I had no idea it was already Quinta asserting its presence on Philippine territory when I left for Bohol during the early morning of Thursday, November 6. If Quinta was named after a woman, I could tell that, with the way it splattered it showers - hinay-hinay pero kanunay. It was almost demure, I thought. (So similar with the way Mefenamic acid takes effects each time us girls get our monthly dose of menstrual camps.) But I had to leave for Bohol to work, and even if I was surprised that it was raining when I got out of my apartment, I had no choice but brave the very dimpled and pimpled blue, courtesy of Quinta.
I brought with me an old newspaper. It was the first time I did that. It was a local paper released around two weeks ago. When I saw it, I was actually wondering why I took the effort to slip the paper into the pocket of my backpack the night before. I thought maybe I read something in it the night before and decided to finish it the following day so I brought it with me anyway. When I got out of the cab, the paper accidentally fell on a shallow pool of mud water, but still I picked it up, and brought it with me anyway. Brownish water was dripping from its wet parts. I was thinking there might really be something about this old issue that compelled me to still pick it up and not mind the puzzled glances of my fellow passengers.