Eleven months and two days ago, I visited a small snake farm in Bangkok as part of a tacky tourist package that ripped me off. Aside from allowing a local man to wrap a giant python around me for a fee, I also cradled a diaper-clad baby monkey in my arms for the sake of a nice picture I would soon post on Facebook. The monkey held me in a tight embrace and his fur brushing against my neck gave me goosebumps. After a few seconds it lunged at my chest and its hands frantically looked for my breasts. It was hungry. I felt so insulted, but downplayed my hurt feelings because it was pointless: the only witnesses were a white couple and the local man who owned the monkey, its father. And at that moment he could well be my husband, if the monkey really thought I was going to nurse him without objection.

Number 1, I was and still am NOT lactating.

Number 2, I am not a monkey.

Never did I think that I would look back at that time and say to myself "There goes one of the happiest moments of my life." But compared to what I am going through right now, I think I was better off then, in a place where no one knew me and at a time when I couldn't care less about anything.

It's been a year since I have been mistaken for a monkey. By a monkey. Given the circumstances now, I'm more than happy to mother that chimp. Where's that monkey when you need him.

I Understand

Life is so fast-paced in Dubai that sometimes I don't have time to think about how great my December holiday will be, notice that the flat has run out of edible stuff save for rotten veggies at the bottom of the fridge, or even breathe.

I have been suffocating myself for a whole week now. I find it literally hard to breathe. Bad thoughts are the culprit. I have become so negative this week, something that I fear the most. I always fear that I will soon wave a white flag for everyone to see and just resign to the fact that I am bound to be afraid of the future.

But every day friends seem to appear from nowhere and rescue me. In many different ways. By giving me a ride to a very important meeting, buying me cigarettes, treating me to a lavish spa package, or simply saying "I understand".

When I heard someone say that, that he understood, that he knew what I was going through, I tried hard to suppress my emotions, but my tears betrayed me. How often do you hear that here, in a place where most of the time no one bothers to even try to get what someone is saying? When words come out of one's mouth, they vanish into thin air.

It's not easy to try to understand someone. It takes time and patience and a good ear to achieve that. And understanding is not the end of one task as a friend. It is only the beginning of a commitment to go through something together. And that is even more daunting.

This is why I have respect for a person who holds a friend's hand and is not afraid to say "I understand". Because I know the consequences of saying those words. I understand.

As much as I love my K800i, it is no longer working properly.
I will bring it to the service centre and see if the people behind the counter can still revive it.
I would still like to continue using it. It had never let me down until it drowned inside my bag.
My mineral water bottle decided to open itself to keep me from making very important work-related phone calls.

I finally decided to use my Nokia Navigator, after much hesitation.
I never found the need to use a GPS, and always relied on the driver's memory whenever I went somewhere.
Today though, I was pleased at myself for using it.
It told us to make a crucial exit that will take us out of Abu Dhabi and back to our office.
We must have saved an hour because of that turn.

If only I have GPS for everything, a device I can consult when I have to make decisions that would potentially change my life. Should I do this, should I do that, what do I wear, where do I go. Do I make peace with him, do I leave him alone, do I tell him off for being a jerk. Am I finally going on a diet, am I leaving town, am I drinking too much? Are they the ones I should hang out with, am I willing to sacrifice something precious to me for a person who is only a potential mate. Is this place safe, is this thing worth buying, am I not allowed to be sad for a moment. Should I go now, should I leave, should I stay, should I completely ignore it or tackle it head on.

I will never finish. Imagine the thousands of decisions we have to make. Every day.
And it all boils down to our guided (or misguided) judgment.

But maybe this is precisely why I love my K800i. It doesn't tell me what to do.

Good Night

I went home at 4 in the morning, pleased at myself for being extra sociable.
I attended two Halloween parties, not ashamed of being underdressed or irrelevant.

I had to work today and though there was not much to do in the office, I felt tired.
The mere thought (and reality) of being at work on a Saturday consumes me.

I thought a nice dinner with a friend would cap my day, and I would go to bed constipated, dreaming of some toilet action.

But like I always find out, the day is never finished until I close my eyes and start snoring.
At this very moment, a few minutes before bedtime, I find myself listening to a Russian lullaby that is gently putting me to sleep.

Good night!

