I just lost my phone to the backseat of a cab.
It was about 8:40 on a Friday the 13th evening. I had thought of dropping off at a nearby milk tea shop before walking home. As soon as I stepped out, I groped my pockets only to realize in an instant that my phone had vanished. I rummaged my bag. Nothing.
The cab was whooshing. I wasn’t thinking straight so I just tried to run as fast, waving at him in the hopes he’d see me struggle via his rear-view mirror.
I fastened my eyes on his plate number: UVG 106, UVG 109? UVC 109? WHUT?
And then I hailed a cab next.
“Kuya, C5 tayo. May hahabulin tayong taxi, naiwan ko ‘yung phone ko dun!” I said while sliding myself anxiously on the passenger’s seat. I felt like I was in a Bourne Identity sequel. (SPEAKING OF.)
I should have asked the driver to get his cell phone so I could ring my number. With the best of luck, he has none.
Off , we went. We vigilantly eyed on taxis with that plate number. It was a Vios ‘10 if I was right. We patiently drove in the middle of a Friday night traffic. We headed to Eastwood next.
Nothing.
I asked him to drop me off at the Eastwood Police Station. Befriending those random cops, I called my number interminably. I wasn’t worried that my battery would die since it was good as charged. No answer. Texted it being my ~nice, humble self*~. “Kuya, my job’s at stake in that phone. All my contacts are packed in that thing.” Nothing.
I went home, churning out theories why he wouldn’t answer. Was the driver completely deaf he wouldn’t hear any of my 4,000 calls? Was he an evil one who would let my phone drain so it wouldn’t seem like he took it for himself? Was I being hit by karma? Was I…
I dunno. It was my first time to lose a phone so I was feeling rather confused.
More than the phone, that sim that got away with it was important to me. I’ve been using that sim since HIGH SCHOOL! All the numbers and email addresses of those relevant to me are in there!
But then again, like most people would say…
ANYWAY…
I’m writing this now just because I feel like writing. At almost 1 AM on a Sunday, following a scuffle between rains and winds, the weather draws to a calm. As I patiently wait for my torrent download of Misfits to finish, I suddenly feel the urge to string my thoughts into words. It’s that moment of the day (or night) when a writer just wants to write. The urge radically becomes a need. It becomes romantic and dangerous that before I even know it, my fingers are touching the keyboard of my ratty computer like a hormonal teenager yearning for another to warm his flesh.
Wrote this over the weekend. Ironically, after I typed that period that had stopped the entire paragraph, I already ran out of thoughts to type. Tss. Fail.
Yep, it’s almost 1AM and I’m still at the office (look at those swelling, leering eyes). I’m waiting for this stupid download which hopefully finishes in a while. Pardon my ranting but I SERIOUSLY WANNA KICK MY TEAMMATES’ SLACKING ASSES. I didn’t sign up to do what they’re supposed to do. BV.
To explain these dark circles under my eyes, let me tell you that we just closed this year’s issue of UAAP magazine. And right now, I’m working on UFC magazine—also a special under the company.
Matter-of-factly, I don’t wanna complain on how I’ve become a male Andy Sachs with male Miranda Priestlys for a boss. My two editors could be really demanding (and slackers on few occasions). But I guess, it came with their posts.
Whenever I feel so drained, I always remember the mantra, “Charge everything to experience. I’m still 20 y/o for Chrissake.” But on several instances, I couldn’t help but to stare in midthought, clutch to my seat and figure till when will I be enduring this bottom-of-a-food-chain “experience.”
For the record, I think my generation is so aggressive and go-getting. For one, editorial assistants under the company, I’ve known, are hardworking individuals who deserve to be promoted or at least to be given more… love.
Idk, I think it’s just me. As of the moment, it’s pretty clear that I belong to nowhere else but in this industry. And holding on to this life could be the only option.
Today, I woke up to my English bulldog standing over me, getting ready to pee. I didn’t move in time. FML
