Don’t ask me for directions I’m asleep day
Can anyone not ask me directions in tha jeep? I’m sleepin’ ok? So wut if I look awake, I sleep wit ma eyes open. I do not know if you rode tha wrong jeep or if ya miss’d yer stop or if tis jeep is goin’ to yer destination. All I know is I’ll git off @ ma stop, alrighty? To tha two lost persons who ask’d me fo’ directions tis morn & evenin’, believe me, y’all are better off witout ma help. I'm as gewd as tha person next to ya sleepin! Directions, of all thangs! Sheesh!
***
Givin’ manong his day’s supply of bente-cinco’s
When I was ‘bout to pay fo’ ma 2nd ride goin to work, I realiz’d all I have are coins. Purely twenty-five cent ones, wit ma next closest money bein’ a hundred. So I started countin out coins meticulously, wantin’ to hand tha exact amount & not wantin any coin to spill over tha muddy floor. It bein a crowded jeep, ‘twas only logical to first balance both ma bag & paperbag at ma knee where they lean’d towards ma seatmate while I counted coins. [I counted out 26, should’ve given 28 but I was 2 coins short] Then witout warning, ma seatmate suddenly sprang forward to sit on tha wider space a passenger had juz vacated across, causin’ ma white paperbag to fall on tha wet floor, tha male biatch! I had nuthin to wipe it wit so I juz let tha muddy side face away from me –and that’s when a new passenger in pale yellow shirt sat next to me & instantly acquired a brown spot on his sleeve courtesy of ma paper bag. Tha man kept lookin’ @ his sleeve & @ me but I was still sore @ tha man across fo’ droppin’ ma bag so I pretended not to notice. Sowee, not ma fault!

At tha fete:
1.We watch’d Pammy perform both original & cover songs wit tha rest of Mozzie and sing ‘Moonlight Over Paris’ wit Paolo S.
2.A lanky thin American in his thirties approach’d, extended his hand to me & spoke to me in fast slang w/c ma untrained-for-a-callcenter-career-ears diden catch… sumthin’ like “My middle name’s ____ and I’d like to make your day.” Or “My middle name’s ____ and I _____ you someday.” Then smiled like he was really pleas’d wit himself, waited a few moments fo’ my response [I sorta grimaced] then was gone.
3.We listen’d to ‘Itsumo’ perform’d live by Dice & K-9 at tha hiphop concert @ tha Basement.
4.We watch'd Gabby eat his dinner on a patis container.
5.We trusted Ruth more wit tha wheel to try to clown around wit her as she drove us home [‘Sssshhhtt!!! This is very crucial!” –Ruth tryin to make us stop as she turn’d into a street. ]
6.We ask’d Leidy how her new object of affection [potential contender fo’ Lada’s legendary 7 year-crushhood?] look’d…
Leidy: “Oo, gwapo siya pero—…“
Kathy: “Pero..?! Anong pero?!? Gwapo siya pero walang ilong. Gwapo siya pero isa lang ang mata. Gwapo siya pero walang gilagid…anong pero?!!!
7.We grill’d Kathy ‘bout her 'palangga'.
8.We miss’d Patwee.

Bad blood in tha jeepneys
Resentment run high among passengers lately who git less change than wut they expected & who are very averse on dishing out an extra buck fo’ tha driver who claims their bayad is kulang. [Those who were charg’d more fo’ today’s fare than yesterday’s harbor ill feelings towards tha manong who takes away tha pre-fated peso that would have added to ease some other expense while those who were charg’d less fo’ today than yesterday harbor ill feelings towards yesterday’s manong.] I was one of these forehead knittin’ passengers yeterday when as I handed tha exact amount I was ask’d for tha previous day on a jeep goin tha same route, tha driver ask’d for more. [piso pa] Which I dish’d. And he drive’d. But @ an exaggerated leisurely pace. And witout failin to stop @ each human being we encounter on tha 45-minute drive fo’ him to invite to ride his jeep. So that even if I woke up moderately early fo’ work, his pace was makin’ me moderately piss’d & late. So that a cop busted him fo’ stopping in tha middl of tha highway for a passenger [who got off soon as tha cop approach’d], causin more delays. Then juz as I had predicted, far into tha ride soon as tha other remaining passenger left, manong ask’d me where I plan to git off [“Dun pa po!”], prolly thinkin’ he could talk me into getting off right that instance. I diden. I rode for every cent & extra buck he ask’d, hell if he’ll make me walk miles & be later than I already was!
***
Badder blood in the jeepneys
Today, [tha post before tha asterisks happen’d yesterday] I unintentionally caus’d a rift between a co-passenger & tha driver when, upon noting that tha elderly alé @ ma right handed over suspiciously fewer coins fo’ someone who’s headed @ tha same stop, I ask’d tha alé how much she gave [P6]. I then ask’d tha manong fo’ ma 50cent change since he charg’d me P6.50 earlier. Then ruckus comenc’d…

Manong [still quite meek]: “Hindi, sikspibti talaga ang pamasahe, pinatawad co lang nga kanina nung siks lang ang inabot.
Alé [flaring up]: “Anong sikspibti? Araw-araw akong sumasakay, siks lang binabayad ko eh!”
Manong: “Kahit tingnan nyo pa po sa papel, sikspibti na pag 4 kilometers! Pinatawad ko na nga lang kayo kaya lang may nagreklamo”
Alé: “Eh first 4 kilometers pa lang, dapat nga paybpibti lang ang bayad eh! O, eto!” [dishing out 2 twenty-fives angrily]
Manong[at tha same time handing over 50 cents]: “Hindi nga pinatawad na nga lang kayo eh! Pakibigay nga sa nagreklamo!” [Since both tempers are flaring, I did not dare to git ma 50 cents back & juz let tha alé take it.]

