Heaven on earth

Classic. I opened my wallet and found that I had less than 50 euros left and to make matters worse, the bank still hadn't provided me with my card. It seems like I'm constantly relying on the kindness of strangers to help me get by.

But amidst these challenging times, I have found solace in my newfound friendship with Stevie, a Spanish-Serbian skater boy I randomly bumped into at Poble Sec on a chilly Wednesday evening. Our shared interests in alcohol and grass made it easy peasy for us to connect. Despite his Serbian, Spanish, and English-mixed twang I can understand him quite well.

There's something about Stevie that made me drop all defenses. I could talk to him the entire day without feeling judged. Whenever we’re together, I find myself venting about my love/hate relationship with my flatmate, Linda.

"She's too clean, Stevie. She irritates me sometimes. I doubt she'd let me paint in her place so most days I'd go out and paint public walls instead. A tube of oil costs as much as a spray can anyway. Ah, but the price of oils and spray cans is not my dilemma. It's Linda, Stevie, she's nuts about fabric conditioners and toilet cleaners. She's nuts about keeping the house sparkly clean. Our orderly atmosphere just doesn’t express my inner turmoil. Someday, I will leave and freely wreak havoc someplace else."

He took a long toke on his joint, looked at me, and burst into laughter as if he understood the story. He always seemed to take everything lightly, maybe it was the grass kicking hard…

"She sounds like a bore. You should definitely move out soon," he said, adjusting my hoodie caringly to keep me warm from the cold.

“I will but not so soon. Rent is cheap and she feeds me from time to time. I just need to learn how to live with someone I can't get along with in the long run. I had proper training living with my folks after[3] all," I said, reminiscing about the past.

He replied in Serbian or in Catalan. I don't know. Maybe he was really stoned.

He passed his joint, I inhaled smoke slowly and observed the faint fire consume the rolling paper.

"What do you think about this? about drugs? Cannabis, in particular?" I asked.

"I've been a stoner all my life so I'm all for legalization. But when it comes to consuming harder substances like skunks, cranks, and cracks...well, I'm not sure if I can brave its side effects. I'd lose interest in skates if I got hooked."

"I understand what you mean," I interrupted, my mind briefly drifting to Romie, a recovering coke-amphetamine addict who Linda once invited at our place.

Romie greeted me enthusiastically as he stir-fried onions, garlic, green beans, carrots, and cabbage. He then curiously asked about my ancestry, "Kababayan, sigurado ka bang Filipina ka (Hey bud, you sure you're Filipina)? Mas mukha ka ka kaseng Haponesa o Intsik (You look more Japanese or Chinese?)" he said.

God. I give off the same damn impression every time...

"Opo. Pero ang lolo ko po ay may halong espanyol at ang lola ko naman ay may halong intsik. Baka sa kanila po ako nag mana (Yes, I am, but my grandfather has Spanish blood and my grandmother has Chinese. So I may have gotten my mongrel look from them)," I said, hanging my coat on the rack.

I turned my attention to Romie and noticed his skinny limbs, bloodshot eyes, and his comical character.

Over dinner, Romie rambled openly about his life as an ex-addict.

He shared that before Barcelona, he was pushing kilos of crystals in Paris. Before Paris, he was (yes, you guessed it right) a cop in the Philippines.

"Maniwala ka sa sasabihin ko, iha. Kung gusto mong mabuhay sa ibang bansa at maiwasang maloko, kailangan matuto kang magsalita ng sariling wika nila. (Take it from me, cariño, if you wanna survive in a foreign land, always learn to speak the local language. That way you don't get bamboozled)."

"Ano ho ibig niyong sabihin? (What do you mean)?" I asked, pretending to not have heard the same advice before, curious if he’d add something more substantial to what dawg said.

"Dati akong nahatulan (I'm an ex-convict)," he announced proudly. "Dalawang taong pusher sa Paris. Eh, wala e. Inabandon ako ng mga kasamahan ko dun. Hinayaan akong mabulok sa preso. Alam kasi nila na kaya nilang baliktarin ang istorya dahil di ako marunong mag French (I served two years in Paris after getting caught pushing. The gang I worked with abandoned me and left me in jail to rot. They knew they could easily manipulate the whole story because I could not speak French fluently).”

