Two weeks after it opened, the ukay-ukay (used clothes) store across the street had shown no sign of taking or even toning down the PA system. That’s how come I know everything is now at ₱30, and have memorized the sequence of songs on their sole mixtape. Then there’s the laboriously inane commentary in between, delivered in an uninflected drone as if the speaker were on the verge of a narcoleptic fit. Finally, Ma sent over word that she was calling the police.
And that, folks, was the most exciting things got around here so far today. I could tell you about my trip to the market, but whatever for? Should I have been surprised to find most of the stalls empty? One word: kamang — the furtive creep, as in gingerly walking on all fours — Visayan slang for vote-buying. Around here it was ₱1K per head. Not much, if you think about it, but considering most everyone got his or her share, as evinced by the local ruling party’s landslide victory, a whole lot of spending power. Yesterday I ran into two or three of my suki vendors at a very crowded Metro.
Back at the house, I did what our forefathers had done at the dawn of our species: forage. Except modern-day foraging no longer involves stealth, or travelling far and wide. After rooting around in the refrigerator, I had to resign myself to some leftover crispy pata (deep-fried pork leg), actually destined for our dog’s bowl. “Sorry, Palang,” I said. “Times like this, you’ll just have to share.”
The pata was more bones than flesh — it is, even intact, but you know what I mean. Nevertheless, those bones (and cartilage from the knuckles) made for a flavorful, thick broth tempered by the addition of kinilis (rice wash). Are you thinking sinigang? Very perceptive. If only you can hear the silence around here.
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