"May Bomba Ka Ba?"

I was at the mall yesterday and met up with my older sister, nieces, mom and dad. It was one of those rare “free” days and like any self-respecting “young” (young adults, by definition, are between the ages of 18 and 40, so unless you’re in your 40’s, you are still young by society’s norm) professional, I traded off my usual cotton collared shirts and slacks for tattered jeans and an old T-shirt, and I didn’t comb my hair coz I was already running late. As I went inside, I forgot to have my small wrap-around bag checked for any incendiary device (do the security guards really know what they’re looking for?) and walked past the men in uniform. Syempre, I got pulled back (gentle tug lang naman on my shoulders) and one of them said, “Boy, yung bag mo!” Did I hear it right? Did my ears deceive me? Did he just call me “boy?” Of course, it could've meant a lot of things. For all I know, he might have thought that I was a male helper. Or a call boy. Whatever. But I’ve been so used to being called “sir” or “doc”, that hearing someone call me “boy” was like music to my ears. Moments like that don’t come often so I soaked it all up! Weird as it may sound, it certainly made my day. Haha!

I actually had a nice chat with a friend of mine in the US and according to him, most Asians really look younger than their white counterparts. He and I, and the rest of the mongrels in this country, though, are not as lucky. We do tend to look older than most people our age. Add to that the height. And the fact that we’re doctors. Now, everywhere I go, if there’s someone who knows who I am, that person would call me “Doc.” I might as well have my name changed to Doc. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. But, people, it’s just a title. A job description. Even back when I was still in training, the nurses would call me by my first name, which is something I really wanted. So now, when we’re having fun, can we just scrap the “doc” bit and instead call me… Your Highness? Or Your Excellency! Haha! Okay, I was just messing with you. But you really can call me Arni. Or Arns. Or Ani. Or Tukmol. Or Mokong. Skip the formalities and let’s just be friends hanging out and having fun. But if you’re my student, you can stick to sir. Haha!

I’m thinking of coming up with a list of signs that tell you you’re actually older than your mind leads you to believe. Sige, in my next post, I’ll do just that. Of course, it wouldn’t be all based on my experience. I’ll have my other friends help me with that. Haha! Oh, by the way, this is called a “teaser”. Hehe. Darn, I need to do something more productive than this.

===============

Note: The photo above was taken from a real newspaper clipping with the following caption: "When the police raided Bob's strip club (the red head in the middle), suspecting it of being a front for drug operations, they used a special kind of weapon. It was like a stun grenade, except that everybody in the blast radius got swapped with someone of the opposite gender. Thus, Bob and his henchmen found themselves being escorted into custody in the bodies of various strippers employed by the club. As you can see, all are pretty pissed off about it - all except Joey, on the left, who's never been happier in his life, and can't wait to be allowed to put his hands down.

Haha! Crazy world...

Dang! Another Ketchup Stain!

