Archive for the ‘Short story’ Category

Saving Heroes
August 7, 2012

Looking back, I did remember the bright light hitting her face like a Rembrandt. Her hair, in a perpetual bun, glowed an extra glow. Her lips were in a withdrawn line, her naturally thin eyebrows almost in a furrow. Almost, yes, not fully. I guess even her eyebrows were too tired of me to even finish expressions anymore.

Her eyebrows used to dance. They danced for me. At least 10 years ago they did.

I was a gangly-looking college kid when I first saw her. It was a stereotypical summer in Manila – hot as a furnace. They used to say that you could cook an egg on the pavement with the heat. But who in the world would want to do that on a dusty road where rodents and roaches and drunkards tread? I’d eat that over my dead, gangly-looking body.

The afternoon sun was about to jump to the sea to give way to the moon. People were headed home, most of them with slightly irritated, scrunched up faces. With the heat, the crowdedness of the jeepney and that irritating man’s voice booming over the radio with his ridiculously phony drawl spitting up million-peso ads disguised as news items every three seconds, who can blame them?

Inside the jeepney en route to Baclaran, there she sat in her college uniform, right in the middle of a chubby old woman with a remarkable amount of greasepaint on her face that she looked like a deranged geisha, and a regular Juan, with a black tattered backpack on his lap.

Yes, right smack in the middle of two regular(ly unattractive) persons, she sat all prim-like, with her looming flowered backpack on her lap. Her brown skin looked fresh and natural, and contrasted with the rest of our tired and haggard ones, a sight not too often seen at that time of the day. She seemed to have something on her mind for she held her own blank gaze for quite a while.

I found myself trying to catch her gaze.
I found myself looking like a serial killer so I stopped every now and again to look at something else, like my old school shoes that badly needed cleaning. Then I would look at her face again.
It was a cycle.

I was staring at her eyes and saw how her pupils start to dilate. She looked slowly at me. This is the part where I usually stop staring out of sheer humiliation but I just couldn’t. She held my gaze and made her eyebrows dance – it elevated and fell like a rollercoaster and I know I should have tried a little harder to decipher what she was trying to tell me, but I was just lost in that dance her eyebrows made. Something was crawling its way out of my stomach, like butterflies in heat, trying to make their way out, flying frantically in the pit of my stomach.

Then I felt something move in my backpack. The old backpack that my aunt from America sent me a couple of years back. The one on my lap.

It was definitely not butterflies.

Then I looked at the girl, she was still looking at me. This time I was able to read her dancing eyebrows well. She was warning me not to look left. Sit still. Don’t move.

I felt something sharp slide slowly out of the side of my backpack, which now probably has a hole on its side.

I never got to see the man who butchered my bag. Right after he got what he wanted he signaled the driver to stop on a random curb and got out. All I remember was looking at his back as he swiftly stepped out of the jeepney. A real pro, I thought. But then again, in this economy, he had no choice but to be a pro.

I looked at her again, my heart pounding from what just happened. Her eyebrows, now furrowed, tainted with concern.

I peered inside the hole on my backpack. I lost my wallet, my old cellphone. I may have lost a couple of heartbeats as well. I lost track.

Then I heard her voice.
Are you okay, she asked.
It was that simple. Like in the movies. And until this day I still couldn’t believe it.

I never intended to get sappy, never in my life, but it was that moment that I realized that I found the girl who may have very well saved my life with her dancing eyebrows.

That was the beginning.

I found myself being saved by this woman countless times. And after years of marriage, my affair with that one intern, my missed anniversary dates, and the many fights I started and caused, I should have at least tried to be the hero in the relationship. Even just once. I could have tried.

I looked at her, sitting on the passenger seat, her face was still and calm. I yelled like a madman, not knowing if I had enough time to steer left or right, or just maybe hold her hand like I used to. And apologize profusely for being me. Or say that I loved her. And tell her that I don’t deserve her. Or hold her. Or anything like that.

And in the small spaces between the shards of glass and rubber and metal, and the small crevices between the loud noises and screams, I thought I saw her smile a small smile at me. I thought I saw her close her eyes and calmly smile in my direction.

I could have saved her life, even just this once. I could have been her hero.

Inspired by this non-profit group’s project to promote driving awareness and education for Filipino drivers and mechanics. As long as there’re people willing to make projects like these, there’s hope. On behalf of all Filipinos, I salute this endeavor with a small literary piece of something to help promote their good deed, all the way from the other side of the world.


Kat A. Tonia
July 1, 2009

By Pol Arellano

A short story I wrote years ago.

They carried me.

Slowly, ever so slowly down the pebbled, meandering path. The sun, the wondrous myth, was in a state of LOOK AT wrath.

He was wicked, oh yes he was. Iwas under his painful spell.

And yet my grotesquely painted skin of impeccable ivory was oblivious to the myth’s punishment. I attempted to PEOPLE IN HERE look down, to catch a glimpse of my unrealistically pale toes but then I remembered my masters’ orders. I was a statue – a beautiful and perfect ornament. I was the dutiful effigy with an arm outstretched in an uneasy arrangement. I was not to drink, to move, to blink. My duty for my wonderful fatherland was to listen – listen intently to the plans of the wicked. I must go to the land of the demons whose AFRAID TO MOVE plan is to devour the fertile soil that is my realm. My corporeality is wrapped in remarkably pallid paint, to mask my flesh and being. I trained all my life for this. My masters, they taught me to slumber with my eyes wide open. They taught me to imprison myself inside – to scream without even a hint of sound, to cry without a trace of a tear, to protest without a suggestion of a voice. They told me that my sole purpose HOW LONG was to serve my land with my charmingly chiseled features. From thereon in, I accepted my fate. I was to become a statue. And now I was one – a statue, a hearing statue and nothing more. They carried me as I posed my deathly pose towards the enemies’ land. I was a gift, a darling gift of peace, or so my masters said, for the cruel traitors to admire. As the path towards my short journey reached its near end, I willed myself to be strong. The men carrying me were getting weary; I can feel their unspoken agony though their lips are sealed shut. Or were their lips shut? My ears, they seem to know the things that I must listen to – even my pale ears order me around; they control my being, my pale ears. They do. The walking ceased, the silence frightened me. The weary men silently vanished into the woods. Alas, I was facing the wooden giant that served as the DON’T KNOW portal to the enemies’ lair. A low man yelled violently and the next thing I knew I was being carried towards the glittering perfection of their palace. After numerous footsteps, queries and laughter, I was positioned in a provocative spot.

