Caustic Thoughts

Random funny thoughts with a taste of Pinoy and a hint of acid.

If Only Kids Were Self-Developed

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Can human kids self-develop too?

After reading Arnel Pineda’s story, I concluded that nearly everyone has abilities they can use to become successful. Even young stars who sing in the key of O (as in Off) have the uncanny ability to send teens into fits of delirium with the judicious introduction of dimples in a chorus. But just when I decided to take a shot at fame and fortune, life throws a wrench into my plans.

My bid for success will have to wait because my two kids and their nanny got food poisoned. Faster than we could sing, “I ate that moldy piece of beef and I liked it,” their bodies attempt to flush out the toxins and then it’s me with a cleaning cloth versus an endless gush of bodily solids, liquids and gases.

I hadn’t seen so many Xs since high school algebra.

It didn’t take long before we had to rush one kid to the hospital for rectal bleeding and severe dehydration. We were required to force both kids to consume so much medication that I hadn’t seen so many Xs (from the Rx) since high school algebra. Since then, my eye bags have begun to grow in layers as if the first layers gave birth to second layers and had grand kids, the third layers.

I now know that being a parent is THE full time job. Everything else from pursuing a career to brushing my teeth must be done on my free time. Even when the kids aren’t sick, it takes so much time, effort, patience and resources to take care of them and raise them right.

In my case, it’s tempting to be a bad parent and resort to shortcut parenting. By that I mean:

*When my daughter asks for help with math problems involving numbers above ten
Response: Go ask your father.

*When my kid asks where babies come from
Response: The FedEx guy just leaves them in doorsteps.

*When my toddler is still having difficulty forming words
Solution: Turn on the TV and let him watch Justice League for hours until he can say Batman flawlessly.

*When the kids fight downstairs while I’m working upstairs
Solution: I scream to the top of my lungs, “What’s going on?” Followed by, “Whatever that is, NO!”

*When kids get frightened by a gigantic prehistoric looking cockroach
Solution: Run to the hills and hope someone else kills it.

I suppose this was what our moms were trying to warn us about when they told us, “Don’t get married and have kids before you’re physically, mentally, emotionally and financially ready.”

But you know how messages get delivered between moms and their grownup children. Somewhere in the space between our mothers’ mouths and our ears, the warning not to have kids unprepared got translated to, “I’ll nag you every single day about this.” So we left and had kids of our own.

Kids aren’t born self-developed like Prony from Bohol. All they come packaged with are extra doses of cuteness, but that kinda helps. Every time things get difficult I see how adorable and cute they are and somehow I lose the heart to go ballistic or use shortcut parenting.

Lessons from Arnel Pineda

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arnel pineda
The courage to rock!

Growing up, I wanted to be a rock star. That was until I found out I was afflicted with such a chronic form of shyness that I could only really sing to inanimate objects like rocks, trees and a husband watching NBA.

Fine, I thought. I’d be happy to just be a bar singer instead, but I realized that compared to the existing talent pool, my voice sounds like the croaking of a frog with a sore throat and a blocked windpipe.

So I gave up on my dream, determined to make life bearable by looking forward to the breakfasts, lunches and dinners that are the main diversions to my endless workdays. I now only trawl YouTube on weekends for songs to sing when there’s no one within hearing range to cripple with my croaking.

It was on one of these closet singing sessions that I first came across Arnel Pineda’s cover of Heart’s Alone, a song that elicits pity when brave but less gifted singers start to look like they’re about to spit out their tonsils or lose their sanity. As soon as Pineda flawlessly belts out the heart attack inducing wail, AAAAHHLLOOOWNNN… I was a goner and what followed was two days of watching all his videos.

Of course I heard the news when he became Journey’s lead vocalist but other than rejoicing in his good fortune, I paid little attention. I WAS not a Journey fan. I once likened the experience of listening to their overplayed ballads to overdosing on hard cheese.

His life story was therefore a fairly recent discovery for me: homeless and living on scraps at 13; singing in bars at 15; descending into vice and losing his voice at 27; rallying to patch up his life and attempting to start a career but giving up the dream at 40. Enter Neal Schon who finds his cover videos online and invites him for an audition. He gets the job.

Happily ever after? Not quite for this Cinderella in tight pants and leather boots on the other end of the gender spectrum. Listen to his interviews and you’ll realize this is not a simple success story.

