Trip Lang

Last week, Wednesday, I went to Bulacan with a couple of girl friends for an unusual purpose.

The story goes as follows: Martha (not her real name) met this seemingly wonderful guy through chat. The guy was an overseas contract worker, who claimed that he was single because he spent most of his life working his ass off to get his siblings through school. Very noble and selfless, if you think about it. Naturally, single-mother Martha was smitten. They later on exchanged text messages and phone calls, sent pictures and shared their family histories and personal dreams. Martha and her new prince planned to get married.

When the guy came home for the holidays, they met and had a blast, or so Martha enthused. Guy was introduced to the mom and the son when he went to Martha's house, and talk about marriage perfumed the air. The guy then promised Martha that he'd visit again to meet the rest of the relatives during the customary family gathering.

To make short this long sob story, the guy turned out to be a charlatan. He didn't fulfill his promise to visit again, and never bothered to call. Martha tried calling, braving the little comments issued by the relatives, and did so for the next few days. Nothing.

Over that period, we'd gather on late nights to comfort Martha. She had fallen headfirst for the guy, to the point of lending money, and forgiving most of the guy's faults. Of course, we'd offer our own takes on the situation, punctuated by irreverent humor to lighten up the discussion.

So it was Wednesday last week, six in the morning, when Martha called me. We had planned to "search" for the guy in Bulacan the day after, but Martha suddenly remembered that the guy was supposed to fly back to Dubai. Given that, we had to go on that day Wednesday. I had to rouse myself from bed (I lacked sleep) and prepare for the semi-long trip.

Where in Bulacan, you might ask? All Martha knew was that the guy lived in San Miguel, a major provincial town. No specific address. Lovely, ain't it? And all Martha wanted to do was to confront the guy and give him a one-two beating and a lesson he'd take back to Dubai.

Of course, we failed. We were that close to finding the brute, after stopping by the local parish and the barangay hall and asking numeros passers-by. We were consistently told that Bulacan is locally known for its seedy activities, and thus most would be wary to offer the exact whereabouts of anyone, especially if being asked by outsiders. It's like part of the local culture.

So after four hours of intense search and investigation, we started back for Manila, honking the Revo horns and blasting the radio as we passed each of the three haunted houses, with the prescribed salt grains on the vehicle floor. (Part of the local superstition.) Martha was not as devastated as I had expected, but I guess she saw it coming (or going) anyway.

Ahhh...the stupid things we do for love. (I have my share, of course, but that's a story for another day.)


Comments

Jason said…
Bring back the tagboard, Carl! :)
Nikki said…
See? My thesis is correct: people from Bulacan are eeevil. And you know who I mean! ;)
jactinglim said…
welcome back online carver! hugs! missed you!
i gathered my amazonistas na ;)
Anonymous said…
Nikki: Oh my! So Regine Velasquez is evil????

Jac: Penge pictures mo. May character ka na sa second book.

Tobie: Miss you, bro!

Jayce: Temporary lang ang template na 'to. Kapag nariyan na bagong design, kung kelan man 'yon, may tagboard na uli.

CARVER

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