I hate blood, or rather, I hate the sight of blood, and when you are living with friends whose primary source of amusement is to see you wetting your pants and trembling like a posessed blender in fear, disclosing it is like peddling a basement bargain priced gadget up their noses. There was this one moment that they locked me inside the room only to find out that we were up to a movie marathon-the movies in tow were the whole collection of SAW, I would have fervently prayed to Zeus to strike the television (and my friends) with his fiercest lightning bolts, if I wasn’t too busy banging them with an electric fan. I am not a thoroughly squeamish sort of guy, you see, I have no problem downing 3 baluts (aborted duck fetus) or let us say stopping by a mobile lugawan, and sit alongside pedicab drivers, pimps or hookers while trying at small talk, (I have learned that in order for one to get the best and most innard parts, one should pal up the stall owner, you don’t necessarily have to introduce yourself, because no matter how frequent you drill into their skull your name, you will always be known as just “pogi” “boy” or in the cases of women owners “darling” sweetheart” or yes, “pogi”, although you’d start questioning their sincerity and credibility when the person waiting to be served next to you looks like a cross between the bride of Frankenstein and something that escaped from a mad scientist’s petra dish. Just shut it, sometimes it is comforting to know that in shedding a dirt cheap amount, one can fill up his stomach and get his ego bolstered up.
So where is this blog leading? Surely my train of thoughts is dancing freestyle again. From point A to point D and then back to point B. No wonder Ive only got 3 readers, the rest have died of motion sickness and vertigo..
Oh now I remember what this is supposedly all about. The other day, My friend/housemate’s mom asked me for a special favor. Why does my heart impale itself upon my ribcage everytime I hear someone use my name as an opening salvo? Perhaps it is because,in all the serious confrontations of my life, its always been like that, someone mentioning my name as if to warn me to steel myself from the sting of the next verbal shot (“Dadge, I think we should stop sending you allowance” Dadge, hold my hand and let us pray to God that he banish the devils residing in your decrepit body” “Dadge, I hopelessly heart you, This is Brando by the way”).
You see, my mom is in the states, so my friend’s mom is the closest I could get to having a mother. She needs a blood donor for her Dad who just recently had a blood transfusion.
I swear that the moment I heard it my soul left my body and hover away screaming as if it was on fire. I am deathly afraid of the idea of someone as inexperienced as an 18year old nursing intern poking a large needle into your vein and drain the blood out of you, its as if my mental search engine has brought scores of grim pictures of blood donation.
To be continued..
