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I.t,ls .l()A(JtJtN M. t(A.t,l(;IAKA t:rxi stops in front of me, with a scrccch and a srnrll clorrcl olengine-smoke. I get inside, and tell the a.i"". *t "." tl".,'t" *. ,_,"nods, and starts up the meter; ,t " .ar g*-bt"r,'rr""*r, ,"r.*r a.ard, and we,re off_

@ Blrtbdoy

tanding in the middle of the rain that was coming down in heawy,wet droves, he began seriously to wonder what he was doing there.Any moment now, he thought, it'll come to me; and he knew rhat he

was lying to himself.All things considered, he thought, I'm handling this very well. I'mcalm. I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm going to do, but byGod, I'm calm. There must be something wrong with me.A bus flashed by in front of him. Splotches of mud appeared on thefront of his pants. He stared at them in amazement. A second ago,those splotches were nonexistent, and now, there they were, brown,dirty, undeniable. He wished he had an umbrella. Umbrellas, hethought, were fascinating things; they could not really be improved on.Vhat was that term? Mature. The technology was mature. Like lawn-mowers and flyswatters. You could make these things battery powered,or attach engines or solar panels to them, but you would just be addingneedless baggage. They were simple devices spawned by simple con-cepts, and they were pretty much complete as they were. I am not anumbrella, he thought. Nor a lawnmower nor a flyswatter. I am aclueless moron standing in the rain with large muddy splotches on the{ront of my pants-

Across the street, a group of teenagers were iostling each other, andsinging "Happy Binhday."Binhdays, he thought. I wonder when my binhday is?

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n2 l.uts J()AQ(JIN M. KA l l(;8AKA little green light in the shape of a walking man flashed before

him, some meters away. He decided to cross the thoroughfare, whichhe recognized as Epifanio de los Santos Avenue, and wander into thecommercial center on Ayala.\fhy do i remember these things? he asked himself. Street names,the locations of stores, snippets of trivia? Vhy can't I remember thethings that supposedly matter the most) Half an hour ago, he hadfrantically searched his person for clues or solid evidence Pertaining tothese vital, indispensable things, but he had apparently lost his vrdlet,and thus had no identification: no name, no address, no profession. Hesupposed that he was not without means; his clothes and shoes weregood, and he had on an expensiveJooking coat that was preventing him{rom being soaked to the bone. He had also found, much to his relief, asizable amount of money in his pants pocket, bound by a steel clip.

As he entered Ayala Mall, he felt a cenain shame; he had wiped hisfeet on the mat outside, but he was still dripping wet, and his pantswere o{ course a mess. He reasoned that he would dry out in time, andbesides - he was a customer, after all. They should be glad to have himin their establishment.\7hat to do? He had money for dinner, but it was still early, and hewas not the least bit hungry. At the moment, the idea of watching amovie seemed laughable. No matter vrhat the fantasy projected on thescreen would be, he felt certain that it would not distract him from thestrangeness of his situation. He might buy a notebook, then, and keep ajournal. A rccord of the travails of a man with no past. Day one: Foandmyself standing on a rainy street corner uith no smbrelh, no uallet, noidea of uho I am...He was surprised at this impulse. liUas he a writer, then? \7as he ajournalist or the editor of some Makati-based magazine? Or was he justsomeone who liked scribbling away in hrs spare time, someone whowas really an architect or account execudve from nine to five? IJ hat-ever; the impulse was a clue, and he would have need of clues in thedays ahead.

Clues. The days ahead. He had to make an effort to Prevent afoolish smile from taking over his entire face. He had to admit, he was

I lA0l'Y r':Nl)lN(;S l]

rr littlc cxcitccl rt thc prospcct of plrying dctectivc l'"1jT: n" *-rnindcc{ himsclf of the uttcrly ,a.r,r, .r".!i." of his predicament' Surelyhe had a family, perhaps thil;; - at any rate'-People who wouldworry, who might perhaps Ut i"pt"a"* orrhim' Still' he thought' the;;;il"". . I.o"ld b" "nybodv Anvbodv!"''ili" *ii"a on, smiling' past'sto'e *i''do** and snack booths' a-J;;:,J-;tit" ;*tr"a'it"l{ into his mind' or perhaps' heil;sh.,;;";t I am quite literally nobody' Perhaps'.strange as rtsounds, I was created 'n"' "tty llt"']'' "'d th" *ottttt I found myselfstanding on a street corner ;* ;t very first moment of physical";;;.".;;;sramcod.;',fr i.Tfi lTTj j?,',|#lll.ilor.*,And then he saw himself'off shiny car-surfaces *a gr""'t;*s' b"t h1 had unconsciouslybeen avoiding it'"^ iu*lon mirror had been used as pan of a clothing shop'swindow display' It was this'h'l'tt" "o* pt"'"d "t so intently Afterabout three minutes, t'" 'lgh"J;a dttided that

he was not Particularlyhandsome. Neither was tt" "-"l'aiJt" for any Quasimodo look-alikecontests. He smoothed ao*" ii' t'"i' with one hti 'Td made faces athimself. He grimaced * if i";lt';;i; of uncontrollable' rage' Then hesruck out his tongue. r-*.i"r.f"" "i"rwards, he daned glances to thelefr and right to '"t if *yon-i hld no'i"td his clownish behavior' Hecleared his throat ""0 *un"1'o'l'to consider the possibiliry of recogni'The mirror had caused I,i""' ;;;*-";;' now' he might run into an old classrnate or acolleague. "Hey there' tc,-*i "t:;tfttt would exclaim' "\Uhat's up?"He almost shuddered "t tn" 'hott*f" o{ the "wkwatdness

such a meel-;; ;-,'i ;; y:"':**:* :il'J#; $i::'Tf$: l#J;could he be sure if that PersiJ. ir, i"" nod and wave and walk brisklv away?It wouldbe best, h" dJi:;;di'iou""dbv'hi' 1""';t':ll:'"th. ;"; ;;";ried' surely he still had Parents' or brothers or s$ters'or at least second cousins' d;;;;; ";t*o thev'would' worry abouthim- \7hat if they lived i" *t ptt#t"tl Perhaps he could get his faceon TV somehow' ,"" '";;:;;;;;" he was all right' alive and