I'm a "t-shirt-and-jeans" kinda guy. My close friends and family know that I don't enjoy dressing up. Sometimes, I hate it when people from work or school show up at our place unannounced, and they'd see me in my "unguarded" moments when I'd be wearing nothing but an old white or plain colored shirt that has seen better days, complete with time-activated air conditioning system (translation: sobrang luma na kaya butas na ang kili-kili), and my favorite boxer shorts, which in this case would be either the green Ralph Lauren I got as a Christmas gift back in 1998 (I'm too much of a cheapskate to buy something that expensive for myself... let my friends take care of that. Haha!) or the "Big Dog" one with the glow-in-the-dark dancing Scooby Doo drawings (Side note: I got this one for Christmas back in 2002 from a girl friend, too. I actually found it very funny... Imagine this - boxer shorts, and a huge, scandalously screaming "BIG DOGS" written on the elastic waist band... First time I wore it to sleep, I was pleasantly shocked to see Scooby Doo "glowing" on my boxers after I turned the lights off! It instantly became my favorite nocturnal attire. Haha!). I'd be walking barefoot all over the house (and sometimes even out in the yard), or spending the whole day with my "out-of-bed" hair and unshaved mug. I call it my Sunday-morning-mode, except that it didn't have to be a Sunday for me to switch to that mode. I think it's an off-shoot of my college days when it was okay to show up in class in a tank top/sando, bermuda/"puruntong" shorts and moccasins/slippers. The mantra then was "it's what's inside our heads that counts, not what we wear", Although I never did wear a sando in UP (some of my bolder classmates did), I wasn't very picky with my school outfit. I mean, I would simply pull out whatever's on top of my pile of clothes in my closet. It didn't help that I'm partially color blind (Listen people, if it looks blue, I don't care whatever shade it's in, IT IS BLUE! So don't talk to me about baby, sky, navy, teal, aquamarine, turquoise. They all look blue to me!). There were a lot of fashion "lows" for me back in college. But I believe the lowest I've gone would have been going to a late afternoon class right after our PE (Philippine games... I still remember it - we played Dr. Kwek-kwek? whatever, and my face was miserably caught right under the sweat-soaked pits of my guy friend/classmate, and the moronic "it" took forever to untangle us while I slowly suffocated in the stench of human apocrine secretions. Maybe that's where I got my asthma?!). Some time during our PE session, my "puruntong" shorts ripped right at the crotch, creating a six-inch view into my "crown jewels". Of course, Murphy's Law had its way, and I didn't bring extra pants, only a fresh shirt. So as I stood there in a vacant lab in my jockeys, furiously stapling (as in, with STAPLE WIRES!) the hole shut while my best friend stood guard near the door, in case someone barged in, I promised myself I'd be a reformed dude and be a "smarter" dresser if I got out of that predicament with my pants on, pun intended. Of course, a week after that, I was my usual sloppy-dresser self. Old habits die hard. A pair of jeans would last me a full academic year. The older and dirtier, the better!

In the past few years, though, I've grown more "adult" with my choices of attire. It was basically out of necessity. I mean, which patient would want himself to be examined by someone in shirt and jeans? We were actually "selling" ourselves to patients. How we look is all part of the "medical" package. It took a lot of time before I got used to wearing chinos and polo shirts, and I have my kuya to thank for that. He's the super gwapo, the fashion "guru", the style expert. He would tell me which colors matched, and which clothes could be worn to a Bjork concert. And somewhere along the way, his tastes rubbed off on me. There goes one point for the "nurture" theory. But on my off-hospital days, it's back to jeans and shirts for me. So, dad, if you're reading this (although I'm pretty sure you're not!), lemme just say that the holes and patches on my jeans and the stains on my shirt don't mean I need the help of the Salvation Army or Caritas. And you don't have to ask me why I can't afford to buy new clothes. But thanks for the extra cash you slipped in my pocket before. Hmmmm... that gives me an idea... Haha!

I'm A Magpie!