I am waging a war against feeling ugly.
In high school I always thought being pretty was a sin.
I despised my schoolmates who wore lipstick in class and powdered their noses at lunch.
But I didn't really understand the importance of having all these beauty products until I finally bought some of my own.

They could save your life.
It's not like that age-defying cream actually has the power to stop the crow's feet from branching out around your eyes, or that moisture rich lipstick can make a guy kiss you.
It's the feeling of knowing that you are taking care of yourself.
Everytime I enter our bathroom and see the heaps of shampoos and soaps and shower gels and mud packs I have bought or have been given to me, I sigh in satisfaction.
This is how much I take care of myself.

I get a high out of taking a whiff of my perfumes and stirring the paste I use to stick on my gel bra (which is my greatest possession, they stick and seamlessly BECOME my breasts, without the fussy straps and bulky wires). I slather on my lotion like there's no tomorrow. My papaya bubble bath is a cheap thrill that guarantees a good relaxing weekend.

By the time I finish showering and get dolled up and ready to have a good time (usually at the karaoke bar), I have become a concoction of all these wonderful beauty aids that --- though manufactured by rabid capitalists for my consumption and my wallet's grief --- give me reason to think that I am not wasting away.

Blind dates don't always work out; work isn't always a piece of cake; weekends are not always as fun as I would like them to be. But I don't kill myself because I know I have done more than enough to make myself feel good under no matter the circumstances.

I just read what I wrote and it sounded downright silly. Oh well.

But silly is the last thing I feel when I peel off my citrus-scented Vitamin C mask.

Oman

From Tuesday to Thursday, I kept myself warm under the soft sheets of the Shangrila Muscat. It was a trip for work, but the organizers did such a good job at making us feel as if we were on a holiday.

My room had an excellent view. The great Omani landscape greeted me a good morning, and the weather was perfect for sun bathing and haing mojitos by the pool.

The Muscat Airport was a modest building of traditional architecture. Not many people travelled except for the holiday makers and businessmen, who are probably heading for Dubai.

The city is quiet compared to Dubai, which has a nuerotic way about it. In Muscat, I heard a spacious one bedroom apartment near the business district would not cost more than 250 Omani Riyal, which is exactly 2,500 Dirhams. Good deal. For some reason, I didn't feel pressured to think about work, even though that was what I was doing the whole time. In the evenings we had a drink or two before going back to our hotel rooms, where I read a book in the bath and watched TV to put me to sleep.

But minus the Shangrila and the mountains and the low rise Arabic establishments peppered all over town, Muscat would still be a great city. Their people are their real asset.

The Omanis are the best. They have the most sincere smiles and the genuine desire to make sure that your experience in Oman is nothing but the best. They engage in a conversation with a semi-stranger like me, a chat that goes beyond meaningless small talk and devoid of pretenses. I would love to go back there and say hello once again to the people I met and took care of us.

They don't know how much I appreciate their warmth and care. It was a much needed break from the bright lights and the cranky people, and its all I need to go back to work on Sunday with a smile on my face.

Hu Hu Hu

I discovered that right before my monthly period, I cry. Uncontrollably. Ridiculously.
The reasons are not even worth mentioning, really.
But that's not to say they're irrelevant. They're only small things, true, but when they happen right before my period, they are the last straw.

Like that time I couldn't get a cab in Media City. On a normal day in my menstrual calendar, I would simply sigh and try to find another way to reach my destination. But I was ovulating. When I hailed the last cab driver who rejected me, I raised hell. I think I told him to --- a tree, then broke down at the bus stop. Or that time I couldn't say no to a friend's party. I put on my pre-menstrual face the whole evening, complaining about the food and the music and the weather. Or the weekend nobody was free. I thought the world has deserted me, so I out on ACAMP's Song for the Leftovers while sobbing in the mirror.

But I also realized today, after shedding my September tears, that crying every month does wonders for me. I feel so much better! Calm, inspired, strong. The negative energy falls off together with the tears, and I am stripped of issues once again, or at least have managed to get rid of their dead skin, often provokingly ugly, sitting on the surface, waiting to be dispelled. Until we meet again the following month.

Next month I wonder what I'll cry about. How about the stench in International City? Or the lack of space in the office? Or my weight (crowd favorite -- and by crowd I mean hormones)?

I hope I didn't ruffle some feathers there
I only want to let myself in
If you tell me to go away
Then I don't have a choice, do I?

