Estudyanteng Pinoy Dormitorian

Five days ago since I last browsed the internet with flawlessly fast
speed and unlimited access to almost every type of website. Now, five
days in a row, myglobe.com.ph, plus the forever living Yahoo!,
is the only website that I could visit in my danged multi-operating
system computer that runs 800 mHz with a broadband speed of 4 kilobytes
per second. I wanna faint.

(My regular visitors might be aware
that) I am fond of intimidating people, though at times I’d rather
refrain looking like one because of my continuous attempt to have some
fashion overhaul. Of course, I intimidate people for a purpose… for a
cause… occasionally, to speed things up.

The very last time I waited long enough was 18 hours–and
it’s for a swimming spree. I don’t know how blind I was when I braced
my batchmate’s house in Silang, Cavite to have waited in such a
splendid amount of time. Now I’m done with it.

I was uber
punctual years before I joined the student publication, though
sometimes I reach our rendezvous 5 minutes later. The only thing that
kept me waiting is someone that would accompany me waiting. If I’m
alone, I always think about the kamote (sweet potato) sprouts to plant in my backyard. Kamote sprouts… holy cow.

I
know the feeling of someone who have prepared so much for an
appointment, especially in early meetings, compromising other
priorities such as late-night TV viewing (no. 1 priority other than
doing assignments) and other recreations just to sleep early for the
rooster wake-up. Only to discover that on your next precious day you
find yourself savoring free facial makeup from the particulates
suspended in the air. Filipino time.

Filipinos
don’t want to wait for others, so they rather see others wait for them
by intentionally slowing their pace of movement in taking a shower,
dressing up, wearing the stupid pink blush-on powders and all–the main
rationale of this internationally-acclaimed Pinoy tardiness. They
intentionally keep others waiting, to the point that these people would
look like instant celebrities even if their faces don’t qualify to be
one. And then they will apologize, in a tone like you’ve only waited
for about 5 minutes simultaneously with the cake you’ve dropped on the
floor (which, they claim, is still safe to eat).

So I started
patronizing the custom to be more Filipino. I’ve suffered enough. I’ve
longed enough to bear with all their excuses. If we agree to meet at
7:00, expect them to come at 8:30. Which, in fact, always happens. I
envy Lea Salonga. When they are expected to come at 9 am, everyone
comes thirty minutes earlier, then they start their production at
exactly 9. The Japanese run on their satellite-subscribed clocks. If
it’s rush hour, it really is rush hour. Here in the Philippines, rush hour is when you forgot to bring your attaché case at home in the middle of a rowdy traffic.

But for a mandatory and obligatory paid service like my internet connection? No c’est la vie’s for me.

Whenever we have connection problems, I always call our service provider’s customer service hotline 171-2310. 2310,
note that. Then you’ll hear Christian Bautista or Josh Groban singing
their all time hits, which is kinda nice, but will pull your ears off
when listening for a long time. Then it’ll take you forever waiting for
the customer service representative to accommodate you.
And finally…

Globe: Welcome to Globelines Technical Support Service, may I help you?
Neil: I didn’t listen to your recorded advisory to ask you about this. What the hell is happening to our broadband connection?
Globe: (swallows, getting a grip for some English twang). Well sir, can I ask your name first?
Neil: (hysterically provocative) I’ll give you my mom’s name instead since she owns this account. (insert mommy here)
Globe: (cleans throat). Uhmm, ah eh… can I get your internet phone number?
Neil: I gave you my mother’s name already. Ok, fine, wait just a minute.
(hangs phone to get our monthly bill)
Neil: (insert number here).
Globe: (typing, and typing, just to prolong and divert the conversation). Okay sir, can I confirm that you live in Cavite area.
Neil: Obviously, yes.
Globe:
Well, for now, your account is subjected to network restoration that’s
why you are having difficulties in connecting to your broadband
connection.
Neil: I think the recorder said that already.
Globe: (silence, pondering about my previous statement.)
Neil: Approximately how long is this so-called ‘network restoration’?
Globe: As soon as possible, sir…
Neil: How long is this soon as possible?
Globe: Sir, you just wait for the connection to resume, sir.
Neil:
(mild angry tone, without breathing) For 5 days straight?! I think
that’s unfair for us your customers to pay 15 hundred bucks for an
internet connection that stops once in a while—you know, we are doing
all our documents for the following year, and then you give us this
network restoration that’s taking 48 years to finish? How long should
we wait? And we still have to pay 1500 for the bill on the 29th? That’s
totally unfair, ma’am.
Globe:
Sir, we cannot do anything about your problem for now (with a placating
tone). But I promise you that your account will be on the priority list
to regain internet access (with typing sounds) as soon as our network
restoration is completed.
Neil: (silence)
Globe: Umm, sir, can I ask your name first?
Neil: Neil. Neil Bernardo.
Globe: Okay sir neil, you’ll be connected in the next few hours after this phone call.
Neil: Okay. Thanks.
Globe: (with a somewhat mild breath) Thank you for calling Globelines.