“Nung paglilitis ko, nakumbinsa nila ang hurado na ako lang ang nasangkot sa ilegal na business. Sinagot ko lahat ng kasalanan ng my putanginang ‘yon. Pero aminado ako na biyaya ang pagkakabilanggo ko. Nagpakatino ako sa preso. Inisip ko ang kinabukasan ng aking pamilya, lalong lalo na ang kinabukasan ng aking mga anak (During my trial, they convinced the jury that I was the only one involved in the business. I took all the blame but I haftta admit, doing time did me well. I straightened myself up and started thinking about the future, my family, my kids most especially).”

“Nung pinakawalan na ‘ko, sinubukan kong hanapin yung mga gagong ‘yon kaso huli na ang lahat. Nakatakas na sila. Kaya ipinasya ko na bumalik na lang sa Barcelona para makasama ko na ang aking pamilya (When I got released, I tried tracking down those bastards who double-crossed me. But I was too late. They were far gone. The only thing left for me to do was to go back to Barcelona and reunite with my family).”

“Unang-unang kong inasikaso ay ang kalusugan ko. Nag check-in ako sa rehab pero, kinabukasan, nag check-out agad ako nung napagtanto ko na ako lang ang makakagamot sa adiksiyon ko. Nagpakalunod ako sa trabaho. Naging weyter, nag luto, nag linis sa kusina pero paminsan-minsan hinahanap ko pa rin ang droga (I then checked myself into rehab. The following day, I checked myself out after realizing I was the only one who could truly overcome my addiction. I kept myself busy—worked 9-to-5 at menial jobs, waited tables, and got experience cooking at different kitchens. Work kept me going, kept me away from gambling and drugs. Although I still had occasional relapses, they weren’t as bad as before.”

“Noong una akong nakatikim, humihithit ako ng 10-15 grams araw-araw. Hay, napakaginhawa ng pakiramdam ko, iha. Para bang nasa langit ako (When I first started, I would indulge in 10-15 grams daily. Have you ever watched the sun set 50 times per minute, cariño? Or feel your body burn up after 12 intense orgasms? A hit would send me spiraling into nirvana.)"

"Teka. 10-15 grams? Paano niyo ho nabayaran yun? Sa pagkaka alam ko, ‘sang gram ng cocaine sa Spain ay may halagang 80 euros (Hold on. 10-15 grams a day? How did you even afford that? I heard a good gram of coke costs roughly eighty euros)," I interrupted, anticipating every word he spitted out.

"Malago ang negosyo namin, iha. Kaya kong kumita nang 500 euros halos kada araw (Business was booming. I was earning about 500 euros almost every day....)"

"Tama na yan, Romie (That's enough, Romie)," Linda interjected, breaking up the conversation, "Hindi mo naman kailangan pagyabang yung madumi mong buhay! Proud ka ba sa ginagawa mo (There's no need to brag about your dirty life. Why are you even proud of it)?"

"Hindi ako proud, Linda. Kinikuwento ko lang ang buhay ko. Hindi ko naman gustong matulad sa’kin yung bata eh. Di biro ang pag recover (I'm not proud, Linda! I'm simply sharing my story. I don't want the kid to copy the life of a hoodlum. Recovering is tough job)," Romie responded sincerely and with concern.

"Pasensya na, iha. Sa susunod ko nalang ipagpapatuloy ang istorya ko, kapag wala si Linda (Sorry, kiddo. Guess we'll have to continue the story when Linda's not around)," he said, winking at me. He thanked Linda for inviting him over, and assured me that despite her prudish and harsh demeanor, she meant well. But I couldn't help but wonder if I could trust his words…

Before Romie and I exchanged our goodbyes, he invited me to eat dinner at the restaurant where he now works as head chef[5] .

The night Romie left, my thoughts spiraled around three things: 1) Romie was just squandering daily the monthly salary of most my friends back home, 2) drugs and 3) the carbon copy life stories of Romie and dawg.

I wonder, C, why Romie and dawg? What’s the big picture trynna tell me? I get that people like Romie and dawg fall easy prey for bigger dawgs like them big shot gangsters and drug lords. Bigger dawgs know Romie and dawg would do anything they say. Bigger dawgs know folks in poverty are desperate to get outta poverty. Bigger dawgs know desperation forces folks to do crazy stuff.

Ah. Of course. It all ties up! This wasn't just about Romie and Dawg. This also involved Linda, Brenda, and Cel. It’s the reason why Linda and Brenda always have a shade of resentment in their voices whenever they talk to me. Of course! How could I have been so blind??

They think that the only ones who can grant them their ticket to freedom are them bigger dawgs. They didn’t have the luxury I have. They didn’t know there was another ticket outta poverty and they resented me for being the odd one out. They resented me for receiving a golden ticket...