I hope I didn't say the wrong words then
If I used kinder ones, would you still be around?
I only wanted to see the truth
What are you afraid of?

I hope you're really busy like you said
Not hiding from me, I'm not hunting you down
No I don't want to shake your hand
I found out it's dirtier than mine

You know your blog is starting to suck if your shoutout box is full of messages from automated rubbish.

Today was not a very nice day at work.

I had gone out to cover a small event, from which I was sure I could approach someone and get the information I wanted. It turned out it was more complicated than that. The man I tried to build a rapport with and painstakingly made myself known to, had opted to keep his silence in my company. The minute another person --- male, same nationality as his --- came up to him, he opened his mouth in a big smile, slapping the lanky fellow like they were old friends. Happily distracted by small talk, he was oblivious to the rest of us who were struggling to rub elbows with him, solely for the sake of getting our job done. I noticed though, that I was the least likely to achieve that. I didn't want to think the reason was my skin color or my appearance. Surely racism is a thing of the past, and anyone who would dare think he is being manipulated by the twisted notion of superiority by virtue of ethnic origin must have low self-esteem. It's a borderless society, the highly educated men in suits say. But if the lock of the gate to accomplishing a simple task glares at me with they key nowhere in sight, where do I go? It's hard to break down borders, especially the invisible ones. Many people choose to literally turn around and refuse to see the helplessness of those who are capable, but turned down over and over again for reasons that ultimately look silly.

At the end of the day, I choose to take it with a grain of salt. I refuse to live in bitterness and stop knocking on doors. On other days, I get lucky and make friends with nice people who see people not as crayons that can be disposed if they do not create a bright picture of the society, but as souls anyone can connect with, taking similarity of interests and feelings into consideration.

I keep on telling myself that I am too young to care about these things. At the same time, the issue of racism is getting too old. I hope that it dies soon, so that I will never ever have to encounter it again.

What's Up What the Hell Did I Just Write

I overheard two men talking about success.
Man number one is a middle-aged successful product of a capitalist society, and man number two is a twenty-something happy-go-lucky guy who maxes out his credit cards on signature clothes and doesn't have a clue how the world goes round.
M1 tells M2 to take it slow, don't get married yet. The world is not about that.
Make money and get women. That's how you know you've reached the peak of success.
Women will start flocking to you and you don't have to marry the first dreamy-eyed girl you've slept with.
Wow. Men must have it really good. They read their forefathers' biographies and found out that marriage is no longer an integral part of a life worth living. A man can get pleasure and does not have to stick it out with someone who will soon turn into an old nagging hag, just by having a huge trust fund.
That must explain why there are countless of women who settle for men they know they could never have. They are ok with that, as long as they are slapped with fat wallets and showered compliments that border on dirty and tasteless.

And that's okay, that's their right. I believe a recent generation of the female species stood up to their ex male lovers who reeked of machismo and put their nerve-embossed brawns in their place --- a dark one, where their mistresses no longer cry when they feel neglect, which could only mean they are eyeing another rack-and-bumper set; where kisses planted on their bodies don't have the warmth that indicates true love but a part of a game they started playing, hoping all beings cursed with X chromosomes also possess the stupid gene; where women have already caught up with the idea that romance to their partners are nothing but three-hour rendezvous, a machine that stops in the absence of physical connection, and they now utilize this idea to their advantage. What did they expect from the smarter sex?

While some women are merely coping with the reality that most men live their lives keeping the lower part of their bodies satisfied, others have actually realized that they don't have to pretend or ride along. They can take the lead. And again a recent generation's gradual yet powerful revolution made this possible. Successful women in designer suits can be seen picking up men in bars; high school girls seduce their college crushes instead of only dreaming about them, knowing that showing the goods is all it takes to get what they want; waitresses write their numbers on the napkin they serve along with the steak that the George Clooney lookalike ordered. And so on. The girls are marching on naked, towards a goal that would put Christopher Columbus to shame.

While an individual female may view this as the next logical step towards empowering women, I am starting to think it's dangerous. It's almost creeping me out. I've seen and heard the worst and it won't be impossible to see girls dating pet dogs, as a reaction to men's general behavior. I think we beautiful creatures should start pulling our counterparts back to the ideal world. We're known to be very inspiring and warm and genuine, and that doesn't have to change. I hope we don't let the men take us to a dark place devoid of all we ever want to happen in a relationship.

