I have been here and there about what to write . . .
> > > > Checks my email. Reads a message from my sister telling me she has asthma attack again. Replies that she should stop eating too much and please don’t make love with the jeepney mufflers and all.
Well there really are a thousand, even million, things to write about. I was thinking of going to Netherlands and visiting the Dutch and ask them about their tulips and how they manage to keep-up and maintain their Red-light district, the never-ending wanting for beer, proliferation of booze, Jane and all, and still become one of the . . .
> > > > Boss calls if there are new messages for him, new applicants for the yet to be vacated manager positions and if the newspapers have been delivered to his house. Says he might not make it to the office today because it's weekends (good for me).
One of the what? I stopped and tried hard what’s next. Netherland is a good place I want to be with one day either be with myself or just my shadow. And then I really wanted to have a harvest (ala Farmville and Farmtown in Facebook) experience with tulips. I mean don’t you just love their colors, the way they appear and I am not just sure how they smell but oh I’m sure they’re as good as heaven and angels. And Netherlands is . . .
> > > > The Office Manager buzzes me up and tells me he needs me at his office now. I replied “Khamsa dagiga” (five minutes). I went to the bathroom, wore my shoes and drink a glass of water from the bottle and brushed my way up his office, only to find out that he just want me to reach down for the Establishment stationery because his arthritis and back pain is not affording him to reach below. Well can we just hire a caregiver here? I mean the Mudir (manager) is 62, smoking non-stop and has his share of memory gaps and judgment lapses. Hello you know the word retirement? I am attempting for the umpteenth time to write a blog.
So where am I? Oh yes I am still in the middle of the desert and was trying to wander out in Netherlands and their tulips. Lost in my thoughts, I turned to something different.
> > > > Browses My Facebook and writes - Rael Felizco is struggling to blog.. a blogger’s block.
Now I really am lost about Netherlands and tulips. Next time write something about things that you really know and then try not to fantasize things that really are of complete strangeness to you.
> > > > My mobile rings and an Arab asks me “Kif Halak”. What who got a sipon or ubo? No he was really asking me how am I, same thing as “Kumusta Ka” in Filipino. So I answered back “Taiyib” (better) and that’s better because you have ruined my blogging. Then the conversation drags on for 5 minutes of asking and answering about Exit and Vacation visa and Iqama renewals of some employees. Well good thing I read my to-do list (yes I have one now, one that is functional and somehow brilliant) and answered him back satisfactorily. He hangs up but told me that he’s paying a visit to the office later to pick up some things. Aiwa, mafi mushkila (yes, no problem. finished, khalas.)
Then I saw a blink on my Facebook update and saw that Lucien has some reactions over my status, then comes Leah, a college acquaintance, and old-friend Brian telling them their pieces. Lotis buzzes me up for the latest in the UP School of Econ, with her thesis cramming and Grendell’s (yes she doesn't have Facebook or Friendster, but she has an email) new hair dye. Cris is pouting about his finances and the lengthy DepEd requirements for new teachers. And then realizing and sinking all of these I reckoned that I am lost with my thoughts about Netherlands and tulips.
I wanted to start and, of course, finish a blog in order to keep sanity and whatever left of it in my brain. It is only in blogging, writing and reading that I get to hold, use and exercise precious, not exactly perfect, English. The loneliness and ineptitude of available time there is in me is really asylum-headed. I need to wrack whatever there is left of my brain. I cannot even speak straight English because it is seldom used here. It’s either I hear of Filipino, Arabic or Bisaya. And if you speak straight, good English here, the thing is you’ll lose the conversation with Arabs. I don’t know about their oil reserves, but their English reserves are really all-time low. I remember Development Economics, whatever is abundant in one place, there sure is lacking of it in some; reminds me of initial endowments, human capital, comparative advantage and other statistically significant details of my abated Graduate School journey.
> > > > Mobile rings again a Filipino cook on the other line inquiring about the status of his request for a plane ticket to the Philippines on December. Believe me as early as June I have requested flight booking for that guy and one month and a week has passed the flight is yet to be booked. All flights to Manila on December are closed, waiting list is on a meager 30% probability.
Back to my keyboard.
> > > > Then I was interrupted again. Phone 2 rings and someone is asking for a fax tone, 10 seconds later Phone 1 rings and one of the driver inquires when to pick-up some of the moving and transferring fellow from one branch to the other. These drivers are nuts. They only listen for me for these sorts of things but are half-ears when I tell them that they should follow whatever I say or else earn the ire of the Amo. I mean I have encountered all kinds of drivers and I would say that they have one general thing in common: They hate it when they are assigned to drive. Not that I have something against drivers, my father used to drive a jeep, when I was young he drove a tricycle, when he was in Saudi (as I do now) he met an accident by driving a motorcycle and was also, at one point, a truck driver. His driving fed me and sent to school together with my siblings. But these drivers that I have, even when I was in the Philippines, are all patama (they like to waste time so that there would be little left for them to do other things.
Wondering what to write anew? My blog.docx has been holding on for some seven (7) unfinished things, scattered ideas and unscrupulous innuendoes that my feeble mind has thought of once in a while. All of them unfinished, wanting and without any signs of affection, maybe a sign for my young yet devastated soul.
Then the clock ticks 2PM and it’s time for my break. Another unfinished blog which makes my seven rubbish eight. Please give me not only the time to write but also the spirit to write. Sometimes the souls is really willing but the flesh is really weak.
Ciao!
postcripts
I was interrupted three times while I was editing this blog. Mudir inquires for the flight bookings, the moving and transferring of people and then asks me again to get some stationery. A Filipino calls me to ask about the driver. The driver inquires about the Filipino. Where do these people come from?
post postscript
I was also interrupted by Facebook, I remember that I have to harvest in Farmtown and Farmville too, I am also flying planes in Airline Manager.
