This is the laundry issue. I’m calling it exactly that, because it is. It’s the shining and shimmering account on how, alighting from the bus stop heavy with gael and 2 weeks worth of fresh underwear and socks all stuffed into my trusty backpack, i walked an estimated 250 meters to the north avenue station and arriving there, climbed my way up to the ticketing booth.
The act, everything from the walking to the climbing part wouldn’t be much of a burden, and wouldn’t be much of a story to tell had it been just me. but since i did it with extra load at my front—i wouldn’t risk giving gael to street charity—it became something of an epic struggle that required a different entry altogether than what has already been mentioned fleetingly at the preceeding entry. Why so, you might ask, gentle reader? Why go through all the trouble of writing something as trifle as laundry when one could opt to write about the mysteries of life instead? Or of the unfertilized egg that’s just heavenly especially when taken alongside poetry?
Wouldn’t a laundry post make this blog the laughing stock of the blogosphere? Has gentle ran out of things to write about that even his underwear, socks and sheets end up as entries for his blog? Laugh all you want but i was not laughing when i carried my “baby” all the way to the top. Or when, reaching boni station, i had to bite hard and bite fast, just to finish eating my fillet-o-fish sandwich so i could reach the laundryshop in time before its closing, to claim my 3 days worth of barong tagalog uniforms (the first one of which, i have to wear tomorrow—that’s why the hurry) and 3 weeks worth of plain clothes, towels and bedsheet. Again, ask me if i was laughing, or at the very least, smiling, when i carried all of them, plus gael and my fresh undies and socks contained in the backpack (in this case, lets call it frontpack) all the way to the place i am renting, a good six blocks away from the laundry shop. I could have chosen to ride a tricycle, making my life a lot easier but the thought of paying P18 for just a few blocks is just killing me; so i chose to walk.
Halfway through, i found myself beginning to curse myself for not choosing to ride the damn tricycle. The plastic bag containing the shirts, the bedsheet and the towels started to take its toll on my wrist after a few blocks. I tried exchanging them with the uniforms i carried with my other hand; no sooner have i done it when the other wrist started screaming for a reprieve too. Add to that my already aching shoulders from carrying gael for such an extended period. So just imagine my relief when i reached my doorstep.
Phew. Wiping my sweat, i proceeded to write the very first paragraph of the laundry issue.