I kind of want true love to hang around longer, just in case I need it some day.

I gave up canned food (except for tuna) and instant noodles recently, and it feels good knowing that I'm not lugging around kilos of MSG and other artificial ingredients that would eventually kill me.
I am planning to give up smoking soon, by reading the book Simon gave me, called Easy Way to Stop Smoking. If only there was a book called Easy Way to Stop Dancing In Front of the Mirror Like A Retard When There Is Nothing Else To Do. Oh well now that I've mentioned it, maybe someone will take on the idea.
I am planning to give up lots of things, not only for the sake of feeling light, but in order to accommodate many other things that I have always wanted to include in my life. The problem was, I was too preoccupied with stuff that proved to be useless time and again. I just ignored them in order to avoid change, which I used to feel very inferior to.
So now I am getting rid of some things so I can do lots of other things. I can't name them all, because they're all too random to list down. A few would be to flirt more when the occasion calls for it, drink lots of water, and scrub my knees harder in the shower.
Hopefully write beauitfully.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Inevitable. It's just there, slowly creeping its way towards me as the big day approaches.
All the fears I usually come face to face with are much harder to handle, perhaps due to the frustration of not having killed them yesterday, when I was a year younger.

Six years ago when I was nineteen and wandering in the middle of the Aurora-Katipunan junction, thoughts of my future filled my mind.

I ruled out the possibility of being a news reporter, which I had always wanted to become, because it just didn't fit my personality then. I smoked like a chimney, did stand-up comedy, and struggled to earn the respect of the people I looked up to.

I also dismissed the thought of going out of the country to look for other options in my career or otherwise. Couldn't live without my family: Mama and her home-cooked meals, best served with gossip and lots of laughter; Zoe and her way of avoiding a conversation with big sister, just how girls in their puberty should behave. Couldn't live without my friends. I always enjoyed hanging out with my high school friends. Those nights on Katipunan Road never ended, they merely stopped to give way to distractions such as work and higher studies, and resumed, complete with the ladies' drinks and a session that consisted of jokes that would put Family Guy and The Office to shame. The CDG gang's taste in idle entertainment was a lot different, involving trips to the gay bar and karaoke-ing until the sun set on Tomas Morato.

I loved those days, when my monthly expenses excluded rent and laundry, and consisted of food, booze and concealer. And I rarely found myself alone. Somehow, just when I would sit in a corner and think of what to do, my phone would ring and ina matter of minutes I was saying hello again to the city's bright lights, and saying goodbye to what could have been a moment of loneliness.

Before I knew it I was in the most cosmopolitan city in the Middle East, reporting for a local TV station and missing everyone back home. A combination of bizarre circumstances brought me here. Until now I am neither objecting nor wishing to undo any of the events that occurred in the past two and a half years, because they are essentially the turning point of my life. Now, with that bloody rollercoaster ride over, I am excited to see what else fate is concocting to bring a new flavor into my life.

The small gestures of people and the most trivial occurrences make me feel fortunate, and this urges me to pass on the blessings to other who deserve it. Yes, leading an interesting life abroad, even for a only a couple of years, teaches you to become less selfish. I had always wanted the kind of freedom that gives meaning in one's life, and I think I possess it. I understand now how it is to be truly free. And somehow, this realization made me a little less scared of the future. I truly appreciate what I have and I am happy to share it. And that's one way to get rid of fear, uncovering more about my purpose.

But I still dislike the fact that I am turning 26. Late twenties is the new garbage.

My weekend was not a blast, but rather a pleasant, easy one.
I learned some things that, though didn't cause any form of intellectual stimulation, made me smile and think that the world could be as sunny as I would like it to be... minus the scorching heat of the Dubai sun.

From Avril Lavigne poser rocker chick, my sister Zoe now wants to become a Harajuku girl. While my mom was on the phone with me, I could hear her telling Zoe what a bad idea putting on eyeliner before bedtime was. But Zoe insisted that it was what girls do in Japan. Japan. What did she know about that country, that earned a reputation in the Philippines as a place where underaged singers in the province could make a fortune singing and giving lap dances to yakuzas. But all right, I'm a good sister and I love my dear Zoe, so I agreed to buy her a colorful tube dress, fish net stockings and a make up set in flamboyant colors. My sister just turned thirteen, but this fact doesn't disturb me at all. I know that in a few weeks she'll embark on a nother journey of exploring her real identity. I'm just praying she won't go down the road Amy Winehouse did. No TB patients in the family, please.