The past summer was, in a gist, the most hectic one I’ve ever had in my whole life! Well, it’s right there on top with the one ten years back when I spent a week in Davao right after clerkship year in medicine, went back to Manila with my skin peeling off in some areas, beet red in others and my freckles creating crop-circle patterns on my back (stupid Hawaiian Tropic SPF 15!), and with barely a week of rest, had to report back to the hospital for medical internship duty in surgery. I still wonder what my patients thought of that weird-looking, part-roasted, part-raw, part-human, part-alien, part-mammal, part-reptile, part-… well, you get the picture. But it was fun. First time I was actually allowed to travel by plane on my own. Uhm, not really on my own. I was with friends. But that was a big leap for my folks, coz the farthest I’ve gone without either of my uber-protective mum and daddy in tow was a 14-hour road trip to Sagada via Baguio when I was 18. And there I was. Flying alone for the first time. At 20. Pathetic! Haha!
I don’t believe I’ve done much traveling in the past as I did the past two summers. And the time I was at home in between travels was spent getting reacquainted with my hypoallergenic pillows. I do miss them a lot when I have to sleep elsewhere. No luxury, five-star hotel pillow can ever take the place of my own drool-stained, Arni-smelling fluffs of Heaven. Okay, before you get me wrong, I’m not a fetishist! Linus’ security blanket… Calvin’s Hobbes… Arni’s pillows. That’s the natural order in the universe. Without which… CHAOS! Haha! When I do get the motivation to get up from bed, I organize my room, which is not really a big deal, coz, for the most part, there has always been a science to how I keep and store my stuff. I can actually tell if some nosy critter’s been snooping around in my room coz of the subtle change in the way my badminton and tennis rackets would hang from the wall, or how the piano’s seat would be off-center, or how the papemelroti boxes which hold some of the junk I’ve accumulated in the past would be spaced farther apart from each other under my study desk than when I left them. Kinda weird, but it saves time. That way, when I need something, say, a double-sided tape, I’d know that it’s in the smallest box, under my desk, along with the masking tape, duct tape, transparent adhesive tape, glue, and mounting squares. Or if I have to charge my cell phone, then I’d have to reach into the other box labeled “electronics” where I keep the chargers for my iPod, palm, cell phones, cables for my laptops and video cam, ear phones, and some spare batteries. Or when I need a condom, I’d be, like, in trouble, coz I don’t have any. Haha! Anyway, moving on...

This summer, a lot of unorganized stuff piled up on my table, on top of the drawers, in my knapsack, on the floor beside my table and my bed. Books, magazines, loose music sheets, comic books, CDs, prescription pads, stethoscopes, vitamin bottles, undies (clean, FYI!), airline tickets, flash drives, pens, letters, bills (paid, of course!)… I’ve never been this disorganized in the past. It’s just that all the constant traveling and waking up really early and getting home terribly late have made me value sleep above anything else. Not even Pinoy Big Brother teen edition, or Kim Chiu, can make me give up my regular date with my sheets. So, there goes organization down the drain.

Another thing I realized is that I have this tendency to hold on to a lot of primitive stuff. Old faded UP shirts that are now at least two sizes too small and yet still hold a special place of honor inside my closet, my journal from Ateneo which has been gathering dust on the shelf, old paper bags, empty bottles of perfume, sneakers with frayed edges and rubber soles barely hanging on. Letting them go is probably like what moms must feel when they cut the apron strings and let their babies lead their own lives. But just a couple of weeks ago, when I went bowling with the rest of the family, we dropped by the mall (well, we were IN the mall) and I decided to buy a new wallet from MFG. My old wallet was already entering adolescence (okay, I’m exaggerating, but it’s really old) when I decided to “retire” it so it could finally take its place in wallet heaven, which is another papemelroti box under my desk. So I decided to let go of a remnant of my college years – a 10-year old brown soft leather wallet, with the material ready to crack on one side, bursting with almost a decade’s worth of memories. Smell notwithstanding (I have to admit, all that constant contact with my right butt cheek gave it a “unique” scent… Haha!), I loved that wallet. It’s the only one that survived the pickpockets of Pedro Gil (I lost three wallets during med school… *sob*), and saw me through the medical board exams, residency and fellowship. We went through good and bad times, that wallet and I. Of course, I’ve received gifts of wallets, some of them were really pricey ones, from well-meaning family and friends, but I’d only use them for a few days just for show (okay, the secret’s out!) then I’d go back to the old brown one. The new ones just didn’t feel, well, right. But this time, I decided to start a new chapter in my life by taking on the challenge of getting a brand new wallet and sticking with it. So just a few days ago, I started the painful, yet necessary, process of cleaning out my old wallet, and transferring some of the contents to the new one. It’s funny how a small piece of leather can tell a lot of stories and store a trunk load of memories. Old notes, pieces of paper, receipts, cards, pictures, even an old SIM card which I thought I already lost… Man, it’s fun going down memory lane once more and realize that I was this person a few years back. Fun and cool! On a whim, I laid them all out on my bed and took a picture… probably as a reminder of the kid that I was, and probably still am, before I get rid of the evidence. Haha!



