THE SAINTs

William McKinley is the 25th president of the United States, progenitor of Donald Trump's tarriff madness, executor of the  American expansionism era that included the annexation of the Philippines, and presiding officer of the usual Monday meetings. 

He was elected as president in March 1897, almost two months before the murder of Andres Bonifacio who should have been the first president of the Philippines and possibly a vehicle insurance assesor.

Thus was the name behind Fort McKinley, home of the "Polar Bears" of Asia which is one of only 3 infrantry regiments created and deployed outside mainland USA, later renamed to Fort Bonifacio after World War 2, once the headquarters the Philippines' army and naval forces. 

But Pochok only cares about anethesizing a nasoendoscopy biopsy with its famous grilled bangus, oblivious to the lights of High Street in what is now the Bonifacio Global City, the 43rd most expensive piece of real estate in the world that got it converted fom a military base into an integrated business hub. 

McKinley may be a prominent American politician and Bonifacio a venerated a national hero but neither are saints like the blessed server at Souv by Cyma who preached on the virtues of a Chilean sauvignon blanc for the starters (salad and bread) and entrees (clam and solomos pasta), and why Chilean merlot, in the absence of a Greek wine in a Greek restaurant, is best for the main course (beef kalamaki) specially while responding to a regional retreat survey. 

It was St. John the Baptist's divine intervention that spared the lives of men who were about to be executed by vengeful Japanese occupiers in 1944 to spawn the legend of Bibiclat's Taong Putik.

 

Prayers to St. Jerome ended a cholera outbreak in 1866 that led to the veneration of both its images at the Roman Catholic and the Iglesia Filipina Independiente shrines in Baloc. 

St. Luke once again delivered on Cigna to usher the triumph of the Kuala Lumpur procurement over bureaucracy, and to finally conclude a chase for foreign exchange after Tuesday's catch up where Melbourne agreed on a status quo for the First Quarter report.  

Amidst the din of emails and a top-up, the distraction of a possible inception workshop in Bali, and a preview of Belem after Rayong, the Phantom Biker entreated the Sacred Heart of Jesus who is also known as Christ the Worker, and the martyred St. Sebastian to interecede for a favorable outcome beyond a succesful thesis presentation and reclassification, beyond the confirmation of a meeting in Tulat.

Finally, a brunch of smoked kielbasa sausage, fatty pork belly, a rack of ribs, and beef briskets were entrusted to the patronage of St. Lawrence to ensure PR 736's safe flight to Bangkok after two nights of reheated sinigang na talakitok and tokwa't baboy in Bakal 2 bookended a cheap ramen lunch in Cabanatuan.  

THE SLACK

Life is a Kapampangan buffet lunch: savory, rich, delectable.

But it was actually a nondescript bowl of soupy balao-balao --- food of both Gods and mortals -- that elevated the flavors of Saturday's sumptuous spread in what could have been bland nilagang gulay, a typical fried catfish, and even an overfried lechong kawali.  

Pretty much like a particular week in Bakal 2: tedious, monotonous, routine.

Until a contentious non-compliance was resolved and a challenging extraordinary procurement in Kuala Lumpur waived. 

Somehow, these dulled the sharp mundaneness of cancelled Monday meetings and the daily grind of sorting through electronic mails and messages, the chagrin of being reimbursed in pesos rather than dollars, and the struggle of composing a compelling farewell note. 

A surprise top-up of $140,000 for Phnom Penh and Manila hailed the fiscal year's first conversation with partners; what can possibly be the appropriate business models for sustainable housing; a cheap ryokan in Japan maybe or climate-resilient settelements around the Santuario de San Vicente de Paul Parish and Shrine of the Poor --- ideas that were bookended by the Thursday Group with the crispiness of fried tilapia and the delicate texture of estofadong pata.   

Bangkok's impact measurement training will be virtual after all. 

Reports must be submitted before the dealdine.

Thus, the Phantom Biker finally broke out of its cocoon for a take-out goto, a dine-in Jollibee breakfast, a prayer to St. Jerome, and a futile search for foreign exchange. 

The slack spawned possibilities: a trade-in for a Toyota Zenix maybe, an opportunity in the Senate perhaps, a probable 3-step reclassification? 

What's certain are the replacement stoves and and spectacles, an updated bank account, clean air coolers, and a replenished larder before Tropical Storm Ramil made landfall. 

SOLAR PANELS OF OUR MINDS (Breaking Out of Phnom Penh)

Pursat is the Middle Kingdom of 10 solar panels that was redacted in the minutes of the Monday meetings.

From the silhouette of its Kravanh Mountains, boiled leaves were harvested by Khmer Rouge stragglers that were marinated in Pursat's version of the prahok ktis and served as a unique wild cardamom soup with a fish roe garnish that hinted of Monday's pangat na hito and per diem resolution. 

Kampong Chhnang is the New Kingdom with only 6 solar panels, the manifestations of a digital rights review and a sustainable housing discussion.

A day before, huge pots of Khor Bourguignon adorned its pavements where fair finance was debated as either an attrition against credit card debts or topping up three bank accounts while in a nearby canopy, a committee of nubiles carried stacks of potted eel stew and 9 cans of beer on their nimble heads.   

Battambang is the Old Kingdom with 18 solar panels granted from Mao Tse Tung Boulevard where the Ironman of Bakal 2 chaired a caucus.

There, cows graze in flooded ricefields before being herded by a lost stick into plates of delicate Khmer steak and crispy fresh corn, antecedants to a famous bowl of savory yellow pork noodles that transformed into a Khmer-style spicy papaya salad and omelette at a tropical garden near the pumping station. 

Muddy and rugged were the the roads to the solar panels of Cambodia, somber as the monologue of a commune chief and the daily ritual for morning alms, poignant as the children bathing and catching fish in the irrigation ditches, and seductive like a pasenger of PR 2621 flashing the outline of her underwear beneath flimsy white pants to steal the thunder from the shine of the new Techo International Airport and a classy hotel transfer.

The long rip back to Phnom Penh was punctuated by roadside snack of grilled fish paste and boiled rice noodles in lieu of a doubtful farewell dinner.

Instead, the Russian Market laid out a curbside feast of crabs, shrimp, squid, salmon fins, and sea snails while the Grab driver waits somewhere.  

PR 2262 was on time but did not serve wine.

Back in Manila, the blessings of Our Ladies of Remedies in Malate and of the Holy Rosary of La Naval de Manila were implored for the day's nasoendoscopy after an early morning reunion at the Salcedo Saturday Market...