Prelude to Death

Graduation. A grand ceremony to welcome you into a much bigger world. While there, you hear meticulously prepared speeches, a glorious hymn that’s repeated over and over again, and words like: “Good Luck!” and “Congratulations!” to last you a lifetime. Of course there are also the things that are left unsaid; smiles you receive from the person standing next to you, ones that you could almost feel the anxiety—albeit fear—that both of you share underneath those glimmering teeth and curved lips. Jeering, shouts of joy, which do mark a satisfying end. But you’re well aware that its just for that day. The next time you’ll be celebrating like that, it’s doubtful you’ll have enough strength left in you to shout and clap your hands when you’re gasping for your final breath. Our parents—in most cases—feel a surge of pride, as if they were actually marching with you on stage, as you shake hands with, not a teacher, but a pedagogue. For they too feel a sense of accomplishment.

I’ve never heard of a graduation ceremony where the people didn’t speak about life. The one I just came from stressed the importance of choices. I thought it was nice when one of them said: “when you say yes to one choice you shut your doors to a thousand other possibilities.” It’s a little comforting to know that other people know what you feel, and that they can say with nicer words than you can come up with. Though it’s the thought of being comforted which bothers me the most. For one thing, comforting stands for merely alleviating a sense of pain. A temporary shroud. No wonder they made us wear black togas that covered almost our entire bodies. I watched my peers make their way up the stage—some go up more than others, but its all the same thing—and see scholars, with their specialized togas smile and applaud. Then I asked: “What the hell are we doing?” I’ve grown accustomed to human nature, and our endeavors to reduce the world around us so that we can understand. The way science progresses to make laws, statistics to generalize, religion to give hope, and—like what I’m doing now—trying to pin my abstract thoughts into words that you, me, we can make sense of. It comforts us to be able to do these things. It brings a sense of lordship over all the space around us, which otherwise makes us feel ever the more miniscule. In the end I could only realize that all that preparation, dressing up, and participation in that solemn ceremony (graduation) ultimately works in the same way. They make us feel special, like the entire day was made for none other than us. The world should come to a halt and let us shine. But if we take a peek from what’s outside that black shroud of comfort, we can see that ceremony for what it really is. A resistance from insignificance. That day was really when we are most vulnerable from fear and the “real reality.” Its official, our whole lives were finally laid before us, and seeing that it would pain us to know the truth, then it was more than needed to tell us that: yes, you all are important; yes, you do make a difference in this world.

The only drawback would be at the times when they fumble, and thus fail to bring us the illusion. There were more than eight hundred students whose names had to be called, so we couldn’t take our time to relish more than fifteen seconds of fame. Ours was the 149^th time they held the same ceremony, it said so in the program. And out of all the graduations held year by year by different schools, wasn’t there one student who excelled above the rest? Wasn’t there at least one whose name was mispronounced? All they had to do was follow a form of ceremony, and in no time it becomes stripped of it’s originality and becomes part of the grandest cycle that we all belong in, which we can never fully comprehend. I wish I can say that we are like ants, but I don’t think we’re as fortunate. At least for the ants, we know, for our own sake, that there exists beings that are far more important and bigger than they are. While we are left to hope for ourselves.

So graduation, one can see it as a prelude to death. It can make us see what role we can never play in the scheme of all things, no matter how hard we try to comfort ourselves with knowledge and wisdom. Death would only be a repeat of it all. It can be the same with all forms of celebration, be it birthdays, anniversaries or weddings and so on. All we have to do is add up what makes it special for us and subtract it from what makes it like the rest of the world, we’ll still come up with the same results.

Junkshop In an Old House

Based on a painting by Rudolfo Ragodon: Junkshop in an Old House



I remember him who built this house.
With his calloused hands
He would saw, and shave
Each wooden plank to its finest measure.
Making sure each window,
Pillar, was in line as it should be.
To and fro he went from his
Empty
Lot, as if
Pouring his life into this
Vacancy.

Though his house did not look much different
From the rest, to fair itself, when finally finished.
Windows square, passive and agreeable.
And a porch that stretched from end
To end conformed to common taste.
It was his stand,
His achievement
Which stood
Its humble height
For all to see.
And his warmest friends
Filled
His walls throughout
The years that passed.

