Looking for Jose for Dummies 2.0

i tell everybody who has seen me turn periwinkle after yawning this: i am in pain. 

it started a bit more than a year ago that i noticed a slight discomfort in my right shoulder every time i yawned. weeks passed and it grew to more than just your “hangin lang ‘yan*” discomfort—it felt like i was being stabbed right there in the joint. and as the pain grew, came the scary temporary paralysis of my abdomen, rendering me gasping for air. that explains the lovely periwinkle shade i put on when yawning. 

not wanting to distract the country’s remaining doctors from fixing tetay’s std, i taught myself how not to yawn instead. if you have the same ailment as i do, best tip on how to stop yawning is to get proper sleep and not believe in post-lunch energy dips. Or, just clamp your mouth shut whenever you feel one’s coming.

without a terrible actress’ chlamydia to bog down the country’s health system, i decided to see my doctor here in holland. 

the guy wheezed. or at least he looked like he did. he’s probably close to retirement and his white lab coat always looked totally out of place on him. he talked like he was drunk and typed on his keyboard like his intention was to drive his fingers through. 

in all fairness, he admitted right away that he did not know what was wrong with me. he asked for x-rays and apparently, nothing’s lose inside so, while smashing through his keyboards, he asked me to go to a physiotherapist. 

for four weeks, i saw the physio guy. i was stretched, cracked, stretched and cracked some more and well, massaged. yawning was still an ordeal.

not wanting to accept defeat, he gave me muscle relaxants. after a few wikipedia checking, i found out that those pretty pills were usually used as anti-depressants. okay…in the philippines, you don’t get depressed. you get sad. depression is something that happens to famous people followed on E! and tyra’s guests. not filipinos. was i supposed to feel happy because i was prescribed anti-depressants?

i took the pills. slurred my speech. made me sleepy all day (therefore made me yawn more). gave me headaches. made me withdrawn. i felt less pain. and i was happy no matter which shit consistency you threw at the fan. but i still was not cured.

two weeks later, i went back and this time, he looked frustrated. he was incoherent, mumbling through the thick bush of hair above his upper lip. the pounding on his keyboard became more furious…more forceful. i was frustrated too. 

after a few minutes of silence, he turned the monitor of his computer around so we both could see it.

in the google search box, he typed “shoulder + pain + yawning”. 

he’s probably still searching.

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^again, pic not mine. 

* “hangin lang ‘yan” literally means, “that just air (in your body causing you pain)”—my mom’s answer most pain complaints.

nobody told me that when you’re 9 and breaking the scales at 40 kilos, you’re not supposed to be proud that your mother is on a rampage feeding you one more pack of instant noodles than your every next classmate. to cut that run-on sentence in a few words, i was fat. while every teacher in the school thought of me as the healthiest, i was silently screaming in disagreement. i couldn’t run two steps without heaving and sweating like a pig, dammit.

and pig, i was called.

17 years later, i had to go to the gym.   

signed up at slimmer’s world and went everyday during my lunch time. distraction came in the form of rustom padilla working out a sweat on a stationary bike. aside from him and me, the place smelled of a geriatric ward. either that or sanitary napkins. most of the people who worked out there were octogenarians trying to ward off arthritis and women in their 40’s trying to save that marriage. surprisingly, the men who went there did not look gay. totally. the shower stalls were actual stalls with flimsy gay doors but they served the purpose. 

fast forward three years later and now waddling on the other side of the world, i took the courage (actually, on an impulse) to sign back in and get myself into shape. the place looked promising…hourly training with a well-meaning jock and state of the art machines that if given the proper combinations, could also fight mothra for you. there were also no mirrors to keep the scary bodybuilders away. bottled water’s for free. clean place. 

first night, i headed towards the locker room to change and nothing could have prepared me for the scene. in front of me were dicks of all shapes and sizes floating–or well, happily sashaying back and forth. some were hanging on to dear life, clutching at the bushes, some, limply pointing to the floor, slapping a pair of knees, while the rest were unbelievably unremarkable. i swear, i did not stare.

honestly, i never take showers there.

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*pic not mine. however, i think it’s a shot inside a gym here in holland where they prefer doing things a la nude.