Marven’s First Novel, chapter #01

     It was summer in the last week of March, a hot, humid, and dry one yet bright and sometimes breezy although there are times in the early afternoon when the sky would get occasionally cloudy. The latter casts a sweet and sad glow on the landscape when it happens, but you could tell it is still summer.

     It was the season for a few certain things for the inhabitants of a certain community in the outskirts of Metro Manila, the country's densest metropolis surrounding the capital, a quaint mixture of urban and rural middle-class, if not poor, community life. During these times, school children, finally taking the much-awaited break from the laborious school work of the recently-ended school year could now be seen happy, not in their prim, neat, and cute school uniforms but in their everyday house clothes consisting mostly of tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops. Out they would go in the streets, in vacant lots, and in the open fields to play with their classmates and neighbor friends. There, they would run about after each other and say, "Touched. You’re-It," fly kites, hurl boomerangs as far as they could up in the air; and, of course——Who would forget?——fight for each other’s collections of comic cards through the game of flick-and-toss wherein cards that didn’t spin in the process, called plakda, was not considered a valid shot and also rubber bands. These youngsters would go as early as early afternoon as long as it is no longer that hot, but they usually do so late. Sometimes also, individually, they would go to a friend's house to play these games either in the latter's living room or backyard, including, additionally, letting toy cars run on batteries on the ground and, if outside, drawing lines on the same to play street games like patintero, piko, and step-no-step-yes. Older children would frequent houses in the neighborhood where arcade consoles are set up. There, they would drop coins in slots to play the genre of games wherein warriors punch and kick each other until one gets knocked down. Then, in the afternoon, on the playground, teenage girls and boys could be seen playing volleyball without a net, just two opposing rows of kids volleying the ball towards each other.

     It is also during these times when young adults could mostly be seen flocking the passenger terminals early in the morning at both the center of the plaza where the basketball court was and by the main road, dressed to impress, to set out to the known financial centers of Metro Manila or someplace else apparently to look for jobs. One of them is the 25-year-old Merlito. For the longest time, he had become a frequenter of the classified ads section of the broadsheets. And as what others do, he would cut out ads that scream out invitations for him to come apply, checking first if there are no relevant ads at the back of them. After collecting a sufficient number of these, he would then set out to the places the ads indicate.

     On his way through the bustling city roads, he would already fancy himself doing the work he is yet to apply for, chilling in a nice cubicle while looking at the computer monitor. But as he arrives at the buildings after some trial-and-error locating, what he finds is quite the opposite of what he dreamt about at home and en route: a kilometeric line which he can’t help but be appalled to see. What he thought was a job waiting for him and for the skillful few who, like him, were skillful enough to find it posted on the obscurest place in the paper was actually sought after by hundreds, if not thousands, of jobseekers.

     In the lines, semi-circles of chatterers can’t help but form to while away the wait. They would talk about their past experiences and current expectations. Merlito would mostly just listen because he has none of both. Sometimes, he would just ask questions.

     He usually does well in the exams but then messes up the interviews. For reasons he doesn’t yet fully understand, the interviewers always seem to find something inept and unreliable in him. They also always love to point out that he has zero job experience. He would very much like to reply, Hello? What can I do?

     At the end of the day, by afternoon and sometimes night, he would see some of those in the lines whom he saw and even chatted with being briefed somehow or engaged in a friendly, familiar chat. Then he would wonder, What’s in them that’s not in me? Clearly, he has no clue.

     Days like these of setting out to the big city, seeking jobs he thought were waiting for him, always make him go home with a broken pride if not clinging to hopes of hearing from the employers. Rejection puts him in place and serves as a constant reminder to him that he is nothing but a tiny speck in the grand scheme of things.

     Everytime he walks out of the offices after not being able to move forward, he would chance upon other unsuccessful applicants, with whom, he would have courage to chat than to talk with the interviewers and would somehow form some kind of friendship which would only last until they part ways. As usual, they would console each other. Who else would do it but they among themselves? But as he looks at them, something tells him that they will eventually get jobs. He just knows they can do it, unlike him. He’s probably the worst. But he feels it his duty to keep on trying and trying until he makes a career out of applying. He will still apply tomorrow and the day after it and in the days more to come.

     But in the end, he felt the despair and exhaustion of having to do all this job-application routine with no positive result in sight. It seems that what he had been doing was just an exercise: an exercise in futility.

     As the days went by, he set out less and less frequently and instead stayed mostly at home, trying to make himself useful in any way. He volunteered to do all the household chores especially washing the dishes, which is perhaps the only thing he will ever be good at. He also willingly obeyed every sort of errand his parents sent him out to whether within the neighborhood or outside in the city.

