Stranded Series

Writing on this doomed storms, tired and hungry- I'm on another round of relieving fretting, which my Grade 3 pad paper has to endure. Alone stranded in a lobby some place, I sit and sulk with a grumbling tummy, and sinking feelings. Waiting couldn't get any better as the receptionist sings his lungs out as if to some Rain God to make the rains pour its million drops down.

Impassable, impossible. Like the roads and flood and waiting. So for cold eons I'll be stranded with just kimchi and an almost emptied bottle of water.

I try to list down things to do and just be proactive, but my mind is blocked with fiery, furious frustration. And at a moment of disaster, I still had the guts to feel this- complaining, grumbling, and all.

Smite me, O Mighty One. I've to get a good spanking for this.

I’ve only the company of gnawing anxiety for my loved ones and the inexplicable taste of kimchi to keep me awake, alert at this moment where all seems to be on the downpour including my sanity.

I marvel at the light crispiness, the explosive juices as you bite into it- never mind the smell. It’s perfect for all fried and dry foods I could think of, the ones I could have eaten right about now to appease my tummy.

I especially love the sharp, biting effect after consuming just a few bites. Even Ratatouie would be swept away with floods and floods of spices! It bites your tongue like a fiery scorpion, leaving its poison of an aftertaste of garlic, chili, and chives.

Sleeping in ceramic pots for days, as my Korean friend explained, it unleashes its power as it gets fermented. It nurses lots of good living bacteria too that’s good for digestion!

It’s just me and my kimchi, stranded for God knows how long- now turning 3 hours…

***
Kill time- how do you suppose to do that? If I could just raise my hands and move the cars to let my driver come through, like Moses’ miracle.

It’s almost five pm now, I had finished my tutorials at 12 and I’m feeling more miserable than ever- like a first day dysmenorrhea on a cold, cold afternoon.

I could feel my hair blowing as if I’m in the middle of the sea on a cruise. Smelled like a turtle too. Can smell it from somewhere here- pebbles, and sand, and soil, and urchins… and... well, turtle. But there’s a strong scent of diesel and cigarette, so that makes it all wrong.

Have just called my driver and he’s still in Katipunan, that drench- wretched place infested with cars at this very moment- actually for 4 hours now. The parlor has closed on me so goodbye to my dream of hot red nails to save me from biting them as I was soo anxious.

It is still me and my overly sour kimchi now, depriving it from the refrigerator chill. What if life would be like this and I’d have no choice but to sit like a couch hippopotamus and drown in my sorrows and flabs?

Here I was as if I hadn’t gone past Piaget’s Pre- operational stage where egocentrism highlights it.

I sit and fret and rant some more while cars are floating hopelessly, people are losing their houses and families are crying for help in rivers or on roofs everywhere in Luzon.

Impossible, impassable, I have become, but please, not for long…