pervading, Raymound found love. Love he knew to be a “convenient arrangement”, but love he thought would last nevertheless.

Back then, he was sure he made the right choice. Despite the forebodings of his fellow members of the Secret Society of Married Men in Riyad, Raymond decided to go for it. He was in love, and for once, he wasn’t going to regret it, because Francis loved him back, so he thought.

One day Francis disappeared without a word. Raymond tried to reach him – phone, chat, e-mail but to no avail. He found out later from a friend that Francis is now working in Jeddah flashing his melodious smiles at Byblos Restaurant. Everything would have been understandable except he could have said goodbye, but no.

Upon further investigation, Raymond learned that Francis is now “the papa” of another old gay with ultra-Lyna’ed face working in the HR Division of one big fruit product company.

However, the old gay managed to contract a big loan; it’s been months since his vacation and he’s to be nowhere to be found. Francis' employment maybe terminated anytime with slim chance of renewal due to his inept attitude towards work and frequent absences.

During the chat, Raymond agreed to meet Francis, since the former is on a business trip to Jeddah.

Now, as Raymond looks at the tall man standing before him and asking him to revive the “what-used-to-be’s”, he’s afraid to look at him in the eyes, afraid that he’d be taken aback.

An inner fear is growing within him, afraid that he would take Francis in his arms again. Afraid that he’d be too weak to resist his charms. Afraid to make the wrong decision, once again.

But Raymond managed to recall his agony, and what he had been through. It was like a murder a thousand times. Life now is so different from back then. He doesn’t even feel like he knows himself anymore.

"But I have to move on," he’s telling himself. He has to let it go whatever. Of him. Of himself. Of what once was. Of what will never be.

Yes, he remembers the the boy. Those sweet eyes .. that impeccable curly hair… that smooth moreno skin.

Yeah, he remembers perfectly well. That sweet deceptive smile… those evil lips that ask for “something to buy” whenever they speak.

“Huh! I remember him…” he tells himself. “But the feeling…naah!” he couldn’t quite figure it out.

(also available at the journal section of www.pic-link.com)

The Blue Society

To unite for a common purpose and expand one’s reach is probably one of the driving forces that bond people to form groups. Regardless of the place, one’s desire to be understood and accepted is a constant battle to be won. And when one finds his animos’, he feels strengthened… he feels empowered.

In the desolate kingdom, one powerful group exists. Its stretch is so vast, its network so extensive, members know the exact dates of arrival of new batch of young boys coming from Manila. Its power’s so great, these young boys easily come under the spell of the members. I am talking about the Blue Society, a virtually existing group composed of people working under HR, manpower sourcing, and administration department of different companies. They bond themselves together for a common purpose, to source out fresh meat and secure themselves “take-home’s.”

Like any other groups, the Blue Society has its rules of conduct. Though unwritten, if one decides to break the protocol, he is bound for some sad and painful consequences. Take the case of certain Muraj for example. When he decided to take the shortest route, he ended up with… a blackeye. Want to know the details? Read on:

Muraj is known as one snub administrator. But he has noticeable affection with newly hired (newly arrived) employees, especially with cute ones. In one instant, he even fought his way to have a particular cutey hunky newly arrived guy to be assigned together in his room in their accommodation area at the camp. People in the place discount any possibilities that he is gay since Muraj is a member of majority religious denomination. Indeed, a perfect advantage in terms of disguise.

Blue Society would usually prescribe to take things slow. After all, life in the desert requires no haste and urgency. Accordingly, if one is to live his life in that side of the planet, then he has to learn micro programming – the ability to break down task into a rather smaller component.

But Muraj disregarded the prescribed program and decided to take thing in his hand. And I mean… the thing in his hand.

One night, while everybody’s in deep slumber, Muraj went down from their double-decked bed. He looked contemptuously at the boy sleeping under him over and over. From some nights’ observation, he learned that Danilo, the name of the boy, sleeps with no undies or anything on. Against blinding darkness, Muraj meticulously scanned the area where he thought Danilo’s Tweety Bird might be docking.