I started reading Kate Adie's The Kindness of Strangers. It was nothing but inspirational, having found out that this tough war correspondent for the BBC also had her boo boos, from announcing the wrong scores of a celebrated game (can't remember the sport) on the radio, to transmitting a tree, which she had mistaken for one of the guys in their team who was supposed to do a piece to camera amidst the morning haze in some country (I also forgot. Some journalist.). I would like to think that I still have a lot to learn, and I just have ot be patient with myself and remain zealous and inquisitive. Oh, and she also produced a farming program on the radio, which I thought was charming. If there is one program I would like to produce, regardless of the format and the medium, it would resemble the kind of humor and braveness of Family Guy, a program that can feature anything, including farts and the bitter reality that a father of three was diagnosed as retarded.

I watched The Love Guru with Ethel, and I must say that Justin Timberlake delivered a bravura performance, which included pretending that he was well-hung. His attempt at speaking with a French accent was awful though, but I guess I wouldn't know how Quebecans actually do it. My ex-boyfriend was surely funnier, even thoug he didn't really want to be. That's part of the fabric of his being, his hideous accent. Mike Myers was amazing, one of the many reasons being his effort to bring two elephants to a crucial hockey game that would decide the fate of the protagonistic team, and urging them to hump like anything to stall the opponents.

I bought a new shampoo, and I am hoping against hope that it will not make my face itch like Pantene does. At this moment I'm having to pause typing every ten seconds just to scratch my right cheek. On my face. Near my scalp, which is the only part of my body I shampoo.

Family Guy rocks. I love that series, and I watch the episodes over and over again. It gives me a sense of belongingness, knowing that I am not the only one (along with the millions of the show's viewers) who finds pleasure in jokes about fecal matter, retardation, body odor and so on. Plus the facts that the family's baby Stewie is the smartest of them all, and the household dog Brian actually dates hot human females. I am in love with the show. Hope it's in love with me too.

My stomach used to hurt from laughing
At something random and obscure
I used to rest my head on your shoulder
When the long ride became a bore
I would tell you stories about my family
And how we visited seven churches
And the one about Magnolia Ice Cream house
Was no doubt your favorite
I used to call you in the middle of the night
And ask you to meet you-know-where
That well-lit strip in the middle of the city
Once again it's coffee upstairs
We would walk uphill to have shawarmas
And maybe a beer or two
Blurt out the names of our highschool classmates
Forgetting who was who
We used to roll on the grass and talk nonsense
And never want to go home
You used to say my love life would turn out better
Than that of Bridget Jones
We used to go to the slums and raid a beerhouse
And work the jukebox til dawn
We had coins and a few crumpled bills
Hell yeah, we owned the microphone
And the burlesque queen and the macho men
Were no match to your moves
You did a mean Christina Aguilera
And spun around in your pointed boots
Remember Valentines Day when we were single
We spent it with men in thongs
Watching them dance gave us quite a laugh
Until the Mama San came along
Humming My Humps while scavenging for smokes
And walking all the way home
The jeepneys were alive and the ladies were dancing
But it's time to see our folks
One the beach we dressed our men like skanky hoes
And paraded them around
Remember when we broke up in smaller groups
You guys were nowhere to be found
My face was red from too much beer
And the little boy wanted to talk
So I taught him a lesson, he learned really fast
We kept the door unlocked
I was crying in a place where I didn't belong
There you were, panting like anything
It was vision in life that brought us together
In a place where we could sing
You were speeding on the highway
And you wanted some support
So I slept for two hours straight
I wanted conflict and bitterness
But you said you needed rest
I apologized but it was too late
I found myself having a Martini
In the middle of your graveyard shift
I told you everything that meant nothing
You nodded while I threw a fit
Spilled carbonara on the floor of McDonalds
Right before the big trip
Eight girls in a jacuzzi in colorful bikinis
That's how we wanted it
We were metal band groupies
And Divisoria junkies
Driving down EDSA again
To follow them rockstars
No matter how far
We were morons to our friends
Well I wanted to watch him
Watch my little sister
Scream Agent Orange with all her might
You wanted him to have
That yellow wrist band that you bought
At a bazaar the other night
So I boarded the plane and waved good bye
And you laughed until you cried
Hell yeah we were funny
But this one's pretty serious
It's much longer than good night

