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“Ma’am, akala ko nga bago eh.”

My breath smells like sisig now, that delectable mix of diced pork ears, pork liver, onions, and chili peppers served sizzling on a hot cast-iron plate. If only I had a bottle of Pale Pilsen to go with it, and the company of someone particular, ah, that would have truly made my day.


I’d really like to rant about work—well, not really work, but one fantastically idiotic person at work—but that wouldn’t be right. I just get really burned out sometimes, sitting in my workspace right beside her office, hearing snatches of conversation ("Ay, Mother! Chika chika chika! Blah blah blah!") that have nothing to do with work—this coming from someone who tells everyone else to stop talking to each other while working—and saying robotic yes-es to senseless and utterly stupid demands.

I keep telling the people here who have a like mind that I am slowly evolving into some synthetic polymer product. I keep remembering last Christmas, where she kept telling anyone who cared to listen (or at least pretended to listen) that she was such a spectacular and fabulous impromptu interior decorator when in fact all she did was spend a butt load of moolah on decorations and stick them everywhere around the office. One particular night though, she singled me out and thrust an old wreath in front of me, supposedly spruced up by some décor from the neighborhood SM.

“O, hindi halatang luma ano? Ako’ng nag-decorate nito eh.”

My reply was instantaneous: “Ma’am, akala ko nga bago eh.”

She left, obviously overly pleased with herself for being able to fish out a complement out of someone. I, on the other hand, felt sick to my stomach. Becoming some cretinous suck-up wasn’t something I aspired to be, and yet there was I, shocked at the realization that I was capable of dishing out ridiculously insane (not to mention absolutely false) complements at the drop of a hat.

Such things do not bode well for my character development.

I guess I just grew accustomed to the practice, seeing everyone else around me do exactly the same thing—although most often in lesser, more measured degrees; so much for trying to be excellent at what ever I do.

After all that, I guess I can thank God for days like this that make me realize all the sordidness one can be capable of when one is not careful. I should make a list, I think, of all the things I have to avoid as I continue to grow up—one of the things I least want to be in the future is some condescending moron who thinks he knows everything but really doesn’t, except that he doesn’t realize it precisely because he’s a brainless imbecile.


Now look what I did. Ah, crap, I just did what I said I wouldn’t do. Oh well, at least I took it easy on the details. Believe me, I really did.

Before I forget, I have to go brush my teeth now. And go back to work. Whapish.


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