The big "H"

I've been a good boy (at least that's what I'm aware of) for more than a year now. Being a "good boy" means not going out with the barkadas to pubs, and always going home straight from office. I've been like this since Jean and Fergus was approved PR also and joined me here in Singapore. Though Jean doesn't strict me with not going out rules, I just want to do my part, especially that commodities, rent and utilities are rocketting high. plus i got busy with my "passion work" for comics that prettily occupied my free times as well as weekends, not to mention playing with my kid. I've had some drink since but it's only in the house or a house of a friend where we go as family, and it was moderate. I haven't really been drunk like I used to be for over a year now... Until last Saturday.

It was William Henry's birthday and he celebrated it especially that his wife May and his newborn baby girl has just joined him here too. When we (w/ Jean and Fergus) arrived at the barbecue area in William's Condo, the usual assassins were there-- my drinking barkadas (William is one of them), some with their wives and children too. We had fun meeting again since it has been a while and talked what has been going on lately.

Jean was busy talking to May and the rest of the gals and Fergus had a good time playing with the other kids. By this time we were already drinking the second bottle of Chivas. The "tuksuhan" talking and the "fell good" conversation went on and even touched topics like longevity, philippine government conspiracy, tranferring to another office, growing old and either to migrate to western countries like our predecessors did or just stay and be merry here. Of course, when you talk and drink, you don't usually keep track of how many pours of whisky has been poured in your glasses (which I continually drank).

When Jean approached me and told me it's time to go home, I hesitated a bit but agreed anyway. It's only that time that i saw three empty bottles of Chivas and 2 empty bottles of ol' good JW-B. The third one is curretly being circulated.

After that I can't remember what happened anymore. the last vague thing I commit to memory was saying goodbye to William. I didn't remember carrying my kid or riding a taxi back home.

Realization to the world woke me up at 4 a.m. the following morning. My stomach seem to be stirred by some uknown forces and I've been talking with the toilet bowl five to six for the next two hours, until there was nothing to pump out but putrid bitter saliva.

Welcome back... old friend.