What grandeur! Golden tapestries greeted my monotonous eyes. I was amazed. This is not a task, this is a handsome sanctuary, I thought. I smiled my mute smile and started to do my duty. But my ears, they grew red in anguish! O, bright red! Like ripe red tomatoes I used to handpick and eat at my dear aunt’s farm. And CARRY I realized that I should reprimand myself for having been blinded by this house of evil. My ears, they hated me, I felt their disgust through their crimsonness. I must do what my masters told me to do – to listen – and nothing more.

Three days have gone and I am yet to blink. I have heard nothing but petty chatter since I’ve arrived in this place. Such vile nonsense! The ladies-in-waiting and their scandalous affairs, the servants and their hidden hatred, the beastly indolence of the low men, the infidelity of their lords! This is nothing but a house of senselessness! The masters have been wrong! These people, these barbarians, are AGAINST HER WILL incapable of acquiring wisdom. They cannot formulate intelligent tactics! They are animals, all of them!

I closed my eyes in disgust.

I opened them only to see a servant drop her cleaning cloth. Her eyes were filled with fear and her loud shriek pierced my terrified being. I am done for! My heart throbbed its way down to the pit of my empty corporeality. All is lost! They shall discover the truth and I shall die in bloodied despair! Where were my masters? They have been wrong! This mission is a folly, a trap!

I ran. I could hear the resonant sound FURIOUS of a hundred or so low men behind my mannequin-like back. I reached the wooden gates and saw the flabbergasted faces of the low men manning the gates. In their state of shock, they were unable to move, which gave me a few seconds to push the wooden gates and run towards the woods. The angry low men were holding their swords and spears, LEFT running fast to get a hold of the phony statue that is I. I ran in perfectly perplexed circles. The woods played its haunted game of “never-get-back” with me and I was beginning to lose hope.

The earth shook wildly, as if the earth was dancing for rain and the reeds, those ugly reeds began to grow, higher than the oaks. Out of each vile reed popped the heads of my masters. They were taunting me and laughing at me! They cried “Stupid whore!” over and over. Those beasts! They are the true monsters! Those animals! My ivory skin was GET IT beginning to fight with my perspiration. Think, think! I commanded myself. I loathed my masters and feared for my life. The low men were coming! I could smell their musty aroma. I loathed myself for being gullible and stupid. All my training had been wasted with just a locking of my lids. My disgust for these animals MOVING led to an asinine act – such a viciously dimwitted act closing my eyes have become! I decided that before those monsters could consume my body with their lust and wrath, I must do something. I must save the only element in my body that is truly mine and mine alone. My hand found its way upwards, towards my expressive eyes. And before pain set foot, I clawed TRYING at my right lid and freed my guilty eye. As the earth brutally trembled, blood rushed. It enveloped my pale cheek and ran down my scanty white gown. My ears speak of the nearing beasts. My left eye cried at the hideous reeds while my masters laughed at me, laughed at my blood-soaked dress, laughed at my stupidity. I held my wonderful eye near my slow-beating chest as the ground shuddered intensely.

The low men were coming.

They were near.

A statue, I am no more.

Jeez, look at her. She’s just lying there.

Yeah. Gimme a light.

You’re not supposed to smoke here.

Who’s gonna tell on me? All the people in here are freaking retards.

Ok, ok.

How can she just lie there with her arm bent like that? Can’t she like, feel numbness or something?

I think it’s as if she’s afraid to move. Hurry up and finish that, the doctors might smell it.

Wait a sec. Hey, hey, hey, it’s already quarter past five, time to say “so long” to the freaks. Man, could this internship be any stupider? I never felt so damn afraid and violated at the same time. ‘Know what I mean? A retirement home is better than this place. Anything’s better than this place! We should have kissed more asses in the university.

Don’t call ‘em freaks.

Well they are.What are we going to do with her?

Who? Sleeping beauty?


I don’t know. Let’s wait till she snaps out of it.

What? How long is that going to take? She’s been like that for 3 hours already. I already immunized Mr. Smith, and you know how long that takes, c’mon.

Well what are you suggesting that we do? Carry her to her ward?

Well, yeah.

Isn’t that, like, bad for her or something?

So? Like she’ll scream and tell the hospital directress that we carried her. C’mon man, I have a hot date tonight with a real girl. Good thing too, ‘coz my plastic mistress is beginning to stink. Let’s get moving.

I don’t know..

C’mon! Don’t be such a wuss. I can’t believe you’re actually afraid of a crazy chick.

You’re crazier than her.

Shut up and carry her. My pits already stink. I need to take a bath or nobody’s getting laid tonight.

Speak for yourself, stinky. She’s heavy. Watch out for her arm.

Can’t we just fold her arm?

Don’t, you bimbo. It’s bad enough that we’re carrying her against her will. Don’t make it worse.

Ok, ok. Man, what a heavy chick! I wish my date won’t be as heavy as her, jeez.

She used to be a soldier, you know? Hence she’s muscle-y. Put her down gently, I said GENTLY. We shouldn’t have moved her. Doctor John will be so damn furious if he finds out.

He’ll be angrier if he found out we left this loon at the corridor. She must have been the female Rambo, shit,  she’s heavier than me! All the soldiers in the world are gonna turn out like this chick and there’ll be no one to fight for us. Man.

Shh! Shut up. Where’s her right shoe?

I’m not a freakin’ prince for our heavy Cinderella right here.

We left her shoe. Go get it.


Shoe.. shoe.. where the hell is that.. ah. Here it is.

Jasper! Jasper! Get the hell in here!!

What? What’s wrong?

She’s moving!


She’s moving!!!

So? She’s got to move some time.

Just get the hell in here!! She’s having a seizure or something!! C’mon!! Oh shit! Oh shit!!

What?? This better be.. Oh crap!!

Hold her hands! Hold her hands right now! HOLD HER!

I’m trying!


Oh jeez, her eye, she took out her damn eye! Hold her freakin’ arms! HOLD HER DAMMIT!  I’ll get help!

Luisa and the Darbies.
June 11, 2009

I am Luisa, and I really, really, really want to have a Darbie doll.

You see, for my birthday, I want to get a big, beautiful Darbie Doll, with pretty eyes and long legs. I’ll tie long ribbons on her hair and they will dance and write my name in the wind, all cursive and pretty-like. I’ll make her dresses in the colors of rainbows and candies. It will be great, I just know it.

