Chapter 3
Janine Mantilla
It all started with that CD player during our freshman year. When we were having our lunch break, I opened my laptop to watch the very first live-adaption of Hana Yori Dango. I found its CD collection from a thrift shop, and at that time, it was a treasure find because I usually liked the small portion when it was once locally re-aired at my neighbor’s TV. I'm planning to catch up and watch a marathon.
“Shancai’s home was actually shot near our place. We used to peek around the shooting set when the show’s been abuzz,” someone said.
I turned around and saw a boy who sports a preppy style. He wore a soft beige loose cardigan that time, both of his elbows were planted on the table, him leaning forward towards my laptop’s monitor. The episode I was currently watching kept playing when it occurred to me that he was paying attention to any of my reactions. His face that time was curious yet anticipating.
My eyes rounded to what he said. “E? What were they like?”
“Barbie Hsu is beautiful. Bless her, she recently passed away.”
I, then, raised my voice of disbelief. Being a secret fangirl that I had been, my excitement had me gushing about everything.
“But, but, did you also see the school where they shot the drama?” I asked, my excitement bursting out non-stop.
He nodded with a tight lip, both with easy humor. “I did plan to enroll there too. Demo...” He made a sound when he tilted his head. “I think I would like to go abroad for now.”
My lips puckered and made an expression as if that opportunity had been a waste. “How about Hua Ze Lei? Have you seen him?”
“Hmm…” He brushed his chin. “I am Lei.”
I only looked at him that time. But he also looked back with a twinkling mischief in his eyes until he bursted out a chuckle. “Hai, hai. It's a joke. I haven't seen Vic Chou since I'm still a kid.”
“E?” I keep muttering. “How old were you at that time?”
He made a piece sign and stuck up his tongue. “I'm still a newborn baby that year.”
My face fell to a deadpan annoyance, but he laughed.
“Gomen.” Then he laughed again. “It's the first time I'm seeing a re-watch to something so nostalgic as that.”
“Mattaku… you're a poser,” I alleged. “What's your name? There could be a chance that you took after them.”
But instead of taking offense, in that light-hearted ease, he shook his head and waved his hand. “—ya. Jackson. Wei Jackson.”
“Ah…” my voice only managed to let out. “Sōkā. Hmm,” I hummed, squinting my eyes as if suspicious. But he only chuckled.
“Oh, you're missing the best part. There's the bus chase,” he continued, pointing his chin slightly at the laptop.
I turned around and watched. He joined in, but then, he kept giving out TV spoilers.
“Chotto—no spoilers!”
“You still haven't watched it yet?”
I nodded but told him I've already watched the scene of Dao Ming Si chasing Shancai from a running bus. The other episodes are where I'm on a TV series marathon for.
“Ah…” he looked at me with a sage-like wise acceptance. “I see you're a newbie.”
But I only told him to hush.
Later in time, Jackson began to introduce me to a lot of TV series.
“Janine, you know Jet Li, ne? This is wuxia just like Jet Li’s earlier works but more modernized. It actually has the same love story as Hana Yori Dango.”
He also began to gush while he showed me his phone.
“E? Let me see.” I craned my neck near his seat behind me. “Oh…”
And soon enough I ended up catching whatever Jackson recommended.
“Ne, Janine, you remember the protagonist from this previous series, right? She's here again. Janine, eto… what do you think of the plot?”
That voice soon became a trademark sound to my ears. An even-tonal voice with his easy humor embellishing the quality every time I hear him call me. If he starts talking in Mandarin, I hear more of his nasal phrases and accent stops.
For all the days I'm aware of, this is the first time I found somebody who actually liked the same interests that I have. For the phase I had undergone as a teenager in high school, for the first time, someone actually approached and sought my company long enough to sustain a word called friendship.
We ended up rivals if we race on to become the first watcher of the first release in any of the movies we both like. Until it turned to us challenging each other to find new recommendations beyond our own niche.
Jackson popped out of nowhere as a presence. But then we ended up watching a lot of literary media analyses on YouTube about popular culture or about Asian popular film classics. If he ends up talking endlessly about those discussions on cultural allusion and meanings, I can only nod. To only watch and listen next to this guy whose presence I'd known became something I looked forward to ever since.
It was fun. His enthusiasm, Jackson being a hardcore fan and I can only follow.
