play of light and shadows

taken by Shigeru Onishi

It was Tuesday, rather Monday night here in Madrid. Passionate and nationalistic spirit was in the air but I was in bed, suffering terribly from my chronic PMS mood swings. Mang Ver, my retired OFW housemate, was listening to Willie Revillame's last minute campaign for Castro Jr. Hearing Mang Ver getting worked up about elections gave me the chills. The atmosphere in the house didn't help one bit to soothe my PMS so I called Alex.

Despite being at a conference in Norway, Alex tried to comfort me from long-distance, "Are you sure it's just PMS?" he asked.

"It helps to think it’s just hormones flippinf out but you’re right. There’s something bigger going on, donkey. It's about the Philippines. It's in deep shit. Deeper shit than I could’ve imagined,” I said, opening the frosted glass window in my bedroom and admiring the vibrant contemporary Spanish buildings that made up my charming neighborhood. “Castro is leading the polls, my friends and family back home are anxious and the Filipino community here in Madrid are stupid af. But who can blame 'em, right? Who can blame 'em?"

"Castro, Castro, Castro...ah, the late dictator's son. How is that bitch leading?" he asked, trying to sound genuinely invested in the topic.

"Idk, the world has gone topsy-turvy, I guess. As always, I guess. I mean, I'm not at all surprised about hearing all this. The mofo's got good PR and campaign managers. He's a classic false-news spreader, history revisionist, and all out sad boy, mama's boy bamboozler,” I said, checking if Alex was still listening. “The dope faked all his credentials yet people still fell for him. He's like a doctor who got his license without passing the boards. And despite that, he still has the balls to perform major surgery on a hellhole country,” I sighed and then took a long exhale out. “Even though the masses perceive him fit for presidency, his armpit sweat stains says otherwise, says a lot about his incompetence more than his competence, really."

Alex burst into laughter.

"Alright cute bitch as long as your friends and family are ok," said Alex, cutting me short.

"I mean, I'm not sure if ok is the right word to use. They're ok alright but I'm not so sure if they still will be in the next two or so years. And I'm always right about these grinding gut feelings,” I paused, taking in the chilly air. “If worse comes to worst, Mom's already considering leaving the Philippines and staying in Europe here with me. I’m telling ya, she's already in panic mode and thinking of getting passports for Max and the cats. Same goes for my friends. I am already brainstorming ways to get 'em all here. I feel like goddam Oskar Schindler, donkey, only I'm pobre and Asian.”

"Aww, well, I am excited to see Max and Sox. In any case, I'll help you any way I can if you need me to," he offered.

"Do you wanna talk about anything else before I let you go?"

I wanted to tell him about Cel, how we connected, how she helped me and all but I wanted him to not worry so much about me and to have a swell time in Norway.

"Nope, I'll be fine. You make me feel fine," I said.

"You make me feel great. You make me happy all the time, cute bitch." He said.

"By the way, I’m visiting you in June so help me plan for the trip once I come back to Barcelona, ok?”

“Sure thing,” I said.

“Great! I’ll talk to you soon. See you in a month!"

He hung up.

I stared blankly at the ceiling. Its creamy white surface was smooth and lacked texture, in stark contrast to the walls adorned with humps and bumps. The light from outside seeped through the blinds, casting shapes and adding definition to the otherwise dull ceiling.

For a second, a fleeting thought crossed my mind. I pondered if there's meaning to all these hullabaloos or, if, much like the play of light and shadows on the lackluster ceiling, everything is merely an illusion, a façade designed to give depth and form to an otherwise mundane and purposeless hardwood.

With that, I shut my eyes and embraced the anticipation of a brand new day.