PART 1: MNL-SFO

Knocked Up

It's funny how things turn out. You think you know what’s going to happen, but you don’t. You never really do.

I thought life was just like the movies. It’s my fault, I guess, for having watched so many of them. In the movies, you always know what’s going to happen. Act 1: Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Act 2: Obstacles are introduced. Act 3: Obstacles are removed. Villains are defeated. The lovers are united. They live happily ever after. Fin.

I thought I was going to ride off into the sunset. I had won the girl, saved the day, slain the baddy, conquered myself. There was nothing left except that final kiss, fade to black, then the slow crawl of the credits as the exit music plays. In the movies, that’s how it goes. It’s always the same.

The thing is, life is nothing like the movies. I fell in love with Cat, and we were happy. Somewhere in between, something broke between the two of us.

And we couldn’t fix it. We tried. We only ended up hurting each other more. And then she left.
That’s the official version, of course. Reality is always much worse. There were things I wish I had never said, things I was ashamed of, things I should never have done. There was pain, anger, and at the end of it all, bitterness—things that never end up in the movie’s final cut.

This was where the curtain to the third act rose. I was alone in my one-bedroom apartment, un­prepared for the beginning. It was mid-day and I was still in bed.

Every day, it was the same. Every night, sleep was impossible, so I would lie in bed and think about Cat until sleep caught me. Sometimes I dreamt of her. When I awoke at noon, Cat would be nowhere to be found.

Every day, I’d watch a ray of sunlight travel across the room, changing in intensity, climbing a small hill of dirty laundry, then up the wall. I’d ignore hunger until it started getting dark, then fix up some instant noodles when I couldn’t bear it anymore. I’d watch TV, and try to get drunk, mostly to avoid the insomnia.

I hadn’t heard from any of my friends in ages.



Andrea—one time best friend, one time girlfriend— was in the States, and we all know what happened there. We don’t talk anymore, though she still greets me on my birthday. Connie was caught up in her own life, and Spider—God knew where Spider was.

“You look like shit,” Spider said.

Spider, my best friend, was standing in the doorway, in the blinding morning sunlight, smoking. I had no idea how he had gotten there.

“The security in your building sucks,” he said. “I just walked in, and went straight up the elevator. You should really lock your door. There are lots of crazy people out there, you know.” |

“Have you ever heard of cell phones, Spider? They’re really great for telling people you’re going to visit.”
“And you should charge your bloody cell phone,” Spider said, taking a drag from his cigarette. In his other hand, he waved my battered old phone.

Why? I thought to myself. She never calls.

“Come on,” Spider said sadly, as if he had read my mind. “I’ll buy you coffee. Connie has something important to tell us.”

At a café near Connie’s office, Spider and I waited for our old college friend. I was guessing that it was around three PM; I hadn’t been keeping track of time lately. We didn’t say much, or rather I didn’t say much. Spider talked enough for the both of us, which was fine by me. Eventually, Connie arrived, looking serious, not her usual bubbly self, older, which we all were, and weighed down with worry.

“You look like shit,” Connie said when she saw me.

“You’re so sweet,” I replied.

She reached out and put a hand on my arm. “I hate to say it,” Connie began, “I’m sure everyone says it, but you really have to move on, you know. You’re wasting away, I’ve never seen you so skinny—and you’re skinny to begin with! Again, I know everyone says it, but you should make yourself busy, lose yourself in work—”

“Can’t. Quit that shit.”

“Since when?” she asked, taken aback.

Spider interrupted. “Hang on!” he almost shouted. “This is all very touching, but I’m dying of suspense here. Connie, what’s so important that you had to drag Vince out of his depression? It’s hard work throwing your life down the drain, you know.”

I shot him an evil look.

“I’m sorry,” he went on defensively, “but we can talk about Vince later.”

As I didn’t want to talk about myself either, I went along with Spider. “Yeah, Connie, what’s the deal?”
Connie squirmed in her seat. “I’ll tell you guys later,” she said. “Let’s talk about Vince first. His life is always so juicy.”

“Spill it,” Spider commanded.

Connie squirmed a little more, which made her look exactly like a little girl, then she put her hands on the table, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She let the breath out slowly and opened her eyes.

“I’m pregnant,” Connie told us finally.

A long pause. We didn’t know what to say to that. Except Spider thought of something soon enough.
“Which one of us is the father?” Spider said, then he erupted into snorts of laughter.

The next moment we were all laughing.



A couple of hours later we were still there. Spider and I were wired with caffeine, and we were having a remarkably good time, drunk on conversation.

“You’re really getting married to this guy?” I asked Connie for the third time that day.

“Yes!” she squealed, sounding a lot like a twelve­year-old girl. “I love him!”

“You hardly know him!” Spider said, mocking her tone. What we knew about him was this: he was a chubby Fil-Am guy named Walter who had come to the Philippines to visit the relatives and discover his roots, he met Connie in a party, they hit it off, one thing led to another, and another and another. They were in love, he extended his stay. Three and a half months later, they were still seeing each other, only now she was pregnant, they were engaged, and they were flying to Las Vegas to get married.

“That’s why you guys have to be there at the wedding. In case I chicken out.” Somehow, what Connie said made a lot of sense.

“I’m game for anything,” Spider said right away. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Connie looked at me expectantly. “I already told you I can’t,” I told her. “I have no money, I just quit my job. I just can’t.”

“Come on,” Spider said, “I’m sure you have enough for a plane ticket. They paid you well in that agency. And flying is dirt cheap nowadays.”

“Please, Vince,” Connie said. “You have to be there. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Well, that’s about all the money I have!” I objected. “I swear. I didn’t save much.”

A look crossed Spider’s face. I knew that look. It was the look Spider got when he was concocting a Plan. Not just any old plan, mind you. Spider’s Plans usually involved danger, alcohol, and girls, not always in that order. But they were always brilliant.

Right on cue, Spider flashed one of his famous smiles and proclaimed: “I have a Plan.” He got so excited he even stood up.

“Connie,” Spider said, grabbing her by the shoulders, “Andrea has to join us too, right?”

“Of course,” she said. “She already promised me she’d go to the wedding.” Spider clapped his hands together in excitement.

“First, the three of us,” Spider said while waving a hand at me as I began to object, “will fly to San Francisco to meet up with Andrea. Together the four of us will make our way to L.A. then to Las Vegas on one grand road trip. Then in Vegas we’ll have a proper stag party and a bridal shower. It will be our final adventure together before our friend Connie embarks on another adventure of her own.”

Connie was delighted. “I love it!” she exclaimed, getting to her feet as well.

“And dear old Vince here, will make a film, a documentary, a home video, whatever. Because that’s the reason why you quit your job, right? Because you wanted to make movies! We’ll call it Pinoys in America. Or maybe American Buko Pie. Something. Anything! You can make an artsy personal docu, a reality TV style movie, or we can just watch strippers in Vegas. Come on, Vince, you know you want to go. You’ll find the means, and your best friend is only getting married once.”

I didn’t stand up, but I knew Spider was right. For once, he was right about everything.

“Sounds like a Plan,” I told him.