But time, as time does,
Grows old and forgets.
This house he left to stand
Soon followed in his stead.
As age wills it to a finer decay.
The roof
Grows as thin
As the memories it held.
And the wood
Blends more and
More into the darkness of the
Night.

No one knows
What this house once was,
Instead of what it is now,
Except maybe for me, who shares the same
Fate.

Random Tales From Youth #5

Going out with friends was like a rite of passage. You meet people, mostly from school, and you end up hanging out with the same set of people, sort of the certain stage upon the threshold of adolescence. Not that whatever we did was what you call a hell of a time. Mostly we’d just waste our hours away circling the mall until we familiarize ourselves with every shop and stall, until we can pinpoint what precisely they’re selling. It was fun as long as someone can think of another way to make this seemingly routine be different from days before. Come to think about it, that was the closest thing we could ever have that was close to having fun. (Except maybe when we cross the street to the nearby skating rink which had the latest video games that would make our quarters worth while, even if it only lasted for less then half than half an hour). My mom always objected to the idea that I would hang around the neighborhood, circling around the commercial district (if ever it would be commercial enough to be called as such) the whole day. I never quite figured it out. Maybe it was due to her being strict, or maybe her worries of a typical mother to not want her son to meddle with the wrong type of crowd. Then again, who knows what she was she was thinking. All I know is, it was something “cool”. Some act so I can be “in” with the crowd. You see, I actually liked going out with friends. Either hanging out in the movies, where they had Tekken 3 for only a quarter, or meeting new people, who are five times out ten, are pretty good looking. So I guess my mom wasn’t entirely wrong when she said that all I wanted to do was to hang out with friends. And that I only made the excuse that my step father hit me on the chest three or four times, and strangled me until my back was up against the wall just because I spilt blue ink all over the white walls (this occurred in the span of less than a week). That was because my older sister didn’t want to sign my detention slip for the day, so out of frustration I chunked that blue sign pen across the floor and made a mess. I should’ve ran away the day that happened, but something inside me made want to stick it out until the weekend, so that I wouldn’t have to skip class and miss out on the boring subjects. That and they’d have a harder time trying to find me. I admit that I did want to hang out with friends for a while. But I guess what hurt the most was my mom read half my mind. She said “you just ran away because you just needed an excuse so you can go out as much as you like”. She may have forgotten that I wanted to go out as much as like over the weekend, but I guess that’s not the point. If I could only go back to that day, I would’ve told myself then and there that I should’ve left right after, even if it was a school day, just so my reason would have been more credible, that I felt like running away because I didn’t like the way I was being treated. So I think it goes to show how plainly stupid I was when I was a kid yet again.

