Nightfall

The late evening sun was setting behind the vineyards of Rutherglen Estates when a red, 2015 Camry drove off the Mediterranean-inspired courtyard of Tuileries Restaurant.  Against the final glow of the western sky and the elegantly lit, maroon window awnings on the facade of the historic cellar door, he was left alone, standing on that vacant parking space.

IT WAS A DRY, 34-degree day in north east Victoria so Rogelio had decided to be in his most presentable army-green cargo shorts and white collared shirt adorned with a tiny, green crocodile insignia.  A couple of hours earlier he was excitedly getting dressed to catch up with a friend—who, for him, was very special.  He, unfortunately, didn’t get the chance to at least say ‘hi’ when he spotted her in Adelaide a week ago, but their job and fate had luckily brought them together in this picturesque wine village this week.

Amidst the uncomfortable summer evening temperature, Rogelio believed that tonight, luck was on his side.  He was hoping that this meeting would be the perfect moment for him to finally confess his feelings for her that, for so long, had been suppressed!

BUT AS THE streetlamps on Rutherglen’s Main St. came to life, the truth was gradually sinking into his brain—the stars in the universe weren’t aligned for him tonight… He found himself walking along the concrete footpath that was obviously leading to the town centre, yet for him he’s clearly heading towards an unknown direction.

His dear friend was leaving the country!  She’s moving overseas with a guy who recently got promoted in a multinational company he’s working for.  Rogelio’s heart had been bleeding since his friend told him at the restaurant about this decision—a big move that’s truly life changing not only for her, but for him, as well!  Earlier across the table, he’d managed to fake a smile and had sincerely wished her good luck as they bade farewell to each other before she eventually drove off the courtyard. 

By the hilly street, lined with well-maintained buildings of the Victorian Era, he wanted to scream his heart out!  Then a heavy, forest-green wooden door beside him swung open; a few tipsy tradesmen walked off.  He heard billiard balls hitting off the pool table, beer schooners clinking, and a hint of something like a tobacco smoke with a gluey aroma of spilt beer on the carpet wafted through the doorway.

Rogelio went in. 


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Turbulence

THE DIMLY LIT CABIN WAS shuddering thirty-eight thousand feet above sea level but he seemingly failed to notice it.  As the Melbourne-bound Airbus 320 banked to the left to head southeast, his mind was simultaneously drifting back to Mosely Square in Glenelg.  Like the jet engine, Rogelio was trying to control his emotions so he could move on but the drama last night was like an opposing aerodynamic force that, he knew, will surely keep the next few days from propelling.

The natural, mid-morning light was blinding, and its warmth was penetrating through the plexiglass but he couldn’t be bothered to shut the shade of the oval window next to him.  His face was perfectly illuminated thus highlighting his despair!

She’s not mine, she had never been mine, he thought while he was staring blankly outside the aircraft.  After seeing her with another guy that evening—holding hands, and walking together along Jetty Road until they gradually disappeared through the Norfolk pines and into the darkness, he’s certain that she could never ever be his lover.

He gently closed his eyes... took a deep breath, and shook his head. 

Suddenly, the cabin seemed to have quickly dropped in the air, falling from the sky.  The aircraft had managed to gracefully recover just as he opened his eyes.  Then somebody reached out from the aisle to hand him a piece of packed sandwich and an elegant, branded serviette.

He was not hungry.

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Continued here:  Nightfall

The Heavier Yoke

CLOSING HIS EYES, he’s facing up the stainless shower head as the hot water was pouring on his forehead, splattering over his face...  While the warm liquid was instantaneously running down his naked body, he could feel that the pleasant temperature was deeply soothing and relaxing his stiff muscles.

What a day, he thought!

Rogelio and his office-mate spent the whole day in a piggery farm today implementing, for the first time, the respiratory disease control program that he himself designed.  It was an accomplishment; fortunately successful to make his boss happy!

This job was one of his treasures, perhaps the most valuable.  He undoubtedly loved this work, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t mind the offensive odour that goes with his field assignments.  The potent, piercing, foul gas wafting around the pig farm earlier seemed to have meticulously penetrated the fabric of his company shirt.  The killer stench nearly suffocated him while he was driving back to the city and had obviously traveled with him up to his freshly made-up hotel room.

SO NOW IN THIS immaculate shower cubicle, he’d started lathering his skin and scalp to wash off the smell that stuck like a scum on his epidermis.  Then he turned around to completely rinse off, and to enjoy the jetting hot water as it worked like a mini massage on his neck, shoulders and back.

