You. I like you.

I was at ATC with my mom a few hours ago. The plans was, I'd treat her to dinner, she'd buy some groceries, and pick up my brother from school. But the grocery shopping didn't happen, and I didn't find any magazines worth reading on a long weekend in Baguio, so we left for the school early.

Walking out of the mall, my mom pointed at someone in one of the nearby restaurants. "Niko, tignan mo," she said. "Red yung hair."

It did not quite register early enough, because I looked at someone else the first time. Nothing extraordinary there, I thought. And then I realized she was pointing elsewhere, and so I turned to my left, and there she was. A girl. With red hair. And Melanie Moore glasses.

Fine, maybe the hair wasn't so red. It was bright red, but not entirely red. I think I saw some remaining black strands, or so I thought under the slightly gloomy lighting in the restaurant where she was. The first thought I had was, well, quite obvious. "Nobody pulls off red hair like Allison," I thought.

And then I looked closer. And then she looked at me. Yeah, I'm quite obvious that way. I wonder how many awkward situations I unknowingly put myself in just to get a closer look at things?

To make things more awkward, it was Jill. I was actually looking at Jill.

"Sabi ko na nga ba eh," I told her. Funny I thought that, since a second ago I didn't think it was her. After all, I did have that thought earlier on.

And then, as if in automatic, I went closer to her and I started pointing at her and saying things I can't remember. I know, I passed off as rude, but I always acted like that, like, "see, I knew this would happen!" even if I didn't know it would happen. Even if I've seen Jill tweet about being on ATC for the past few months, for reasons I never quite grasped. Okay, I certainly said something along the lines of "I knew it was you," and then there was me insisting on the Allison angle, as if that's all that I thought about. In hindsight, I looked pathetic.

All she did was smile and wave. I really looked pathetic.

We've known each other for five years and she never ages. And I swear it's not the red hair. I don't remember her wearing red hair before, though. It was always pink. Or whatever.

While I was thinking all of that, my mom went to Jill and told her that, well, she saw her with red hair and thought I would be interested. Typing those words now, I think my Allison-by-default mindset has become a stereotype of mine. And then we walked past her and her company.

"Jill. La Salle."

"Friend mo?"

As if in automatic, I gave my default answer.

"Blockmate."

Today marks 28 years since Ninoy Aquino, the head of the opposition against then president Ferdinand Marcos, was assassinated. Which means today marks the one day of the year when his story is retold - when newspapers publish front page articles about the man from the perspective of, say, his doctor, or one of the guards when he was a political prisoner, or maybe his colleague at The Manila Times?

Now, I don't mind these stories. It's fascinating reading these historical pieces - I read the newspaper a lot, and even I will admit that I learn more reading about events from way, way back than reading about events from the day before. And I don't have anything against the man himself. Of course, I wasn't alive when he was fatally shot at the tarmac of what was then known as the Manila International Airport, and I wasn't alive when he delivered his many speeches denouncing Marcos' iron-fisted rule, but I know that he's a good man, and if not for him, we would be a little worse off. His son, of course, is a completely different thing altogether.

But I'm not going to write about that. It's going to be simpler than that, for a change.

So today's newscasts will have a bunch of interviews with relatives of Ninoy Aquino. If not his daughters, then maybe the nieces and nephews he didn't see grow up. It's been always like that every year. At first, I thought if the Aquinos would once want to mark the death of their patriarch quietly, but I figured it's impossible. They have perhaps surrendered the right to mark the occasion quietly, because whether they like it or not, the Aquinos are of the Filipinos and for the Filipinos.

And then I thought, don't we have a modern-day equivalent to Ninoy Aquino? Will we still mark his martyrdom in thirty years' time? Don't get me wrong - I'm not suggesting we forget everything he did - but will we still have interviews with anybody who's connected to Ninoy in thirty years' time? Will we still watch them tell the same stories we've heard over the past two, almost three, decades? Will it reach the point that it's all just a holiday to look forward to, and nothing else, despite the many attempts to remind us kids - oh, us kids, we who do not have any idea, and will not have any idea - of all the things Ninoy did? Like it did to Jose Rizal? To Andres Bonifacio? To whoever else is in a paper bill?