A poor man from Manila gets plucked from obscurity and is thrust before rock demigods. Not long after that, he is made to sing before 18,000 live viewers for the first time, a figure that dramatically dwarfs his usual bar audience. 

After this initial trial by fire, he repeatedly performs before thousands more, including unforgiving and vocal critics who cannot accept his presence in an all American band and that he is wearing the shoes of the legendary Steve Perry.

All of a sudden you realize that his life isn’t an invitation for everyone with a dream to upload videos of themselves singing (or hyperventilating) to Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. It isn’t a suggestion that you “don’t stop believin’” you’ll eventually hit those notes if you squint your eyes just a little more.

The message is a lot simpler than that. Courage. Nothing will happen to your life if you do not have the foresight to recognize opportunity and the courage to go after it.   

I’ll probably never be a rock star now but I have other talents besides inducing ear infections among my listeners. I resolve to have the courage to chase my happiness. I deserve to give myself a chance.

A Series of Unfortunate Events – Santiago, Barretto, Tulfo Airport Brawl

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Claudine Barretto NAIA scuffle
Talk about unflattering angles.

Last week’s alarming news that Chinese ships were patrolling Scarborough (Panatag) Shoal was promptly eclipsed by the tussle that transpired over the airport floor. Instead of updates about the conflict with China, we were assaulted by replays of a rumble that had been shown in every conceivable angle, left, right, over and under.

The video of the scuffle had so often been repeated, I can now almost memorize the size of Claudine’s hips as they appeared on the clip. It was more than a mere fist fight, mind you. There were legs, feet and other body parts flying in violence everywhere, which probably explains its greater mass appeal over serious discussions about our diplomatic relations with China.

Like a record in perpetual loop, the story repeats itself in our heads. Cebu Pacific offloads the luggage of showbiz couple Claudine Barretto and Raymart Santiago. Barretto confronts ground staff and is photographed in the act by broadcaster Mon Tulfo. The couple face off with Tulfo and a fight ensues. The scene is so violent, it should have found its way into the final cut of the Hunger Games.

Santiago wraps his arm around Tulfo and we are treated to the sight of Barretto’s generous backside as she and her friend descend upon their prey to pound an all natural patch over his eye.

The series of unfortunate events don’t end there. Because of what happened, Santiago’s children are in a state of shock, the berated clerk is in a sad emotional state, security guards may lose their jobs and Tulfo’s broadcaster brothers were suspended over public threats against the couple.

At the end of it all, they’re all more traumatized than nuns in a Lady Gaga concert, so much so that they all now require counseling, probably including the executives of TV5 who have temporarily lost a show and 3 anchors.

Enter netizens who, since the birth of social media, now feel the urge to constantly display their knack for bad grammar, lack of breeding and abundant ignorance in the guise of exercising their right to their opinions — “Tulfo s sach a jerk. Santiago must bows to his olders and Barretto should keep away from extra rice.”

My take in all this? Suspend judgment. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it. You weren’t involved and even if you were, there’s no telling if you’d act in a less disgraceful manner or if you’d look more videogenic than Barretto. We should all just donate some cash for the purchase of a CCTV camera for the airport.

While we were all glued to this drama by the way, did anyone notice that new Chinese flag flying over Panatag Shoal?

What K+12 Education in the Philippines Means to Me

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K+12 Education in the Philippines
Teddy has to go to school with little Johnny

I was in my daughter’s school last Friday when I came across a story more frightening than The Omen, The Exorcist or Anne Curtis’ singing. I was told the Aquino administration is dead set on adding 2 more years to high school.

From all appearances, there’s probably a greater chance of Aquino growing more hair than his changing his mind about this. Sadly, only beautiful women can say no to Aquino. His cabinet members and the entire nation must follow his bidding, or else thou shalt be impeached, fired or humiliated during public speeches. Our only comfort is in making fun of his sparsely adorned scalp. Hooray for Philippine democracy.

My brothers, sister and I each only completed 16 years of school but I remember my mom had to pay blood and sweat for every single year. She sold everything from sandwiches to magic beans to send us to school. If she could ride a unicycle she would have if someone paid her to do it.

I only have one kid in school now but every time I get the monthly school statement of accounts, my vision starts to dim, I go partially deaf, and I start speaking gibberish. My fellow parents and I call this the tuition fee syndrome.

It’s not just the cost of sending kids to school that’s the issue though. They’ve adjusted the recommended ages for the grade levels too. If kids should ideally be 5 years old when they graduate from Kinder 2, that means Kinder 1 kids should be 4 years old. Kids optionally sent to Nursery class for socialization and skills preparation have to be 3 years old. Toddler classes then will have to accept 1 to 2 year olds.

