2:26 AM June 13, 2003
After some ritual after another before what should've been sleep, I got a second wind and couldn't shake off the thought of doing something. So I postponed sleep until that time when the cocks would crow to announce a coming day. I know better than those conceited birds anyway. The day is now. It is here, as I write, attending me. It is early dawn, four and a half hours before the workers would chat about wives while pounding the galvanized sheets into a roof. I would wake up then, after two hours of contesting tongues and hammers right outside my jalousies.
That would be later though. The day is already here with me. A queer day too, this Friday the thirteenth. A day ago, it was Independence Day. I will see though that some will celebrate it later, when they will wake up around two hours after my two hours. It'll be commemorated by free hours with hopefully some money to do something else than switch channels for the competing network quips, jokes, contests, and prizes of noontime programming. Everything but ads! After that, a small siesta, merienda, the chinovela, then the telenovela line-up.
With some moolah, the rites would be a bit different. Many would queue before the malls to be screened for guns or bombs that would surely ruin an independence day. Specially an independence day sale, complete with a poster boy with arms permanently raised in some puzzling defiance. Instead of the monumental pose with bolo and gun, poster boy's hands carry shopping bags aloft.
I think the idea of a long weekend is welcome by most. That is, as opposed to having June 12 off only to work again on Friday. Maybe there is prudence too in moving Independence as opposed to the long-ago practice of declaring sandwiched days as co-holidays of sorts. I haven't been arguing much these past few days and I won't start now. Why duel over dates independence? I ask rather, eh independence? Nah. I won't even dwell on those curious jokes, one saying that the president will move even Christmas and New Year.
I will sleep the sleep I foresee from the slackening of my fingers and the drooping of my lids. A few hours later, the clatter and chatter of the workmen will be offset by my phone's alarm. I will rise to whatever else this day would mean to me.
After the impromptu ceremonies of the morning and noon, I will move out. Outside the gate, on my way out to the main road, I may choose the path to the right. If I'm lucky, I'll hear the strains from an unknown pianist playing. If I'm not, I'll get the bark of an unseen vicious-sounding dog.
The left is an equally clean and even path. Clean enough that I wonder why there's this spot which never ceases to smell of cat droppings. I can't see the dung but I suspect one or two or all three of the black cats that always cross me. Maybe the dog scares the shit out of them.
Tough luck! The left is the shorter route.