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I ended up taking a stroll under the bright half moon (Or was it quarter? No I think it was 1/3. Is there a 1/3 moon?) at a little past 8:45 PM, after my failed attempt to get rid of my hair. Do salons really close that early? What if a woman gets depressed, say midnight, where will she run to? And I thought I lived in a town of a city that almost never sleeps.

Several barber shops were open but I wasn’t about to enter one especially since I was wearing a pink shirt. Now that I think about it, I think it was the same shirt I was wearing when some weird schizo texted me that he had a crush on me which was sooo a high school thing to do considering that we were in college. Not just any college. I’m talking UP. And in my UP voice, I couldn’t help but utter to myself, aloud, “P#tang *na, sabi ko na! Hindi ako dapat nagpipink.” He was the same weird schizo who texted one night, “Sumilip ka sa bintana. Ang ganda ng moon.” The poor guy who wanted to share the moon’s beauty didn’t know I lived in a bat cave made of marble with windows that weren’t designed for moon gazing.

So I was in my pink shirt under the pretty moon feeling restless. I seem to be in a restless mode a lot these days. There’s that perennial problem with family which I think I can handle, fairly. Then there’s me which I’ve been trying to handle for, oh, as long as I’ve been alive. It’s not that I’m giving up. Nor am I going to break. I’ve come to realize that it’ll take a lot to shatter me. Well it’s either some “lot” or my hormones. Whichever way, it won’t be easy.

But sometimes the “we” and “me” problems, when interwoven, can make an almost indestructible someone neurotic. Neurotic enough to decide to get a haircut at almost 9 PM. To aggravate the situation, the lady with whom I entrust my hair, not to mention eyebrows, had fled the country to search greener pasture elsewhere. No home grooming service for me this time around. God bless her.

Yes, you think some things just happen on TV. Then it happens to you. So you realize it sucks. TV is paid big bucks for making tragedies whereas you, you have to gather big bucks to prevent a tragedy from happening.

I don’t have to sulk for the reality that my brother needs a bone marrow transplant to sink in. It has penetrated my every neuron such that even when I’m pooping, it’s all I think about. Sometimes I just have to detach myself thus explaining my occasional spacing out. You know, staring into nothing, sporting a blank mind, not sleeping.

But then of course I have to become proactive sometimes and find ways to help save my brother’s life. The procedure will cost around 3.1 million pesos when done in a highly recommended hospital in Singapore. The huge amount is exclusive of the minimum of one month post transplant care and the cross matching which, as we gathered, will cost P13,000.00 per person—that’s 13K for the recipient and another 13K for every potential donor. I’ve checked with my health care provider. They are not backing me up in my noble reason for volunteering to have my bone drilled and have my marrow sucked. They assured me, however, that they will take care of me when I’m ill. But apparently they don’t give a damn about my family which is weird because my family is a huge chunk of me. It is one of the systems that make me whole. If one of my family gets into trouble, I am as good as ill. I wonder how my health care provider will take care of me then.

We don’t have a hundred thousand pesos in our bank account and now we need more than 3 million. Now I implore myself to think of ways to get rich.

An available option is winning the jackpot in the lottery. Which is unlikely to happen. The probability that I will find a man whom I can stand and who can stand me in return is bigger than me winning the lottery. And me getting a man of my own is next to impossible so you can just imagine how worse the lottery thing is.

A possibility which I am seriously considering is applying as a sultan’s concubine. Maybe Brunei’s sultan would want to add me to his collection. I wouldn’t mind becoming his slave because at this point, I need his gold. I know Bill Gates is richer than him now but I don’t think Bill Gates practices concubinage—in the old fashioned sense of the word. The wealthy geek may engage in one-night stands after all he is an American. I don’t think he keeps his women though.

OK, I can save my salary for the transplant cost but with what I make now, I’m afraid that it’ll take me around 20 years. That is, if I get my salary whole—no deductions whatsoever. Or I can get a new job, probably as a CEO of a certain company. I can be paid 1M per month. Then I will be able to raise the money we need in three months and a few days. I am just not sure if anyone in his right mind will hire me as a CEO given the credentials found on my resume.

Writing a book and selling it would take a very long time and the pay would undoubtedly be not that big. The same may go with writing a screenplay. Either of which, I’m too preoccupied to do. If I am lucky, I can be famous on both endeavors but definitely not rich.

I can appeal to politicians and foundations. Maybe they will pay attention to my cause. But politicians are too busy these days. The campaign season is at its peak; politicians’ priorities and pork barrel share are concentrated on them winning, not on them helping their constituents. I don’t think they’d be able to give me their precious time as of the moment. As of the foundations, I guess I have to start writing to them.

A bright idea I came up with is what I would call “People Power for Nichi”. It is easy really. Except for the fact that I will be begging individuals to spare me P500 each. And the even harder part is, I have to gather 6,200 individuals who are willing to dish out their hard-earned P500 just so I can raise the sum of money needed for Nichi’s treatment.

At this point, I really am serious. My “People Power for Nichi” might work. Besides, it is more decent than me selling myself to Brunei’s sultan, not that he is sure to want me but that’s besides the point.

OK I am going to beg people within my circle and those who’d extend up to my sixth-degree reach. And maybe I could touch strangers, too. I wouldn’t limit myself in begging Filipinos. I’d go global. After all, P500 is a minute 10 USD. The white race can afford that, right?

So I guess that’s what I’ll do. And if you’re reading this now, I’d appreciate you contacting me for your P500 pledge—even better if you’d help me find individuals who would constitute my 6,200 people who’d be willing to help prolong my brother’s life.

This is it. Begging starts now.

***You can reach me through the following:
email address: battik14@yahoo.com
mobile number: +639167911066
website: http://battik.blogspot.com