MORNINGS IN SAN JOSE

OPlan SSS and OPlan GSIS are turning out to be almost missions impossible.

But both are babies compared to the duplicity of Medilink XP's "contestability" clause that denied coverage for our quarterly blood works.  

These I chased in San Jose City where erasures were rectified to save OPlan GSIS for the sake of the First Congress while restoring our archaic printer with an  Epson L5290, full black like the white lady of Waltermart, before having our blood drawn with such high precision that I almost forgave Medilink.

It could have been 6 morning forays into San Jose City with two breakfasts at McDonald's because the rice at Marquez-Palengke was still steaming, if not for a random pick up in Cabanatuan City by the rice merchant of Bakal 3 that secured an  almost lost Optical Coherence Tomography result. 

The RAN consultancy offer was $500 short of my current monthly take, enough to bleed gums and blow a job, like maybe delivering an intervention in a virtual meeting in Kuala Lumpur where the upcoming Vientiane events were considered to be reported in a multi-District convention in Angeles City. 

It was the al dente pancit canton noodles that saved the Talavera dancing fountains whose waters smelled like the reheated soup of Tuesday's leftover sinigang na baboy and the clear patis of Wednesday's nuked sinaing na tulingan.

TCF was serious though and will send an invitation for the first round of  interviews but the Aussie's program management is in need of an overhaul. 

We got a cake from Cindy's and an enevelope of 5 crisp P1,000 bills .  

The bank opened on Saturday to receive these and some GCash too but not for a P12,000 check from an erstwhile friend who, like the dogs of Kabilang Baryo,though that my shin tasted like kalderatang bibe.  

Thus was how two shots of rabies vaccine got me in Cabanatuan City so I prayed to St. Nicholas of Tolentine to deliver us from purgatory and offerred flowers from 5 biking days in between the errands to San Jose, to him and the new church in CLSU, before a dinner with the flying bugs of Bical...

THE ACCIDENTAL FACILITATOR

"You are the best facilitator ever," said the lady in yellow sari from India.

That with no preparations, no notes, no nothing except a bottle of Singleton 12 years old single malt whiskey but that came later in the night after stepping right into the Fight Against Inequality in the eye of Typhoon Enteng.

I'm not even supposed to be there but I'm always Plan B, ready to step in whenever called for, and perhaps to also explore possibilities with the Catholic Relief Services on top of the invitation from the Tara Climate Foundation and a poke from the Rainforest Action Network.

I got to pay a credit bill too at PNB-Morato, update a passbook at BDO-Kamuning, and submit a monthly invoice to Phnom Penh before pouring what remains of the liquid fire over the plastic tables at 08 Scout Borromeo Street.

Home finally after two nights of Rivotril-induced daydreams, a specter of letters hanging from Lucy's diamond-less sky --- N, C, G maybe and what can be a marvelous maw --- visions that were banished within the sanctuaries of the Holy Sacrifice and the Risen Lord, my lines to heaven in UP-Diliman, before a Five Star bus delivered me to a feast of lechon manok at baboy with the Highway Men of Bakal 2.

TCF followed through and I responded with a curriculum vitae and a cover letter for RAN that got confused with the time zones where travel reimbursements were laundered in the rain, vaulted, and booked as a flight to Vientiane to celebrate the triumph of OPlan DOH-MIFIP as narrated in a draft communique for the 42nd ASEAN Ministers of Energy Meeting. 

Only one "no beer day" was scored this week, an indirect conversation too with two single Moms before Saturday's beer fest (pale pilsen, light, extra strong) plus two bike rides as the sun soaked the puddles of Typhoon Enteng in CLSU where I dialed our line to heaven.

I was the IronMan and Chef once more in Bakal 2 where OPlan SSS was finally launched... 

THE PHNOM PENH CONVENING

Finally, the docket was sealed, the rooster finalized, the arena booked with a downpayment in lieu of a framework agreement, and the entry requirements submitted and approved as weeks of uncertainty and negotiations converged at the 25th floor of Fairfield by Marriot along Russian Federation Boulevard to snatch a wacky group selfie amidst a possible security situation. 

A phantom buzz almost ruined Sessions 1-3 (ASEAN's energy cooperation, defining transition in the transport and agriculture sectors, money matters and taxonomy), silenced as Session 3 (community-owned renewable energy) predicated four workshop outcomes and the inauguration of an online policy library prior to Session 4 (gender, the banks, and Mekong hydro projects), reincarnated as a spooky voice intruding into the conversations for a communique.

This is the text between the close (superb Khmer lunches near Mao Tse Tung Boulevard) and open (a craft beer taste test at Street 29) parentheses of the Phnom Penh regional CSO convening...  

...where The Winds blew a $40 dinner on Monday that is why I urinated Teutonic beer on Tuesday because Ganzberg is a German brand that is only available in Cambodia on Wednesdays from courtesans who can't read under a a red light where the local band entertained a floating retaurant on Thursday before being introduced as the muses of the Botanico Craft Beer Garden on Friday night as August segued into September for two more regional events in Vientiane.  

It was my first and probably my last in-person I-JET PMU meeting although it is still uncertain if the Phantom Biker will consider wearing the colors of the Tara Climate Foundation or Rainforest Action Network, or both.

The post-surgery prognosis was exhilarating despite the rains in Quezon City and our disqualification from a social service program in exchange for the emerging possibility of OPLAN SCM-SWDO. 

I was welcomed with ginisang monngo, sisig and pork barbecue by the Tursday Group and I wonder what the MILF of Bakal 2 wore under the orange towel, which is probably why I dozed in the middle of an apparently bigoted homily in Cabanatuan City.