And for the love of heaven and earth, he found it!

But the inertia isn’t at rest. In fact, Tweety Bird’s fighting stance seemed proud and ready to wrestle. Fever came over Muraj amidst the cold wind of the A/C. His resurging bodyheat seemed to be winning, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I have to touch it… I have to feel it,” he’s telling himself.

“But what if… it's only been days since we know each other...” lot of things were going on his mind.

“But this is the perfect time…,” he convinced himself. “I will catch Tweety Bird whatever it takes”, his resolve.

So slowly Muraj inched his way to the perfectly still body. And while he tried holding his breathe to stop his now shaking hand, he managed to gently grab Tweety by the shaft. And then…

“Powww!!!” a deafening blast. A sound when a fist strikes hard the wall of one’s ear. Reminds me when Pacquiao hits a knock-out.

From following morning onwards, Muraj seemed to have been suffering from paranoia. He couldn’t tell why people in the office seem to be smirking and talking things behind his back. Is it because his right ear suffered damage that his hearing’s got twisted? Probably. It was his only consolation.

This is what happens when one shoots up and greedily takes short-cuts. Be that as it may, the Blue Society does not deny privilege of becoming a member.

So long as you have the patience and persistence to take things slow, the tolerance in seeing your resources drain from buying these boys food and celfone loads, or from giving them some transpo allowances, and the resilience to accept occasional blows, then you’re qualified.

Hard-court boys

It was revealed through a dream…

One Friday morning, after a basketball game, the boys from different companies gather together to pass through what they call fitness routine. After a long hard-game deserving of at least P50 riyals bet from each member of the team, the winning players, still high-spirited from the sport, boldly took off their clothes and hit the shower.

There would have been no malice. After all, everyone in the cubicle is the same man with the same passive tool… well for a while.

Rugged men usually make fun of a lot of stuffs. And a story one’s unusual sexcapade is but one of them. Amidst all shouted conversation, a low-whispering voice did not slip an all-intent ear.

The voice asked a certain Raffy if he’s involved with Erwin. Raffy had to ask if the voice was referring to is the one working in Java Lounge. And when the name was confirmed, Raffy admitted Erwin’s a trip buddy. Another low but excited voice from the right wing asked “what’s a trip buddy?” And Raffy had to extend a mile-long explanation using similes and metaphors, with "biological necessaries" as justification.

While a Socratic learning was on-going, the entire Etihad gym fell silent as if caught in the middle of a twilight zone. Meantime, the soap suds together with the trickles of water from the chrome shower heads started to perform a ceremonial rite. Slowly, poles started arising... and something had to be done in order to complete a morning ritual of taking off the re-surging bodyheat. Well, boys will be boys...

The boys went to the locker room and started packing their bags with painted smiles on their faces, after which an exchange of numbers galore ensued.

Did I mention that this story was revealed via dream. Here’s why.

One of the boys during that hot shower learning session is a regular visitor of a gay accountant in Saudi. In one of those stay-for-the-night time, a discovery was found. The boy is a somniloquist, the one that talks while sleeping.

And so the benevolent letter-sender shared this story upon unconscious revelation of the young man, and so with other happenings that have been taking place since they started exchanging contact details. But I could not tell you any further. For they were so hot, they burned my laptop…..

Indeed, secrets have uncanny ways of revealing their self-made mystery.

Sino si Tito Donnie

malikfahadroad@yahoo.com.ph sent me this pix claiming Tito Donnie is one of those. He failed, however, to identify who amongst Tito Donnie is, as he made no description except that he is one of the contenders in the on-going Jeddah Popstar.


I absolutely have no idea how he looks like, maybe some of you have, and would care to enlighten.... us?


P.S. the sender claims he has a pix of the the Prince Bird too, and that he is still thinking whether to send it so I can post it here. Also, he promised me to send the pix of Lance (please refer to previous post). Until then, we shall wait and see.

OFW essay writing piece

Another nice piece flying around the net. Put emphasis on the last part, it left me teary-eyed.