Have our leaders gone from noble beings to opportunists? Have we gone from (relatively) noble beings to opportunists? Or have we all blown everything out of proportion?

"Governor Zaldy Ampatuan, gusto maging state witness!" my TV blared.

I remember what Asia and I talked about a few years back, about people we know who aren't on the yearbook. Looking back, I thought, they were up to something.

Yesterday afternoon I got a text message from some guy. He apparently got my number from the DLSU yearbook. He was texting me to let me know of a wonderful opportunity to earn money while working at home, or something. Actually, I didn't read his entire message, not because I already knew it was spam (I don't know the guy, duh) but because he started off the message by appealing to my emotions.

"Please read this message with an open heart and an open mind..."

Options, delete, yes.

And then there's the fact that his text message was really, really, really long. It was so long, I think the mobile network decided to split it into five or six parts. Maybe seven. The first part ("an open heart and an open mind") came to me first, but the next message that came was the penultimate part, which supplied his email address - which wasn't complete. And then the second part came. The middle bit never quite materialized.

So imagine this. The guy decided to promote his get-rich-quick scheme by texting a very long text message - let's say it's seven parts, and let's say it costs a peso a part - to every number in the yearbook. Or, let's be conservative - he texted everyone who had Latin honors. I know of the powers of unlimited texting, but that costs a lot.

This isn't the first time someone used my DLSU identity to sell me something. I remember this guy who allegedly pulled my email from the DLSU database to sell me a house, not that I wanted to move out. And it's definitely not the first time some stranger texted me with some opportunity or whatever. My mobile's on a postpaid plan, and my father theorized that someone from my mobile network decided to give my number, and a bunch of others, to some spammer for money. Or maybe it's the raffles I've been asked to join. My week is never complete without someone offering me a low-interest car loan. Again, like I need to get a car.

But that's nothing compared to what I've been getting lately. The guy's very persistent - perhaps too persistent to the point of being absolutely stupid.

His name - ehrm, her name - is Sam. She, supposedly, is a 22-year-old based in Bacolod. She, supposedly, is a scholar of the University of St. La Salle in Bacolod. She supposedly has participated in several beauty pageants, and supposedly no longer has any parents. She supposedly has scored an interview with some big company here in Manila, but she can't pay for the flight, so here she is, texting me, a guy she doesn't know, asking me if I could help her.

"Gagawin ko po kahit anong gusto ninyo makarating lang ako ng Maynila," the text message went.

I don't know the person, so I immediately file it as spam, with other messages as "natanggap mo na ba ang package na pinadala ko?" or "anak, ito ang tita mo sa abroad, eto na ang bagong roaming number ko!" But the way he - ehrm, she - sends these text messages is funny.

Message one is a message built to tug my heartstrings, and perhaps my nether regions. She's Sam, she has this interview, she can't afford a ticket, she'll do anything. And then, this: "may [picture] and supporting [documents] po ako sa [insert website here], baka sakali makatulong po yung infos [sic]."

Message two is a biodata of sorts. Name: Sam. Age: 22. Birthdate: I don't remember. Parents: both deceased. Experience: beauty pageants. Picture: [insert website here].

So, if he - she - can't afford to buy a ticket to Manila, but can afford to pay a web designer, or at least pay for monthly web hosting and an Internet domain... actually, multiple domains, since in the few weeks he's been texting me, the web address seems to be different each and every time. No, I haven't seen how good the web designer was, because I don't want my PC infected with spyware.

Also, there was this one time when I got a flash message - you know, the messages that just pop up as notifications rather than regular messages - saying the same thing. This guy's got money.

I'm not the best driver in the world, so I tend to get excited when I manage to make my way around some moderately-confusing road situations. Say, yesterday, a rainy Sunday, where the slippery roads and the weekend crowd converge to make a guy like me quiver.

