The Purpose

At four in the morning, I knew sleep won't come. My work begins at 6 o'clock and to make a shut-eye tempts an overstay in dreamland. So rolled over I did, until I was at the edge of the bed. I then got up, looked at the mirror, said hello to my puffy eyes, before leaving the room with a moist towel. 

And just when the water from the plastic dipper cascaded down my head, the sky bursts open, sending a downpour heavier than the one it sent the night before. The gentle patter became a chorus of drums, and within minutes, I knew the main street, a block away from home, had sunk again under ankle-deep waters. 

Under half an hour, I was ready. I left the house with a flimsy, dark-blue umbrella, a thick cotton jacket to top my body-fit shirt and a pair of rubber boots to cover my legs - these were the implements I prepared the night before. But they would prove feeble to the elements - to the man-made river - that would greet me once I reach the flood-prone street crossing.

Somehow I saw it coming.

When I reached Ramon Magsaysay, I saw no boulevard. Instead, a lake had swallowed the busy highway. I tried to get close, but I haven't even stepped down from the gutter and the water line was already inches away from the rim of my boots.

I could have turned back and tell the boss that I cannot go to the office. My agents could work-from-home, as planned.

But my stubborn and adventurous self insists that I should go. There is an overpass nearby, and maybe, I could reach it by wading through the shallow areas of the gutter.

I could still make it through.

A few clicks from the street corner and I found myself not far from a Tapsilogan, which recently, has been converted to a dull and nameless beer house. The flood has almost spilled over the mouth of my boots, and the people behind me walked - without wearing any protective gear. I wasn't even done hopping from one shallow spot to another when suddenly, a G-Liner bus appeared. A behemoth, whose water trail ripples as it passes through. 

Impulse tells that I should find higher ground. But from where I stood, there was none. The first wave came like a raging tsunami. I arched my feet, hoping that the few extra inches would spare my boots from the sudden tide. Alas it didn't. Just as I feared, the rim of my right boot has been breached. 

Sewage got in and submerged my foot.

Dazed and defeated, I returned home with a squeaking footwear. I should have listened: It was unwise to make an attempt with a scraped leg. And with Leptospirosis on the rise, I've put myself at risk. Washing my soaked leg with soap, before dousing it with a bottle of alcohol, I've finally sent word that I'll be working from home.


But had I succeeded in climbing the overpass and finding a jeep, these waters, I will have to tread before reaching the workplace:

V. Mapa, Santa Mesa

Kalentong, Mandaluyong

Looking at how my day went - from running two shifts effectively and conveniently from home, to sparing the matriarch the trouble of having to worry a son stuck in the streets, to staying dry and cozy at the bosom of my bedroom, it wasn't as bad as I thought the disgusting flood breach was.