Pressing Reset

I'm back in Manila, back at my gas station. It's a weird sort of homecoming, so much has happened in the last 36 hours that those 4 days in the southern island seems to have happened ages ago. Time-space warp?

*****

Had an after-dinner conversation with Paul in Davao at one of those sub-zero beer joints. He seemed alright despite missing his dad terribly, must be the joy of having his own little family to come home to. As always, we talked about what was going on at work both ways, something that we usually discuss for hours each time we meet either in Manila or down south. Seems work is going fine so far at his end, so far...

As with most legacies passed down to the next generation, Paul is currently at that state of both excitement and fear. He's got big shoes to fill, and despite his dad's giving him an almost free rein on the business these past years, it's understandable that he's feeling a bit inept at this stage. First, there's his dad's responsibilities to the family that he has decided to carry on his shoulders. Then there's his own family to look after, and that of their employees. Needless to say, there's a lot of pressure to perform... and I don't envy him in the least.

On the other hand, there's me. Okay, so I've got my own problems, no doubt, but nothing on a scale that's comparable to his.

Suppose I were to be in his shoes, and he were in mine, I wonder if my presumption that I'd soon be at the helm of a faltering business to be bought out by Paul stands? Are the bigger responsibilities reserved for better people? Or is it a matter of environment, that given the same tools and challenges we'd end up pretty much in the same opposite situations? There's this story I've read long ago, a boy grows to be a man when a man is needed, I wonder...

*****

I found myself in yet another sleazy bar not long ago. The kind of joints that Philip Salvador or Rudy Fernandez usually trashes in the requisite bar brawl scenes of Philippine action flicks. True to the genre... Lady In Red was being played by a lonely man on an electronic keyboard amid colored flashing lights in a darkened room. The floor manager holds my hand, asking me if I wanted some company. I wave her off, uninterested (well, destitute is actually more apt, but let's pretend...) as I take a gulp of cold beer.

Why do I end up in these types of places, you might ask? Do I like the proximity of warm bodies? Or perhaps an unintelligent conversation rife with the usual flattery and empty promises? Has the search for a cold one become so desperate? Nah... it's more of a need to zone out, I guess. To just unwind without having to think about much of anything.

I signal for the bill after downing my first beer, and make my way to the exit. Clarity ensues and again my mind is filled with fresh thoughts.