That's the case. I saw a life beyond my own environment. Jackson is a wind whose path I started following. I would like to catch up, to see myself coming out better on the other side. Sure enough, every moment was an exciting bliss. A bit of liveliness if I saw his face, listen to him talk and feel his presence while we argue or discuss things only our fanatic tendency would ever care about.
I would follow him. If he plans to go back in Taiwan, I can do it. I'd say I just finished the same program like he did and am looking for a job. He doesn't have to know yet.
“Mom, if I finish university, I'm moving out of here,” I said to my mother one time sitting across from her at the drinking table.
It’s been a holiday Christmas break, and this pub is now putting up its own Christmas party. The pub's closed. With a little banner of glittering “Merry Christmas” hung as a decoration inside. And the rest of us are wearing a red-hat Santa Claus hat. The gold confetti had already bursted, it scattered all over the floor while the foods like adobo and lechon are already out on the buffet table. It has also been attacked already by the rest of us.
Inside this place is the heavy blasted karaoke-juke box and a brave hostess who took the microphone to start singing “I Have Nothing” as if they can actually consistently belt all the high keys or sing the quick phrases of run-ins inherent to that song.
Right now, what we're hearing is a woman who is either screeching or screaming while she thinks that this is vocal belting.
“Madam!” One hostess groaned when she called out. “You’re off-key, susmaryosep. Find another song!”
The hostess laughed and made an unoffended glare at the speaker. “Don't judge. No ruining of my moment,” she pushes back then returns singing. “I have nothing. Nothing!”
Her voice cracked with her mic on and everybody heard it.
We all bursted a chorus of laughter.
“Kōrē. Too much confidence. Find another song!” The other hostess stands and they end up nudging each other when they begin to scroll the karaoke playlist.
“Where are you going soon after? Back in the Philippines?” My mom's voice drew me back to our conversation.
Arms hooked on the back of this long-seat, I planted my head while weighing the thoughts I have about my plans. “I'm planning to work in Taiwan.”
My mother grunted a sound. “Oh? How about here?”
“I'm following someone.”
That's the time my mother grew quiet. The ladies at the karaoke juke-box are the only ones filling the silence. They started singing a more modern Japanese ballad. One tried the classic Utada Hikaru’s “First Love” until they changed it again to another song that is a slower ballad.
“You're not taking after your father, won't you?”
With that, I'm a bit offended. My father, you see, is a man who ran away with his mistress. I was eight years old at that time. I saw their tumultuous life together when my mom complained how my father couldn't make ends meet. Exhaustion replaced the domestic atmosphere we used to have, it soon grew heavy that the complaints turned to spats. And spats grew to shouts until one day, we just heard my father was seen with another woman.
It slapped our faces like a whiplash of disgrace and shame. My mother bears the burden of being scorned by her husband. My father's last arrival at our rented apartment house was met by a sharp scream and cries from my mother as she takes whatever is there to throw punches at him or throw whatever utensils are there in the kitchen. My father's violent shouts burst throughout our apartment floor.
I was outside waiting for them to cool down when I saw my neighbors looking up briefly. One neighbor asked in the front yard below our floor, “hija, what's going on up there? It sounds like a murder scene.”
“It's nothing, Tita. My mom says dad was seen with another woman.”
She grew quiet. “Oh no…” Then she gestured. “Don't stay there to listen, get down here. We have a birthday party invitation just around the kanto near here. Do you want to come for a while? They said they'll give gifts to children.”
My attention was brought up by the word gift. “Tita, do they also have a cake too?”
“Oh, there's a big, big cake too. Like this.” She stretched her arms wide.
“E?” I doubted. “That's too big. Are they rich?”
“It's your mother's kumare. Come, come, if you don't hurry, we'll be late.” She beckoned her hand and I rushed downstairs as we went to a birthday party.
My mother later took me for a while when they had a chat with the woman whom I call Tita a while back. They've talked long enough that I thought I wouldn't be scolded for going out without asking for permission from my mom. But that night, my mother had hiccups and she kept holding back a crying sound.
Months later, we returned to my grandparents’ town. I never heard of my father ever since.
My brows furrowed, my head jerked as if taken aback by what my mother said.
“Mom, I want to build a career from the college degree I studied for. I can't be a hostess forever. What's that about?” I replied, noting the implication of her question.
“Well.” Her hands flung away from her head as if resigned. “Why the need to follow someone? If he's your boyfriend, will you live together?”
My forehead scrunched tightly. “He's not a boyfriend. He's a classmate who's been a great friend of mine throughout our university. Graduation will be set next semester and shinsotsu-saiyō has come around now. He's Taiwanese and would likely go back to his country.”