1980 ako ipinanganak. Tatlong taon bago pinatay si Ninoy Aquino at anim na taon bago ang EDSA uprising. Taon ding ito nang nagkaroon ng malaking krisis sa langis ang buong mundo. P24.00 ang palitan ng dolyar sa piso at 48 milyon na ang populasyon ng Pilipinas. Ito rin ang taong unang pumunta ng Middle East ang tatay ko para magtrabaho.

Isang karpintero ang Tatay. Isang skilled worker. Malaki ang pangangailangan ng bansang pupuntahan ni Tatay sa mga katulad niya. Sabi ng Nanay mahirap daw ang buhay noong mga panahong iyon. Inabot na raw ang bansa ng economic depression na galing sa Europa at Amerika. Kaya minabuti ng Tatay na mag-abroad. Anupa't dalawa ang pinag-aaral niya at may bago na naman siyang bibig na pakakainin.

Parating pinapaalala sa amin ng Nanay na "nagtiis kaming magkahiwalay ng tatay ninyo para magkaroon tayo ng maginhawang buhay." Palibhasa'y parehas galing sa hirap, kaya siguro ganoon na lamang ang pananaw nila. Uuwi kadadalawang taon, tapos aalis na ulit pagkalipas ng dalawang buwan. Ganyan ang pattern ng buhay ng tatay ko.

Pumutok ang giyera sa Middle East noong 1989. Doon ko unang narinig ang mga salitang Operation:Desert Storm at Third Anti-Christ. Nandoon din si Tatay. Isang beses lamang siya nakatawag sa loob ng tatlong taon niyang pagkaka-stranded sa bansang iyon. Mabuti naman daw ang lagay niya. May tirahan naman daw sila at husto sa lahat ng pangangailangan. Hindi naman daw sila gagalawin sa giyera sabi ng embahada ng Pilipinas dahil hindi naman daw sila kasali sa awayan ng dalawang bansa at ng pakialamerong Amerika. Iyon naman pala eh, bakit ka pa rin nandyan?! Na-imagine ko na lang tuloy ang Tatay na parang isa sa mga sibilyan na dumadaan habang nakikipagbarilan ako sa larong Operation:Wolf sa SM City.

Nang mahawi ang mga usok ng giyera umuwi na ang Tatay. Wala pang isang taon ay nakita ko na naman ang aking sarili na nakasakay sa arkiladong dyip para ihatid angTatay sa Airport papuntang Middle East. Ikaw ba naman ang magkaroon ng pinag-aaral na nurse, isang seminarista at tatlo pa sa elementarya.Kailangang kumayod, kailangang kumita.

Kung tutuusin maraming na-miss ang Tatay sa buhay naming magkakapatid, lalo na sa akin. Wala siya nang una akong magtalumpati sa entablado. Wala din siya nang grumadweyt ako ng elementarya at hayskul. Wala siya nang una akong nakipagsuntukan sa kaklase ko nang inasar ako nito habang binibigay ko ang libreng plastic na singsing na galing sa cheese curls sa kaklase kong babae. Wala din siya para turuan akong magbasketbol tulad ng ginagawang mga kapitbahay ko sa kanilang anak. Wala rin siya para panoorin si Kuya na contestant sa Student Canteen at ako naman para sabitan niya ng medalya para sa mga math competition na sinalihan ko. Wala siya nang dumating ako sa punto ng aking buhay, na siya ring kinakatakutan ng lahat ng katulad kong nagbibinata--ang magpatuli. Wala rin siya para turuan akong maglanggas.... Wala siya nang kauna-unahang lumabas ang pangalan ko sa dyaryong pang-estudyante bilang isang editor. Ipinagtabi ko siya ng mga kopya para maipagmalaki sa kanyang pagdating. Wala siya nang una akong tumikim ng alak dahil binasted ako ng dinidigahan kong babae. Wala rin siya nang sumubok akong manigarilyo at itapon ito pagkatapos ng dalawang hithit pa lang. Wala siya, wala siya parati.

