07 March 2008
Three minutes
It's almost half past 3PM, and Yuna had already been up even before roosters cried that morning. Five more piles, she tells herself, I hope the grocery won't close up on me: The fridge is empty and it's only Wednesday. The hag clearly hates me—she returns these reports just today and she wants all of them back tomorrow? She really needs to get laid, Yuna grins at the bright monitor.
“Yunie, girl, yosi?” poofs Cathy from nowhere, a new pack of Lights in her right hand.
“No, thanks. I'm trying to quit,” Yuna reaches for a folder, hitting her mug which almost tipped over.
“Right...”
“Dan hates the smell. I'm quitting.”
“Well, suit yourself. Hey have you RSVP-d to Maan's shower?”
“It's her seventh wedding,” her eyes also disgusted by the red marks all over the recommendations page glaring at her.
“Well, the girls and I are going. It's free drinks!” two sticks now in Cathy's left hand.
“What the—she wants the shoot with THIS budget? What are we, rats?” Yuna wasn't listening, the paper almost got crumpled.
“Wait 'till you see how she wants the planning next month. One word: Victoria—and not the one outside Pasig. I heard we might even do potluck...”
Yuna sighs. It's the two-day operations planning for next year and the company executives are sitting in—and their boss doesn't want to spend even on food. “I'd fry her and serve her instead.”
“Ha-ha! Come on—just one stick. For that stress...”
She finally looks at her friend, bites her lips and shakes her head. “Fine. Laters,” out goes Cathy.
Another sigh. She drops the folder, sinks to her seat. What are we going to feed those... Corinthian-ers? It would have been good if they were like Edward, Yuna pictures her husband in her head. He'll eat anything—heck, he'll eat my cooking!
“Hmm... wow... Hon, it's possible that I am now the most confused person on earth. Tell me: is this adobo, or menudo?” talked Edward after swallowing a bite during dinner last Saturday.
“Hon, it's kare-kare,” she patiently snapped back.
“Oh, I see. This is... uh, pork?”
“That's a cabbage. Or... pork...” Yuna squinted for a better look.
“Bah, who cares? It's edible!” he took another bite. And somehow the table ended up in laughter and a lovelier night followed.
And Yuna is still laughing shyly about it on her seat three days later. Lucky she found a husband who's as sweet as he is honest and as romantic as he is natural. As childhood friends they spent their days lounging under three old trees in the middle of a green field. They even buried a time capsule, and now as reminiscing adults they feel more original than TV dramas doing the same. Then five years ago, Edward proposed to Yuna on a yacht he borrowed from his rich friend. Under the moon, not far away from the shore, he popped the question... sort of:
“My friends will all laugh at me if you reject me tonight and I don't think I could live with the sadness for the rest of my life and I just want to be with you forever and...” he spent almost five minutes on his knees babbling. So she took the ring, put in on her finger, and asked Edward if he will marry her instead. The comic memory of their romance always makes her grin. Maybe I should just buy microwaveable stuff tonight, Yuna thinks, but quickly dismisses herself—it won't be good for Dan.
Dan, who loves the beach, is their firstborn whose laughter is the best music to their ears. And like any other mom she wants all the best for the 3-year-old—even if it means sticking to a high-paying advertising job and putting up with bosses from Alcatraz. But it never really bothered her either: She finds great content waking up to her son's face every Sunday morning, and becomes very much eager to turn what supposedly is her rest day as a never-ending play day with Dan. She wishes it was already Sunday...
Then, like a miracle, she suddenly finds herself rising from the low seat, invigorated. Like she hasn't moved a muscle since waking up that morning. She sees Cathy walk back in with other officemates, each with a pack of cigars, and they exchange smiles. Looking back to her desk, her eyes bumps on a mark on her calendar, in a squiggly handwriting by a kid:
---
An attempt at making some sense on an overworking air-conditioning unit and and empty stomach.
What keeps you going?
“Yunie, girl, yosi?” poofs Cathy from nowhere, a new pack of Lights in her right hand.
“No, thanks. I'm trying to quit,” Yuna reaches for a folder, hitting her mug which almost tipped over.
“Right...”
“Dan hates the smell. I'm quitting.”
“Well, suit yourself. Hey have you RSVP-d to Maan's shower?”
“It's her seventh wedding,” her eyes also disgusted by the red marks all over the recommendations page glaring at her.
“Well, the girls and I are going. It's free drinks!” two sticks now in Cathy's left hand.
“What the—she wants the shoot with THIS budget? What are we, rats?” Yuna wasn't listening, the paper almost got crumpled.
“Wait 'till you see how she wants the planning next month. One word: Victoria—and not the one outside Pasig. I heard we might even do potluck...”
Yuna sighs. It's the two-day operations planning for next year and the company executives are sitting in—and their boss doesn't want to spend even on food. “I'd fry her and serve her instead.”
“Ha-ha! Come on—just one stick. For that stress...”
She finally looks at her friend, bites her lips and shakes her head. “Fine. Laters,” out goes Cathy.
Another sigh. She drops the folder, sinks to her seat. What are we going to feed those... Corinthian-ers? It would have been good if they were like Edward, Yuna pictures her husband in her head. He'll eat anything—heck, he'll eat my cooking!
“Hmm... wow... Hon, it's possible that I am now the most confused person on earth. Tell me: is this adobo, or menudo?” talked Edward after swallowing a bite during dinner last Saturday.
“Hon, it's kare-kare,” she patiently snapped back.
“Oh, I see. This is... uh, pork?”
“That's a cabbage. Or... pork...” Yuna squinted for a better look.
“Bah, who cares? It's edible!” he took another bite. And somehow the table ended up in laughter and a lovelier night followed.
And Yuna is still laughing shyly about it on her seat three days later. Lucky she found a husband who's as sweet as he is honest and as romantic as he is natural. As childhood friends they spent their days lounging under three old trees in the middle of a green field. They even buried a time capsule, and now as reminiscing adults they feel more original than TV dramas doing the same. Then five years ago, Edward proposed to Yuna on a yacht he borrowed from his rich friend. Under the moon, not far away from the shore, he popped the question... sort of:
“My friends will all laugh at me if you reject me tonight and I don't think I could live with the sadness for the rest of my life and I just want to be with you forever and...” he spent almost five minutes on his knees babbling. So she took the ring, put in on her finger, and asked Edward if he will marry her instead. The comic memory of their romance always makes her grin. Maybe I should just buy microwaveable stuff tonight, Yuna thinks, but quickly dismisses herself—it won't be good for Dan.
Dan, who loves the beach, is their firstborn whose laughter is the best music to their ears. And like any other mom she wants all the best for the 3-year-old—even if it means sticking to a high-paying advertising job and putting up with bosses from Alcatraz. But it never really bothered her either: She finds great content waking up to her son's face every Sunday morning, and becomes very much eager to turn what supposedly is her rest day as a never-ending play day with Dan. She wishes it was already Sunday...
Then, like a miracle, she suddenly finds herself rising from the low seat, invigorated. Like she hasn't moved a muscle since waking up that morning. She sees Cathy walk back in with other officemates, each with a pack of cigars, and they exchange smiles. Looking back to her desk, her eyes bumps on a mark on her calendar, in a squiggly handwriting by a kid:
May 19Five more piles—chicken!—she's confident as she can get. After all, it's only 3:33. Yuna picks her half-full mug, takes a sip, smiles and goes back to the bleeding piece of paper.
Beeach wid MOm!
---
An attempt at making some sense on an overworking air-conditioning unit and and empty stomach.
What keeps you going?
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