Ten minutes had gone by and the steam had started to build up in this luxurious bathroom.  The glass shower door was fogging up so he could only see a hazy reflection of his perfectly sculpted physique on the mirrored panel across.  He turned the shower knob off, and reached for the thick and fluffy, white bath towel hanging nearby.

Rogelio dabbed two handfuls of a clean towel on his cheeks, indeliberately inhaling a hint of a disinfectant from the soft fabric.  Instantly, his mobile phone beeped.

'Are you coming?  We’re expecting you at the BBQ House.  301 Gouger St.'  It was an SMS from a friend.

He ignored the message to entertain his thoughts.  Fully refreshed, he could only wish that a hot shower could also wash all his worries away.

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Lost and Found

AS HE CAREFULLY GNAWED THE tender, succulent meat that's almost falling off the pieces of oxtail bone, he'd occasionally dip his dinner spoon in a tiny dish of shrimp paste so he could have it as a condiment.  Tonight was a special night because Rogelio decided to break one of the rules he had set for himself for almost two years now; all he knew was that a spoonful of perfectly steamed long-grain, white rice was far more enjoyable than his own directive of eating a cup of steamed brown rice!  

The food he was eating- taken using a traditional pair of Filipino cutlery- spoon and fork (and fingers), the waitress' vernacular, the framed old photographs hanging on the restaurant's wall featuring the classical columns, ornamentation and sculptures of the historic buildings of the city of Manila and the aroma of the dishes wafting from the kitchen had instantly taken him 'home'. 

He took a gulp from a glass of cool tap water.  Well, the waitress asked him earlier if he'd like a bottle of ice-cold San Miguel or Red Horse beer but he opted for something that's free.  He didn't want to take advantage of the perks that come with his job.

Tonight's dining experience had been gradually easing his exhaustion from the two-day Professional Selling Skills training and workshop.  

Exactly this time last year, I was intensively preparing to pass the final year examinations to become a vet in this country, and now I am busy working on building my selling skills.

That's fine, he thought.  I need this for my job, the job that once seemed to be impossible to get!  The job that, I know, is envied by many.  If they only knew...

It was only yesterday when he found himself on a stream of an elite crowd flowing through the streets of Sydney's elegant shopping precinct.  And today during the morning tea break, he slipped out of the training room, took the lift to get to the ground floor and in a second he was somewhere around the Sydney CBD trying to find a packet of panadol to relieve his tension headache.  

For three days now, he'd been feeling like he was completely lost!  He was in a place where no one knows him- nobody calls him by name... In the elevator, the man wearing a suit didn't even bother to nod at him, the cashier at the chemist where he bought some pain reliever didn't smile at him, nobody among the people crossing the streets ever looked at him.  Everybody was busy doing their own transactions, and he felt he was completely ignored.  In a place like this, I am nobody!   


BUT IN LaMesa- a Filipino Restaurant in Haymarket, New South Wales, he found himself.  He realised he was still the ordinary lad who loves the village where was born and raised- a beautiful place where everybody knows every one.  He was still the same kid who's longing for some touches of concern when he's sick.  In the place where he grew up, nobody wears a coat and tie but they could sincerely handle their relationship-driven businesses so well!  

Sometimes we need to get lost to find ourselves, indeed! 

A clay pot of Kare-kare served at LaMesa, Goulbourn St., Haymarket, NSW

What's in the Name?

I BUILT THIS SITE A couple of months ago but it has remained empty until today.  

In my own simple ways, I always love to share the things I perceive- mainly those that I've seen and felt (including my thoughts especially when I am down), sometimes those that I've tasted, not so much on those that I've heard, and I am still working out on some lovely ways on how to include those that I've smelled.  

I had The Chook-minder's Quill when I was working in a poultry farm, my RJ Uni Diary during my challenging years at the vet school but the theme of those blogs, especially their name doesn't really fit with my current state of affairs so I started thinking to come up with another blog name.  I was considering and had been tempted to use  The Silent Water- the name of my column in our official student publication during my university days back in the Philippines.  That column was contaminated with a few issues back then, though, that a series of dilution and chlorination won't be enough to purify the grim memories I had with it so better leave it behind. 

I have been quite happy with Facebook Notes, it has served as a media to share my thoughts and feelings for a while, but it doesn't present photographs nicely and the layout is very simple.

One day, while I was busy on something I love doing, I thought about writing the feeling of living the dream straight from where I, exactly, was that time- the pigs' pen!  Hence, Written Straight from The Pigs' Pen.  Honestly, I also love the pun! 

So, watch this space!  I won't tell stories about hogs all the time, promise.

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