Napansin ko na lamang na mas naiibuhos naming magkakapatid ang oras namin sa labas ng bahay at sa eskwelahan. Ang Ate ay kagawad ng Sangguniang Kabataan, ang Kuya naman ay matagal nang kinuha ng seminaryo, ang dalawa kong kapatid ay may mga sarili nang kina-career at ako naman ay natutuon sa aking pagsusulat.

Dumating ang isa sa pinakamasayang araw ng buhay ko, ang pagdating ng Tatay at sabihing ito na ang huli niyang uwi dahil hindi na siya babalik ulit sa abroad.

Makalipas ang ilang buwan, trinangkaso ang Tatay. Sabi ng doktor ay over fatigue lang daw at kailangan niyang magpahinga. Pagkaraan nang ilang buwan, na-diagnose na may tumubong tumor sa utak ng Tatay at malignant na ito. Minsan naitanong sa akin ng uncle kong doktor kung nauntog ba ang Tatay o nabagsakan ng mabigat na bagay sa ulo. Nahihiyang ngiti, kamot sa ulo at isang "hindi ko po alam" lang ang naisagot ko. Kung gaano kabilis na nadiskubre ang tumor niya sa utak ay ganun din kabilis na binawi sa amin ng Diyos ang Tatay.

Habang pinagmamasdan ko ang Tatay habang mapayapa itong nakahimlay noong burol niya, nahihirapang tumulo ang luha ko. Kung tutuusin, hindi ko kilala ang taong ito. Siya ang tatay ko. Kalahati ng pagkatao ko ay galing sa kanya. Pero kung tatanungin mo ako kung anong gusto niyang timpla ng kape, kung allergic ba siya sa hipon na paborito ko, kung San Miguel o Purefoods ba ang team niya sa PBA--isang malaking EWAN lang ang maisasagot ko sa iyo.

Noong bata pa ako, nasa abroad ang Tatay. Kapag nandito naman siya para magbakasyon, mas malaking oras ang nagugol niya sa pag-aasikaso ng mga papeles niya para sa susunod niyang pag-alis. Nang tumigil na siya sapagtatrabaho, ako naman ang abala sa mga reports, periodical examinations at mga research works. Nang nasa ospital na siya, kahit makipagkuwentuhan ay mahirap nang gawin dahil halos hindi na siya maintindihang magsalita dulot ng chemotherapy.

Matagal nang patay ang Tatay. Minsan nabalitaan kong dumating na ang seaman na tatay ng boss ko, pilit ko siyang pinauuwi nang maaga. Minsan ding buong kawilihan kong pinagmamasdan ang isang kaibigan ko na nagmamadali dahil baka masaraduhan na siya ng grocery. Kailangan niyang makabili ng ingredients ng spaghetti dahil 'yun daw ang bilin ng tatay niyang na-stroke. Minsan rin nang makainuman ko ang matalik kong kaibigan habang binubuhos niya sa akin ang sama ng loob niya sa pagbabalik ng tatay niya na malupit sa kanila nang mahabang panahon at ipinagpalit sila sa ibang babae. Sa tingin ko lang, "Buti ka pa nga may Tatay pa." Syempre hindi ko sinabi iyon sa kanya. Baka mamaya tanungin pa niya ako kung kanino ako kampi, kami pa ang mag-away. Minsan din sinamahan ko ang kababata ko nang dinalhan niya ng pansit ang tatay niya sa City Jail. Hindi naman sila nagtatanong kung bakit ako ganun. Wala naman silang alam kay Tatay.

Maraming pagkakataon na nanghihinayang ako dahil masyadong maaga ang paghihiwalay namin ng Tatay. Gusto kong sisihin ang Pilipinas dahil napakahirap ng buhay dito. Sa Amerika ba may tatay na nangingibang-bansa para makapagtrabaho lang? Naisip ko tuloy na sumama na lang sa mga nagpipiket na mga migrante dahil alam ko tulad ko rin sila. Kadalasan rin sinisisi ko si Saddam Hussein at ang Gulf War dahil kinuha nila ang tatlong taon sa buhay ng Tatay. Sayang ang tatlong taong iyon. Nakalaro ko man lang sana ang Tatay ng basketbol o di kaya'y naturuan niya akong mag-bike (Beinte anyos na ko nang matuto mag-bike).

