A few days ago, I decided to cast my votes for the barangay elections. It shames me to admit this, but this is actually my first time to participate at the barangay level.
So the first ignorant thing I said when the ballot was given to me was, "Ay, isulat diay (Oh, so we're writing it down)."
I settled into one of the seats and proceeded to write all eight names. And oh boy, did my hand feel sore after that. Then I gave my votes one last look before dropping the ballot in the box.
I cringed at what I saw.
I remember the time Dr. Martens opened its doors here in Davao (yes, it's about those goddamned shoes again). I first laid my eyes on the 8-eye 1460 cherry red boots. It looked so badass that it made me believe in love at first sight. But priced at around Php 9k, it would be a cold day in hell before I would be willing to pay that much for something I would not use regularly.
Five years and a devastating news later, hell froze and I finally got my very first Docs. It is not my dream cherry reds but it is badass enough to make me fall in love with the brand even more. And it was such a challenge to stop at one pair.
So I had another.
And another.
All in less than a year.
It's a terrible addiction.
It's the first day of October and the first thing I read on my Facebook news feed today is my friend's call to ignore messages coming from her account. Apparently, she was hacked and the said hacker had been asking money from anyone on her friends list.
This is not the first time I've heard of this. It's not a surprise that people would do things unimaginable just for money.
But anyway.
Two of my friends have had their photos used by imposters to scam people on Facebook just recently.
Friend #1 learned about her imposter when it tried to sell baby stuff on Facebook and her friend from another city saw the listing. The imposter's fake profile was reported and taken down before anyone could fall prey.
As for Friend #2, it was already too late when she found out about it. She was getting virtually sucker-punched by angry and frustrated victims after realizing they had been duped into sending their hard-earned money for nothing. Her face was posted on different groups, labeled with the most demeaning words while the real perp got away with it.
Well, that's scary.
This is not the first time I've heard of it. It happens all the time and it could happen to anyone—especially us, ordinary people whose faces are not easily recognizable by a lot of people.
But you know what scares me more?
I still remember the last time I drew something. It was Valentine's Day four years ago when, like any other Valentine's, Jan and I had nothing better to do. It was a year before the pandemic but staying home was already a much better choice that day.
So Jan challenged me to draw something and I did.
The past few days had been quite a challenge because I was left alone to deal with two wild toddlers and a teen with raging puberty hormones. And as I watched them destroy the house while I slowly sipped my coffee, feet up, I had been thinking about how I will be rewarded for being great at maintaining a healthy marriage by allowing the husband to go on a three-day trip because I believed he needed to have some fun too.
I mean, Solen Heussaff gave Nico Bolzico no more than 24 hours to fly to Davao to hike Mt. Apo and back, while Jan was granted 3 freakin' days. How lucky can he get? I suppose he must have thought of rewarding me with something I truly deserve like an ultimate steak night date or a Vespa. The latter is mostly preferred, thank you.
I looked out the window and saw dark, heavy clouds looming over. Five minutes later, it began to pour. I took a sip of my coffee and realized it wasn't warm anymore. I put the cup down and started heading back to the bedroom. Getting snuggled underneath all those blankets and sheets on a rainy day sounds better than a cold coffee, I thought.
I moved toward the bed and felt a much stronger gravitational force around it. With barely four hours of sleep, I could have easily collapsed on the soft mattress, pulled my phone out and made up a convincing excuse why I could not go like I usually do.
I did not leave with a basket full of bright, colorful, and aesthetically pleasing stuff that are absolutely unnecessary.
I could have done it, you know. The husband was a thousand miles away and no one else can dissuade me from buying whatever useless knickknack I fancy. All I have to do is swipe this little devil.
I have been here for about an hour now.
While I try to make out what is being broadcasted over the speakers because I can only hear muffled and distorted sounds as if the announcer is gargling the microphone, I have been watching people.
And so it occurred to me that airports are a home to intensified emotions. Excitement. Anxiety. Happiness. Sadness. Optimism. Fear. Awe. Disappointment. Gratitude. And possibly any emotion that you can think of.