cathartic exhibitionism

mood: anxious

notwithstanding New Year’s Resolution number 1 (be punctual), I was 15 minutes late to my appointment with the UP Center for Women’s Studies Director, Dr. Carolyn Sobritchea. cursing under my breath as I simultaneously brushed my teeth and rinsed my nape under the shower, I managed to appear vaguely presentable for my long-awaited Key Informant Interview with the author of oh, about half the gender books I’ve been going through this year. i conveniently forgot to borrow a tripod for the video camera so like all happy indie camerawomen, improvization became my saving grace.

called NCRFW, e-mailed them my KII questions, spent two hours at the Bahay ng Alumni cramming the last few letters for the RMN Station Manager and to follow up that crucial appointment with Cong. Liza Largoza Maza. I can feel my jaw tightening just thinking about it, like the summer of 2005 when I developed a TMD (Temporo-Mandibular Joint Disorder) due to excessively repressed feelings.

so, anyway, i skipped a decent, lady-like lunch and ran straight to the car where a tupperware of salad was waiting for me. in between mouthfuls, i mumbled out directions to the driver to take me to the Congress, even if I didn’t have a formal appointment. after all, what have I got to lose? i have just a few days left and I badly need that interview. i pushed a wad of bills into Kuya Allan’s hand and asked him to park somewhere near so I could retreat early in the event that my mission fails.

as i walked to room 309 of the House of Representatives, I was gripped with a sudden sense of paranoia — that the reason they weren’t granting me interviews was because they had discovered that I was no longer active in the youth arm of the Movement in UPLB. "Oho, so you think you can get help, huh? nuh-uh. not unless you’re a card-carrying member of the org, ahahaaha!" But of course, that was just a silly thought in my head so I went on and knocked on the door papered with announcements about budget constraints and health assistance projects. the girl near my shoulder asked me if I was there for medical assistance, too, and I shook my head, saying, "I’m a researcher." she told me she came all the way from Davao, that DSWD sent her to GWP because she got into trouble with an illegal recruitment agency there. Trying my best to be my unusually nice and effervescent self, I flung a few Bisaya phrases and she was visibly delighted that in this strange, stinky city, there was a "kababayan." and so, we pushed the door open and together, stepped into the hive of the Gabrielans.

A lady in a gray-streaked braid asked, "anong kailangan mo?" while she stirred her cup of coffee in concentric circles. the other staff in the room looked up, and, seeing that there was no one consequential to interrupting their work, bent down like clockwork back to their number-crunching and paper-pushing.

Flashing a sincere, yet ingratiating smile, "magandang hapon po, ma’m. ako po yung estudyante na taga-UPLB, yung nagreresearch sa RMN tuwing Sabado? nariyan po ba si Ate Jang Monte?" of course, I was worried. last time Ms. Monte and I talked was last semester! maybe, she had forgotten all about my thesis. maybe she felt ilang since the revolutionary matchmakers had made the mistake of matching my ex, Kawal, with her; we found out just how small the world is in the space that remains between an interviewee and the researcher after the cameras are turned off and the formula questions have run out.

"ay, sorry, kaaalis lang, may meeting siya with Bayan," smiled the braided lady as I tried catching the eye of Kathleen, a Claire Forlani look-alike, the other girl who was part of the radio program staff. I asked if she changed her number since I had been unable to contact them since last semester — all their numbers were out of reach, or busy, or the irritating faxtone on the other line exactly when you need a human voice instead. "galing kasi siya sa States after nung WTO sa Hong Kong. may ipapasabi ka ba?"

"pakibigay na lang po itong mga sulat, yung isa, para kay Cong. Maza, follow up po ng appointment; yung isa, for signature ni Ate Jang para sa RMN," at pakisabi na rin na puñeta talaga yang si Kawal, pero siguro nagbago na siya kasi BAYAN-USA chair na siya, hindi na pwede maging pasaway. nagkita ba kayo sa States? nakilala mo rin ba ang pamilya niya, pati mga ka-grupo niyang Fil-Am? mahaba pa rin ba ang buhok niya? nakasalamin na rin ba siya? hinawakan ba niya ang kamay mo, sinulatan ka ba niya, binigyan ng tula, pinagbayo ng kape sa Kordilyera, nangako ng kung anu-anong napakadaling mapako? but of course, I didn’t say that. "balikan ko na lang po bukas or sa Wed kung kailan available si Congresswoman at si Ate Jang. Thank you po, una na po ako, Madam," and I went up to the Bayan Muna office to visit Jeff Dy, my former housemate and kumpare.

I nearly spat on the face of the lady who opened the door with such a force. "um, ‘gandang hapon, anjan po ba si Jeff Dy?"

Blank stare.

"si Jeffrey Ian Dy po, yung staff ni Teddy Casiño sa Bayan Muna, yung singkit na kalbo." finally, an air of cognition. the lady pointed to the next door and I went through. Jeff, fatter than ever, welcomed me in and offered a cup of coffee. like being used to housemateship, he pretty much let me do whatever I wanted in the office. finally, I asked him about thesis matters, and as all talks with former housemates and team-mates and former comrades end up, the conversation shifted gears to political lines and religious hegemony and whatever it was we had been debating about the last time we met with his wife, Yami, a Gabriela-Youth sis. he introduced me to his officemates, "Si Vida, housemate namin ni Yami dati, taga-UPLB, dating tibak, " and he laughed in a tone reminiscent of ill-disguised amusement.

the room seemed uncomfortably stuffy all of a sudden so I thought it best to leave and go straight home. Thanking Jeff and promising to return with my godchild’s Christmas gift, I left and sauntered out of the Congress into the fresh expanse of a tax-maintained parking lot below a sky threatening rain.