Hi, little monkey. Goodbye, little monkey.

Seated Girl Facing Front, 1911 by Egon Shiele

December 24, 2021

The worst part about the whole Linda thing was that she, of all people, turned out to be a fellow Filipina who betrayed me. I didn't want to believe that crab mentality exists within the Filipino community abroad, but I ended up falling victim to it...

Two months. I endured two long months living with bitch Linda, convincing myself that all my impressions of her were incorrect even though my instincts were already running amok from the very first day I got acquainted with her. I chose to turn a blind eye to it because stupid me chose to try to settle my beef with bitch Linda first instead of simply throwing in the towel the minute she started passively bullying me.

It's silly to expect your own community to be your rock-solid support system when you're abroad. God. I was trying so hard to fit in somewhere I clearly didn't belong anymore. Dawg was right, C. You can't fully trust anyone here, not even the ones you think you can. I hope things change in the future, otherwise, I don't know anymore. Otherwise, it would just prove one of my biggest fears—that Filipinos' sense of camaraderie abroad is as broken as the scattered islands of the Philippine archipelago. Who knows, maybe this messed-up camaraderie is one of the reasons colonizers had such an easy time invading our country in the 16th century...

Welp. All the past 2 months’ bitter memories shall be dust now[1] . I don’t wanna dwell on it anymore. Right now, I'm settling down in this Airbnb, even though it's located in a shady tenement building, in a sketchy neighborhood called Besòs Mar, far far away from the city center. But hey, at least I have my own small, cozy cave that's about 7 x 4 strides wide. I paid the full rent for a month and decided to stay here until I clear my head and find a place of my own through Idealista.

Like I mentioned, C, the Airbnb is far from perfect. There are a bunch of squatters living in the building, the neighborhood's septic system is all messed up, making the air funky as hell, and there's a bunch illegal aliens all around—a sure paradise for Manolo the square. But it can't be all bad. It's Christmas Eve, and I still have a roof over my head, a working radiator, and these giant poufy comforters. Plus, my Ukrainian host family, Valeria and Dmytri, are as charming as they can be. They have a sweet little daughter named Anya, who's been my sole companion this holiday. Anya may not speak perfect English, but she's only 9 and she's already a polyglot. And the best part is, she's more socially aware than them squares at the science institute...

I've been observing Anya from the small balcony of our apartment, watching her witness the daily grind of her messed-up neighborhood. I bet she's seen it all, C—gangs, thieves, murderers, rapists, junkies, the okupas settling in our building, and their kids getting attacked by the neighbor's rabid dog.

At night, I hear Anya cry, and I wonder if it's just her practicing acting. She told me once that she loves acting. But most days, I feel like those tears are a result of the traumatic stuff she's encountered. Flustered by heavy emotions, she expresses deep pain by painting, singing, dancing, or playing her guitar. Oh, C, it breaks my heart when Anya sings or laughs! You know what's weird? Being around seemingly happy people makes me even more depressed than being around the miserable-looking ones. I don't know why, C. I guess, hurt in disguise is so much more painful to look at than the show-offy dramatic kind of hurt. It just hits me right in the feels.

***

January 10, 2022

Time flies. This week marks my last week in the Airbnb. I found a great bargain in Idealista offering to sublet an affordable room in a fancy ass Victorian-like apartment in Eixample, a hip neighborhood close to city center that has wide boulevards, lined with beautiful European contemporary architecture. I’m lucky sweet Valeria’s cool with refunding a week of the full month rent I paid…

Moving out will surely be bittersweet and a complete opposite to my experience walking out of bitch Linda.

Over the past weeks, I’ve gotten close to Anya. I’ll say, she’s a helluva ball of fluff, C. She’s so so smart. She's been schooling me on the history of Russia and Ukraine like nobody's business. Talking like Dostoevsky and stuff, it's wild. Hah! Gotta give props to her parents though. They've done an amazing job educating her. At such a young age, they've already exposed her to films and photos that show the harsh reality of the Soviet occupation. Starving Ukrainian kids and even mothers resorting to cannibalism to survive. It's messed up, C. No wonder lil fluff ball thinks wars are god awful, serving no purpose save for making the greedy richer and more powerful. This makes me curious what she'll become when she grows up, C. She once told me she wants to be an artist. So, I dropped some advice on her like, "If you ever decide to be a serious artist, like, really serious, go all out and create a grand caricature of Stalin sucking Lenin's rock-hard cock, just for the hell of it."

God. I keep forgetting she’s only 9...

Going back, I told her that if she ever seriously pursues art or any damn profession for that matter, she better hangout with the right crowd. I've been around some self-proclaimed artists in the Philippines. Some of them I like but I swear to god, C, most are giant pomps. They call themselves artists just cos they're associated with some snotty rich bigwig or they've studied at some bigwig University. It's awful, C. Really, awful. I'm almost embarrassed for them. Same goes for other professions. The minute they start talking entitled and shit, my stomach gets upset as hell…

So anyhow, the last stuff I advised her was that if she doesn’t find the right kind of folks to hangout with, screw it, “Learn to be alone, lil’ fluff ball. You'll do great, way way greater than them giant pomps like Stalin and Lenin.”