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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