I asked Inang to buy me a Darbie Doll about a hundred million times already. I always tell her not to get me just any ordinary doll, but the doll – the Darbie Doll I had in mind. I even made a drawing of it, just so Inang won’t buy the wrong kind. I colored it, and all, and it’s very pretty. I taped it on her bedroom door, so whenever she’ll go out of the room, she’ll remember to buy me a pretty, pretty doll.

Inang tells me, day after day, as she cooks her delicious meals, that I can’t have a Darbie Doll.

I guess the drawing isn’t all too pretty.

She’ll say, with a slight smile “What on earth will you do with a doll, float it on water?”

This is the part where I’ll say that my Darbie Doll and I can do so many things I can’t even say it all! My tongue gets tied up in hundreds of knots just thinking about the games we’re going to play, the places we’re going to go to, the people we’re going to meet. Inang would just nod her head, half-listening to my extremely good explanation. She’ll cut me off by asking me to taste whatever she’s cooking. It’s almost always Sinigang na Sugpo. The yummy, sour, clear soup always shuts me up. When Inang starts to peel off a humongous shrimp’s shell for me, I would forget what day it was. She’s a good, good cook. No, she’s the best in all of Mindoro. I promise.

You see, we live in Talipanan, Mindoro. Inang owns this big bamboo shack just in front of the beach, and rents our rooms to tourists during the summer. We have seven rooms, and I swear they’re all very, very clean. I know because I clean them all very, very well. There are lots of big and air-conditioned hotels near our house, but the tourists like ours the best. This is because Inang is the best cook in town. You should see the different kinds of people who compliment her cooking. Mr. Doe, an American visitor even asked me once if I was willing to exchange mothers with him. I frowned and said it depends. I asked him if his mother is the type who buys him dolls. Otherwise, I said, my brow furrowing even more, he can forget about it. He bent over, looked me straight in the eye for what seemed like hours and said, “You may want to close your eyes and wish real hard for that, honey.” He winked at me and I looked at him like he was the most awkward man on earth.

Did I mention that I go to school? Well I do. I’m in the fifth grade. I walk about a kilometer a day to get to school in town. My teacher is Mrs. Perla. She’s nice. She lets us read stories, write essays and do our numbers. I hate math, but I don’t mind it that much. Mrs. Perla makes things easier for us. She just smiles at you and you learn. I know it’s stupid, but it’s like that, really. Anyway, she gave me a story book one day. It’s about a kid named Dolly who went to school with her big, beautiful doll. She always kept forgetting things, like her money, or her way home, or her name, or something. I forgot what the story was about, really. All I can remember was I liked the idea that Dolly goes to school with her doll in tow. That’s when I decided to get Inang to buy me one for my birthday.

That would definitely mean no more walking to school alone for me. But four birthdays have passed and I still don’t have a Darbie doll of my own. Inang keeps on getting me swimsuits and dresses.

It’s depressing.

One night, when I was sweeping the sand off from the porch, I heard someone call my name. It was so faint; I thought I was just imagining it. But then the sound grew a bit louder, and I was certain I could hear it – it was my name! A girl is calling out my name! Luisa! That’s me!

I ran like a madman down the porch and felt the sand tickle my rose-colored soles. With each step, the girl’s calling my name became more real, more reachable. I felt like if I extended my palm, I can feel it, all solid-like and charming.

My brain was filled with nothing other than that alluring sound, that I didn’t even notice I was knee-deep in the water. I stayed put, listening to my name being called out in the vast aqua. The longer I stayed, the louder it got. The waves lapped at my knees, shoving their way against my chocolate legs. I can’t hear the waves though. It’s as if someone turned off the sound and replaced it with the swelling hum of my name, being repeated over and over.

I stood there stunned and very, very happy, as the sound grew louder, louder, louder. It was my Darbie Doll, calling out to me. It just had to be her! I stood there, feeling perfect.

I must have stood there for a million trillion minutes but I felt really, really perfect. In fact I was feeling so perfect that even when Inang made me kneel down on a pail-full of mung beans as punishment for swimming in the dark, I didn’t mind. I didn’t even feel anything. That’s just how perfect it is, that sound.

The next day I went to school, and no one even noticed that my knees have small circular marks on them, so it was a great day. Mrs. Perla taught us history. She taught us about the different nations that went here to become very high people, like kings, and presidents, and movie stars, and stuff like that. She asked us one by one what we thought of Spain, Japan and America. Marie, my classmate with two craaaazzzyyy-looking pigtails, I swear, raised her hand and told Mrs. Perla that the Americans should have colonized us. Imagine all of us, she said as her hair bobbed up and down and sideways, will be American citizens! Think of the prestige, she exclaimed. Yes, that’s the word she used, prestige. She started talking about how many boxes of chocolates we’ll get to eat, and how many pairs of rubber shoes we’ll all get to wear. I started to feel my very peculiar knees and stopped listening at prestige.

If we were to become Americans, does that mean that we would have yellow hair? And fairer skin? No, we’ll get to have Darbie Dolls everyday! I guess it’s not that bad, after all!

I started walking home, the beach on my right. The sun wore a pretty orange, pink and violet skirt on the wide blue sky. I thought of Darbie Dolls, one for each day, imagine! Different hair colors and dresses and personalities – different dolls everyday!

I faced the beach and closed my eyes and wished real, real hard for different Darbies everyday.

When I opened my eyes, the sun looked like she’s ready to undress and put her skirt in her closet. The water was scolding me, “Get home, girly” she says, “or I’ll spank your soles with my long, blue arm before you know it”. I walked home. I felt like drawing something pretty.

I called out to Inang and waited for her to come out of her kitchen to greet me. When I got tired of standing and waiting, I went in.

Funny, I couldn’t smell anything being cooked.

I went inside her room, but she wasn’t there. I barged in all of the visitors’ rooms, but she wasn’t there either.

Finally, I went inside my room. There I found a Darbie Doll lying on my green and white flowery bed.

I couldn’t believe it, it was a perfectly beautiful Darbie Doll with green hair and a pink dress! Inang finally went and bought me one! I can’t believe my luck! And it’s not even my birthday!

I danced vigorously, without making any sound, just like one of those old black and white films. I jumped like I just won the lottery. Finally! A Darbie Doll!

