I ORDERED arroz caldo with a chicken leg after my local (endemic?) noodle-making class.
I decided I could have miki ligis with boiled egg when it’s ready.
Then, came a former barangay captain, who I knew pretty well when I worked as secretary to the president of the Association of Barangay Captains in Dumangas.
They used ABC as their acronym before Y2K, but it could have very well been ABCD. Haha.
***
Long story short, former barangay captain paid my arroz caldo and miki ligis.
FYI, in the same shop the previous day, a former municipal trial court judge paid for my arroz caldo.
That he did for a chance to sit down and eat with me.
But it also means talking to me about a possible Dumangas newsletter or municipal gazette.
I’m open to the idea, so thank you for the free arroz caldo.
***
The waitress says, Sana all.
I take it to mean, I wish everyone would be as lucky as #ThePSN to have people paying for his lunch.
I just smile and hug the waitress.
The wife of the store owner says, That’s the perk when people love you.
I leave the shop feeling so affirmed.
***
On my way back to PRIMA CT, our building, my home, I was stopped by an old lesbian friend who sells bread.
Would I like a Spanish bread?
I said, I just had lunch.
I just had arroz caldo with chicken, and—emphasis on ‘and’—miki ligis with boiled egg.
Oh, give yourself a break. Have a Spanish roll.
I could almost hear, “Oh, hurry up, and just take the bread/money. Don’t waste my time.”
***
The short of it: I took the bread, and gave her a hug.
Where else in the world does this happen?
This feeding?
This generosity of people?
This sense of me having done something good “in my youth and childhood”?
***
At PRIMA CT, I write some advance articles for my column. Just like this one.
I look at the veranda.
I look at the restaurant. My brother’s management. But my mother’s name.
I look at their customers.
***
I speak about their pancit lomi.
As I sit there writing, I heard two orders of lomi made.
The second order was from a group of women—three, around my age.
They were so courteous and nice.
Even invited me to join them.
***
I stopped writing for a chance to chit-chat.
I’ve already written two articles anyway.
We talked about the restaurant’s menu.
My plans while I am in the Philippines.
Their stories: overseas spouses, sex in their fifties, current mental states.
The pancit lomi arrived, and they requested an extra bowl for me.
***
They had a Coke each, I had my own pandan tea.
When they left, I felt a need to walk around town.
Maybe time for coffee?
And then I realized, I haven’t paid a single peso yet for the day.
***
An hour at the coffee shop, and I’ve done this two-part article.
I’m ready to GCash P20 to pay for my coffee.
But look who just came in!
This boy I’ve been flirting with.
I’d gladly pay for his coffee. Even if it’s freaking P50 for Salted Caramel.
But what is this?
Why is he offering to pay for my coffee?
***
For sure, these people are not richer than I am.
But I am rather touched by this generosity.
By this insistence that I eat, that I partake, of their kindness.
If it makes them feel good, I’ll gladly surrender and let them be generous.
***
But really, it makes me feel better that I am so loved in my town that people insist that they feed me!
I wish I could say, it’s the kindness of strangers.
Only, these are not strangers at all!/PN