“And you'll follow?” My mom parroted in disbelief.
“I'll ask for his recommendations.”
My mother made an unperturbed face and leaned near the table to pull a paper napkin. She began wiping the table and piling up our just used plates. “Do you even speak Chinese?”
“I have Japanese. I'll take Chinese lessons there. I'm sure it wouldn't take that long to learn.”
My mom's mouth pursed. “Suit yourself,” she murmured, giving up then stood to bring the used plates to the pantry.
“Minasan, ārē,” she said, letting out a sound of surprise. “Why is that there's still a lot of bibingka here? Come on, eat it up. Pack it now then take it home. Don't let it sit here and have it spoiled. Who made this dessert?”
“It's Mina, ātē. I don't know what she's going through but her bibingka is tasteless,” our top hostess replied.
Goodness, what a jerk. Guess these two never recovered.
Just then, ātē Mina stomped into the lobby, and hissed a high-pitch irritated noise.
“Yariman!” She slammed her phone.
The hostesses near her rounded their eyes and blinked.
“Girl, whatever happened to you?” Someone asked.
“This dickhead keeps calling me. Kuso! If only it were that he's not an inspector, see me and I'll rip his head off at the back alley.” She pointed her head with force in every emphasis she put on this statement.
“Who? That model looking guy? Guapo.” Someone giggled. “Mina, give him to me. I'll happily embrace that handsome man.”
“Hi, inspector. Please arrest me,” another hostess said in a baby voice. “Put me in handcuffs, chief, uwu.”
Other hostesses laughed.
“Who gave out my number? I swear I'll murder that walking STD.”
My laughter erupted and ātē Mina brushed me a look from her worked-up and hardened expression.
“It's Mama-san,” another hostess said. “It's a conditional agreement to many things that will keep the pub intact.”
“Dame da yo! Mama-san! I will not be your sacrifice in this!” Ātē Mina rushed to Mama-san's office.
When she's gone, the rest of us lingered at her direction.
“Well, there goes that young woman when she could've just flirted with her ex-boyfriend instead," someone chirped.
“It makes me wonder why she's working here?” one hostess chatted, planting both her elbows on the bar counter.
One hostess relaxed on her seat when she leaned on the sofa’s cushion, paying attention. “Her mother worked here before. Married to a Tokyo local later, and ta-da. There goes her daughter standing head to head with Mama-san.”
The hostesses made a drawn-out ‘oh’ sound in unison.
“She's half?”
The one sitting on the sofa nodded. “Yeah.”
“No wonder Mama-san couldn't fire her even if she rubs her customers the wrong way most of the time,” one hostess added.
“Alright, take Mina's bibingka,” my mother carried on. “You can just add another sweet garnish on it like honey for example. Pack this for a takeaway now.”
The attention of these hostesses were immediately diverted.
“Oh, Tita. we're packing~” one hostess said.
Our Christmas party was late to finish when drinking came later and the karaoke was played again. This time, Titanic's theme song, “My Heart Will Go On,” sung by the one and only Celine Dion.
They ended up like howling wolves in mourning on the song's “near, far, wherever you are” stanza. Other hostesses had no other choice but to suffer a stomach contraction from laughing too hard and clapping feebly to the efforts done to sing such an iconic Western song.
Later in time, my graduation came. I wore my academic costume, along with my hat with its dangling tassel when I stood next to Jackson. Looking up to his fresh face, unassuming yet drawing me in anyway.
“So, Janine? Happy graduation, I think?” He chuckled, smiling faintly soon after.
Jackson stretched one arm to invite me for a friendly bear hug. I did just that and hugged him. “Ne, where will you work after this?” I mumbled.
He lets go soon after. “Probably Johannesburg. That's where my dad's station is right now.”
What was in the sky for me had fallen down to my feet that day, and my heart sank.
“It’s not in Taiwan?” I croaked.
He drew out a breath. “That's where I'm not certain of, since his company is looking for a middle manager for a mining contractor.”
I didn't speak, only put my head down. When I looked up, I schooled my face to stay composed. “How will I see you then?”
He leaned away jokingly. “E? You miss me already?” He teased.
“Will you come around and visit here?”
Jackson clipped his diploma between his underarm when he made a thinking gesture, brushing his chin theatrically. He gave a quick wink and smiled. “If I have the time, I'll update you first.”
