Sweet November

I’m so rude.

My baby sister, Natasha, celebrated her birthday last November and I didn’t even have the decency to greet her, here.

Happy Birthday Tashing!

I get along with my sister so well, she’s a Novemberian — Novemberians are deep, sensitive, giving …basically, everything I’m not.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Me, on the other hand, was born on 12th February, kicking and screaming out of my mother’s womb. I was long overdue, didn’t want to get out of the womb at first, I basically grew hair and teeth in my mother’s womb, that’s how overdue I was…I had dandruff when I came out. It probably took so much courage from my father to say: “Ah, Alessandra Marie!, welcome to the outside world, slowpoke, I mean cupcake…”

I was born on 12th February. Basically, that makes me weird. That’s why I get along with my sister so well — cool, popular, brilliant Natasha— she balances me out.

♣

 

I had weeks of back-breaking exams.

I’m still reeling from the meta-analysis. That’s analysis on analysis (Puke).

And textual research, which basically entails spot checking homogeneity in a chunk of text.

Example: this is the fourth time I’m writing “basically” (or is it fifth?) in less than 198 words of text (Puke).

My brain is now a shriveled prune.

I am breaking DARNA!

 

 

 

♣

 

Natasha took med tech at UST then med school and now, a graduate of medicine.

I think our dad’s ever failing health made me and my sister want to be healers.

But since I always lose at Cluedo (a.k.a. dumb in science) I channeled my enthusiasm into alternative therapies like acupressure …a.k.a. subway map…a.k.a. healing without med school. Ü

Dad used to joke that if my sister was his doctor, I was his quack doctor, truly a win-win situation!

 

 

To be a doctor in the Philippines is to have front row seats to the most sordid details of human misery and degradation.

Many feel that our healthcare system is on the verge of a grand collapse.

Facilities – substandard– check.

Medicines- overpriced– check.

Emergency services- ____huh?_____ -check.

Health Insurance- ____Whut?______-check.

Really, c’mon Health Insurance _______duh?______-check.

Nurses – go to Singapore to work as maids– check.

Doctors- duck, cover, hold… run!!! – check.

How inconvenient it is to give birth in a hospital ward with no ventilation, poor sanitation, and a receptionist who also serves as a medical assistant with the tendency to belt out Mariah Carey hits like a tooth is being pulled out of her mouth.

Dreeaaaaam loooooverrrr….come reskyuuu meeeeey….

As an intern, my sister had two mothers give birth side-by-side on one very cramped, creaking hospital bed.

The amenities simply cannot keep up with the influx of patients.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once my sister and I were having dinner at Tia Maria’s, a dimly lit, wood-paneled cantina.

She just got off from her 24-hour duty at the public hospital. I didn’t try to mind the antiseptic smell that reeked through her Angel’s Breath cologne, but my nose was twitching uncontrollably as I bit into our cheese-dipped nachos.

She looked so tired, long hours at that wretched (excuse me) hell hole of a medical facility did that.

Today was really something, she said, chuckling and shaking her head in disbelief.

It turned out that a bunch of upwardly mobile dudes decided to inject (as in D.I.Y.) silicone or some other substance into their genitals for enlargement purposes. But of course, like the groundbreaking stroke of genius that it was, infection ensued. And it was my sister’s job to clean the mess. Hands on, every single one of them.

I hammered my chorizo burrito with my fork mercilessly, then gave up, summoned the waiter and had it reheated.

Ayyy, I’m grossing you out! My sister gasped.

I stared at her, a bit irritated that the restaurant was getting so dark.

I’m confused about the balls part…the balls part…you were saying? the balls part? I don’t get the balls part! I shouted over bossa nova blasting through the speakers, while making dramatic gestures with my fingers.

My sister looked at me wearily, waved her hand and nodded, Next time, maybe next time…

Oh… okay, next time …

Then we both silently dug into the huge pile of Carne Asada Quesadillas and remembered what we went there for.

 

♣

 

In rural Philippines, when you join a modeling, deportment and posture class, you really end up with a flower pot on your head. Natasha and I looked especially elated here.

Natasha with husband Toby Carmona on their wedding day. I think I took this pic, hence, my sister’s frigid stare, still beautiful as always.