We Called It “Badminton”

I just received an email from R, a dear friend in L.A. that had me laughing my pants off.

Reminded me of when we still lived together in this huge apartment ages ago. We had another flatmate then, M, and we absolutely loved poking fun at her. One of our favorite sources of amusement was the steady parade of men she had in her life. Cute and petite, she had them coming in droves and the various devices she used to persuade us that they were just "friends" would have R and I laughing ourselves silly.

At one point she started going home late after outings with X, her "friend". She’d go off in sporty outfits and come back exhausted, claiming to have just ended a strenuous badminton workout with friends. This went on for days on end, with her going home later and later. R and I remained firmly stoic, keeping our wisecracks in check even though there were nights she’d forget her cover and leave her badminton gear behind (sometimes she’d even go off in high heels with nary a bag of gear in sight).

One Sunday morning though, after having gone home at 2am, she sidled close to me on the couch croaking something about the show I was watching. Concerned, I checked if she had a fever and asked her in alarm if she had a virus. She shook her head and replied in strangled voice, "Hindi. Sakit lang talaga ng lalamunan ko, salamat sa badminton."

R was off in the kitchen cooking but immediately, with deceptive casualness, moved closer. R’s eyebrows were wiggling at me suggestively when R said to M, "Grabe naman ang badminton na yan, umaabot talaga sa lalamunan." Hilarity threatened to overwhelm me and I said to the hapless M, "Well, what do you expect? What is badminton after all but ‘volleying a cock back and forth over an extended period of time’?"

When M finally got it, her mouth fell open in semi-shock and laughter. She was sputtering in mock indignation for a full 15 minutes before we all finally settled down.

I never could hear about people playing badminton without inappropriate mental images coming into my head.

So you can just imagine how I felt when once over lunch in Greenbelt, Marc Nelson started talking about how he enjoyed badminton and how he was sure that I’d love it.

Oh Marc, I’m SURE I’d enjoy it with you.

Now I can only pray that he doesn’t read this blog.


When I was in high school, we called it "ikot-ikot".

On Saturdays, we’d hang out at this village and when a couple would come back HHWW (Holding Hands While Walking) after having disappeared earlier, we’d ask them, "O, nawala kayo?"

They’d always reply casually, "Wala, ikot-ikot lang."

I’ll bet. Vertically or horizontally?

In law school now though, we call it "studying".

"Wanna study?" has become shorthand for "Let’s have long conversations over coffee and cigarettes, and talk about you and me and anything but law. And when we discover how the hours have gone by… let’s ‘study’ a little bit more."

Oh yeah, "studying". 😉


Slowly going insane…

Late one evening, while going through the cases for the next day I ran out of orange highlighter.

You have to understand, this was no minor problem. I have a strict colorcoded pattern when I highlight cases. I use five different colored highlighters, 4 different colored pens in varying points and multiple-sized post-its. I am as OC as most law students are when it comes to school supplies and the use thereof. Running out of one color when I have 2 inches left of cases to read is nothing short of a calamity.

I was all set to run out only to remember it was 11pm and National Bookstore was already closed. I was aghast. What to do, what to do?

The normal person would go on reading and use another highlighter, maybe even make do without it.

But whoever said law students are normal?

I picked up my pink highlighter and tried using it to highlight the important facts but my hand wouldn’t budge. I tried again. I couldn’t do it. Pink was just so wrong! Pink was for jurisprudential support, not facts!

I tried again with blue. But it felt like such a betrayal, using blue to underscore causes of action when el azul was designated for lower court rulings.

I knocked on my neighbor’s door and asked if by any chance one of them had an orange highlighter I could borrow for the evening. No, not yellow, I already have yellow. No, not green, green is for the ratio. I want orange! I need orange! Oh please, doesn’t anyone on this floor have a freakin orange highlighter? How could anyone survive without an orange highlighter??!!!!

Whoops. There goes friendly neighborhood relations.

On the bright side, being known as the crazy orange-highlighter-obsessed lady in the 4th floor is better than being known as the naked-lady-who-almost-burned-the-building-down. But THAT’S another story for another post.

I never did finish reading my cases that night.

Good Lord. What has law school turned me into?