My vision, who'd looked up to this man ever since, brightened. My mouth stretched to a grin when I heard that. You don't forget me now, do you, Jackson? You will still see me as I am, won't you, Jackson?
“Wakatta! Omedeto, Jackson! Omedeto, Hua Ze Lei!” I cheered and teased back.
And Jackson gave such a boyish grin when he chuckled again.
He later emigrated to South Africa. Soon, I saw his LinkedIn profile that he works for a Chinese mining company there.
I tried doing the expected shinsotsu-saiyō. But a three-year stint later, it feels useless to me. It grew a rift in me. I couldn't go back to becoming a hostess again and do a full time job doing that, but the 9-11 corporate job couldn't make sense to me either.
My own sense moved back and forth of what I should do next. While I was walking at Takanawa Gateway Station to catch the last train of the night, my phone rang.
“Moshi, moshi,” I greeted.
A voice I haven't heard for a while spoke. However, it had grown deeper this time.
“I see you haven't changed your old number yet,” he said.
“Ah, Sakurai-san.”
My mind processed for a while, thinking what's this about. But it's a random call out of the most random moments ever known to every mundanities.
“Long time, no hear. You called? Is this another business deal?” I muttered back.
“This is where it's interesting,” Sakurai-san answered a bit too somberly. “You see, Yumeko-chan has been married now and just had her first kid.”
“Sugē,” I said in deadpan annoyance. The last time I saw this guy was at the Hyatt with Yumeko-san asking me about her mother's chocolates. Why up until today, this guy is still a coward, I don't know. “Let me guess, you want to keep up with her for the second time around?”
“This is complicated. You see, my parents began pressuring me to jump on this marriage bandwagon ever since Yumeko-chan already had her kid.”
“And then?” I boredly blurted out. Unbothered.
“I don't want marriage or any of that. I'm busy building my career. Since you've done well on our agreement last time, and you're the only person I brought to an event, your face is more familiar to them than any con-artist I could hire now. I would like to offer another deal.”
“Oh shit, Sakurai-san. Don't tell me you would pinch your pockets on me again just so I would act as your doting—what will it be this time?”
“Why so? How much do you think you'd agree to this deal?”
“Mathematics say 5 million yen annually, are you game?” I meant this as a bluff
“Put it by triple. Other than your expected allowance.”
I'm stunned by the sheer audacity of this guy. But then, he can back it up. Fifteen million. That's enough to spend on whatever I could think about. I don't have to do this cog-in-the-machine job. The trade-off, however, is that I'll be back to that hostess life again.
For a single coward man. A Minato-ku girl decoration.
But if I'd think about it, that money is enough to fly me away to Johannesburg.
“Deal.”
“Fine.” He sighed, and began to let out the arrangement. “Be my wife on paper.”
We ended up talking about the mindless details of the reason for this arrangement, of how it will be executed, and then talked about my own adjacent conditions next to his own.
Later, when the shinkansen didn't arrive yet, I randomly browsed on my SNS again. Irked by what I read on Yahoo Chiebekuro, I typed a furious answer just as exactly when the shinkansen finally arrived to open its door.
I got inside on my last late-night salarywoman train ride. Minutes after settling into a seat, my head cooled down. I checked Yahoo Chiebekuro again and edited my answer.
By the way, this is the question I read on Yahoo:
“I'm a high school teenage boy, 16 years old and a virgin. I never went out to have some friends, so I don't have one. And I always stay inside my own room since forever watching AV. I'm thinking of going to Southeast Asia, but remove Vietnam. Those mean bitches called me 'Losers Back Home' last time I took a trip. Right now, I want to fuck a Filipina pussy. I have 100 million yen, which my parents gave me as savings. Will that be enough to woo a Pina? I'm flying to the Philippines to have one.”
I kept typing my edited answer until I polished and then re-posted it.
“It is more than enough to put you through a lot of adventure. For example, you, undergoing behavioral therapy and guidance counseling to purify you from these thoughts.
Such a pity for a promising young man... I do hope your 100 million savings can afford you character development rather than wasting airplane gas for an eco-friendly planet.
You're still young, it's never too late to change. Who's a good boy and a NEET? Maybe you should go out and find some friends, no? Instead of being called 'Losers Back Home' by girls who rejected you. Who knows if you never touched a grass throughout your life? You'll suffer malnourishment from watching too much boobs. Come back here in Nihon and stay in your own lane, kid. Southeast Asia has a lot to deal with than a paid premature dick.”