My youngest will be three years old in a couple of months and he can’t talk, thinks everything is edible, still drops little odor-filled pellet surprises when he forgets what the potty is for and thinks he’s the Batman. If my kid had to take an entrance exam now for admission in his current state, I know I’d be the first to cry. 

Even if admission tests and requirements are scaled down so young kids can pass, parents will still have to pack milk bottles, diapers, baby wipes and teddy bears along with the usual cookies and juice for their kids. That’s just another way of saying small kids aren’t ready.

Aquino says the Philippines is one of the few countries with just 4 years of high school. We need to add 2 more years to improve the quality of education. Don’t we have highly respected Filipino nurses, doctors, educators, chefs and engineers thriving in foreign environments abroad? Aren’t these people the products of four year high school programs? It’s not in the number of years. It’s in the quality of education and in the way we teach kids how to deal with the realities of life.

Are you ready for school little boy? Only if they teach me my ABCs in the Batcave. To the Batcave! 

Rockets, Ships and Transgender Miss Universe

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a mic named Mike
Mike will soon be able to declare his desire for world peace on the Miss U stage

Last week’s top three news items:

#1 – NoKor’s rocket launch

Yes it failed but before it did, it sent neighboring Asian countries into red alert status. While South Korea and Japan prepared their defense systems, National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC) director Benito Ramos could do nothing more than demonstrate to media how to detach ballpen caps.

“Imagine this ballpen is a rocket. This here is the part that comes off. Now you better pray you aren’t unlucky enough to be the one in 92 million Filipinos who gets a surprise rocket part.”

In fairness to the NDRRMC, rumor has it that they did send a team of specialists over to areas at risk. These specialists are pros in patintero a local game crucial in training residents proper evasive maneuvers. Trainees were asked to look up while darting right and left just like in patintero. If the rocket part is falling your way, simply dart to the left or right.

Taken from Bogart the Explorer’s FB page

#2 – Philippines vs. China standoff at Scarborough Shoal

Chinese fishing vessels and the Philippine’s ancient flagship the BRP Gregorio del Pilar were caught in a standoff on the disputed waters of Scarborough Shoal. Vintage is good and classy but not when it’s in reference to a warship that is the only thing standing between us and China’s wrath.

In an effort to diffuse the situation, President Aquino vowed to resolve the issue through diplomatic channels. That’s obvious enough even to a sixth grader. Armed with nothing but the naval equivalent of a slingshot, we really have no choice.

#3 – Transgender contestants in Miss Universe

Because we know there is nothing our government can do in the face of rocket debris and Chinese fishermen, our citizens saw it best to devote most of their intellectual energies to the scholarly debates over the issue of transgender contestants in Miss Universe.

Surprisingly, I have no opinion about the matter, just the observation that when standing beside my transgender hairstylist I, a natural born female, look like an ugly little boy. That is either a testament to how ugly I am or how beautiful he is. Believe me, it’s the latter. My point is that transgender women are so stunningly beautiful, I wonder if a natural born female will ever win the crown again.

What is the essence of a woman? Answer: Maybe the absence of balls.

Magnum Ice Cream – Grab a Status Symbol Now

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A strange viral infection swept over the web last week. Its aim was to eradicate reason and individuality and manifested itself in multiple blog and social network photos of people in compromising poses, nibbling on Magnum, the newest carrier of forbidden calories.

Gone were the pictures of cute babies; adorable cat videos; photos of breakfast, lunch, dinner; Foursquare invitations to stalkers and the constant rants against life’s unfairness. When there’s just a constant stream of gold labelled ice cream wrappers, you suddenly miss the creepy insights into your friends’ personal lives, whereabouts, mental issues and digestive habits.

I’ve been told that in other cities, the infection is much worse. Elated by the idea that perceived elevated social status can now be bought, urban peacocks take pictures in very public places of before, during and after they consume the ice cream bar.

Magnum is reportedly a status symbol, but what kind of a status symbol is something that’s accessible to everyone? Aren’t status symbols, by their very nature supposed to be too expensive or too rare for the average Joe to have? I therefore suggest that Magnum should be declared a status symbol for the average social status.