Friday

Friday
Crack down on lonely hearts
Get up form under the covers
Take a cold cold shower
Put on your best dress
The one withred flowers on it
Waterproof mascara
Is enough to make you
Smile in the mirror
The warm breeze
Hikes up your skirt
As you hail a cab
And swing your purse
30 minutes of neon lights
Honking and listening
To one hit wonders
The radio excites you
Revolving doors
His, hellos
Blue drinks and crisps
Dim lights
And Elton John
They all go together
On a Friday night
You grab the mic
And clear your throat
And you sing Sheryl Crow
Like there's no tomorrow
Like Simon Cowell
Is watching you
From the disco ball
Cheesy tracks
Blasting the speakers
For the singles and couples
And divorcees to hear
Laughing with acquaintances
Dancing with strangers
The world is yours
Until 3 AM
When you hop into a cab
And you're head's spinning
Blue vomit in the toilet
And toothpaste in the sink
That's how you know
Friday's come to an end

The sun here is rude
Always in my face
Every day on my case
Leaving me dry and thirsty

Ethel's birthday is in 30 minutes, and we're both exhausted.
She just wanted to have peace and quiet tonight, followed by some good movies which she usually watches in isolation in her bed, complete with her massive headphones that helps her shut off the rest of the world.

My birthday is coming up in less than a month, and I am excited.
I know that at 26, I have done things I never thought I could, with the help of angels who disguised themselves as friends, bosses and boyfriends.

Two and a half years in Dubai was not a piece of cake.
I had to survive eviction (not because of non-payment, thank you very much), break ups, rejection and loneliness, and the long, unfriendly oven-hot summers did not help. But I can confidently say that they are all a thing of the past, and now I am entering a a new chapter in my life. It's unfamiliar territory, nevertheless I welcome it, ambiguities and all.

So now after what seemed like forever, I am learning driving. Some people who have been driving forever may get a kick out of this fact, but I am too psyched to think about them. For me it is something that could not have come at a better time.

And I am also planning a few things that involve a lot of hard work, determination, positive thinking and prayers.

I read some of my blog entries in 2005. Wow. I actually thought I would be stuck print scanning every Sunday for the rest of my life. Now I am stil working on Sundays, but I don't mind. I love Sundays and every day of the week.

So my point is, I've changed my attitude. And I now perceive everything as an easy job, maybe because I had already gone through the worst. So at 26, I am confident that I will achieve more and become better. Every single day, I learn something. Every single day I meet someone interesting. Every single day I actually feel alive and ready to live for a hundred more years. And every single day, I am thankful.

Proximity is king.
I was pining for my then new neighbor and monitoring his daily ETA, and every single time I took out the trash and walked past his flat, I got a high.
It was excitment at its best, with a rather cliche theme.
But one day his car wasn't in the parking lots anymore, and I stopped seeing him in the lift and bumping into him in the hallway.
My heart sank. Every day I felt queasy and uninspired, neglecting to take out the trash and fixing my hair.
But all things come to an end, and sulking over the disappearance of my hot neighbor was no exception.
I forgot all about him in a week. Completely.
So days passed by, and I read books and went out with new people and and cut my hair ridiculously short and went shopping and singing on weekends.
Everything transpired like a swift memory, like a moment in my life in passing.
The other night, while I was in the middle of my pre bedtime reading, my doorbell rang.
It was him.
HE was back from a trip.
A long one.
When I looked at him, I didn't feel the same tingling sensation I used to feel whenever our eyes met in the hallway.
There was simply nothing in his eyes, or in mine.
We said good night, and that was it.
When someone goes away, you lose them and it takes a massive amount of effort to bring back what you had with them.
And I don't have the energy to do that right now.
No effort. Just coasting along.
Proximity is king.

I expected more from my tomato alphabet soup. On the packet, it looked delectable and fun, with all those letters floating around. But when I cooked it, the letters sank to the bottom of the bowl and all I could see was orange liquid. When I was trying to scoop them with my spoon, they emerged broken. I couldn't recognize them. I couldn't see the Es, the Rs, I just saw a bunch of finely cut up noodles, and for a moment I wondered if the characters were in Arabic.

How random would that be?
Me, eating tomato soup in the middle of the desert.
Tomato soup with Arabic characters in it.