I don’t want to write about the real things I’m scared of (sickness, being buried alive, etc.), because I so don’t want to attract negative vibes. So allow me to present a rundown of the things that I am unreasonably afraid of:
1. The mighty ipis!
Hands-down, this tops the list of things that freak me out. I’m not really afraid of mice (I’m not really fond of them either, but then, who is?) or frogs or even snakes. But roaches? *shudder* I am especially afraid of the flying kind! But even the crawlers are enough to reduce me to a squealing pansy. Joe’s Apartment is my worst nightmare—I can’t even bring myself to watch that movie because my mind plays tricks on me and I start imagining the creatures crawling all over me. Eyew! Eyew! Eyew!
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I had been so intrigued by Gregory Maguire’s books, which I would often see on display at the bookstores I frequent, that I finally gave in and got myself a copy of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West.
Wicked is a revisionist look at the Land of Oz. In the original story by L. Frank Baum, you have Kansas girl, Dorothy, magically blown into Oz with her dog, Toto. To make a long story short, she wants to get back to Kansas, but the Wizard tells her she has to kill the Wicked Witch of the West before she can head on home. There is an obvious line drawn between good and evil, good guys and bad guys. And, in the end, good naturally triumphs.
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My seven-year-old nephew EJ was a participant in some science quiz bee in school last Friday. But his mom had an emergency call at the hospital because one of her patients was rushed in for cardiac arrest and possibly needed surgery. So she called ole’ Aunt Em, who lived across the street, to cheer EJ on and egg-toss his opponents on her behalf.
Now, it’s been more presidential terms than I’d care to mention since I last rode a school bus. But I had to board EJ’s to get to his school. We had to ride with the morning batch because the quiz bee was at 8am (EJ takes the afternoon classes), so it wasn’t his usual crowd in the bus. And yes, Auntie Em in a school bus with a bunch of kids would be…interesting.
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Instead of writing about what things scare me with their mere possibility of happening (losing loved ones, getting eaten by a zombie, etc.) I’ve decided to write about my scary experiences. Real events that made me feel chills up my spine and sent me into a panic. Read on and be afraid. Be very afraid…
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Move over, Tapa King; hello there, Don Galo.
Remember when the brainless choice for a cheap but savory meal at 4 in the morning was institutionalized by that red-and-white neon-lit 24-hour tapsi hub that was Tapa King? A few years ago, I knew their delivery hotline by heart, because whenever my colleagues and I found our tummies doing a chorus line while OT-ing past midnight, there was only one number to call. “Kain?” one of us would usually just throw out there in the windowless, recycled office air. No questions asked, each of us would parry with our usual order: “Tapa Queen,” “King,” “With extra rice,” “Bangus” (there’s always the token vegetarian), “Prince.”
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To procrastinate is a practice that always haunts me. Every time I surrender to this temptation, without a doubt, those sleepless nights and dark eye circles would go on warring mode. The mind torture is worse than a nagging mother or lover, and so are the dreadful tossing and turning in bed due to realizing that I should have done it sooner. The big and capital “L” flashing on my forehead is a dreadful sign of guilt.
I believe we live in borrowed time and must take every opportunity to make the most of it. It is important that we be diligent with our responsibilities and act on our duties to achieve a sound personality.
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Asking a foodie to pick a favorite Pinoy dish is just plain unfair. That would be like imposing monogamy on a 16-year-old guy…after shipping him off to the The Playboy Mansion. It simply can’t be done. But a gauntlet has been thrown and one must simply step up. Plus I’d like to think I have more evolved faculties than the walking hormonal landmine that is every 16-year-old male.
And so with a heavy heart, I called to memory all my beloved homegrown eats, subjecting them to a cruel showdown in my head with such banal dog-eat-dog savagery second only to the power bulemics on America’s Next Top Model. There was kare-kare thickened with only the lardiest Ludy’s peanut butter, Visayan-style kinilaw with gata and chopped nuts, humbâ (Region 7’s toyo-free version of the classic adobo made from morsels of pork hand-rubbed with salt, pepper, and spices, slow-cooked to shreddable tenderness in its own fat), all the possible permutations of sinigang (na baboy, na manok, na baka, na hipon, sa miso, sa kamias, sa sampaloc, sa ibâ, sa Knorr Sinigang Mix!), inihaw na talong ensalada with gata and minced tomatoes and onions, the simple yet savory fried tilapia with a siding of chopped red eggs, minced onions, and tomatoes, bagnet with sukang buro…
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