Initially appeared on doktorko.com 8/26/2005.
It's four AM in the hospital; all's quiet on the Admissions front and i'm hanging out in the library - studying, surfing the internet, and listening to Internet Radio on Windows Media Player.
Invariably, i typed "99.5" in the Radio Tuner's search box. Now i'm listening to RT.
The DJs' inane chatter makes me smile; they interview phone-in callers (voices thick with the peculiar Filipino English accent that i've tried so hard to unlearn) and hand out prizes.
Details about the concert at St. Scho. Manila are given out.
Traffic report: Taft Avenue is blocked up this afternoon - as usual. This AFTERNOON? And it hits me belatedly that they are almost twelve hours ahead.
A Petron commercial.
A commercial for "Aruba Bar and Restaurant."
An old Eraserheads song: "Drive."
I close my eyes and for a moment i can almost imagine myself back home. Back where people look like i do (pango ang ilong), where they speak my language - where everything just feels RIGHT (even when things are going horribly awry).
I open my eyes and realize that i'm 8000 miles away from where i belong.
I feel a twinge in my chest and i choke a little bit.
Just a few more years.
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