Yosi Break

A long day of school with just a short while to stand and wait for a jeepney ride that would most likely be longer than its supposed to be. This calls for a cigarette, he says to himself. Feeling that soothing, hard earned drag flow outwardly mixed with pressures weight, it’s so promising that imagining it is almost as good as living it. He fumbles inside his huge pockets, caverns of oversized jeans, and finds a pack almost crushed to its end. Just one stick is left, and thank god! Sometimes you just have to believe in fate, his inner voice hesitantly echoes. If he hadn’t took so long in the shower earlier this morning, because of an erection that had to be nurtured, and for letting a rather elderly woman take the spot in front of him while standing line for an MRT ticket, then he wouldn’t have been late for class to have had to skip his routine of lighting up one before tackling the day.
What he needs now is fire, or something hot enough to scorch that dry old tip. Yet again, his hands dwell deep into the denim mines, and with a blink of an eye, hits gold. He always preferred matches, especially after that not so pleasant incident when during one hot summer day the whole city melted from the heat, and of course so did his lighter, in which he kept inside the pocket of his bag. He didn’t notice it explode from the heat until he started to feel that someone had just poured boiling spring water on his back. He stood there in the sidewalk, just like what he’s doing now, only that time he was a burning bush, an omen cast down from heaven revealing itself in one of the busiest streets in Manila. Sweaty but patient matrons stood bewildered beside him, almost succumbing to the urge of getting down on their knees and making the sign of the cross, while our modern day Moses was stomping on his bag, trying to kill the fire. Though he only got a slight burn on the back of his neck, nothing that a common ointment couldn’t help, his bag got the worst of it. Half-charred and disposed of as no longer usable. After that, “stick with matches!” is what he always says, “I don’t think it’ll turn on you and plus it makes me look more…whatchamacallit…macho” There’s one left, he can hear it shaking its lonesome sound inside the tiny box. Fate be rejoiced once more! Although how events transpired to give him this one match stick escapes him, unlike the cigarette, he still thanked his lucky stars it was here. He strikes it against the sand paper with a manly gesture, yet nurtures it from being extinguished like a mother. He doesn’t inhale the first puff, in fact he never does. It’s bad for your lungs to inhale a match’s fumes, one of his friends had warned him before.
Just when he’s about to stick that cigarette in his mouth and enjoy that first “real” puff, a slight tap on his shoulder keeps him from doing so. It’s a middle aged man, wearing a brown fisherman’s hat, who just happened to be passing by in need of a light. He liked the way the man slouched down with a half-smile while asking for a slight favor, so he gladly loans his stick for a short while. The man thanked him rather kindly after succeeding in lighting up. This is also something he liked, for people who ask for a light usually just give him a slight grunt, while some just walk away as if no one just did them a favor.
Keeping his eyes towards the oncoming traffic, waiting for the right jeepney to take him home, he could feel the familiar fatigue after a long day start to settle in him. He did have to run from one end of the school to the other early this morning without anything to eat, plus he didn’t get much sleep last night because of a really good movie shown on TV. O well, at least the days’ over and done with. I did survive didn’t I? Thinking about his relief, he remembers the cigarette in his hand, which only adds to a more comforting thought.
He places his last stick between his fingers and lets the rest of his arm complete the process in its own volition of placing this white cigarette, burning red on its tip with such a fragrance to behold, on his dry and tired lips. With just an inch away from satisfaction, a taxi stops to a screeching halt, just an arms length from where he’s standing. The little beat up white car with yellow stripes that have seen better days is packed with noisy and energetic high school students. Still in their school uniforms, it looks like the whole gang skipped a day of class today, and their excursion is far from over. One by one they exit the taxi; the driver has on a face which shows a sigh of relief while gathering from the six students the total fare. The second to the last to get out and set foot on the concrete is the one that catches his eye. She’s pretty well developed for a high school girl. Her breasts teasingly reveals its voluptuous curves underneath that thin white blouse, from the angle of the sunlight he can tell she’s wearing a rather generous baby blue bra. Her long navy blue skirt bulges with a fine arch quite nicely, he thought; maybe she failed a year and had to repeat, that would certainly explain some things. Although not all that pretty, according to his taste just a tinge above mediocre, her overall appearance sure does command ones libido. While examining this sultry schoolgirl, a short and lanky boy walks from the taxi towards the one with the cigarette. The boy was polite, actually, too polite, as he addresses him as “po” in a way elders are greeted. Honestly! He’s probably just a year younger, and he’s quite convinced that he doesn’t look old for his age. However, despite the accidental insult, he silently offers his cigarette. The little bastard’s probably desperate for a smoke. The moment a thick white cloud rises from the boy’s mouth, another one takes the source, then another, then another as if passing an Olympic torch. Of course they’re having such a good time that they grow oblivious to the fact that the cigarette they’re passing around belongs to someone else who is outside their circle of juvenile delinquents, not to mention that its his last stick. A few of them exchange a few words before lighting up, while some wait for their laughter to fade away before placing a cigarette in their mouth. The girl who caught his eye is the last one to take his stick. She definitely takes her time, shuffling through her pink purse, looking where her pack is placed in that jungle of no man’s land. All six of them smoke, he thought to himself, but not one of them has a light. He dwells on this a bit, but drops the matter suddenly. Some anomalies are best left untouched, or aren’t worth wracking your brain with at all. Finally, with the last one’s Capri lit, he gets his cigarette back like it was on layaway. He watches the group scurry along towards the university mall, and at the moment his eyes dawn upon his hand, he sees it holding a cigarette that’s already more than half burned.
Wanting to savor whatever’s left he immediately takes a puff while still scanning the road for the right vehicle to board. But just when he can taste the smoke lingering in his mouth, just waiting for his lungs to take it all in, he suddenly bursts with a surprised laugh, opening his mouth and letting the still unsavored puff waste away into the open air. He recognizes his friend who just came from inside the campus, but definitely not what he’s wearing. “Why the hell are you dressed like that?!” he asks his friend. Seeing his friend in fiery red tights which covers his whole body from neck to ankle, making his ribs and even his balls protrude is enough for him to boast out laughing, as he takes the image all in. His friend taps him with his equally red plastic pitchfork as a form of greeting, and then tells him that they have some costume party for their organization, which explains why he looks like a crimson rat with horns. Still laughing out loud he lends his friend the cigarette, seeing that placing pockets on such a ridiculous outfit may prove to be impossible, his friend just took one stick for a quick smoke forgetting to bring a lighter. As his friend lights his own cigarette using his, he can already see the jeepney he’s supposed to board just making a u-turn across the street. He gets his coins ready for the fare, still chuckling at the sight of his friend. Deciding at least to take one first and last “real” puff before halting the jeepney, his elation comes to an abrupt stop as he watches his friend handing him back his cigarette while apologizing for accidentally putting it out as he tried to light up. Nevertheless, he holds the unlit butt in his hand, and stares at it with disdain. The jeepney stops just a few steps away from him, right after he waves at it with the same hand holding what is left of his last stick of pleasure. His friend bids him farewell as the devil scrambles back into the building, probably out to fetch his lighter. He let the butt fall to the ground, not flicking or throwing it, but just letting it drop from his hand, giving it to gravity. He steps on it and smudges it with his right foot, exactly the way how he puts out all his cigarettes as a final act to a satisfying fragment of time. See you tomorrow, have fun at your party, he says to his friend with great casualness as he slowly climbs into the jeepney to start his long and tiring journey back home.

