I do feel that the dark days of scarcity and despair are soon coming to an end (and damn me, if they do not). This sprouting feeling, unlike the ones that I had last year (or the year before that), is not a mere product of my worsening case of delusion (among others). It is, as a matter of fact, the effect of the long-awaited arrival, after so much frustrating delay, of a most fortunate event—one which promises to rescue me, even just slightly, from the wretched state of poverty where I have found myself dismally pickled in longer than I could care to admit. This fortunate occurrence has somewhat raised my spirits these past few days and restored some measure of hope within my poor decrepit heart, where once cynicism had comfortably called home, enough that I have gladly postponed my sad meeting with a truck in the middle of a busy highway. I still do tend to suspiciously eye it with the cautious optimism of someone who has borne so much disappointments, but only a fool would gaily wave his hands as such opportunity pass him by. I may very well be a fool, nevertheless, I shall not let it pass me by! No sir, by God, I shall not! I shall grab hold of its scrawny figurative neck (if it has one, and if it does not, grab hold of a nearest figurative appendage) and never shall I relinquish my grasp if there is still strength left in me. I shall hang on with the persistence and determination of a madman—or until I am dead. There! For, although it is truly an answer to my earnest prayers, which I am ever so grateful for, I fear it would be the last. If, heavens forbid, I fail here—ah! I dare not imagine it. I truly could not.

At any rate, before any of that (success or failure) should come to pass, I should perhaps resume where I had stopped last solely for the sake of my history's continuity, and perhaps to satisfy your curiosity. I will try to be brief, old boy, I promise.

Well, well—there I was, back in Cebu (I forget the exact date), sitting in a line towards a job interview in a very posh office, and feeling distinctly misplaced among the fair-skinned and smartly-dressed 'yuppies' of that city. I still have then, after all, the deep tan of a 'kargador'; and the time spent in a construction site did not help at all to uplift my somewhat diminished self-confidence (that or the fact that I was wearing an old shirt). Despite these misgivings, I must have done something right during the interview for I was hired by a call center company upon my very first try. My job, as you would have guessed, entailed addressing with artificial calm reserve the concerns of whining, sometimes verbally abusive, customers. I was ecstatic to have found employment with a handsome compensation, however, my happiness only lasted shortly. My nose disagreed strongly with the facility's unbearably nippy airconditioner, which seemed to run at full blast the entire day (forcing the unhappy occupants to wear winter clothes indoors during summer), giving me the worst case of colds ever in my entire life and a fever. I was forced to resign prematurely and that was the end of it. I came skulking back to Butuan (with a few pennies in my pocket) to help my parents, who seemed overly happy with my resignation, with their starting a new business. In the course of next few months, I was the cashier, the waiter, the janitor, and the goat-herder altogether—for a meager allowance. I felt like kicking myself, repeatedly and very hard indeed, for leaving my job in Cebu—and whatever reason I had for so doing suddenly seemed—insignificant.

Brief, as promised.

There is, however, a moment in Cebu that was worth mentioning about: my 'date' with Stella—who, for some reason, has found her way to where I was then staying. It was to be a night to remember, and perhaps a point where beautiful things could have begun. It was so until she decided to have me wait (the one thing I know she knew I hated most) an entire hour, transforming the feelings I had of excitement and romance... to pure loathing. After an endless tapping of fingers and a couple bottles of beer, she arrived finally. I was understandably upset for, if I had not (through text messaging) threatened to abscond and postpone our meeting, I believe she would have had me wait there until she hears the crowing of the roosters. She apologized and pleaded for my forgiveness, until the inclination to storm out with a sour face has been sufficiently allayed. We talked for a short while and, after expeditiously declining her invitation to further the evening, I bid her goodnight. I was simply not in the mood (or whatever it was she had so carelessly ruined), besides I had to wake up early in the morning. She would tease me afterwards, about why I rejected her request, saying that I was afraid of the Cebu night life. Ha!