Pack Me

I’ve been in eleven apartments in my nine years in Manila. I just moved into a new one and as expected, it took a toll on my back and my wallet.

Armed with six balikbayan boxes, a roll of packaging tape, and scissors, I cleared closets, cabinets, and drawers, typhoon “Milenyo” notwithstanding.

I showed no mercy. I threw away a lot of stuff. A can of Sauerkraut, which I heard about only on Food Network, had to go, as well as half-empty bottles of fish sauce and hair gel.

But I didn’t touch my Christmas tree, which has been on my ref since last year. The “ber” months are here so there’s no use putting it down.

Back in high school, everything I had would fit in a taxi – mattress, pillows, electric fan, and a suitcase full of clothes and shoes. Now, I have to rent a truck.

In the two years that I lived in Kamuning, I survived a fire five houses away, had my water meter stolen twice, and my cable connection tapped once.

I will miss the value for money restaurant strip, about five minutes by foot from my former apartment: T-bone steak for P120, a quarter chicken inasal for P73, egg caldo for P15, and tokwa for P10.

I will miss the dogs on the street, which never barked at me, but would follow me and smell plastic bags full of food that I would bring home.

On the bright side, my new apartment is within walking distance from the last few Goodah branches in the metro. I remember subsisting on all kinds of “silog” at Goodah Katipunan during my freshman year.

That branch was closed and converted to a Pizza Hut outlet. Metro Manila does not need another Pizza Hut branch.

Goodah also reminds me of an old Tito, Vic, and Joey movie which I saw on betamax when I was in pre-school. I remember a scene where Vic Sotto was singing about lumpiang hubad and the diapers of a baby he was holding fell.