We played dress-up and pretended to be cheerleaders, movie stars, homecoming queens, secretaries, babysitters, hairdressers, and housewives. We had awesome fun! Just then I remembered I haven’t eaten yet. I looked at the clock and saw that it was 10:15 PM. My eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and I just couldn’t wait for Inang anymore. With my new Darbie in my arms, I went to sleep with a smile that sparkled like the stubborn star you see even at noon.

The next day Inang was still out, so I went to school with an empty stomach. But it didn’t matter because I was proudly holding a Darbie Doll! I couldn’t wait to show it off! I’m the only one in town with a Darbie! Marie is going to eat her pigtails when she sees my Darbie!

When I got to school everyone was silent. Nobody moved. Nobody looked at anyone. Mrs. Perla died, my classmate said. Nobody even looked at my Darbie.

The principal asked us to read silently and to not make any noise. We were released early but the skies wore a dark blue velvet dress, with a long, black shawl. She was paying her respects to Mrs. Perla and I understood. She was a great teacher after all.

I went home with an angry tummy and expected to see Inang there. But she was nowhere to be found. I went inside the kitchen and ate bananas and apples. I searched for Inang all over the house but there was no trace of her. She just vanished in thin air.

I went to my room to find three brand-new Darbie dolls lying on my bed. Three! I was so incredibly happy! I couldn’t believe it! How could have Inang brought me these? Where was Inang so I could thank her with all my heart! Three more Darbies!

We played all night! We pretended to be princesses, disco queens, soap opera stars, fashion models, bikini queens, and singers. Before I knew it, it was 12:30 AM. This time I fell asleep on the floor, throat dry from singing the mosquitoes to sleep with all my other singer dolls.

I overslept and missed school. I woke up at ten, washed my face and went straight to the kitchen. I got an overripe apple that’s already mushy to the touch and ate it. My stomach hates me and I understood just why. I decided to go look for my Inang.

I went out and looked for Inang. I walked past the coral cove. I walked over to the Iraya Mangyan community and young Mangyans looked at me in wonder, their round eyes seeming to question my walking barefoot past them.

I went past the falls, the ditch, the mountain. I saw cats making love, and pigs running from imaginary wolves, but Inang was never there. I felt teary-eyed and alone as I walked my way back. The sun was getting ready to leave the horizon.

I rubbed my eyes to shake off the forming tears.

I got home.

It was unusually dark, like the moon intended to face her dark side on our small house.

My heart stopped beating for twenty seconds. I know – I counted.

There were tens and thousands of Darbie Dolls in my house. I couldn’t even see the floor! They were all smiling and sitting down, like they were waiting to yell “surprise.” They’re eyes were all lit up, like they knew a secret that they wouldn’t dare tell. I ran to the kitchen, yelling for Inang to come out. I stepped on Darbie heads and bodies and feet, but I didn’t care. I checked all the guest rooms but only Darbies greeted my pale face.

I dashed to my room and opened the door.

There I saw the biggest, most beautiful Darbie Doll in the entire history of forever. It was as big as my bed, and it looked like a real woman. She was exactly the Darbie I wanted – she had endless legs and phenomenal hair. It was sitting still and looking out the window, as if admiring the beach view.

Then she abruptly moved and faced me and smiled a sinister smile. I closed the door and ran like crazy outside.

The moon was watching over me as I ran towards the sparkly sand. My tears were racing with my heartbeat; they were trying to see who’s faster than whom. I stared at the water and cried for my Inang. Just then, someone tapped lightly at my shoulder. It was Mr. Doe. He was one of our visitors a year ago. I almost didn’t recognize him – he looked more virile, almost younger. But he still had that look, that awkward look that he has. He was wearing a dark blue suit and was barefoot.

“What are you doing here, mister?” I asked him, my face all covered with tears and sweat that I didn’t bother wiping off.

“Well, someone summoned my mom. A little girl, I was told. And now she said she liked it here. So I guess she’s gonna stay.” He said, giving me a handkerchief that looks like a small flag.

“Where is she?” I asked, looking at his plastic-looking hands. I took the handkerchief but didn’t wipe my face.

“She’s here.” He said, dusting off the sand on his suit.

“Do you know where my Inang is?” I asked him, trembling.

“Yes.” He said, smiling at me.

“I want her back.” I said looking him straight in the eye.

“Can’t honey. You wished it, remember? You closed your eyes and you wished real hard. You can’t just un-wish a wish. That’s not the way the world goes ‘round, love.” With that he smiled, tapped my shoulder and left.

I stood alone on the shore, waiting for nothing as the waves crashed mightily at the sand. I closed my tired eyes and fell to the sand. I fell asleep.

I was awakened by the waves that slapped me senseless. It screamed at me, and said “I was right, you do need a spanking. Damn your little black locks, you need to do more than just un-wish. Get going child. Time is running out.”

I tried to stand up as fast as I could but I was dizzy with hunger. The sky was still dark and I felt cold. I grabbed our broom from the porch and buried it underneath the sand near the water.

Then, I went inside our house. It was enveloped in heavy darkness, and it’s really hard to breathe inside.

The Darbies all looked at me; some of them have disarrayed hair, mangled clothes and even dislocated body parts. I squinted my eyes and walked over the Darbies, hearing crunching and breaking sounds with every step. I grabbed two Darbies and started to open the door to my room.

It was time to face the biggest Darbie of them all; she was smiling her sinister smile.

“You heard me call your name, Luisa. In the sea, remember? You have good ears! Way to go!” she said, her teeth unmoving, a smile plastered on her perfectly made-up face. Her voice sounded superficially happy.

“I know I have good ears.”

“Great! That’s great! Let’s play dress up! Let’s play movie stars, or how about princesses? Let’s play Luisa!” She extended her arms; both were stiff, milky-white and had a mesmerizing plastic sheen.

“No I want to play something else.” I told her.

“I want to play exterminators.”

With that, I beheaded one of the Darbies in my hand. The smile vanished from the big Darbie’s face, and she twitched uncontrollably. I stepped on the other Darbie’s body and she twitched again, like she had short wires in her system.

“Luisa, stop it, darling! That’s not the game we want to play!” She said, her smile beginning to turn into something hideous. From a stiff sitting position, she stood up, without bending her knees. She slowly reclined her back and stood up straight. She walked stiffly, like an angry robot set out to kill everyone in sight. Her smile didn’t leave her face.

I ran.

The Big Darbie was chasing me, her legs moving like stiff machines that can kill anyone within its path. I ran down the corridor, purposely stepping on Darbie Dolls on my way out.

