I seldom watch television so a really good commercial on TV will really mark a scar on my memory, a scar that can make me smile. This commercial is about how to apply for a job. Watch and enjoy!

This story was from my high school classmate Anthony. He posted this story in facebook. I just copy pasted the text here. Enjoy!

Dahil sa request, ilalahad ko ang aking karanasan sa macdo sa Milan.

Kumain ako sa MacDo sa Milan. Background lang, sa MIlan, kahit saang sulok ka malingat, merong pinoy. Yong MacDo dun sa harap ng Central Train Station ng Milan,halos lahat ng crew dun ay pinoy, sabay yong mga customers, 80 to 90 percent ng nakatambay dun ay mga pinoy. Sguro, sa mga 10 beses na napunta ako sa Milan, dumadaan talaga ako dun sa macdo para kumain habang naghihintay ng train. ganun ka-notorious na pinoy enclave ang macdo na yan na kung ikaw ay milanese, iiwasan mo na nga yang “ghetto” na yan and tumawid na lang sa macdo sa other side.

Anyway, medyo punuan nung time na yon at walang bakanteng upuan. merong 3 pinay and may vacant table sa tabi nila. lumapit ako and nagtanong in tagalog kung pwede ako umupo dun (magkadikit kasi na table). bigla silang nagtinginan naparang nakakita ng extra-terrestrial, then yong mga expression sa mukha ay pawang sumasagot na: “non parliamo filipino, siamo nato in italia” (di daw sila marunong mag-tagalog, sa italy na raw sila pinanganak).

medyo kumulo ang aking dugong elitista na minana ko sa aking angkang mga panginoong maylupa coz mukha naman silang DH (no offense, pero may mga pilipina naman talagang mukhang DH, kahit pagbalik-baliktarin mo ang mundo at baluntin mo sila ng versace at armani ng italia, mukhang DH pa rin sila. walang kokontra).

so anyway, translate to italian ko naman ang aking question: “me posso sedere qua?”

abah, naintindihan na nila dahil italian na ang tanong ko.

so yun, kain-kain, sabay sila, kwentu-kwentuhan, putak ng putak among themselves in italian, although para namang batangueno ang accent at alam mo namang natuto lang ng italian sa binibigay na free italian lessons ng Filipino parish sa Milan.

Basta kung isipin mo lang, halos lahat ng pinoy marunong mag-english, pero malalaman mo naman kung sino ang pinalaking nagsasalita ng english at kung sino ang natuto sa mababang paaralan at yong tumanggap ng call center accent training (pasintabi, no offense uli).

at sa wari ko, ang pinag-uusapan nila ay na-iirita sila sa mga pinoy na bagong salta at inaakalang lahat ng pinoy sa italy ay mga marunong mag-tagalog.

steady lang ako, nakikinig sa usapan.

pagkatapos kong kumain, nag-scuzza ako sa kanila.

“scuzzi, kung magpapalinis ako ng bahay, saan ko kayo pwedeng tawagan at magkano ang per oras nyo?”

biglang sumama ang mga mukha nila at naghahalong ngit-ngit na parang biglang naka-alala na kelangan pala nilang magpanggap na hindi sila nakakaintindi ng tagalog, ganun ang reaksiyon. pero biglang tahimik silang 3.

and i quietly walked away.

Baccione!

This story was told by my mother when she and my sister went to the city health office to acquire a health permit for my sister.

Usually, the city health office do business around 8am but it is already open at 7am. And people who have business with the city health office go earlier than 7am just to acquire a priority number. Only thirty (30) priority numbers are available in the morning and another thirty (30) in the afternoon. When my mother and my sister arrived that morning, there are people who already had priority numbers and waiting for 8am to do business with the city health office. So my mother and my sister went directly to the lady who is in charge with the distribution of the priority numbers. But, when they ask the lady for a priority number, the lady told them that there are no more priority numbers left for that morning. So they move out from the desk of that lady. But, my mother had a hunch that something fishy is going on. So she counted the number of person who have priority numbers while they are leaving the desk and found out that were only around twenty (20) person who has a priority number. She double checked thinking that she might have missed something but still it is around twenty people who have priority number. My mother told my sister to stay for a while. About five minutes after that, an army soldier in full battle gear - in fatigue uniform, combat boots, an army bag and with an Armalite TM (a brand of a rifle) - approach the desk of the lady who is distributing the priority number. About ten seconds of conversation, the lady pulls out a priority number #6 and gave it to the army soldier.

Do you know that I can still feel the rush of emotion in me while writing this story? Same feeling the first time my mother told me this story. I think you too can feel what I am feeling. Like a volcano that is about to errupt, my mother and my sister approach the desk of the lady again. With the army soldier still near the desk, my mother said to the lady (translated) “Miss, you could have told me that you needed an armalite. I could have brought one for you to give me a priority number.” The lady pulled the priority number #2 and gave it to my mother.

This is Philippines so expect more of this especially on public offices.

Hello everyone!

A decade of life means a decade of stories. But there are stories that we really can’t forget. They are bright colored dots that can easily be seen in dark background of our life. Some may see it as a blot of black ink in a white shirt. Whatever way you see it, even how small they are, they still stand out from the rest. They bring us the memory of our extreme emotions.

Welcome and enjoy the stories from my own experiences and also from other people who had shared them with me.