Ilustrado

I handed my sister a nice, clean envelope with a month’s worth of my savings. She smiled and thanked me. We ordered Jolibee’s palabok (bean noodles in yellow sauce) like we didn’t have shrimp allergies.

“Why are you doing it?” she asked me while chewing her food. I thought it’d help her keep quiet but turns out she’s curious too.

“What are you referring to?” I asked then swallowed a mouthful of noodles.

“Writing thesis for other people…your part time job, right?” she said then continued to eat. She stirs her iced tea with a plastic straw.

I smiled. “They don’t want to do it. So I do it for them. That’s essentially why people pay for services. They give away jobs that they hate.”

She frowned. My sister is young. She wants to finish school so I have to send her to one. NGO jobs do not pay much. I have to pay for the housing loan, attend grad school, and contribute to household expenses.

“That’s not the way to help people. You are doing them harm than good in the long run,” she commented with sternness and conviction. But I am not hurt.

“There are two reasons why people go to school. First, they just needed a job after graduating. But schools these days don’t teach anything. See, they teach you Literature so you’d buy these books and pile them under your bed,”

My sister eyed me. “We make book reports.”

I continued to chew my food. “That doesn’t help trees.”

“You don’t have to be so cynic. You are sending me to school too,” she said with emphasis.

“There’s a second reason why we send the youth to school. That’s so they can marry the right persons at the right time.” I said right away without blinking.

“What about Jose Rizal? I think he didn’t need a job. He didn’t do it for marriage either. They said he’s wise and a genius,” she mused.

“Are you still hungry? Common. Jose Rizal? Who’s that? I don’t even owe him my freedom,” I muttered under my breath. “What was it exactly that he did? Yeah…I remember. He died dramatically for us.”

My sister smirked this time. She finished her Palabok.

“I’m going to the rest room,” she said standing up. She pushed her tray away and was gone.

She was gone like forever then appeared again across me at our table.

“Why do you have to be so negative about everything? I was only asking about your part time job,” she said somewhat resolutely.

I laughed. “You don’t always have to take me seriously, sis.”

She made a face and then throws me some of those fries.

Morphing

Love chapters closed. Life in one of the world’s most livable city puzzles me in nights such as this. It’s a bit before nine. There’s the usual rush of people trying to get themselves home which is actually one of these things—room, boarding houses, street—if not the real one.

I wish I am not seeing these street kids playing along Quirino. Their lives are just playgrounds to many people. They are just places to feel pity so we make monsters human again. Ah! I don’t believe there are pure intentions anymore. I don’t like to hear about free rice porridge being served to fight hunger…while the meat of the rich takes too much water and land from the world.

But I had Lachi’s “unforgettable grilled pork ribs” and sour cream cheesecake. That’s actually 224.00 pesos which is more than half of my day’s calculated earnings. No wonder I was poor. I spend too much on food only to go hungry before the next payday. Plus, I am not forgetting that it takes gallons of water to produce a piece of meat. I have done the next generation an unforgivable sin.

Honestly, I thought about going vegetarian or whatever. The salad vegetables are too expensive plus the cost of making those nice dressings is quite unbelievable. If only I can eat raw squash in vinegar. I’ve tried cucumber. It’s fun at first but gets too sour after a while.

Really. These kids channel bad energies. I fear my veins will rupture any minute now. I am thinking of ugly, morbid, scenes. All because of the homeward rush.

I called father a week ago. I said I can’t be home for a few more months. I said I have work to do and that I am kind of promoted. There’s a salary increase of course. But that only means extra stress. He sounded a little worried so I faked a laugh. I’m sure he didn’t fall for it. But I was obliged to at least try.

I thought of telling him I have a new part-time job. And that it’s messy and difficult and dangerous. Not strictly legal. But it’s something the world needs. It’s something I wanted for a long time too. It would be nice if I hear him say that I can still be his daughter after I am done. But with that, I’m sure he’ll be curious. So I said I’m hanging up instead. Then there‘s a couple of beeps before I rushed back to reality.

Ah! Davao. Such a mystery. People feel safe at night as if some force keeps the “harm” away. There’s no one to rob your phone in the darkest of streets. But is your future secure? There were few who’d take things from your home. But is your family safe from flash floods, water scarcity, or landslides?

Crimes are committed without shedding a drop of blood. It’s not strictly illegal. But it’s something to be accounted for.

It’s a little over 9 o’clock and I am morphing like the night.