“Luisaaaaaaaa! Let’s play Luisaaaaaaaaa! Come here you little piece of shit!” She screamed my name, and I felt my heart throb out of fear.

The Darbie was going to kill me, I thought. I ran outside. The Darbie Doll was right behind me. I searched for the buried broom and waited for the Darbie Doll.

I was panting like crazy. I got one chance. Just one. The Darbie Doll slowed down and looked at me with flashing eyes.

“You stupid little girl. You wanted to play with me! I’m here now, you little idiot!”

“Where’s Inang?” I asked her, panting and sweating in fear and anticipation.

“She’s out playing,” her face contorted into a devilish smile that caused me to gasp. “So stop acting like a stupid little girl and play with me!” Her smile grew wider, an unbelievable feat, as she bellowed out in anger.


Her nostrils flared and her phony smile was cracking from pressure on the sides, like it’s to burst from the seams. She twitched like she wanted to crack my skull in hundreds and hundreds of uneven pieces.

“OK, Let’s play,” I said.

“I call this game ‘floating’.”

With that I whacked Darbie’s head with the broom, and she twitched and screamed as I pounded her head and neck with all my might. Guts and bats and spiders and melted plastic and quarters and pennies oozed out from her head.

She screamed a guttural scream that overpowered the shouts of the strong waves and I almost covered my ears but I remembered the game I made up had but one rule – Don’t stop till someone’s floating. She tried to claw at me with her slender arms but I was smashing her without pause, giving out every last ounce of energy I had. My arms were like unfed robots on a hunger-strike gone wrong – they were angry, and so was I.

She fell into the sand twitching, her eyes flaring momentarily then it turned black, like two coals. I pushed her off to the sea, and let the waves strike her as she moves closer and closer to oblivion.

I was so exhausted, I fell asleep holding the broom in my hand on the soft sand. “I won.” I muttered under my breath and felt the rich, velvety sand tuck me in.

The next morning I woke up to the smell of garlic rice being fried, and tomatoes being cut. I heard Inang whistling as she prepared breakfast.

For my next birthday, I told myself as I massaged my aching arms, I’m going to ask Inang for a trusty bicycle instead.

Protected: Black Spots.
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March 31, 2009

By Pol Arellano, 2009.

My cousin loves Mc Donald’s.

He said that if he were gay, he’d marry Rowald McDonald. But gay marriage isn’t allowed here, so they’d have to move to America. Rowald’s an American citizen. He can petition my cousin and they can live in California. But my cousin isn’t gay. He just loves Mc Donald’s.

We live in Molino, very near a Mc Donald’s. Everyday, after jogging, he goes in for a coffee and a pair of pancakes. He fancies one of the servers there, Monay, because she’s pretty and has a slight lisp. She gives my cousin a newspaper with his pancakes, even though it’s not allowed.

I guess she likes him too.

Everyday, my cousin would eat at McDonald’s. He’d jog there for breakfast, walk for lunch, and skip (although he denies it, I swear I saw him literally skip) for dinner.

As Mona’s aura became blooming, my cousin’s pants became tighter, skimpier.

Two months later, they became a couple.

Needless to say, they celebrated at McDonald’s.

Weeks passed and my cousin was beginning to bulge.

He has walking very short distances, even panting on his way to the restroom. His tummy was as large as the Mall of Asia, which used to be more along the lines of SM Molino. Monay, the dutiful girlfriend, asked him to watch his weight. He didn’t listen. He kept on gorging Big Macs and McNuggets and fries and chicken. He washed it all down with gallons of Coke and milk shake.

After only five months into the relationship, my cousin grew to be obese.

Monay’s contract with McDonald’s was terminated, after six months of hard work. But my cousin still insisted on meeting up at McDonald’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Monay didn’t want to. But my cousin, McDonald’s obsessed as he was, insisted. And so everyday, they’d meet there. Eat there. Monay was sick of McDonald’s food. She even barfed her Big Mac one time.

My cousin refused to talk to her for a week.

One day, my cousin didn’t go to McDonald’s. Monay came to me, crying. She said that my cousin had left the country. She said that Rowald McDonald petitioned my cousin, and they are now living together in California.

Oh well.

I guess my cousin’s gay after all.

February 27, 2009

By Pol Arellano

It’s eleven o’ clock and all the fight ran out of me like a schoolboy being chased by six-foot bullies.

I just had about enough of waiting.

I’ve been waiting for her to come out of her room, that oftentimes putrid and sometimes haven of a room. She stayed in for hours without coming out for air. I ordered Chinese food and waited for her. I ordered hotdogs, hung out, and suppressed my pee. I curled up on one corner and stared at her yellow green door and let sleep come to me.

I didn’t think that apologizing would be this hard. Or this perilous to my health.

It’s my second day outside her dormitory room. Students living on the same floor as hers looked at me like I was a rat whenever they passed by, maybe because I already smelled like one. I couldn’t care less.

I stared at her door for how many tick-tocks now and whenever I close my eyes, her door lingers inside my head. It has become more than a memory. It is now a state of mind; a reality that mocks me and my powerlessness to open it. The yellow green door with the pink knob for me is, at this point in time, the most insensitive thing on the face of the earth.

I didn’t think that falling in love would be this hard. Or this perilous to my health.

Before the second day came to an end, I heard a creaking sound.

The door opened at last. Though not particularly wide enough for me to enter, but big enough for me to peer into. I scrambled to my knees, and stood up. I squinted hard and held my breath.

I went in.

I walked past her kitchen. Roaches were swimming in gray and yellow sink water, jumping on unwashed plates and cups and saucers. The refrigerator door was wide open, the dim yellow light cast shadows on three pieces of eggs, two of which were broken.

Her table was upside-down. Clothes were piled atop her LCD television screen. Her computer was an understatement of a mess, if there ever was one.

Her chihuahua lay stiff on the floor. I watched in fascination as two thousand ants tried desperately to pick the dog up. Saving for winter, I believe. Or probably for a big birthday party.

The house probably looked a lot like hell right now. She must have been really high.

And she didn’t even think of inviting me for a shot.

Women. They’re like freakin’ circles. They’re hard to freakin’ draw. Even when you’re sober.

I went inside her bedroom.

That’s when I saw her lying on the floor. Her eyes were like deep wells, empty and dark. Her arms and legs were moving frantically, moving up and down and sideways. She was convulsing. She was moving rhythmically, fast and violent.