     One day, as he was cleaning the entire house, he took notice of a dusty collection of old books lying in disarray on the base portion of an old furniture. He approached it, bent down, and looked at the books. He suddenly became interested in them and decided to rescue them from being just a mess into useful items or an ornament in his little disorderly room, now that he has all the time to perhaps beautify his shack a little bit. What he will do is repair, restore, and refurbish them and put them in a nice shelf. But there is no shelf; other places in the house cannot contain these; and he has to build a new one. In the house, they have a hammer and a few nails but no spare wood. Therefore, the shelf project would have to be shelved and he will instead pay attention to the books. He turned to them and saw that they consisted of textbooks, reference books, pocketbooks, and magazines that dealt with the subjects of history, religion, language, literature, music, and livelihood skills. As he glossed over their pages, they proved to be, in his present point of view, gems that have just been overlooked before but which he can now revisit, read carefully, and study. Therefore, he heartily set out to the task of wiping the dirt away from them with a semi-damp cloth and finding their missing pages and compiling them in the right order. He would have gone on binding them by applying the appropriate glue on their spines and covering their wrinkled covers and gnawed edges with a wallpaper and then a plastic over it;  but he did not have these materials and, obviously, the money to buy them. Therefore, he just put the unfinished products in a nice pile on a surface in his little room, waiting for money to come. Meanwhile, he started reading some of them.

     And O what a fine discovery he has made as he immersed himself completely into their sentences and paragraphs. Now that he has all the time, he can master in solitude the lessons that he didn’t take much seriously when he was a student. He took particular relish and fascination in the practical works especially woodworking. Thus, he felt more desirous to build that blessed shelf which he still doesn’t have the money to buy materials for.

     Days passed. One late afternoon, his father sent him out to buy a certain motorcycle part for to fix a motorcycle. He readily obeyed and went to the store he knew had it. To his surprise, they didn't have it. Therefore, he went someplace else and scoured the neighborhood, going from one store to another to find the item that he was looking for. At last, he found it and then made his way back home. As he was going, he passed the basketball court in the middle of the plaza which is, by the way, an open area because basketball courts look neater when open than when covered. But it depends upon the location perhaps. He didn't go this way earlier but took the street at the western edge of the neighborhood by the open fields that serve as the transition or chasm between this unheard-of part of the town and the nether part of the city because the first store he went to was somewhere there. Walking further along this back road or rather front, he looked for and inquired at more stores. Then he came to the prominent road the passenger vehicles routinely turn left towards, making the latter somewhat like a main road too although it is not the extension of the real one. Now at the basketball court, he heard a tumult and, when he passed it, looked to his right and saw an official basketball game going on and the concrete bleachers on its southern side filled with spectators. He was distracted, stopped, and approached the fence and watched the game by it. The opposing teams are distinguished by the color of their jerseys, so no color is identical. And teams who joined the league are not that many. More or less 10.

     "This has started, I see," he muttered. On the northern side of the court stood the stage or elevated covered concrete platform, on which, are seated at table a few individuals, called "the committee", who supervised the game and apparently the entire tournament. At the middle of the group was the announcer whose well-projected manly voice reigned over the entire area and was probably heard even in the nearby houses and sounded as professional, humorous, and witty as in the big leagues. After lingering for a few more seconds partly watching and partly musing, he turned his back and continued walking.

     As he went on, he passed the small compound where the health services for the community are being provided. Up above, he saw a banner hung indicating a special event during summer. When he lowered his gaze after reading this announcement, he saw from the main door of the edifice coming out young men and women dressed almost uniformly suggesting they may have been the busy people in the said event. They were chattering and giggling as they made their way to the service vehicle waiting outside the gate. He continued observing them until they boarded the vehicle one by one. Then he resumed walking and finally made his way home.

     One another late afternoon, he was lying on his wooden bed, staring at the roof and picturing a mysterious miniature world within the sun rays that entered through the holes in that jagged tin sheet. Suddenly, he heard the commanding voice of his mother shouting to him from the kitchen.

     "Merlito! Your two classmates are here looking for you!"

     He sprang up, went outside his room, and proceeded to the living room.

     There indeed, he saw his two former classmates sitting on the bamboo sofa and looking at him sheepishly and delightfully in anticipation.

     "Oh. Long time no see," he greeted as he made his way to a single bamboo seat opposite them and sat facing them. "What's it about? What brings you here? It's nice of you two to visit."

     "We just want to check up with you to see whether you're okay."

     "I'm okay. Thanks for the concern."

     "Good."