(Call dropped.)

My
point? Dial the Tagalog customer service hotline and speak with all
your greatest English twang in a professional, but less
procrastinating, tone.

And don’t accept c’est la vie, no matter what. Take advantage of the semi-socialite caste system.

 
Christmas break is no Christmas break for me (and to the rest who would want to agree).

One big headache for us junior journalism students is our Law of Mass Communication subject, where intimidation and provocative discourse are the delicacies of our Wednesday quorums. Where every Wednesday is always Hell Day.

It
was only last Monday when we only realized our super high, but super
high(?), Cavite State University Library slash museum has already
purchased (in spite of all our frustrations for their ‘yellowish
artifacts’ in the building) a complete set of Supreme Court Reports Annotated (SCRA).
Since our campus has opened admission for students in Bachelor of Law,
these SCRAs would be accessible for our law students (ah ok) and to the
rest of our colleagues who wished to end their lives through over nose bleeding¹.

But
unfortunately, the library staff is still enjoying sniffing the aircon
odors of the hardbound books delivered. They have to bookmark them on
the catalogue, yet, so no borrow. My classmate (who went there) just
smirked.

We’ve already planned an option to go to the UP Library
or the Arellano Law Library for the SCRAs. But the threat of our
intimidating prof professor (who was amazed by yours truly, haha) that
we will lose our lives if we don’t summarize the so-claimed SCRAs
forced us to pay gold. Imagine our faces when we heard our professor
that these 15 (minus one, I dunno why) SCRAs are approximately a
hundred page each. Plus the f*ck factor.

Are you kidding me? And who’s gonna research everything?

"Neil, tinatanong pa ba yan?²", one exclaimed.

For
the trip, the whole class has to contribute a hundred peso each that
would accumulate three hundred pesos for our fare, one hundred pesos
for the initial photocopy of the SCRAs, and only a hundred pesos for my
lunch. Life is so unfair.

"How about my talent fee? My recreational fee? Labor? And the VAT (Value Added Tax)?"

A book flew in mid-air.

——

10
am, and it was the last day of Arellano Law School to accommodate
students in their library. The ultimatum was so bad, so many students
have already queued for the photocopy of the SCRAs inside the
photocopying center beside the library. Ate Gen (a classmate) and I,
with all our paawa effect³
powers, wins immunity–we convinced the lady to pend our SCRAs first…
to think that she still has to look for 200 more SCRAs already queued
by the students since Tuesday two weeks ago. Oh well, life is just so unfair. (evil laugh)

We
still have to wait until 5 pm for the output, so we decided to cool
ourselves in a nearby mall. Unfortunately, both of us are G.I. Geographically idiot,
that is. We have to guess what mall is nearest to our location. I’m no
Manila boy. We lived in Manila for 5 years when I was too young to
worry about wearing only my undies outside our house. A bus en route to
SM Southmall passed by. Great! Southmall is nearby, we thought. But before we even reach a quarter to Southmall, we gaze outside our window and saw planet Earth.

It’s SM Mall of Asia.

Finally, setting my third world foot on le supermall grande royale.

We
got off the bus and walked along the roadsides of the highway, thinking
that the mall is nearest to us. But it isn’t–the mall is just so big.
We didn’t think it’s a kilometer away from us.
I don’t mind walking on long distances, but Ate Genipher has to bear
with my misadventures. Poor Ate Gen, she has no choice but to walk with
me along the highway. We thought of riding a jeep, but will the
jeepneys hover for us? We walked instead.