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r.t l.tJls J()AQt,lN M. KA (;tlAKwell. He smiled then, at the thought of himself dashing off to the site ofevery vehicular accident, bloodbath and banh robbery in town, on theoff-chance that the news camera would record a fleeting glimpse of hisIace.He waved avay these thoughts. TLere would be time enough forthem later. For now, he would consider himself a blank slate, andenjoy the situation as much as possible. For it s/as, truth be told, betterthan being on vacation. Without a complete knowledge of his capabili-ties and commitments, he could do things for the sheer hell of it. Takeup dancing, or painting; fall in love.

He spent the next few hours indulging himsel{. If he did not knowwho he was, he at least had a vague idea of who he wanted to be. Hewandered into a music shop, donned a pair of fat headphones, andlistened to a snatch of Tchaikovsky's Conceno for Violin and Orches-tra in D M{or. Allegro moderato: it put him in mind of a regimentreaching the top of a cruel hill, of perseverance, of almost-frenzieddetermination. He bought the CD even though he had no idea if heowned a player.He entered a specialty boohstore, read some reviews, examined thebright spines o{ a hun&ed new arrivals. He visited a shop that sold artmaterials, and pretended to be knowledgeable about paper weights andtextures, about the distinct features of dif{erent brands of paint. In thesponing goods shop, he asked hovr much barbell plates cost per poundthese days, and feigned interest in a Nautilus machine. All the while, hesmiled at women he. found panicularly attractive, joked with thesalesladies, and set loose a little swagger in his step.

He hoped that he was a Renaissance man of sorts, with a keenappreciation for the ans coupled with a regular urge to pump iron andshoot baskets. An interest in current technologies sounded like a nicething to have as well.He walked into a computer shop and checked out some of thepersonal computers they had on display. He found himself inquiringabout memory, speed, installment plans. He sat down in front of oneof the monitors and staned toying with a simulation program. Theprotram enabled one to play the pan of mayor-slash-God and decide

I lAl'lY l:Nl 'lN(;S l5

rltt' w,ry ,l c()lllPtltcl -llcltcr'tlt ''l t"rrrtlrurtity slroulcl be run There was atlct.riltJ tltr'

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t.tJls J()AQUIN M. KA Il(;tr^t(would bc chained to a desk in somc tower of glass and stccl and aircon-ditioning. Perhaps l.re would have to rerurn to a prolcssion rhat maderegular contributions to the pollution of Metro Manila, or the coffersof the country's corrupt officials, or the destrucrion of the ozone layeror any number of typicd evil deeds. Perhaps in time the old justifica-tions for these things would become natural to him again.

He would have a family, not a myriad of possible families. Hewould have a wife. Did she love him? Could he love her? Maybe he hada nice job. Maybe he had the most wonderful family on the face of theearth. The task of opening the wallet was rapidly approaching a kind ofmythological significance; he felt like Pandora, or Digory Kirke, orHaroun Al Raschid - on the brink of loosing untold horrors on anunsuspecting world. He shook his head and felt ridiculous.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.And besides -He slipped the wallet into a coat pocket, unopened. He reached forhis money clip, peeled off a couple of bills, and presented them to rhesaleslady. She shook her head vigorously in protesr, and held up herhands as if he had threatened violence instead. But he smiled, andaffected the voice o{ a man who would be emotionally devastated werehis gift to be refused, and rouched her arm, and pleaded, a little. Andwhen she relented, he sighed, and thanked her again. Before he steppedthrough the store exit, he could not resist a parting shot, even if he wasno longer sure who or what the target was."After all," he said, "it ls my binhday."

@

lVhat the World is Waiting For

1. A 'lypical Monday Morninghat are yciu trying to do, kill me?" Jep's voice was rwo parrsanger, one pan shock, and one pan utter disbelief. It was

embarrassingly loud, and it filled our corner of the science lab, bouncedoff the gray concrete walls, flew past the cobwebbed projects of yearspast that ludred on the high shelves. Heads turned. Our teacher srooduP. It was a typical Monday morning at the Philippine High School forScience and Technology, so of course our research group was in deepshit again.All of our classmates were now staring at our group, or rather, ts/omembers in particular: Par, who was standing there with a high-speedelecttic drill in her hand, making rapid apologies while trying to keepfrom laughing, and Jep, wide-eyed, his forehead sweat-flecked, who wasstanding in front of Pat with an atmospheric thermometer clutched inone hand, looking for all the world like a psychotic meteorologist."This isn't ftmny, Pat!" Jep blurted. Ms. Ysip, our thirty-year-oldResearch instructor, was walking towards us, her rubber shoes squeak-ing out the rhythm of impending trouble.Ronnie shuffled into view. "Move along now, people. There'snothing to see here," he said, doing his best TV cop imitati,rn. Maybe