     "What about you? I mean, you." Aldo turned to the other individual whose name is Jim because the one who asked him whose name is Jake doesn't seem fitting to be asked such because he seems to be perfectly okay in the way he carried himself.

     "I'm okay, dude, but nothing compared to this one."

     Jake asked again. "So, are you okay now, if you know what I'm talking about?"

     It took him about three seconds to understand. "Ah. Yes. I'm okay now. Thank goodness. Finally."

     "That's excellent. I'm happy for you."

     "I thought that too would just be a dream. But I'm on a quest now to find a job, preferably in the financial center."

     "How's it going?"

     "No luck so far."

     "Hmm. Just keep applying. I once did the same."

     "That's what I'm doing," Merlito said looking down.

     "Take your time. I think everyone is entitled to loaf around for a period of time at this stage."

     "If I had been as early as you, I can afford to do that."

     "You're not that old."

     "I'm old."

     "Nah. You're thinking too much. We're still young. Say that to a man in his forties."

     "You got a point." There was a pause for about three seconds, after which, Merlito said, "Coffee? Let's have some coffee. I'll make you."

     "No. We're good. What about you, Jim?"

     "No. But whatever you say."

     Then turning back to and looking intently at Merlito, Jake said, "Okay. Actually, we came here to ask you to walk with us around the community as we talk about life."

     "Walk?"

     "Yeah. Like we used to."

     "Hmm. Okay."

     "Aren't you busy?"

     "No. Let's go."

     "All right." Jake rose up and politely said goodbye to Merlito's mother who was busy in the kitchen in a loud respectful voice, saying, "We'll just take Merlito outside, ma'am."

     "Oh. Merlito, make your friends some coffee."

     Merlito eagerly obeyed and already took one step when Jake stopped him by the arm.

     "No, dude. Uh... Don't bother, ma'am. We really wanted to go out with Merlito today because I'm leaving the country in a few days."

     "Oh. You're working abroad?"

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "Where?"

     Jake mentioned a country in Europe.

     "Okay," she said, crimping her chin and nodding approvingly. "Good luck."

     Then off the friends went. They went outside the house, took the inside street heading northwards to the main road, and turned left towards the direction of the plaza. They strolled along the main road amidst the street scenes and atmosphere of the late afternoon.

     "So you're going abroad," Merlito started.

     "Yes. I just want us to have a heart to heart talk before I go."

     "My goodness. How things have changed so fast in you all except me. I remain the same. I wish you success in your every endeavor. You've always been a very-reliable friend to us."

     "I also wish the same to you in whatever you decide to do in life."

     "So what work are you going to do there? Manufacture some snacks?"

     "What? No. Of course, not. Where did you get that?"

     "Things of that sort just seems what our kababayans tend to do abroad. No wonder they constantly get yelled at."

     "No. I'm going there as a professional in my field."

     "Good."

     "Hmm. What do you expect? Migrant workers can't get the best jobs that they want. I was just fortunate."

     "Is that is the case, they should just stop migrating and choose to work here, contribute to the country, and stay close to their families. Whoever told them working abroad is amazing? That's a lie! A freaking lie that I don't believe one single bit. No, not me."

     "You can't blame them. Opportunities here are scarce. There, a lot. It pays bigger there. You won't get any richer here especially if you're in the middle class."

     "How about being content?"

     "What? You can't blame our dear kababayans if sojourning always seem attractive to them. They want a better life for themselves and for their family. They want to build a better house. You can't control their minds if they want to get rich. It's their right."

     "The grass not always greener on the other side of the fence. Other countries have as much problems as we do. Well, maybe not as much because I admit our situation here is undoubtedly extreme. But we get by. We live through it. I, for one, wouldn't go through the amount of trouble that they go just to get out of this freaking country. That's a waste of energy."

     "Anything but this 'freaking' country, as you said. That's what they seem to believe. That's what they're fixated on."

     "That's because they believed in a lie. But as you said, we can't control their minds. If only we could. If only we could convince them to endure hardships as long as we're together, to look beyond the deplorable ugliness that covers every single aspect of this cursed country. We don't leave when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult. Instead, we stand together. If ever I'd decide to take on a menial job, I'd just do it here for my fellow Filipinos and not allow someone from another race yell at me even if he pays my salary. Don't get me wrong. I'm not against us working menial jobs abroad. By all means, we should because someone always has to do the menial jobs. If our services are needed, then we do it as a gesture of goodwill. The way we'll be viewed by other nations is in our hands. No one's going to help us but ourselves."

     "Haaay. Let's just leave our kababayans with their choices in life. When I go back on a break, we're going to have a get together."

from The Simple Adventures of a Simple Simpleton

by: Marven T. Baldo