What did we do in MOA?

Nothing but to go to the restroom and eat chicken–for 7 hours straight.
We just walked and walked and walked and envy the Metropolitan elite
who doesn’t bother spending a lot inside that prestigious shopping
center. What can I do with a hundred peso allowance inside the 3rd largest mall in the world?

Nah, we just took the SCRA photocopies and fled.

—–

I misunderstood Christmas.

Spending is sharing in itself. By just purchasing the cheapest baratillo/tiangge⁴
items for your gifts to your loved ones (haha) you’ve contributed much
to the economy of the black China market. You fool yourself in
disbelief that your hundred peso t-shirt (which in just one look you’ll
determine it’s ‘made from UK’^5. Whatever) is in fact bought for at least 30 pesos a piece from the pier.

Spending for many gifts is troublesome.
Receiving many gifts is more troublesome, especially when you receive
an item that’s for sure a good buy from the tiangge, or you just
receive the same item over and over again.

Christmas brings the spirit of tranquility and sharing. So why not share your belongings to the Budol-budol⁶
gang? If someone points a dagger at you, smile and greet him Merry
Christmas. Then give your everything. Savor the spirit of Christmas,
where crime rate is at its summit every year.

Christmas brings back your childhood memories.
When you have godchildren already, you’ll recall every single rule of
Hide-and-seek simply by not replying to them when they ask you the very
most hated question of all the Christmas seasons that have passed
especially if you run out of money–"Namamasko po!"⁷.

In our case, we simply placed a large cardboard with a big "Patawad po!"⁸.
So whenever someone attempts to sing outlandishly out-of-tune in front
of our house, no wonder they suddenly stopped singing. And hello? Some
children even carol as early as December 9. Sheesh.

Christmas is New Year’s Eve.

Now
this is stupid. The heck these Filipinos fire their PVC guns and
crackers during Christmas. Hello? Isn’t Christmas a solemn celebration
of the so-called birth of Jesus Christ? Why fire up super lolos and
kwitis, huh? Stupid Filipinos. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Christmas break is Christmas break. Yeah
right. The right opportunity for all the teachers and professors out
there to lazy on their attendance for the remaining two working weeks
of December and piled every unnecessary project to be submitted on the
resume of classes. Yeah right again.

Christmas’ Misa de Gallo is "Simbang Gabi" in Tagalog translation, meaning "Night Mass".
Now this is funny. You take a shower and dress up as early as 10 pm and
wake up 3 am without brushin your teeth. What else? You cannot listen
religiously to the priest’s sermon because you are worried about your
posh and glimmer or is just that you are already holding your nose for
the mixed-up oxygen and carbon dioxide. You are worried because you
might not see your loved one. And you only go to early because you have
a date so you can eat puto bungbong and bibingka⁹. And it’s not a night mass. Duh? 3 am a night mass?

Christmas is Christmas.
There are doubts about the exact birthdate of Christ. Just like our
very own CvSU Centennial Celebration’s arguments on its exact date of
establishment, Christmas is said to be born on September. So why
celebrate?

Christmas is supposed to be happy.

…

Why can’t I?

1
- An idiom in the Philippines–when someone is bombarded with high
falutin English vocabulary, they nosebleed. 2 - "Is there any need to
ask about that?" 3 - "Have mercy on us" effect 4 - open-air market 5 -
Ukay-ukay, term used for open-air shops selling smuggled second-hand
clothes/items from abroad. 6 - A popular syndicate in the Philippines
that hypnotizes victims for money 7 - "Begging for alms" Christmas
edition 8 - Sorry. 9 - Native delicacies in the Philippines
occasionally served during Christmas season

  "Naku, Neil Brian, manang-mana talaga kayong lahat sa Daddy niyo^[1]," Mom uttered after she has slapped my thighs about a hundred times already for not waking myself up on time.

My Dad had been self-supporting; his drunkard father didn’t support his schooling. He spent his teenage years selling pan de sal and street varieties and worked with his uncles sculpting wood and escayola^[2] in Paete, Laguna.
Luck opened opportunities, and he found himself working with a wealthy
Arab national for Islamic carvings even though he finished drafting
technology in TUP. Now, a China-based American designing firm promoted
him to be the supervisor of all the craftsman in Dolan Designs.