Random Tales From Youth #4

I think it would be safe to say that we’ve experienced, at on time or another, a situation that was well beyond its proper place in our lives to happen. Like when your grandfather lets you have a sip of beer at the age of six, or- being a virgin- letting your uncle pay a rather fine looking Japanese stripper dry hump you until you feel that that moment was something more special than anything else, and you end up calling it being in love. I don’t remember exactly when my attraction to the opposite sex became sturdier than solid rock, but I know it came earlier than it was expected or supposedly should have occurred. If I was to sketch that certain period it would be my best guess to say that it dawned upon me between my first and second year at grade school. I used to get, at the very least, eight hours of sleep so I always had ample time to dream away. It was one of those dreams that played out in succession, meaning that it had different episodes that did not necessarily connect with one another. I can’t remember what came before or possibly after, but all I can recall vividly is this one part which haunted me until my waking day, and all the way until today. For some strange reason, as most of our dreams go, I found myself being a spectator. I don’t know where I was, but all the people were wearing tall white furred hats and blue soldier jackets with yellow outlining adorned with the same white fur along the edges. They were mounted on white horses on a brown, and dignified, saddle. Some of them had swords, but any further details would have already likely escaped me since this is, as I speak, more than a decade old dream. They were all men except for one; for some reason the one girl that stood out, despite the fact that she was some ruler of some sort as the rest of the soldiers mentioned, shared the same features as the girl that was in my soccer team, who I grew fond of looking at throughout the weekends. She was in a predicament during my dream sequence. Of course, strangling logic, in my dream I darted to ask for her hand in marriage. She said yes immediately, seeing that it was my dream, but only after a certain task be done. She told me she couldn’t be free until a pebble was laid in the center of a three inch deep well, a well without water. One of her soldiers had to place that pebble that looked more like a skipping stone right in the center while riding a horse that ran as fast as it could. She only agreed to wed me only if she was free. The scenes played out in the best cinematography my young mind could handle. The camera panned in and zoomed out, until it came to one shot which focused on the three inch well while one of the soldier’s horse was steadily pacing itself towards the camera. I know I stole that shot from some animated movie I’ve seen, but I still can’t remember which one. But with that scene, which has left imprints in me until today, the pebble was finally set and freedom for my future wife was bestowed. All were elated with such celebrations, however the catch was more than I could handle. She, my future wife, shriveled into an old and helpless woman instantaneously. I felt I dug myself into a rather large ditch. I couldn’t say no to marry her then, since I was the one who asked in the first place. I was speechless and practically dumbfounded. Luckily I woke up just in time. Though the strange thing is, the first words that came from my head when I was already wide awake were “I need a girl to meet”. I wasn’t that proficient with English during that time, so I guess what I meant was “Shiet, I want sum of dem ladies to kick it wid, ya kno wut I’m sayin?”. No matter how that dream left an impression, it was so out of place. Call it way ahead of its time. Then again, I had my first erection long before I knew what to do with it.

