Mental Debugs

No not me! How I wish one day I could say that with conviction. Buying a house and lot is one of those really important things a person could want or dream of in a lifetime, including that of the stable and fulfilling job or that successful business of your own and the car to die for. Getting these involve intense hard work and perseverance (especially if you were not born into an affluent family), not to mention time and money, lots of it. I don’t see myself getting any of these as of yet, although a lucrative job is at the offing, but to a friend who is just a year younger than me (I am still in my 20s if you’re wondering), it is now within his hands’ reach. To see him get a place for himself from the fruits of his labor is something someone like me could look upon with pride and brotherly envy, and it is a motivational thrust not just for me but for everyone to aspire for something of the same magnitude as well. One afternoon we were driving around town when he decided to drop off some paperwork for and introduce me to his soon-to-be sweet abode. Like earlier said, his brand new house and lot is just within hands’ reach he can move in as early as two weeks.

His newly acquired property doesn’t cost cheap though. It’s to the tune of P750,000, and he will be paying for it in monthly installments for the next 20 years. Of course, he has the option of paying for it in lump if the finances permit. A commitment of 20 years will probably scare the hell out of anyone and it will take a steady and fairly-paying job to successfully materialize an investment like this, an investment no easy feat, even for someone as young but brave as my friend. I for one dreams of having a house not for myself but for my mom as the place we called home in Zamboanga City was brazen to the ground in the early 2000s. Lately I have been talking with my mom on investing in something tangible and long-term. I feel the urgency in her voice as I have seen how hard life became for us, especially on her, after that incident.  I have come to think of it time and again, as I have the capability, in the long run, of getting a house and lot of my own from a prospective job in the United States. In the mean time, I saw the simple yet beautiful house aground a lot both of which my friend calls his own. I looked at the joy that glows from his face. Imagine, a house and lot at 27. The joy was infectious.

If you like binging or just plain and controlled beer drinking, you probably heard about the urban legend of a Red Horse bottle with a stronger alcohol content, and you can tell if it has that added pizazz if the horse on the bottle looks “happy” compared to its regular stoic-looking counterpart. I know of someone who once worked for San Miguel Corporation and I asked if he ever knew of the Happy Horse, as it’s been fondly referred to by Red Horse aficionados, and he said that there was no such thing, that their products have the same alcohol content formulated for a particular beer brand, be it a San Mig Pale Pilsen, Light, Strong Ice or the beer in question. I told him that I personally saw a different bottle for their Red Horse way back 2006 while working at a call center in Ayala Avenue in Makati City. My coworkers and I would go out to this bar frequented by graveyard shifters who would down their days and worries away on muchos, towers or a bucket full of beer. I said I’d take a picture if I chance upon one, but I have never seen a Happy Horse seen, not until a few nights ago.

I was with my two friends strolling the urban jungle when one of them, who was mending a heart problem of the emotional kind, suggested that we go out for a drink. She has been mulling over this dilemma for a week now, relaying that she has been coping up by almost nightly drinking binges but one, she was quick to add, where she still has control of her mental faculties—just harmless, good ole chilled beer drinking . That night, instead of wallowing up on her own, she dragged us along for the ride. So there we were at this small bar, each of us downing two Red Horse bottles each when I remembered the Happy Horse urban legend. I and my guy friend’s bottles were the regular ones and then in wishful thinking I reached for my other friend’s. Turning it, I could only smile sheepishly, like the Happy Horse itself, as after five long years we met once again. So to check that it wasn’t the alcohol kicking in, I took pictures of it as proof that the Happy Horse does exist. Now I could show it to my friend who once worked for San Miguel or for anyone who haven’t seen this elusive Happy Horse. As for the alcohol content and the urban legend around it, judging at how my friend was openly sharing her heart problems, there was no doubt the Red Horse was extra strong, added pizazz or not.