I felt scared.

I felt the color fly swiftly out of me, escaping from my every crevice.

I ran towards her, pulled her head up, and tried to see what was wrong.


She continued to move, almost gyrating to an impossibly fast-paced tune, undecipherable to human ears.

She moved, and moved.

I asked and asked.

The fight ran out of me like a sissy schoolboy, running away from six-foot bullies.

Inside her room, the floor spinned as she convulsed.

She was screaming now.  I held her head and stared into her face, looking for answers in her pale being.

As I peered into her eyes, a scream escaped me, ripping my tonsils out of my throat.  It escaped faster than a bullet train, faster than time itself.

I screamed.

For her deep, empty eyes mirrored my own.

And so I convulsed next to her. Like a pair of coked-up dancers, we gyrated.

As I spasmodically moved, I wished that there were enough ants in the world to carry me to salvation.

Move, a short story.

Inspired by Andres Barrioquinto’s Dead Can Dance Exhibit at the Tala Gallery.

Inconvenience, Stored.
October 21, 2008

By Pol Arellano, 2008

Hello, sir. Fine morning isn’t it?

Hm, yes, quite.
Will it be cash or card sir?

Card. Here.
I see you’ve found the new 17-in-1 coffee. It’s all the rage nowadays. Haven’t tried it out yet, though. Is it any good?

Uh, I really don’t know.
Oh, good, good. That’s okay, sir. Good. Trying out new things is good. That old brand must have taken it’s toll, huh?



I’ve actually tried this brand of shaving cream and let me tell you sir, it sucks mightily. I’m not punching this in sir. To buy this would be a crime, a heinous crime.

Wait, that’s my favorite brand! What are you doing??
Believe me sir, I’m doing you a service. I’m here to serve sir. It says right here on my button, sir. See?

Yes but please put it back.

Besides, I know for a fact that you’re sick of this shitty thing’s smell anyway.

This is pointless. I give up. Don’t punch the damn thing in.




Ooooh, I see you’ve got the missus’ favorite bubble bath. She hates it when you buy the floral kind. Says it reminds you of your old secretary. Yep, the one you spent ten fun-filled days with on Bo-raaa-cay! That’s her alright.

HEY! How the hell did you know that?

That’s why vanilla’s her preference. It reminds her of your first date.
Who are you? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?







Well, to be honest sir, I was there.


Sir, you may want to keep it down a bit, my manager is eyeing us. Can’t have the big boss snooping in on us, can’t we?

How could you have been there? What are you talking about?

You see, sir, I was there. Like I told you.


I was the pavement you fell on when you crashed your neighbor’s bike when you were 13. I was the ice cream cone you threw away because it leaked and it didn’t look too good on your first date. The matrimonial bed, that was me, and let me tell you sir, I didn’t enjoy that all too much.


I had been your sink, where you lost your wedding ring, while trying to wash away blood on your hands. You killed a small boy when you were out hunting for geese. By accident, of course. You hid him underneath the velvet sea.


I was the pen you used to sign illegal documents. I was the desk you made love on with your sexy, exotic-looking secretary. I was the sea, the one you skinny-dipped in with her too. Five out of ten days, your dangling sex punctured my aqua.


I was the second-rate bouquet of roses that you got for your wife when a girlfriend of hers saw you feeling your mistress up. I was the bathroom door you waited in front of when she refused to talk to you.


To appease her, you gave her me, for I was a pricey diamond ring. You bought another me and gave it to your secretary/mistress on your anniversary.





You owe me P 2350.50, sir. Let me swipe your card. Ooh, that tickles.

Thank you for shopping at [BEEP], have a nice day!

The Long Trip to Itay’s Heart
October 20, 2008

By Pol Arellano, 2008

Inay woke me up early today.

She wiped the sand off my eyes and told me to get up. She went to my wooden closet and took out one of my prettiest dresses, the ones I wear to special occasions, like when lolo died last summer. My dress is so pretty, so red, like a mad asteroid. Or that yummy-looking apple in Inay‘s old recipe book.

She told me to get up, and stop pretending to sleep already, because she wasn’t “in the mood”. I was a good pretender. She just won’t admit it.

Get up, she yelled, we’re going on a trip.

But I’ll ruin my pretty dress on the trip, I mumbled. Our old car has very lumpy seats. I sometimes think that all my lost things ended up underneath its icky green seats. Like my striped fat cat, Ninglat, and my pink and purple spin top.

It also smells bad. Like bagoong, pandan, eucalyptus leaves and Inay‘s cologne gone wrong.

No worries, the trip won’t be long, Inay said as she pulled me out of my three-legged bed. Get up, she said, her nostril slightly dancing.

Where are we going? I asked.

We’re taking a drive to your Itay’s heart. We’re going to look for something there. Inay said as she fixed my blanket.

Okay. I said. But it sounded like Hohkhaay because my yawn got in the way of my okay.

We got in the lumpy car and drove for an eternity. Inay lied. I guess she was a better pretender than me.

Our car moved like an old man, walking with a stick in one hand, on the bumpy, crisscross road.

Inay gave me a plastic bag just in case I had an “accident.” I made a face and pretended to make puking sounds but stopped when I almost vomited my pan de sal and salted eggs.

After singing “Bahay kubo” a hundred thousand trillion times, Inay told me to knock it off. She said we were near Itay’s heart. Finally. But Inay was a good pretender, so I started to sing a made-up song about pretending. In the song, a black, furry and gassy dog named Jun-Jun was peeing everywhere. In the end he married and got kittens for kids. Inay laughed and told me that I could be the next Lino Kamo. I told her that it wasn’t a very funny joke.

We’re here, Inay said.

I stirred. I fell asleep. I was about to say something but my throat felt scratchy. I looked out the window and saw nothing but darkness and outlines of willowy trees. Their branches seemed to be dancing to the tune of some elegant music. I wish I were a tree. So then I could hear.

Inay went out of the car. I went after her. She held my hand and in the darkness, I saw her eyes. They were luminous than fireflies, fierier than the sun. Inay has very pretty eyes.

We walked. And walked. And waaaallkkkkeeeeddd.

I hate walking.

We saw giant roosters, three of them were dead. The living ones were making noises like a backed-up toilet.

We passed by a row of beer soldiers. Thousands of them lined up the path, with cold piercing stares. But it wasn’t too long before they softened up to us. Their eyes smiled as they sang a song about a man who’s celebrating his birthday. They weren’t good singers.