"Hay Neil, sanay ka nang turuan ang sarili mo, kaya yayaman ka siguro pagka-graduate mo."^[3]

I have never been punctual.

According to my mom, I always do, and even prioritize, unnecessary things like my father. Overdues are our meriendas.
We spend more that we should. Not necessarily referring to money, but
in an exemplary, we kill time for drawing for long hours, we read for
long hours, we use our PC for long hours. Therefore, we sleep for long
hours. I love sleeping.

I learn without learning.

I do
not focus on my studies religiously. But I learn. I am not bothered in
my grades, but I worry about my scholarship (we’re under austerity
measures). Anyway, my professors love me because I am smart. Haha.

"Mamaya na"^[4] habit

I love cramming. My dad loves cramming. But we always finish on time. And if we didn’t, we still make it. Much of our delight.

Mom
even finds our dad’s resemblance when I eat and walk. And sometimes,
she tells me I have inherited most of my dad’s characteristic traits
than my brothers. I pondered.

Yes, we know how to handle a spoon
and a fork. But even if I have a fork on my plate, I use my hands to
churn on the meat and use my fingers to dip it in ketchup, soy sauce,
or the Filipino Mang Tomas sauce. Then the spoon comes in filled with rice. Baboy^[5], ano?

I
am not flat-footed–all my brothers are. But the bulk on our knees make
us pace like we’re gonna tumble somebody down. We don’t walk
awkwardly… I don’t know
what my mom was saying. Though I’ve
noticed the bone bump on my brothers’ shoulders which I don’t have and
is not related to the previous sentence.

I am the fairest of
them all. No, I am not Snow White. But I sometimes been compared to a
skinless turnip beside three potatoes. And most of the time, I am told
to be the best-looking. Haha.

I am the most intelligent daw^[6].
I disagree. Though I have grabbed most of our academic and interschool
competition awards at home, I still salute my Kuya for being so
logically smart. Think about the most common sensed-tagged syllogisms
in the world, and he can abide. I just sophisticate and complicate
things. That’s why in decision-making, Kuya is always there. The house
can live without Neil saying anything.

I am more inclined to art
than the rest of my brothers. They assumed I am more willing to spend
my life in aesthetics than them by just placing all my masterpieces to
theirs. But I suppose I have just affiliated my talents to a wider
scope, and not only in art. I don’t know how to explain it… I just
avoid comparing my craft to my brothers because I find it merely
bragging. Haha. Showing-off.

Even if in my utmost sincerity to
have identified my Dad’s resemblances in me, I still pave more slots in
our contrasts. Which I apparently have no time identifying.

————-

I
think I am getting more serious in my studies. I didn’t notice in a
snap I’ve already bought an Inquirer newspaper a while ago thinking
that it’ll help in my bad writing (which I demonstrate right now.) I’ve
also done our assignments in advance. Gawd. I don’t wanna be me.

————-

Me
and my three siblings had the greenest thumbs in arts–the deepest
exaltation of my Mom that none of us had the similar stick-figures she
did when she was still making fun of her expensive fountain pens. None
of us are not capable of drawing lines straight without rulers. And I
never compared my craft to them, though I am easily flattered when my
younger brothers consult me when they are troubled in some drawings
which I respectfully responded with…

"Tinuruan ko ang sarili kong matuto sa ganyan, kaya matuto kayo sa sarili n’yo…" ^[7]

Bwahahaha.

Not
because of selfishness, but of independence. I’ve been independent in
nurturing what is now my specialty. I didn’t rely much to our Dad. Cite
the number of years he has been spending working abroad. I don’t want
them to be so dependent to their older brothers like what other
youngest siblings do in their families. (Mind you, I’m not the eldest.)

————-

The faculty of Languages and Mass Communication seemed to have alloted a slot for me in their peer. Like, oh Neil, you’re here. How are you.
And they crack jokes, as if they are of the same age as mine. They ask
me like I’m their classmate. I find it kinda fishy. They are getting
closer to me, and my classmates find an instrument for bridging them to
the professors.

