Cartography Of Veins

It all started when JC sent an SMS asking for directions.

"Hala Baaaboo." The message read. "Yung friend ko di alam pano umuwi sa kanila. Haha. Pano ba magtaxi papunta jan sa area? Sanay kasi na may driver. Lol."

I sent a reply asking my partner where his friend will be coming from. As much as I would like to help, her whereabouts is needed so I can tell exactly the streets she must pass through.

"Alam na daw nya pag andun na sya sa area. She just needs to get there. Manggagaling siyang Rockwell. Let's say papunta na lang jan sa inyo pano?"

Instincts hint that something is odd about his statement. It seems like someone is cooking up a plan. But rather feel nosey about the hypothetical inquiry, I opened my desktop's Google Map to plot on the digital chart the taxi's swiftest trajectory.

"Tell your friend to cross the Rockwell bridge." I instructed. "Dire-diretsuhin lang nung driver yung Barangka drive until he reaches Nueve de Pebrero..."

As I traced with my fingers the streets on my computer's flat screen, I remember those late nights when I used the same passage to get to Makati from the gym in Shaw. Cheesy as it may sound, but those roads were my direct link to JC when he used to work in one of the office towers along Ayala Avenue.

Somehow, I felt the memory's distance. Like a footnote at the end of a page, the disused shortcut had become a mere reference for someone whose sense of direction require a little fine-tuning.

"Once you find Shaw Boulevard, turn right on the street across Puregold. There's a Shell gas station next to it. Dirediretso na yun going to Wilson."

JC asked several more questions that put my office within walking distance of his friend's residence. But gullible as I am, by then I was able to suppress whatever doubts still lingering in my head. Drowned with thoughts of the gym, and with my resolve further weakened by my inability to think clearly because of sleeplessness, I realized the ruse only when my phone started humming its melody to tell an incoming call.

It was a missed call from Baabaa. Immediately, I left my workstation to return his call.

"How's my baabaa, still in Greenbelt?"

"Wait... choppy ikaw, can you find an open spot where the signal is much clearer?" I left the narrow corridor to walk towards the building's lower-level rooftop. JC still grumbled about the phone's poor reception.

"Teka asan ka ba?" I asked.

"Andito sa baba ng office niyo..."



From a passing mention of a female ex-blockmate who lives within the vicinity, to finding my partner standing outside the building with a faint smile on his face, was beyond words. Even the poor reception was faked hoping I would show up in one of the building's balcony. Alas, our room faces the sunrise direction.

Heaven knows how difficult it is to find my office, especially for an outsider who doesn't know the maze of streets along the peripheries of Mandaluyong and San Juan.

The effort alone speaks of JC's wonderous intentions. But to receive something like this, as Christmas present:

Makes you see his triumphant arrival the fruit of his quiet journey, steady and straight to my heart.