We went inside a house made of cards. In it was a dog made of chips. The dog was cute but he made too much noise.

After walking, and walking and waaaallkkkkinggg, Inay stopped.

She announced that we were going home.

She pulled her hair back, smiled at me, and led the way back to our lumpy car.

I wish I were one of the trees. I wish I could hear the music. I closed my eyes to make the wish come true. I read that in a nursery book. In school. I closed my eyes. I promised not to take coins from Inay’s wallet. I promised to do all my homework. I promised to eat yucky ampalaya.

I opened my eyes.

But I still can’t hear the music.

The trees, they were still moving lines in the darkness.

But Inay’s eyes looked like dead fireflies. Like a cowardly sun.

I closed my eyes and wished that I were never born.

The Two Deaths of a Business Woman.
September 16, 2008


The Two Deaths of a Business Woman.

By Pol Arellano, 2007

I saw a woman in town today. She parked her bicycle in front of a shabby-chic café. On her bicycle was an attached basket. On the attached basket there was a box. She took the box out of the basket and sat on one of the tables outside the café. Her table was next to a couple kissing passionately.

A waitress approached her. The waitress had bangs of gold. The rest of her hair is shaved. She wore an apron that smelled like bacon, sweat and coffee. She smiled automatically at the woman like she knew her forever.

You look tired, dear. Nothin’ like a cup of tea to calm the wires and odds.

Yes, a cup of tea would be lovely.

The woman thought of how she hated tea. She thought of its green, dried leaves and she thought of how much she loathed green, dried leaves. She thought of how she wanted to drink a Bloody freakin’ Mary instead. Yet she held her smile even after the almost bald woman called her order up and attended to the famished-looking obese man who came in with an oversized umbrella.

I saw her. She held her box like it was an infant. She sat primly and stared at nothing.

The waitress came staggering through the crowded aisle of the café. The sun shone on her apron and she looked almost ethereal with her gold bangs and sweaty nose. She held a large tray, in it were a family of five’s orders, complete with a vegetarian pizza for the elder daughter and a meatball pasta for their sweet brat. She held the woman’s cup of tea on a smaller tray in her other hand. The obese man called her attention and as she turned around and miscalculated her step, she knocked-over a salt shaker. Miraculously, the food and tea were spared. She really must have been ethereal.

She apologized profusely to the lad. The lad smiled and said,

Hey, it’s nothing. It’s supposed to bring me luck, right?

That, it’ll do, sir.

She placed the tea in front of the woman. The woman stared at her cup of tea and requested for a small amount of milk. A child was throwing a tantrum and was yelling,


The waitress smiled her automatic smile and nodded. She turned her back on the woman to get a cupful of milk. The lad placed his hand in his right pocket and took out the small box. It looked as if he was keeping it in his socks drawer for several months now. He kept it under the table, of course. The café was still too damn noisy.

The woman thought of how milk disagreed with her system. How it made her want to throw up and pass gass and piss all at the same time.

The lady who was with the lad had roses for lips. She was all a-bloom, almost like she was springtime herself. She looks ready to burst with repressed joy. She stroked her trim tummy and laughed at the lad’s joke.

The vegetarian daughter talked about how much she liked the new boy in town because he wears Save the Kangaroos shirts to school. The sweet brat talked about getting a new hamster for his pet collection.

The wife talked about a luncheon she’s going to host for the senior citizens in their block.

The husband said nothing and ate his steak with gusto.

The woman sat there, the cup of milk now in front of her.

She thought of how much she hated milk and tea stirred together.

The obese man asked the waitress for another slice of their wonderful cake. He asked her not to skimp on the whipped cream too.

The woman stared at the building across the café. It was where she spent 14 of her precious hours in. She literally slaved there.

She talked. She sat. She nodded. She made coffee. She wrote. She read. She ran errands. She received paychecks. She typed. She got courted. She lost her positions. She dated. She gained new positions. She did this for twelve years.

The lad held the lady’s hand in his. She stared at her eyes and told her she looked radiant. The lady flushed and told him that he was a royal kiss-ass.

The waitress cleared the tantrum-thrower’s vomit. The father, mobile phone in hand, promised to give the waitress a good tip. The waitress thought the father looked cute.

The woman stirred her cup of tea with milk. She stared at the building in front of her.

She thought of how much she loathed tea and milk. She thought of how much she loathed the building in front of her.

She wasted twelve years there. She lost many things in that building.

She lost her father. She lost her beauty. She lost her mother’s pearl earrings. She lost her virginity. She lost her sex appeal. She lost her freedom. She lost her husband. She lost her dreams. She lost her dignity. She lost her fingernails on her husband’s paramour’s head. She lost her car. She lost her job. She lost custody. She lost her family.

The vegetarian daughter asked the waitress if she knew Bjork. The waitress nodded enthusiastically. The daughter said the waitress looked so much like Bjork. The sweet brat asked for a cup of water. If they had goldfish there, he added, just place it in the glass of water. The mother laughed. The father smiled in spite of himself.

The lady excused herself to go to the washroom. The lad smiled. He rehearsed the lines in his head over and over. He wanted it to be perfect after all.

The woman drank her tea with milk. She felt calm.

She thought of buying a box of prepared tea bags. Then she laughed her small laugh.

She opened her box.

The lad held the small box in his pocket. She looked at the woman. The lines in his head vanished. He held the small box in his pocket for what seemed like an eternity. He thought of how much he loved the lady. The lady in the washroom. How much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He thought of the salt on his shirt.

He thought of how a buttload of shit it was to believe that it was supposed to bring him luck.

The woman took the pin out.

There was a loud noise. In a fraction of a second, the noise seemed to be in harmony with the blinding light. In that perfect frame of time, everyone in the café venerated the feeling of shock and animosity. They swam in fiction-like fear and wallowed in it; they did that for there was a lack of place to find solace.


I felt as if my chest exploded with the blast.

I felt correctly.

This is exactly how I felt a decade ago.


Ang Dakilang Wala
September 7, 2008

Ni Pol Arellano

Nung mga bata kami, may mga pangarap kami.

Si Bajoy, yung tatlo ang baba, gustong maging engineer. Gagawa siya ng mga gusali. Mga tulay. Mga bahay ng artista. Lalo na sa Alabang.

Si Mila, yung laging nakabukaka, gustong maging doktor. Gagamot siya ng matatanda, mga bata. Mga buntis, mga sanggol. Mga mahihirap at mayayaman.