In the interest of giving a fair(ly) biased assessment of Magnum, I had to try it. Surprisingly, it was harder to find than a haystack with a needle. It was out of stock in three stores and running out in another, as if people bought them in crates, afraid that if they ran out of it they’d look ordinary, cheap or poor.

For my first bite, I closed my eyes like the TV ad model demonstrated, but there was no consequent awakening to an adoring crowd celebrating my newly discovered royalty. There was only the realization that the name Magnum is a glaring mismatch for a sweet product. It’s a more appropriate name for a mastiff, an action movie or a UFC fighter. Somehow, “Hype” has a softer, more fitting sound.

What was the taste like? Nido full cream milk seemed a tad creamier than the vanilla filling. As for the Belgian chocolate coating, I’m not refined enough to tell the differences among Belgian chocolates, Hersheys, M & Ms and ChocNut, so the distinction was lost on me.

In less than five minutes, all that supposed Belgian superiority was in my digestive system anyway, mixed with the salted dried fish I had for lunch. All I had left was a branded stick. Oh good, I could either have it framed or carry it around to flash in the faces of random strangers.

Grace Ibuna vs. Aleli Arroyo – Fight!

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Rich women don’t have claws. They have lawyers.

In this week’s top news, Toby Tiangco takes off his shoes in court, while Grace Ibuna and Aleli Arroyo finally answer the trivia, “Who gets to bury Iggy Arroyo?”

I would have loved to write about Toby’s feet but ABS-CBN news already has a full page report on that (what an ahhhmazing display of reporting skills) and I have nothing else to add to it except maybe to note that Toby’s blue and purple striped sock heel goes well with his shock of/shocking/shocked grey hair.

I had little choice but to dissect the private lives of Grace, the third wheel who wasn’t, and Aleli, the wife who narrowly escaped an annulment, instead. It’s not my fault they were everywhere this week, in newspapers, television news programs and even in my neighbor’s dog’s Facebook page.

I’m loving that sock heel Toby.

It’s a sad, sad day when news organizations deem a man’s marital laundry to be newsworthy, but that’s less sad than Toby’s feet, and we are after all talking about a late congressman’s laundry here. In today’s society, elevated social status is all the justification you’ll need to pry into someone else’s affairs.

There’s nothing unique about the story really. The husband leaves, starts seeing someone else and dies. The interesting bit starts when the ladies battle it out for the body.

It’s not funny but it’s mildly amusing. There are no episodes requiring the services of bouncers of epic proportions, no scratching of nine inch nails, no tearing of hair and no words deadlier than shrapnel. Instead we see the delicate raising of trimmed eyebrows and the clinking of fine china over legal papers in London, proof that the law has more bite than promises of fidelity at an altar.

Even when they meet in public, hair follicles and makeup remain intact as Grace and Aleli retire to opposite sections of the church with their respective entourages, one group in white and the other in black. The “fight” is so uncharacteristic, it‘s like watching some weird paranormal activity.

Online, the violent reactions are more surprising considering the fact that none of the comment posters are the principal characters in the issue. Among some online circles, the consensus is to condemn the other woman for conduct unbecoming of a third wheel. We are a Catholic nation after all. Grace should emulate President Erap’s women who respectfully give way to the woman who holds the marriage contract (for people who cannot detect sarcasm an inch away, I’m obviously not being serious here) . 

In male offline circles, the type created by bonds forged by 5% alcohol content, the talk is more subdued but in agreement. Perhaps the wife has razor sharp teeth, hence the husband’s exit.

Wait a minute, why does it always have to be the women’s fault? Wasn’t there a dead man somewhere in the story too?

And that’s as far as I go. No one has access to the whole story. It’s time to say, “Mind your own business.”

The Devolution of the Filipino

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Be careful who you let stand beside you. Incompetence is contagious.

The prosecutors of Chief Justice Corona have no evidence and no witnesses. Even a two year old can therefore conclude that they have no case. After making themselves permanent fixtures in humor blogs nationwide they might have belatedly realized this and have now dropped five of the eight articles of impeachment. Nonetheless, they continue to harbor the delusion that they performed spectacularly.

Either they are afflicted with a pathological condition that prevents them from admitting their incompetence or they are trying to save face. After having been called “an insult to the intelligence of Filipinos” by the Lady Senator from Mt. Doom, the desire to preserve whatever shred of dignity they have left seems understandable.