Random Tales From Youth #3

Most of the time, I didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing. Whatever it was that I thought I knew, I only did it half-knowingly. I knew I hated competing, or having to be competitive. When I would play soccer, I had more fun playing skirmishes in practices than actual games, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have fun at games altogether. I just wouldn’t play as hard if it didn’t feel like it was fun, and I had a hell of a time in some games. I didn’t care either if I never scored a goal in a single game; coach said I was more of a defense kind of person. But still, I wouldn’t have minded if I scored at least one. So how come, on some occasions, I would feel challenged, even angry, when someone else gets praised for being good? During games, when my teammate would score a goal I’d be as happy as he was, but during practice if he was having a good skirmish I fought for that ball like an animal. How come I wanted practice to always go my way? I simply didn’t know why, all I knew is that it was all part of the fun factor. You can say I was a pretty stupid kid back then. I knew that I never wanted for myself to be someone great or greater than someone, because frankly I didn’t know what it meant just like I didn’t know that the word envy existed (yet). All I knew was that play was fun and so was praise. But praise was just a part of it that just came my way, I wasn’t going to go and look for it! I had praise on tap back then. All I needed to do was daydream.

Random Tales From Youth #2

Praying to God was something I did every night. I would pray about lots of things, mostly asking though. Maybe I was just an arrogant kid who didn’t know how to say “sorry”. First I would pray for my Tita Annie to get better, she had breast cancer, then I would ask if God could give me the skills or to let me finish King of Fighters 94 without continuing once, and to top it all off I’d ask the favor of blessing everyone in the entire world, just to save time because it would be too long for me to name those people that I knew, and I didn’t want to leave anyone behind. And so “Yes”, I told God, even Saddam Hussein should be blessed.

Random Tales From Youth #1

I remember once that all I needed was to go back to the forest and take the woodcutters axe so that I can cut down some trees and fix the bridge. I had to pretend sick that day so that I would be able to go home. School that day was as boring as it could be, and I just couldn’t fix the feeling out of me that I finally knew the answer to my troubles. So I chopped down some wood from some unfortunate, and pixilated, tree and took it all the way to the river and then to the threshold of the broken bridge. But just before the bridge was fixed, my dad was already standing behind me, at the doorway to my room. I wasn’t allowed to play videogames on weekdays then, and I was supposed to be “sick” after all. “Turn it off” he said. I did what I was told, but only after I saved my game. He took the whole console away, and told me that I was grounded “indefinitely”. I can’t remember what I felt then. But I could remember how frustrated I was when I couldn’t get pass the bridge before, same as how delighted I was when someone told me how to fix the bridge. It took them six weeks to make repairs, and also before I could cross it and go to the largest city called “Meribia”. I think it was the first day of Thanksgiving weekend that I got it back. I woke up and there it was, the Sega CD, on the futon couch, with a note from my dad that I happened to have lost.