The most intimidating teachers of our college
getting closer to me? Or it’s just because I am the most intelligent
and the most talented student in CAS who worried much on his pimples
rather than memorizing the Bill of Rights? Haha. Probably, they are
courting me to win another news reporting competition somewhere in
Cavite? Or maybe they have just found a use of me in making all their
largely-imprinted majestically-presented tarpaulins in our university?

Utu-uto^[8].

1. You’re really like your father.
2. Plaster of Paris
3. Oh Neil, you might become wealthy with your self-orientation when you graduate.
4. "Will do it later"
5. Swine
6. according to some people
7. Teach yourself. I learned everything only by myself .
8. Dumbass.

According to our most reliable re-sour-ces, it’s signal no. 3 in Cavite.

Two
days ago, after receiving some late night news updates about a tropical
storm fast approaching the Philippines, I was jumping and shouting
(subconsciously) like Sarah Geronimo and her panty liner. Classes are
suspended in Metro Manila, including nearby provinces. Cavite is
spelled in capital letters on the rolling text. A storm mightier than
Milenyo and Winnie will unleash its hydrous devastation. Three super
typhoons in a row. No classes, alas. No electricity for several days, [*insert cuss words here]. No Ma’am Viado, No Ma’am Diloy, No Ma’am Ilagan. No Cavite State University. Just me and my El amor en los tiempos del cólera.

Few
hours later, PAGASA confirmed that tropical storm Reming changed its
course, directing its strongest winds in Mindoro as claimed by the
forecasts. Metro Manila inhabitants queered. Their smiles imply gimmick
and sleeping. But PAGASA further threatened that Reming can pre-empt
its direction. I smirked. Suffering is the understatement.

So I fully understand that we’re still gonna have bad weather since Reming’s coverage is humongously wide, not a single pinch of sky blue can be found
except the paint job in my room. In fact, signal no. 3 is raised here
in Cavite already. The storm warning purportedly states
semi-devastation; gales that would swish big tree branches along their
direction, and terra-cotta pots smashing in roarness galore. Oh, and
don’t forget the parakeets who seemed to silence themselves and produce
non-hatching eggs inside their cages. My fear of electricity outage is
on its peak. I can’t live without my electric fan.

10 hours have
passed. Mom succeeded drying my 7-kilo clothes. Teri is playing Legend
of Zelda. I can still hear Willie Revillame singing Boom Tarat. Right
now, it’s signal no. 1. I’m yawning.

I wanna throw a stone at PAG-ASA.

———-

Mike
Arroyo, and his bite-size wife Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo (she does not
deserve the prefix) was rushed to the hospital. Some Myna bird told me
the fatso First Gentleman is undergoing an angioplasty. Blocked blood
vessels? Hahahaha.

And even GMA accompanied her. The hospital staff gagged their mouths to disclose any information about their confinement.

Last
week, they prompted to St. Luke’s Hospital for a so-called ‘executive
checkup’. The doctor assigned pronounced good health and long life for
both of them except Mike’s fats getting flabbier in direct proportion
to the amount he’s taking from our shipping line.

Gloria Arroyo
was confined to St. Luke’s six months ago because of diarrhea. The next
month, she was attacked with flu. The eve of my birthday owned her
executive checkup.

Awooo. I wish them fewer days to procrastinate.

————-

I
am happy to know that our adopted puppy, MC, has found better home in
the hands of my classmate Ara. Only us have the heart to take care of
the puppy religiously unlike my housemates who seemed to loved it when
it was still small and cute and not barking. They don’t even care about
its daily bathing, and of plasticity they claimed they loved the puppy,
loved dogs and finally their true colors showed their negligence to it
after growing up. I hate them.

———-

Stray cats seemed to have their guts up surging in our residence. Kapal ng mukha.
All they know is to flirt with humans for food. And after eating, they
scram, as if they don’t know anybody except at par some goon is trying
to catch them for siopao. Kapal talaga ng mukha. And they always make sure their leftovers are rolling everywhere. Napakakapal talaga ng mukha. We’ve attempted to extinguish them with rat poison, but their stomachs are tough.

Arrrgh. The nerve.