Jiminy da Cricket's tires make a nice, homey sound against the bricks as I make my way around the curb of the network lobby to pick up a friend who was chatting with Ella, a former colleague who came down from the windowless Republic of Public Affairs office to hand me a gift from Tiffany, my former associate producer who just left for Singapore again and who, in a couple of months, is London-bound. (I know I am a stickler for short sentences but heck, I just promised to break some rules this year and now is a good time as any to do it.)
"Oh my God, you look so good! What have you been doing?" Ella says upon seeing me. Funny how she didn't say I gained a few pounds, which has been the usual observation by people who worked with me for a long time and who remain unaware of my thyroid condition.
"I don't work here anymore," I said, which made her and my friend laugh out loud. My mind drifts off and I remember Ellen, who looked so damn good and brimmed with positive energy months after she left the same job as mine. People regain their zest for life and happy disposition after leaving the network. Don't get me wrong. I loved my network job. I learned a lot while I was there. It's just that it takes away a lot from you, strangles you with details and pressures only a few outsiders will understand. But it also gives you the humbling opportunity to change lives, hopefully for the better. Oh, we did destroy a lot of lives and reputation, albeit justly, in the quest for truth and justice and good old clean taho. (Now I'm drifting, which I hate in scripts).
"Let's watch 'Desperadas,'" my friend says as I drive out, and I groan. I don't watch Filipino movies that often. Hardly any the past decade. But knowing how busy she is, and how rare her free time is, I primed myself for some IQ-insulting scenes and plots and lines, magnified by the big screen for two excruciating hours. We agreed to have a pitcher of margarita (perhaps to dull my acerbic tongue a bit) before seeing the movie.
"How was your Christmas break?" she asks as I park.
"I'm still on Christmas break," I said.
And so we talked about love and failed affairs and nameless men who go missing for an hour and a half and the trauma of children whose fathers are brought home dead at sunset after leaving alive and healthy one early afternoon. Of sundowns that should not be met with darkened rooms because it causes intense pain and sadness. Of other men who make plans and weave dreams but never take a step to make them happen and who pull you back from your friends and change who you are. Of passions that have cooled and things that are unsaid but haunt a place like ghosts that surface when you least expect them.
"I read your blog and I found it weird that you had to include falling in love in your list of things to do this year," she says.
"Because I don't. I write it down every year and fail at it every year. I don't fall in love, no matter how hard I try," I said.
"Why not?"
"Experience," I said.
We leave the bar and driving to the mall, I almost get a ticket for using a PUJ-only lane. Funny how I've lived in QC for decades now and I still don't know the rules of the road. We got off by begging. Whew!
We had a few minutes to spare so she showed me around Trinoma and we took pictures at the garden like a couple of what I call baryotic jologs prom di prabins. Some parts are beginning to reek of urine, a testament to the visit by some authentic jologs who, like untrained dogs, have lifted one hind leg and marked a territory.
The margarita, dang too expensive as it was, didn't work its magic. It was too dang sweet and needed more shots of tequila to make me relax amid the assault of bad acting and senseless plot and poor blocking. (Ruffa, your nasal delivery of your lines and overacting make me want to want my money back, and I didn't even pay for the tickets. And please lose the Imeldific outfits. Also, the script didn't establish the characters and their situations adequately).
The movie did have its funny moments -none of them with Ruffa- which were too few to justify what my friend paid for us to see it. "Puwede na rin," my friend says, "at least we supported the industry where some of our friends work," she says. I wanted to reach for more tequila. Me bad. Me not think of that.
I drove her home and I made a mental note of how happy she is with the changes she has made in her life.
I got home and opened Tiffany's gift. A candle holder that illuminates a lighthouse. She remembers. I hate darkness at sundown.
I love my life. I love my friends. Now let's hope I fall in love.
