Mabenta

Katatapos lang ng mahabang public holiday dito, at simula kahapon ay may pasok na. Lahat ay nagtatrabaho ngayong weekend upang punuan ang nakaraang mga araw ng paglalamiyerda. Upang kumita, isinama ako ng ka-opisina sa isang kliyente at nagbakasakaling makakuha ng benta.

Mag-isa lang kaming hinarap ng kliyente. Babae. Late 40s na siguro. At sobrang accommodating. Nagpakilala kami, at tinanong niya ako kung dati na kaming nagkita. Ngayon lang kami nagkakilala, at biglang ang dami na niyang tanong tungkol sa aking background.

Habang naglalako ang aking kasama, panay ang pukol ng panakaw na sulyap sa akin ng aming kliyente. Makailang beses rin niya akong kinulit kung saan nga raw ba niya ako dating nakita. Baka raw sa TV. Nakabenta naman kami, kaya't masaya kaming bumalik sa opisina ng aking kasama.

At doon na ako tinukso ng ka-opisina. Mabenta at artistahin raw ang aking itsura sa mga kliyente, kaya't lagi na raw niya akong isasama. Okay, sana walang kumontra. Minsan lang may ganitong moment, kaya't pagbigyan na. Siyempre, pagka-uwi sa bahay ikinuwento ko agad sa aking asawa.

Hinawakan niya ang aking kamay bago seryosong nagsalita. "Sa Chinese tradition, ang typical na hanap nila ay ang makapagbibigay ng security sa buhay. Yung malusog dahil may kinakain. Mataas ang hairline dahil matalino. Malapad ang ilong dahil swerte," aniya sabay ngiti at kindat.

Hindi ako kumain ng dinner at breakfast. At bago umuwi, dadaan ako ng palengke para bumili ng sabila.

photo from here

Trapped

Have you ever felt trapped? One day, you're enjoying a perfect morning. The next thing you know, you're lying in a confined space. You can't stand, can't sit up. You can't even turn and lie on your side. All you see is the wooden sheet barely six inches in front of you, and the growing moist spot where your breath has condensed.

You can't turn your head to look around you. But your hands and bare feet can feel the corners and edges of the cramped wooden prison. You can't breathe. You start to panic. You scream for help, as you move around and feel for a way out. All in vain. You get desperate, and the wet spot in front of you catches your attention.

You try furiously to claw your way out with your fingernails. Splinters pierce your skin, and your nails start to chip. Blood starts to flow from your fingers, down to your hands, then arms from all the scraping. But the wood does not yield. And after a while, you realize the futility of it all. And as you hear the muffled pounding outside, nail after nail, you surrender.

"Yes, Auntie," I whispered.

"That's great Sean. As I said, she's a lovely girl. You'll see for yourself on Sunday," she replied, just as I heard the sound of the hammer hit the head of the final nail.

photo from here