I often wonder if business cards really do serve a purpose. I mean, in this day and age of palm pilots, mobile phones with organizer functions, or even e-notebooks, biz cards are like fossils. In my profession, it’s a lot easier to scroll down my mobile phone book than pull out my wallet and skim through the cards that have grown ridiculously fast in number. But there they were, literally jumping out of my poor fat wallet (ironically, money, which is what wallets are supposed to hold, is a minority in mine, compared to other fire hazards that have found near-permanent residence in my wallet’s compartments). I saw one from Chut Lim. I remember her handing it to me during one of our conventions, I think it was three years ago. I’ve never really given it more than just a passing glance since I stuffed it inside my wallet. Clarisse’s, Goldie’s and Cecille’s were right next to it. I haven’t heard from Clarisse (a great mom, great wife, and one helluva sexually-preoccupied “doctora” *chuckle*) in over three years, too. I still keep in touch with Goldie and Cecille, although mainly via SMS. Other biz cards were mostly from pharma companies. The names on them hardly ring a bell right now, although Joseph’s prolly Joey, and Luis could be Louie. I didn’t keep any MSD rep’s biz card. Long story. Suffice to say, I’ve stopped prescribing Cozaar, Hyzaar and Tienam years ago. Haha! Poetic justice.

When it comes to my internet habits, I’m a dial-up guy for two reasons. One, I get to control my internet expenses. Two, we don’t have broadband, although I’ve been meaning to have one connected. I just am too chicken to actually sign up for MyDSL or Globelines. So I’m not really surprised to find a used “Go!” prepaid card hiding behind one of my credit cards. What’s unusual, though, is that I don’t even remember using “Go!” before. Maybe I did. Well, obviously, I did, otherwise why would a used card be in my wallet? I’m more of the ISP reloaded prepaid guy. Unlimited surfing for 30 days. I just had to bear with the frequent busy dial-up numbers. Go figure.

Another surprise was lurking from inside a “secret” compartment in my wallet. Secret coz, up until I decided to change wallets, I didn’t even know that it existed. Apparently, it did. And inside it was an old Smart SIM card… prepaid, of course (everything about me is “prepaid”, except for my new Globe mobile line). I clearly remember that night, seven years ago. I went up to the residents’ quarters after a really bad triage in the ER… went straight to the bathroom, bent over to lift the toilet seat up, and there jumping out of my blazer’s front pocket was my N3210 (the old mother ship), went straight to the abyss… and was permanently retired from cellular duties. I was able to salvage the SIM card, though. But when I finally got myself a new unit, I couldn’t remember where I kept the old SIM card. I had to get a new one instead. My first Globe prepaid SIM. Now, the mystery’s solved. Haha! I think Imma have it mounted.