Isa sa mga klase ko sa writing ang nagpasulat sa amin ng kahit ano tungkol sa aming mga tatay, samahan pa ng larawan kung maaari. Bigla tuloy akong nalito. Hindi ko alam kung anong tungkol sa Tatay ang isusulat ko.

Ikuwento ko kaya na isang Overseas Contract Worker si Tatay. Isang bagong bayani. Nag-aambag ng malaki sa ekonomiya ng Pilipinas. Sabihin ko kayang may larawan ng tatay kong may suot na hard hat na dilaw, construction boots at may hawak na drill at kasama niyang nakangiti ang mga kapwa niyang Pilipino with matching background na disyerto. O kaya ang larawan nilang magkakababayan habang pinagdiriwang nila ang New Year at nag-iiyakan dahil tinutugtog and Lupang Hinirang. Ang drama no?

Kuwento ko kaya na isang survivor ng Gulf War ang Tatay. Na natutulog siya at ipinaghehele ng mga Patriot at Scud Missiles. Pakita ko kaya ang mga remembrance ng Tatay na mga dull na landmines. Adventure naman ang dating nito.

Kuwento ko kaya kung paano hindi nagpabaya ang Tatay sa pagbibigay ng pangangailangan namin. Hindi kami sumasala sa pagkain, may magagandangdamit, maayos na tirahan at nakakapag-aral. Siya ay naging isang good provider. Siguro isang malalim na buntong hiningang "Haaaaaay!" ang ibibigay sa akin ng mga kaklase ko.

O di kaya'y dalhin ko ang picture ni Tatay habang kini-chemotherapy siya. Ikwento ko din kaya na naging mabilis ang lahat ng mga pangyayari. Na inoperahan siya sa loob ng walong oras at binutasan ang ulo niya. Na nakalabas pa siya ng ospital. Pagkatapos ng isang linggo, agad siyang namatay. Tragic naman ang approach ko nito.

Gayahin ko kaya ang kuwento sa telebisyon na tipong galit na galit sa mundo ang anak dahil hindi ito nabigyan ng sapat na atensyon dahil inuna ng kanilang tatay ang pinansyal nilang pangangailangan. Teka, hindi naman totoo yon eh! Napaka-unfair naman 'nun kay Tatay.

Ikuwento ko na lang kaya ang isa sa mga magagandang alaala namin kay Tatay. Apat na taon ako noon. Malinaw na malinaw pa sa alaala ko ang pangyayari. Kadarating lamang ng Tatay pagkaraan ng dalawang taon. Nagkaroon ng simpleng party sa bahay. Kainuman niya ang mga kumpare niya nang tumayo siya at binuhat ako mula sa kuna ko habang pinaglalaruan ko ang bagong matchbox na pasalubong niya sa akin. Inutusan niya ako na ikuha siya ng beer sa refrigerator. Pagkakuha ko ng beer ay kinandong niya ako at buong pagmamalaki na ibinida sa mga kumpare niya na natanggap na raw ako sa lokal na Day Care Center dahil abot na ng kanang kamay ko ang aking kaliwang tenga kahit idaan pa sa ibabaw ng ulo ko at matatas na ako magsalita at madali raw akong matuto. Matagal din akong nanatili sa pagkakandong niya. Mistula siyang bagong dating na hari na suot-suot ang kanyang korona. Ako ang kanyang korona.

Kapag naaalala ko ito, napapawi ang lahat ng panghihinayang ko sa mga taong kailangan niyang magtrabaho at mawala sa piling namin. Mga panahong kasama ng mga tatay nila ang mga anak nila. Ito na lang ang isusulat ko.

Pero bago ang lahat, pupunasahan ko muna ang mga luha ko at ang patulo ko ng sipon. Baka mapatakan pa ang keyboard ng computer at ang hawak kong picture. Picture ng isang paslit na may hawak na bote ng beer habang kandong ng tatay na kitang-kita ang kasiyahan sa mukha.