Why was I on the road anyway? All I wanted was to get a haircut and buy myself a toothbrush. (And, as it turned out, a David Cook CD, a copy of GQ with Mila Kunis on the cover, and two packs of Yakult.) And I was stuck at home for quite a while now, so I somehow itched to get out. So I was surprised when my dad virtually allowed me to use the car to head to the mall. I've done it before, but the gap between then and now doesn't mean I'm a really good driver now. But I'm getting a bit better.

So there I was, driving along Alabang-Zapote Road, dealing with road works (they still exist) and slower than usual vehicles and the fact that I'm on the innermost lane when I'm supposed to be turning right. I was a bit wary, really, because who knows what might happen? Filipino drivers are civilized for the most part, but when worst comes to worst, things get pretty bad quickly. Which goes for everybody else, I presume, but then again, I've never driven a car in Singapore.

I was at the intersection, and the traffic enforcer was waving at us, asking us to move. The traffic light did say go, so I stepped on the pedal and went, slowly veering to the outermost lane so I could turn right with ease. I somehow did it.

I know, I know, the situation isn't the end of the world, but I found myself making a fist pump. I was quite glad.

I tend to talk to myself while driving. It's like I have my own driving instructor, keeping things in check. "Check your rear mirror, Nicksy," I said, and I knew nobody was approaching behind me, so I changed lanes, flicked on the signal lights, and turned right. That was easy. "Sometimes you just know what you're doing," I say, and then I flick on the signal light again, and turn left. And then I'm grinning.

But I'm not the best driver in the world. I still struggle with a few things. Sure, "who doesn't?" but people my age are better drivers than me. With their own cars. I'm just driving my dad's car, the one he got from the place he works with, the one I've been driving for the past year or so, whether it's a trip to the car wash or a trip to my relatives whenever my parents are out. Add to that the fact that I'm not the most patient guy in the world, and the fact that when things get so bad, I literally tremble.

It was a Sunday. A rainy Sunday. And a Sunday where families set out to watch Captain America. Simply said, there's little parking to be found.

"Full parking na po, ser," the lady that gives the parking tickets told me. "Iikot po ba kayo o aatras?"

"Iikot ako," I said, and I went in the parking lot, hoping to see some slot open up for me.

I've been in this situation before. A couple of months back, when my parents were in Europe, I had to buy some groceries, and being the only guy who can drive, I set out to the mall to do my errands. I went to two full parking areas before finding a third with one empty slot that I can use, which means I had to deal with a bunch of other drivers with their hazard lights on, waiting for that one driver to leave, so they can take that slot as their own. And me going around, being as vigilant as I can, looking for a slot I can use. Oh, and that one foreign family who stared at me as if I was a killer when I decided to back up and leave that parking lot. Those entitled bitches.

It's funny how some people manage to make things about race. Say, Phillip Sheppard and his "nigger" epithet back on Survivor: Redemption Island. Me, I manage to make things about class. It's always about people feeling more entitled than others. It's always about people who use their status or their connections to get their way, whether it be a job or a parking slot.

I was in my fourth parking lot, and I was getting pissed off. The construction work at the Alabang Town Center - more mall, less parking! - was getting to me, and the fact that cars who came after me manage to get slots before me was pissing me off. Even worse, I found a slot, only to have some vehicle come from out of nowhere and take it. Welcome to Alabang, Nicksy. You're surrounded by people who live in that posh subdivision behind you. They get everything because they must.

"Fine, get that slot, you motherfucking asshole," I said the first time.

"Fine, get that slot, you motherfucking asshole," I said the second time.

"Motherfucking asshole," I said the third time.

I spent 45 minutes looking for parking, until I finally found a slot, somewhere much farther than either the barber shop or the grocery. Not a good scenario, since it's a rainy day and I don't have an umbrella. But it's a fairly empty parking lot, which meant I can practice my reverse parking without worrying too much about maneuvering too much - I don't want to be stressed more, like the last time I struggled to park because some SUV, possibly from some rich, entitled Alabang resident, wasn't parked properly. So, go past your slot a little bit, hit reverse, turn your steering wheel to the left, and slowly back up. The next thing I know, I was aligned perfectly, but I thought I still had some way to go, since my hood hasn't aligned with the SUV beside me yet. So, I looked back, and then at my rear mirror, and slowly backed up.

Thud.