Ako, gusto kong maging wala.

Sa totoo lang, ako ang may pinakamahirap na maabot na pangarap. Paano, alam kong sobrang galing ko. Ang galing kong kumanta, magsayaw, magsalita, mag-math, magtikol, manligaw, magpaiyak ng babae,  magpatili ng babae, magpasaya ng babae, at magpasaya (kindat, kindat) ng babae.  Sa lahat ng talento ko, mahirap maging wala. Kumbaga destined for greatness ako e. Kaya sigurado akong hindi ako magiging wala. Kaya yun ang pangarap ko, kasi alam kong ang pangarap, lalo na sa Pilipinas, mahirap abutin. At yun lang ang bagay na naiisip kong hindi ko maaabot. Maging wala.

Kasi naman ang galing kong magdrowing. Dati lagi akong pinapagdrowing ng titser namin. Sasabihin niya,  “Pepe, magdrowing ka nga ng batang naglalaro. Ayan, ang ganda! O tapos magdrowing ka naman ng mag-asawang kumakaway. Oo, ganyan nga! Tapos lagyan mo ng magandang bahay sa likod. Sige, pati puno. Ay, aso din. Hm, dagdagan mo pa. Mga labingisa. Ayan, ayan! O sige lagyan mo ng tangke. Sa gilid lagyan mo naman ng astronaut. Lagyan mo na rin ng Playboy Bunnies sa taas, hindi, hindi, kunwari nakasabit sila sa buwan. Si Donald Trump gawin mong mas matangkad. Oo, pati si Oprah gawin mong mas maputi ng konti. Konti lang, baka maiba na masyado. Ayan, ayan! Ang galing mo Pepe!” Lagi akong pinapagdrowing. Puring-puri ako lagi e. Ang galing ko kasi maghalo ng mga kulay. Sinasabi ko sa’yo, kapag nakakita ka ng gawa ko maluluha ka e. Ganon ako kagaling.

Nabanggit ko na bang captain ako ng Basketball, Softball, Volleyball, Baseball, Swimming, Polo, Chess, Bowling, Table Tennis, Rollerblading, Ice Skating, Quiditch, Hangaroo, Diner Dash, Counter Strike at Dama teams sa school? Pwes ako lahat yan. Kapag may laro ako, yung mga babae sa gilid, inaabangan yung pagpapawis ko. Binobote nila tapos binebenta nila sa Quiapo. Katabi nung mga pamparegla pati mga bloke ng tawas. Nakakagaling daw yung pawis ko e. Parang magic oil ng El Shaddai. Kaya lang mas mabango ng di hamak yung pawis ko. Pati mas efektiv.

Galing ko din magsalita. Lagi akong panalo sa mga debate sa school. Edi ipapakilala na ako ng host. Tilian yung mga tao, grabe. May mga naghahagis pa ng panty. Minsan may brip, pero minsan lang yun. Tapos ipapakilala yung kalaban ko. Ang daming nagbu-boo. Para mong nakita yung pumatay kay Bambi na biglang pumasok sa meeting ng PETA e. Ganong-ganon. Alam na ni gago na wala siyang binatbat e.  Tapos pinagbigyan siya, pinauna siya ng moderator matapos sabihin ang tapik – Tingin mo ba’y tama ang same sex marriage o hindi? Sinabi niyang kasalanan ang same-sex marriage. Sinabi niyang hindi yun Biblikal. Sinabi niyang hindi ginawa ang babae para sa babae, at ang lalake para sa lalake. Wala daw ito sa naturalesa. Madami siyang sinabing batayan: mga science journals, mga philosophies. Iba’t iba talaga. Madami siyang pinakitang patunay sa mga sinasabi niya. Madaming tao ang tumutulo na ang laway at may mga naglalako na ng mani sa gitna. Tinawag na ng commentator ang pangalan ko at biglang nagising ang lahat! Slow motion akong naglakad papunta sa stage at mga labinlimang minutong naghintay na humupa ang palakpakan at hiyawan at ang wave na ginawa ng mga manonood. Handa na ang lahat sa matindi kong istilo ng pagsagot sa kalaban ko. Ito na ang hinintay nila ng matagal. Sino ba naman ako para biguin sila? Gwapong-gwapo kong sinabing “E sa okay lang sakin e, paki mo?” NAGSITAYUAN yung mga tao e! Sobrang bilib sila sa katalinuhan ko nun. Nakakabingi yung palakpakan pati hiyawan! Pahiya yung kalaban ko! Akala mo nanalo yung Ginebra sa ingay e. Akala mo nanalo si Erap ulit e.

Sa sobrang galing ko, pati mga kaaway ko napabilib.

Ganon ako kagaling. Magaling ako sa lahat ng bagay. Hindi mo pa naiisip, alam ko nang magaling ako dun sa bagay na iisipin mo pa lang. Galing no?

Ngayon matatanda na kami nila Bajoy at Mila.

Si Bajoy, wala na yung tatlong baba. Pumayat na si gago. Engineer na siya. Siya yung gumawa ng bagong Cultural Center sa maynila. Sobrang ganda nung gusaling yun,walang binatbat yung luma. Binisita yun ni Angelina at ni Brad Pitt nung nakaraang buwan. Tapos may inampon silang bente-siyeteng mga batang kalsada nung napadaan sila sa Ermita. Yung kalsadang dinaaanan nila, inayos ni Bajoy. Pinakinis. Ginawang bago.

Si Mila,  mahilig pa rin bumukaka. Pero doktora na siya. Naka-assign siya sa Benguet. Doon siya naggagamot ng libre sa mga matatanda na kabilang sa mga tribo. Kailangan niyang bumukaka dun. Kapag tumatalon siya sa pagitan ng mga lawa at umaakyat ng bundok, kailangan niyang bumukaka.

Ako, ito, magaling pa rin.

Hindi ko nga lang maikwento sa Amerikanong kausap ko kung gaano ako kagaling.

Ang importante lang sa kanya e yung maling bill na dumating sa kanya kanina, dahil hindi naman daw siya nagsubscribe sa pay-per-view nung nakaraang linggo.

Magaling pa rin ako.

At mukhang dahil sa sobrang galing ko, nagawa ko yung inisip kong hindi ko magagawa.

Tulad nila Bajoy at Ana, natupad ko ang pangarap ko.

Ako ngayon ay isang dakilang wala.