There was peace fo’ 10 minutes.

Then:
Manong [in a surprisingly louder, fed-up voice while getting out a piece of paper tuck’d among his belongings]: “O, ETO! BASAHIN NYO! PARA MALAMAN NYONG MALI KAYO! WALA NAMANG BAYAD NA SIKS DYAN! PAYBPIBTI, SIKSPIBTI, SEBENPIBTI… GANUN LANG!”
Alé [not even bothering to look @ tha paper so I hafta pass it to tha manong again]: “HINDI NAMAN ORIGINAL YAN EH! NAKIKINIG KAMI NG RADYO, NANONOOD NG TV ARAW-ARAW, ALAM NAMIN KUNG MAGKANO ANG IBABAYAD!”
Manong: “BAKIT, PAG NAG-PA-PIKSYUR BA KAYO, IBIG NYO BANG SABIHIN HINDI NA KAYO YON? KOPYA NGA LANG YAN PERO TAMA YAN!”
Alé: “EH MALAY BA NAMIN KUNG TOTOO TALAGA YAN, SA IBANG DYIP, NAKAPASKIL SA HARAPAN! KAHIT NA BIGYAN PA KITA NG SANDAAN, WAG KA LANG MANLOKO!
Manong: “BAKIT NGA PAG SA LITRATO, KAYO RIN NAMAN YUN AH! [then as an afterthought] YUNG NAKAPASKIL KONG KOPYA, BINAKLAS NG MGA BATA, EH ANO PA BANG MAGAGAWA KO DUN?
Alé: “BASTA KAHIT SANDAAN PA ANG IBIGAY KO SAYO, WAG KA LANG MANLOLOKO NG TAO!!!

Whatever. They were still at it when I got off. [tha alé diden git off @ ma stop afterall, therefore I diden save tha alé tha effort of havin’ to ask his archenemy to let her git off] Wud manong have bursted a vein had I insisted in gettin’ ma 50cents back? ;-)

Grown-ups are stringy, fire-breathin, serious, prim & proper, gossipy, and prone to share tha most embarrassing stories ‘bout their kids. Yesterday, at ma highschool pal Estabita’s [whose actual name is Elaine Estabillo but whom I call Estabita fo’ fun] gathering fo’ her kid’s 3rd birthday, I realized that I would be perceiv’d as tha friend of some person’s mother. And in that light, I am partly responsible fo’ moulding a kid’s stereo-typing abilities on wut grown-ups are [fire-breathin, serious, prim & proper, etc.] based on how I act that night. And me & Lorrie, tha grown-ups who stayd fo’ tha longest time weren’t bein very “grown-up” at all.

In fact, I can already imagine the queschns in Azalea Maiden Lei’s prettly li’l shaolin head w/c shell prolly spring on ma gewd pal, Estabita:

Ma, do grown-ups really…
squeal at the slightest provocation?
shove each other so hard, one almost connected wit tha floor?
play “Ito ang beat”, Chicky Chicky Bab, & Crossmeloshake?
find fun in swatting, slapping and pinching each other?
argue over larger portions of cake?
love plucking sugar roses from birthday cakes?
play with balloons and ask to take one home wit em?

We stopp’d horsing around long enuf to stare at mother & child as Maiden stopp’d working on her coloring book to run in tha arms of her maver and kiss her 6-month preggy mum.
Wistful ME: “Awww…”
Equally Wistful Lorrie: “Tara, gawa na rin tayo anak!”

Anotha fave moment:
Maiden sayin “ice cream..!” in a sing-songy way while happily coloring beyond tha lines of an orange ice cream in her coloring book usin’ tha new Powerpuff crayons her beautiful Tita 5h1n3 gave her.

In one of ma "pagpapanggap" dayz @ tha O., came across tis one by Adrienne Rich while pretendin to be busy while browsin each file in ma office pc...

From An Atlas Of The Difficult World

I know you are reading this poem
late, before leaving your office
of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window
in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet
long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem
standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean
on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven
across the plains' enormous spaces around you.
I know you are reading this poem
in a room where too much has happened for you to bear
where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed
and the open valise speaks of flight
but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem
as the underground train loses momentum and before runningup the stairs
toward a new kind of love
your life has never allowed.
I know you are reading this poem by the light
of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide
while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.
I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room
of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.
I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light
in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,
count themselves out, at too early an age. I know
you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick
lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on
because even the alphabet is precious.
I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove
warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your hand
because life is short and you too are thirsty.
I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language
guessing at some words while others keep you reading
and I want to know which words they are.
I know you are reading this poem listening for something, tornbetween bitterness and hope
turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.
I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else left to read
there where you have landed, stripped as you are.