Alice on Alice

It tingles first within my mouth
And makes its way beneath my toes.
With a curiouser, and curiouser sense
I stand and face the window,
And there, with hungry yellow eyes,
Drool the Jabberwocky without disguise!
I flee like a sparrow
As it breaks from every shard of glass.
Outside the darkness spreads amongst
The eX-rays of light that came to pass.
I worry not now for good advice
Whilst in the chase these magic Mushrooms
Do provide
All the answers I need for now.
I take as much as my throat would allow
Then watch the blacktop below
Grow in depth.
Smaller, smaller, smaller,
The size of my feet grows smaller,
Distancing themselves with my sight.
Until a branch and a solid
Thud greet my head.
With a sudden fright,
I shrink backwards
Not from atop but from below
And fast I fall from the height
I was just bestowed!
The Jabberwocky’s mouth
Catches me within its jaws.
I say: this October does not behold
Such a golden afternoon
After all…

Im too lazy to think of a title...

Keep these notions most pure to you,
Spare your white doves
From their rusted cage at least this night,
For our hotel – motel – love.

Let your gentle hands tug my sleeves
Before tearing, and
Ripping, and
Shredding every inch of fabric
That hides my skin. And
These nails, now talons scratch
Into my flesh, burying deeper
While tracing the neon lights
Which shines from
outside the window pane.
This thing, red
With lust, glows now before you.
Let you be the snake to prey
On this rat.

Let desire
Bridge this holy gap,
Which stands foreboding.
Allow trespass to your sanctity,
As we join our bodies as one
Sin.

