You’ve been out of the country for just two days and our fridge looks like new again. Empty like a deadbeat’s promise, barren as our yard in Pampanga (our damn goats eat everything), well except for a few bottles of water and a bottle of catsup. Which probably wouldn’t fall in neither go, grow or glow foods. Not that it matters, but the thought would be comforting ingesting something categorical in this world where people feel the need to belong to something. Although we have the same conversation every single night, I still anticipate your arrival. The wringing sound your automobile’s CRDI engine echoes while you park in the garage. It sends a signal to my brain like how a pet recognizes when its master is beckoning a treat, Ivan Pavlov would be so proud of you. And if you can learn to close the door gently I would be prouder, contrary to your favorite line in Dylan Thomas’ poem “Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night,” it makes sense to go gently in the dead of the night when people are asleep. I’m kidding, of course.
And it’s only been two days and I know you miss how I make “mano” with my right hand while my left hand simultaneously juts out to grab the “pasalubong” dangling in your hand. Barely entering our abode, without missing a beat, you’d describe in detail what you have in store for me like how a preacher would describe life inside the gates of heaven. I guess it comes instinctively with your job as a journalist to auto-generate press releases. Whether it came from an expensive place that I have never even laid eyes on or how the chef used nothing but olive oil and the list goes on. And even if it is the same old story, it always feels like the first time I hearing it. Then you ask how my day went and I ask the same, and if our conversation exceeds 2 minutes it would be about cars or about the wonders of the Internet/Google or something about my juvenile ways which I quickly dismiss. I hate to admit it but at age 28, you still make me feel like I am in still in high school when I was living with Ma in the province. But instead of her taking care of me, you took on the epic challenge and I have nothing gratitude. I still have a lot of things to write but I’m already tired and I still have work tomorrow.
And wait… I miss you Tang! Don’t leave your heart in L.A.