It’s amazing how I managed to save my Ateneo ID and keep it in my wallet, even if I spent more of my “matriculating” years in UP – 13 years of college, medicine, residency and fellowship combined – and not have my old UP ID. So there it was… I’m a blue eagle. And not a single proof of my being an “iskolar ng bayan” in my wallet, except for my UP diplomas and certificates which are in the now in the possession of dear mum. I actually have a really valid excuse for not keeping my UP ID – I never had a UP ID since 1994. You know what people say about the streets of Manila being unsafe? Talk about understatement! Walking along the sidewalks of Pedro Gil from the UP College of Medicine to Taft Avenue where I had to board the LRT to Buendia, one had to be a master at multi-tasking… holding on to my knapsack, several pounds of really thick medical books, and periodically checking my back pocket to see if my wallet was still there. Clearly, I wasn’t a good multi-tasker. At least back then, I wasn’t yet. Lost three wallets in one year. Equivalent to approximately 30 pesos in cash (I wasn’t a good multi-tasker, but I was a smart kid… smart enough to not keep too much cash in my billfold, and instead distribute them all over my body – in my front pockets, in my shoes, heck, even in my underwear!) and three UP IDs. The first couple of times, I filed affidavits of loss so I could apply for a new ID. But by the third time, I got tired of going to the notary public in Padre Faura (not well-lighted then as it is now, hence, another pickpocket lair), lining up at the old NEDA bldg/UP Manila administrative office, and waiting for at least a couple of weeks to get my new ID. I figured I’d take my chances with the security people in the UP buildings. Since nobody called my attention about not having an ID, I breezed through the rest of my stay in UP without having to scare anybody with a glorified mug shot on a red background, on a laminated card emblazoned with the UP logo. It’s a good thing “Mamang Guard” was super-duper nice. Haha!

There is also an odd assortment of ATM cards (BPI, Allied and USALA – the last one is where I get the dough from every “quinzena”. Haha!), credit cards (Citibank, or as I “fondly” call it, Cheat-ibank; Standard Chartered – which has a pretty “standardized” way of duping you!) and membership cards (Dermclinic – don’t you hate breakouts?; GenTxt – are you one of us?). Speaking of the GenTxt card… What is it for, anyway? I mean, I’ve never really found any use for it, except for that one time when I accidentally locked myself out of my room and the GenTxt card was the only thing that was able to successfully unlatch the lock. Oh, I forgot. I did get a free dessert (pudding?) from Super Bowl when I showed it to Xavier, the nice “he-she” server who always waits on us. Whoopee-do. *sarcastic smile*

Looking at my “expired” PRC card (Okay, okay, I know I have to renew it… It expired just this year on my birthday last April, so technically, I still haven’t gone beyond the six-month threshold for delinquency. Haha!), I just realized that I have the same photo in at least three official identification documents: my PRC ID, passport, and social security card. I like that picture, so why not get the most out of it. And that’s another thing. I’m not fond of having photos of myself taken. Nah, it’s not like I used to belong to an obscure African tribe that believes that snapshots capture people’s souls. I just don’t like going to the photo shop and faking a smile. I don’t think much of my smile. No matter how hard I try to look pleasant, I always end up looking like a constipated goat, or something. I prefer candid shots. Not that I look better in them. I used to look adorable as a kid. Really. Now, cameras hate me. I take solace in the fact that I’m really “gwapo” in person… Yeah, right. Haha!

There are also a few raffle stubs tucked inside my old wallet. A year-and-a-half ago, Mercury Drug was raffling cars (Mitsubishi adventure, I think) and after purchasing over 1,000-pesos worth goodies, I got at least 20 raffle coupons. But I was in a hurry coz I still had to meet up with my buds from high school. So I hastily filled out the coupons, tore them from the claim stubs and drove off to Alabang. Later that night, I realized I dropped the claim stubs in the boxes and kept the entry coupons instead! Haha! I could’ve won. Maybe I did, only they didn’t know who the moron who dropped the claim stub was. Ngeks! And just last year, we went shopping for groceries in Tagbilaran (we went to Panglao Island on vacation) and we were given a few raffle coupons to fill out. Grand Prize? Five-thousand pesos. And here’s the catch: if our entries were picked, we had to claim the prize personally. Of course, they’d hold the draw a good two months later, when we would’ve been back in Manila! Talk about ridiculous! Anyway, we did drop our coupons. We might’ve won, but who cares? Still, I kept the claim stubs. And the Mercury Drug raffle coupons. Why? Beats me. But it’s good fodder for silly stories now.

I miss my old wallet... And I miss UP... And I miss Ateneo... okay, not really, coz I still go back there from time to time. And I miss my old friends. Haaay... Funny how an old wallet can take you back many years. Good times.