Untitled

It was probably the storm that drove everyone out of their homes. The pounding of the rain on roof tops proved to be trying on their part, for they have all been stuck within the confines of their walls for at least the whole day; and the wind, of course strong and uninviting, came more welcomed than could be expected. For as long as anyone could remember, heat had been growing more incessant day by day and even days that came after, so who would have complained of those winds that may have seemed to prove fatal? It chased away the heat after all.
Whenever the rain let up, it was an opportunity. One that may have made everyone hungry; everyone wanted a bite to eat all of a sudden; thinking back, I really could not conclude as to why everyone else wanted to go out and eat. Maybe it was the wind, or the boredom, or maybe it even was the lighting of the sky, the darkness made every brightly lit fast food restaurant appear as a haven. But it would be useless to try to make ends of the reason for everyone else’s actions. All it mattered to me was that the storm had let up, for who knows how much longer, and me as well as my friends were hungry.
We all decided to meet that night just a few blocks away from the nearest Mcdonalds. Seeing how that the streets were so closely intertwined with each other I guess it would not make a difference if I mentioned that we met right across the street, only a few establishments away. The night was at its prime; the clouds, illuminated by something else other than the stars or the moon, and the street lamps were all we had to be able to distinguish ourselves from each other. The yellowish lights that revealed more shadows than real contours of features were just enough to show you which one of your friends was already standing next to you, waiting for the rest so you could all come inside and grab something to eat. I was not aware how long it was taking for the rest to arrive, my cigarette kept me busy; I watched the smoke appear only to disappear when it broke free of the light. Usually, whenever I find the need to feed myself while smoking a cigarette the common thing that gave evidence to my hunger was the cigarette itself; whenever I inhaled a puff of smoke I could feel the hollowness of my stomach as smoke traveled within the depths of me; to feel it appear inside only to feel it disappear, and watch it exit from my airways. But at that time I could not feel anything hollow inside me, in fact I was not even sure if I was hungry; still I paid the matter no attention.
When there were finally five of us, and after teasing the one who came the latest, we started to make our way to the place. Like I pictured it to have been, our walk did not take very long. The lights from the place that distinguished themselves from the street lights as well as the darkened street was within our eye’s reach in no time. I decided to walk a little faster than everyone else for just the reason of walking faster; I still could not feel my hunger. I reached the threshold of the parking lot when my friends were just about to cross the street to head where I already was; and to my surprise and disgust the place was packed. It would not be an exaggeration to say that every inch of the small space that place offered was occupied, not one person was sitting and the seats and tables were all missing. From where I was standing I could already see through the large windows that the way all those nameless people stood, it seemed that they could not even avoid poking elbows at each other whenever one reached for their pockets; they were all facing towards the counter, and not one moved forward, even those who stood in line stood as still as everyone else. The only space that was between them was when the shapes of their bodies curved only to reveal another part of someone standing next to it and another one standing next to the other one. I know this all was not out of the ordinary, for if a place serves really good food then it is quite understandable that it will attract a really good amount of people; that would have made it all appear as normal except that not one of them had at least a morsel of food at their possession, nor did anyone appear to have been chewing something, not even a piece of gum.
Before I was to turn around and inform my friends that the place would not be able to accommodate not even one of us, and start my ranting that I was not prepared to wait in such a long line as well as let them know of my disgust for I was never in favor of such crowded places wherever or whatever it may be, my attention was called upon by a woman who appeared to be an employee of that place. She was in full uniform standing all alone in the wet parking lot holding a fair sized plastic bag of boxes that carried the logo of the place. Her presence at that time made sense, seeing the place could not offer anymore space, the staff resorted to taking orders outside. Just like when a line towards the register would be too long, a staff member would navigate through the line taking the orders of the one who were placed in the middle; it was more effective this way in order to save time in serving the people. “Good evening sir” as she welcomed me with a trained smile to the permanent extension of the place. Before I was able to think of what I wanted to order she hands me the plastic bag that she had been carrying. “It’s a free sample” she says while still keeping that smile of hers, by this time my friends were already where I was, and all of them reflected the same shock and disgust as I had at first. In a way it pleased me to have received this bag full of free samples but unfortunately by looking at the boxes I knew already what was inside them before even opening them. They were most likely filled with the common things that were usually ordered by most people; sadly this was not what I had in mind, by this time I had already made my decision as to what I wanted to have. My friends looked quizzically at the bag I had in my hand and were asking me exactly what it was. I paid them no mind at the moment for I was already ready to order, I told the staff member that I wanted a quarter-pounder with cheese before she even asked me for what I wanted; suddenly her face shifted to that of regret, and indeed it still looked as if she had been trained in doing so. “umm..I’m sorry sir it would have to cost you 1,500 pesos”; I do not know if it was because of my friends who were all starting to annoy me with their questions about the plastic bag, or if it was the insanely high price that she gave me for a burger, or both that made me want to hear what she told me again. “Im sorry due to supply and demand we had to raise our prices”; the moment she finished her statement my friends and I were in a state of non belief, not knowing what to make of it at the least. I knew there was no use in haggling for a decent price, so I simply tried to choose a different item from the menu, and to my greater surprise it was all out of stock. I was starting to become annoyed at the ridiculousness of what was happening, I even considered purchasing a quarter-pounder with cheese despite of its price, thinking that it may just be the most delicious burger I shall ever taste, but to my regret I did not even have enough money to pay for a fraction of it. So I turned around in order to head back home and tried to please myself with the thought of having at least a free sample in my hand. When I walked towards my friends they all gathered around me like vultures, all four of them swarming around, enveloping me from all sides, grabbing what they can from the bag. The plastic rustled loudly with the chaos of it all, hands were flinging around as if they were fighting; of course, the owners of these hands were no strangers to me, however seeing them flail and move in such a violent way that I could barely make out the sight that beheld itself before me made it seem that they had a life of their own. When finally they each had their share I saw that there was just one box left inside the now almost hollow bag; I did not let myself grow angry, for I was willing to share the contents with them in the first place, all they needed to do was ask. I held what was left and threw away the bag, letting the wind catch it and carry it away to some place I can no longer see. In an almost simultaneous manner we all opened the boxes that each of us held, and just the same as we opened the boxes, all our faces held on to an expression of shock. It did not contain what I expected it to have, and seeing the looks on my friend’s faces, which was all almost comical even at the time, they did not find much either. Corn chips were all that were inside. Plain and simple: yellow, salted, crumby, bite sized, un- flavored. I counted how many my box contained, there were exactly eight; I do not know if my friends counted theirs as well. We all stood there in the wet and windy parking lot with the promise of the storm coming back that hovered over our heads, almost in a perfect circle holding our boxes for a while before deciding to devour every single piece as fast as we could; seeing every piece appear between our finger tips only to watch it disappear into our mouths and into the depths of our bowels.
The next morning I could see through the window that the storm had already passed, it was not able to keep its promise after all; now its probably somewhere else, bothering a different set of people, or maybe it just eventually evaporated, back to the winds and the atmosphere from where it came; it lingers there waiting for another opportunity to return; to make me hungry once more.