The prosecutors and their congressmen supporters however, possessed by the spirit of justice (Or is it vengeance? Johnny Blaze is that you?), remain unfazed and are determined to cause continued shame to their kith and kin ten times removed and to everyone else named Tupas, Barzaga, Umali, Farinas et.al. They’ve been lectured by the senator-judges so frequently that they’re sure they now have equivalents of PhD degrees in impeachment proceedings.

They also have the support of an anonymous backer in a yellow Porsche who supplies them with enough hallucinogens to help them imagine the evidence and disregard the law better. They’re confident they can do better next year.

Gasp! There’ll be more “most embarrassing moments” next year?

I hope they realize that by that time, Corona will have been able to cover his tracks so that any remaining shard of evidence will have shrunk to plankton.

* * *

In a seemingly unrelated event, people dressed in yellow flocked to the streets over the weekend to commemorate the 26th anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution. While they prayed, sang and cheered, bystanders wondered what all the fuss was about. I have it in good authority that when members of the media asked a handful of these bystanders what EDSA meant to them, some replied that it was synonymous to heavy traffic.

Others who were obviously more engrossed over Pinoy Henyo (name the word on my forehead game) than the country’s history proceeded to ask leading questions in an attempt to guess the meaning of Edsa.

  • Nakakain ba yan? (Is that edible?)
  • Naibebenta ba yan? (Is that something that can be sold?)
  • Naisasanla ba yan? (Is that something that can be pawned?)
  • Agimat ba yan? (Is that a charm?)

I can’t blame Filipinos who don’t have an answer. It’s not their fault that they ran out of school days before they could get to the second half of their history books where the revolution is detailed.

My advice to common folk approached by the media during commemorations of the EDSA Revolution is to run away as fast as they can. Make the mistake of staying for even a minute and they will force a stupid answer out of you that will be immortalized on TV, forever making you the laughing stock of those who know better.

Up in heaven, I can imagine Ninoy crying and Cory comforting him, “There, there… they’ll remember you eventually. You’re printed on 500 peso bills.”

Corona Impeachment Trial Crawls On

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Fishing for evidence. You’ve got to dive deeper than that.
Politics is best experienced with a sense of humor.

I need a radical shift from my sedentary 12-hour workdays. Of course, what I really mean by a radical shift is putting a YouTube playlist on and moving over to the bed behind my workspace with a bag of baby carrots. That’s 5 steps to exercise my muscles and low fat snacks to cut the calories, an astounding improvement from my protracted days of immobility and frequent excursions into large bags of tasty trans fats.

Having been detached from the real world for days I was naturally eager for some good entertainment. Luckily, highlights of Chief Justice Corona’s impeachment trial were multiplying like rabbits online.

My blog lurkers noticeably veer away from posts where I’m waxing poetic about politics. After all, nothing else is better than politics (except maybe for a ride on a Philippine bus) when it comes to inducing distress, nausea and high blood pressure. What many don’t realize though is that, to preserve good health, political topics are best experienced with a sense of humor.

The current impeachment trial has proven funnier than PNoy’s unending search for the girl who can stand having Kris for an in-law. The source of hilarity stems in part from the members of the prosecution being sorely out of their league (like Luke crossing sabers with Emperor Palpatine or Westlife challenging Whitney Houston to a sing along) and so rusty they’ll give you tetanus.

Somebody please tell Rath I found his sister.

Lady Senator from Mount Doom: How many witnesses do you plan to present?
Serafin “Emperor Palpatine” Cuevas: 15
Neil “Baby Luke” Tupas: Uh… can I ask my pals first? I don’t think I have enough fingers to count. (Team Westlife combines fingers and counts by twos…)
Baby Luke: 100 witnesses your honor.
Lady Senator from Mount Doom: My foot! Are you kidding me?

By the time the trial ends they will have killed at least three senators, Enrile by old age, Santiago by cardiac arrest and Lapid by profuse nose bleeding caused by prolonged exposure to English.

Joseph “Justine Bieber” Perez: Did Corona receive special favors from Megaworld? (Prosecutors cross fingers and hope the answer is yes.)
Noli “I Lost My Hair” Perez: No
Justine Bieber: (Turns to his pal) Hey Luke, is he or isn’t he our witness?

That was a stunning display of how a prosecution panel can demolish itself with its own witness.

Then there’s — Fishing for evidence. More fun Funnier in the Philippines.

Prosecution says they received incriminating bank documents from an anonymous small lady who is a no show on the senate CCTV videos. The documents have been called fakes but prosecutors stand by their story, saying that the lady was really so small, smaller than the little girl in Veterans Memorial, that the CCTV cameras couldn’t have picked her up.

