Friday the 13th happened on a Tuesday

I knew I should have listened to Mr. P when he was coaxing me & S to sleep over the night before. 

At 6:30 A.M. on March 13, 2012 I woke up with a jolt of panic. Someone was banging furiously on our door. I jumped out of bed, shook the hell out of S to wake her up, went outside, and was immediately disoriented. Mr. P was calling out my name. Our bags strewn all over the floor. My front window wide open. 

The world stopped. 

I snapped out of that split-second trance and hurriedly opened the door-- to discover Mr. P and our other neighbors. He received a call earlier that our 3rd floor neighbors discovered our window wide-open and saw that our things were in disarray. 

The thing is, they know that we never open our windows. 

According to the neighbors, when they sensed that our house was broken into, they were calling out to check inside "Tao po! Tao po!" but there was no response from us. They called Mr. P's house right away and he rushed to our apartment.

They took away everything that they could sell. 

They took away all the gadgets that they could find- even those that were tucked under our pillows and in-between our cushions. 

They were THAT close to us.

How we were not able to feel or hear them break in is still a mystery to us. I'm a light sleeper and I easily wake up to the faintest of sounds or the softest of nudges. If Mr. P didn't bang on our door like it was going to fall apart, we would not have woken up.

Our entire house was in shambles. Closets were opened, shelves were messed up, and our shoe rack (positioned strategically under our window where they used it for entry/exit) was destroyed.

They took away what has been our lifeline to family and friends all over the world. They took away the fruits of hard work-- the precious tools we used to augment our income and help improve our work/studies.

They might have taken away everything that we've worked hard for-- but thankfully, they did not take away our lives.

Mr. P's dad followed shortly after knowing that we were still alive and intact. He called up the barangay office to report the incident. What followed after that was a welcome comic relief. 

Tito Ric: "Hello? Sa Baranagay po ba ito? May nangyari po kasing nakawan dito sa (address)...." (Hello is this the barangay? Something happened here at....)

Barangay: "Ah Ser umaambon kasi, walang bubong yung patrol sidecar. Maya-maya nalang po" (Sir, it's drizzling. Our patrol sidecar doesn't have a roof so that'll have to wait later)

Out of irritation, Mr.P's dad dropped the call. But called right back when Mr. P insisted that the barangay police might not come because he dropped the call. 

In a few minutes (supposing the rain stopped momentarily) a barangay inspector sporting a highlighter yellow Mandaluyong polo shirt arrived. He hardly looked like a sensible inspector--wearing a baseball cap, maong baggy shorts, and daddy slippers. Heck, he was even smoking a small stub of cigarette. 

He paced the apartment (cigarette in hand) and took out his "inspector's notebook"-- crumpled looking recycled paper stapled together. I even had to lend him a pen for writing.

The routine recap of details was given and he nodded, pretending to write on that makeshift notebook the highlights of the crime. I just pointed out the areas where our gadgets were and who was in what position and when during the incident. 

Everyone was silent for a few seconds, until Brgy. Inspector spoke 

"Nakakataka lang na alam niya kung saan naka lagay yung gamit niyo. Hindi kaya inside job ito? Diba may kasama kayo sa bahay?" (What bothers me is that he knows where your things are. This could be an inside job. You have a housemate, right?")

I wanted to throw my fridge at him. My housemate left the house at 1:00 A.M. the night before. I made sure to lock all the windows and doors when she left. Her laptop and camera was stolen from our house as well.

Exasperated, I volunteered to give my insights, 

"Eh kuya, kung inside job po ito hindi na niya kelangan dumaan po sa bintana. May susi naman po siya. Tsaka, naisip ko lang din po na siguro wala sila nakita sa labas na cellphone kaya pinasok na rin po nila yung kwarto" (If this was an inside job, she didn't have to pass through the window. She has a key. And I was just thinking that since the thief wasn't able to see any phones outside, he had to check the rooms for it)

I really wanted to strangle him with the nearest charger beside me. He paced the house one more time and gave more hypotheses. He was telling this long tale about the Kagawad experiencing the same thing, gadgets stolen in the middle of the night. Eventually they caught the culprit-- kids from another barangay far from ours. He also said that they might have let us inhale fumes to put us to sleep. 

It took him more than 15 minutes to come up with that hypothesis. It took me 5.

The "investigation" ended with us giving our names and enumerating (in full detail) what we lost and how much we lost in cash. That uneventful encounter with Brgy. Inspector didn't even land us an official report. He didn't even endorse us to the city police because he said that they'd just give our compliant back to the barangay. We were only advised na "makipagtulungan" in the event that we chance upon our gadgets being sold to us. 

LIKE THAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN.

These days, what is stolen cannot be retrieved. The black market is so lucrative and the exchange of stolen goods happens faster than this sentence has been typed.

It was a waste of time.

We spent the whole day informing our relatives of what happened, seeking comfort from the shared sympathies that we received online. I was switching from whining to being angry to wallowing in despair to laughing and back to whining. 

The past days, I've been throwing curses at a fictional batang hamog--a stereotypical lanky and dirty looking teenage rugby boy who is desperately looking for a quick buck. I throw curses at him because I want to associate a face to this awful crime. I want to do a confrontation scene ala Tagalog movie:

"Walang hiya ka! Pobre! Wala kang karapatan magnakaw sa kapwa mo mahirap! *slap* Dukha! Maralita! Sana mabulunan ng konsensya ang mga pinakain mo ng pancit ng dahil sa mga gadgets namin! *slap* Eto, eto ang chargers na hindi mo kinuha. Bobo! *slap* Gagu hindi pwede gumana ang selpon/laptop/camera/ipod kung walang charge! *slap* Isaksak mo to sa baga mong may TUBERCULOSIS! Oo hindi ka hinihika, meron kang TB-- sakit ng mga mahihirap!!! *kick* Ang pagiging mahirap ay hindi estado ng buhay kundi estado ng pagiisip! Ikaw ang tunay na pobre dahil hindi ka marnunong magisip kung ano ng anong tama sa mali!!!!  *slap* 

I always get a kick out of that imaginary scene. It makes me smile. Knowing that despite the nightmare in Hulo, I can still laugh about it.

We still haven't returned to our apartment because admittedly, we still walk the streets in fear of that fateful incident. What hurts about being ransacked isn't so much about the gadgets lost or the sentimental value associated to the things-- it's the fact that you were exposed to such vulnerability; that the situation could have been graver or that there was even a slight brush with death.

Stay safe everyone.

When in pain, write. Housemate M and I posted these on our wall after the event.

The "momentous" occasion merits another Instax on our wall.