…and someone, namely me, gets burnt out.

The petty thefts (if you can call them that) stopped when we installed a gate. The bakal boys went out of business when we padlocked and cemented the damn water meter. The rowdy crowd lessened when we got a fierce guard dog. We couldn’t stop power theft, however, but we let it pass and still pay for the ridiculously high bill. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

Hell, no!

Really, I live in such a bad neighborhood that even my father thinks of moving. Again. I know the meaning of pakikisama, just as people here don’t even know that there exists such a word. I try hard to keep my temper (though I fail most of the time) whenever our next door neighbor splashes hot water on, and hurt our dog. And after almost 10 years of screaming marathons, dealing with malicious drug addicts, suicides and murders, gang wars, flying bottles, and crazy bastards, I’ve officially given up on this place. It’s now filed under my Hopeless Case folder.

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