So today was the scheduled personal appearance at the Foreign Affars department to complete my passport application, according to my travel agent. Yes, my kuya prodded me to get one, not considering my total lack of financial capacity to acquire the services of one. Nevertheless, my agent was paid from my frantically depreciating funds, but hey, as of yesterday morning, I’m sold to what these guys do. Imagine this: you enter a government agency, you don’t have any idea -nor care, really- on what the procedures are for your application, and then you’re out eating siopao at the nearest convenience store 15 minutes after. True story!
Oh, I didn’t find it odd, but I do find it notweorthy that a good 80-90% of the people in the small room for passport applications and renewals were female.
Next on the itinerary was a toss-up between the National Museum -where an Spanish Photography Exhibit is being held- or Quiapo. Quiapo won, since it was nearing lunchtime already, and the food establishments there were more accesible. After dropping my heft at the LRT Carriedo station, here’s what I saw at Plaza Miranda:
There’s no deep meaning as to why the kids are the only colored entities. I just found it hard to center on a subject, and all my limited photographic skills could muster is what you see.
I spent roughly three hours in Quiapo acquiring video goods. I didn’t notice the time, but my feet hurt, since I couldn’t find the stores I’ve been in before where they sold solely film classics. Screw all those guys peddling me the latest provincial p0rn scandal.
Off to the National Museum, which opens -the musuem guard politely told me- only Wednesdays to Sundays. Phooey.
FYI: During one of my later semesters in college, every Wednesday, I commute to this forgotten relic of Manila to attend an Archeology class which I barely passed. Probably due to lack of interest.
Then its SM Manila to have my negatives -of photos from the Quiapo groupshoot, and the Camarines Norte trip– processed, get cheap lunch, and rest. I wanted to buy those Branded shirts with the Tito, Vic and Joey album covers badly, but I successfully resisted the urge. The day was topped off with a now seemingly expensive Frosty from Wendy’s; I couldn’t find an effing Dairy Queen for my anything-strawberry fix.