Not to be outdone defense claims they also have an anonymous Palace tipster who says PNoy offered 100 million pesos per senator to win them over. At the various expressions of disbelief over the availability of such huge funds, defense says Aquino has a secret plantation of money trees from where the money will come from.

Being an anonymous tipster has become so fashionable I plan to give anonymous information on where the prosecution team can get law books in bulk and where the defense team can get textbooks on drama scriptwriting.

Notwithstanding their “100 million pesos” blunder, the defense lawyers still look like they have the upper hand in skills and common sense. Here then is a collection of pieces of advice for the prosecution…

“Practice makes perfect.” –Senator Geriatric

“If you’re not sure… Just don’t.” –Senator Johnny Come Lately a.k.a. The Late Senator Pimentel

“Hit the law books (or I’ll hit you with them)!” –Lady Senator from Mount Doom

“Confer with your witness before he takes the stand and make sure he’s willing to fry himself in his own oil.” –Senator Geriatric

“Don’t ask a question if you don’t know the answer.” –Some dead law expert quoted by the Lady Senator from Mount Doom.

Corona wipes tears, crocodile or some other animal…

Personally, I think Corona has enough dirty laundry to get himself into trouble. Fortunately for him, there is a shortage of brilliant congressmen and prosecutors. Then again, we’ve only really just begun. Maybe Luke and his team will have evolved into a more intelligent species by the time we reach article 8.

Babe in the City

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Reality survival shows are shot in remote islands because participants have higher chances of surviving snake bites than the aggravations of urban jungles.

I’d been repeatedly warned, so much so that by the time I got to the airport, I just wanted to curl up and suck my thumb. They should’ve known I had enough supply of paranoia to drive myself crazy, but they didn’t, hence the overflow of travel advice enough to scare even Indiana Jones from visiting Metro Manila.

I tried to condition myself to believe that Manila would be no different from any other place. The only way I’d get into harm’s way, I figured, was if I forgot to pack some common sense.

I arrived in the evening carrying in my inbox my mom’s explicit stories of the sad fates of provincial looking girls in the backstreets of the area. I strode out determined to pretend to be a native of the Metro but an airport employee’s first words to me was to declare my place of origin.

Gasp! My cover was blown and so soon. What gave me away? Was it the accent, the lost dog look or the clothes of Christmas past? My mom swore she could imagine me with a huge backpack that would be the highlighter that said, “This here is a country bumpkin.”

Fortunately, despite my obvious origins, the one night I was required to spend in Manila en route to Tagaytay was uneventful, thanks in large part to friends who rescued me from the bowels of MOA before staff could announce, “Paging the parents of a lost child,” over the PA system.

The only distressing scene we witnessed was not caused by my provincial sensibilities or my lack of urban jungle survival skills. We saw the charred remains of a car on the road to NAIA 1 (an occurrence conveniently left out of the news) where we were to pick up a few other pals from Australia.

It was the trip back to NAIA two days later from Tagaytay that was more disconcerting. My friends could not drive me back to Manila due to coding restrictions so a sitter was appointed among their ranks to make sure I made it back home in one piece. Halfway through the bus ride we already had two bags of puke to add to our luggage (hers, not mine), the result of our bus driver’s passionate affair with reckless driving.

The bus might as well have been a ferry to the afterlife, faster than a speeding bullet in lanes so narrow the passengers in buses speeding alongside ours were already my seatmates. Hollywood movie producers should know about this. They want heart-stopping hi-way chases? They should ride a bus from Tagaytay to the Metro.

In Pasay, the passengers lined up in front of the bus exits like fearless paratroopers and jumped straight into moving traffic. I remember watching them weave expertly through chunks of metal thinking I was either watching Swan Lake’s final act where the prince loses his mind or a modern demonstration of survival of the fittest.

I must have blacked out. I can’t remember if I made the jump myself. The next thing I knew, I was on the sidewalk wondering how the chicken crossed the street with my friend beside me receiving instructions from a vendor to dispose of our bags of puke wherever we pleased.

My friend, having discharged her duties and her breakfast chucked me into a cab for the ride to the airport. My driver was a nice, chatty chap who was from Mindanao too and was so solicitous of my safety that he drove me smoothly to NAIA 3 where I wasn’t supposed to be. My plane was in NAIA 2.

I wish I’d just applied as an extra in the Bourne Legacy. I would have been paid for the aggravation.