In the emotional vacuum left by a sudden breakup, a new alliance with another politician offers distraction and influence. But as secret favors escalate, the quiet town becomes a stage for an intense, unstated jealousy that nearly turns fatal on the dark, winding roads of Marinduque.
After a few emotional days, I called Abe again. The situation with DJ Pol was completely consuming me, and I desperately needed somewhere else to turn my attention. She couldn't think of anyone to suggest, but the truth was, I already had someone in mind before I even picked up the phone. It was the elected provincial councilor from Torrijos, Sunty *(not his real name)*.
I had seen Sunty once before, elegantly reciting a poem during an occasion at the Capitol building. He was tall, slender, with broad shoulders and kind eyes. On another occasion, DJ Pol and I had watched him act as a referee up in a boxing ring during a village fiesta. I caught Sunty looking at me — DJ Pol had actually pointed me out to him from the audience. Because DJ Pol had spoken about him often, I already knew quite a bit about his family and his political ambitions. I also still had his cellphone number from the one time he used it to call me.
It was only then that I learned Abe and Sunty were actually relatives, and that he lived directly behind her place in the next village. In fact, his service vehicle passed in front of her house every morning on his way to work at the Capitol.
Calling him was easy. My name was familiar enough in Torrijos that I didn't have to try hard to introduce myself. We started by talking business. I asked if he could use his influence as the Governor's trusted right-hand man to help resolve the boundary dispute I had with the village leader by my property. After explaining the background, he suggested I send him copies of the maps and documents. I invited him to visit the property so my brother, Junjun, could give him a tour and help him visualize the issue.
But as we arranged that visit, a wave of sadness hit me. I realized I wasn't over DJ Pol yet. When Sunty finally visited the property, I didn't feel the same spark of excitement I had felt when John first came to have his picture taken. Crying quietly, I found myself wishing it was John spending time at my place instead.
Despite my lingering feelings, Sunty and I spoke frequently. He was undeniably intelligent and incredibly fun to talk to. Because he was a busy official, I preferred to wait for his text saying he was free before I called. He would often tell me when he was staying overnight at the Capitol building, asking me to wake him up with an early morning phone call.
Eventually, I decided to tell him about my past relationship with DJ Pol. He seemed genuinely surprised that John had managed to keep it a total secret from him, given their long friendship and political history. Sunty advised me to be patient with John, noting that he was still young and could be careless with his words. I asked Sunty to be discreet about our developing friendship, jokingly warning him that if John found out, he would surely claim Sunty was "number seven" in my life. Sunty laughed. "At least it's 2007 now," he joked.
Because Sunty was prone to frequent coughs and colds, and rarely had time to eat breakfast before his commute, I came up with a plan. Once again, she shows affection through material provision — a pattern established in her youth and reinforced by her role as highly-paid overseas worker. I coordinated with Abe: every single morning, Abe or a member of her family would wait at the roadside shed with a package of food, drinks, and Vitamin C capsules, handing them off to Sunty's driver as the service vehicle passed by.
At first, Sunty protested, but I reasoned that keeping him healthy was my form of "public service" to the province. The plan worked perfectly, except for the mornings when Sunty's wife was also in the car on her way to work. I knew exactly what she must be thinking when she saw the daily packages. Rather than let paranoia build, I decided to tackle it directly. I called Sunty's home phone repeatedly until she answered. I introduced myself, explained exactly why I was sending the food, and admitted I understood how it must look. Hearing the truth directly from me relieved her greatly. From then on, I didn't even need Sunty's phone to speak to her; she gave me her direct number, and we became genuine friends.
My support for Sunty deepened. As his birthday approached, I sent a special package of personal items directly from Japan. I even convinced his wife to accompany him to Manila to have his heart checked after complaining of severe, recurrent chest pains. I admired that despite his powerful position, he never resorted to government corruption or kickbacks to pay for his medical bills, relying instead on legal salary loans to prioritize his children's education.
Back in Japan, Mitch eventually asked who I was constantly talking to on the telephone. I told him about Sunty explicitly. Rather than getting angry, Mitch welcomed the idea. He said it was wonderful that I was befriending someone with the power to improve the province. From then on, I would update Mitch on the political issues Sunty and I discussed, seamlessly combining two completely separate worlds.
Inevitably, the secret broke.
One night, Sunty and DJ Pol attended a gathering together in the next town. Both had some alcohol, though they were still sober enough to drive. When the event ended, they decided to drive home in a convoy through the steep, mountainous roads. Sunty was driving his government service vehicle, while John trailed closely behind in his owner-type jeepney.
As they were ascending the dark, zigzagging mountain passes bordered by sheer cliffs, I happened to call Sunty from Japan.
Sunty answered the phone sounding deeply worried. He told me that John appeared to be intensely upset. John was driving recklessly fast, swerving dangerously close to the cliffs and nearly crashing his jeepney into the obstacles along the road. Sunty told me bluntly: he believed John was doing it because he had finally realized what was happening between me and Sunty, and he was still not over me.
I tried to keep my voice flat and completely unemotional as I stayed on the phone with Sunty. He continued to pace John's vehicle down the steep slopes, accompanying him the entire terrifying drive until they finally reached a safe spot at the foot of the mountain.
A few days later, I called DJ Pol to check on him. I hadn't properly spoken to him since our explosive fight over Dr. Becka. But this time, when he answered, the usual joy and energy were completely drained from his voice. He bitterly suggested that I had dialed his number by mistake, telling me I should call Sunty instead since Sunty was now my "boyfriend."
When I called him again, we finally talked about it. I blamed him for hurting me so deeply with his demands, but he fired back, saying he was entirely devastated by what he knew I was doing for Sunty. He laid it all out: he knew about the breakfast deliveries every morning, the gift packages arriving from Japan, and my early morning wake-up calls to the Capitol building. What hurt him the most, he confessed, was the sheer humiliation that I had gotten Sunty's phone number directly through him.
I understood exactly where his pain was coming from. Making him jealous and proving him wrong had been my explicit goal since the breakup. But hearing his crushed voice, I realized I wasn't happy with my victory at all. The anger I had relied on to exact my revenge was suddenly swallowed up by the undeniable passion I realized I still had for him.
It was a tragedy that our relationship had ended abruptly and for the wrong reasons, but I was too stubborn to fix it. We were officially just friends now, and I was determined to push through with the distracting reality I had built.
When Sunty's birthday finally arrived, I asked Abe's husband to deliver some drinks to the party since I knew there was a celebration at his house. Word reached me in Japan that nearly all the elected officials from the town were present — except for DJ Pol.
It wasn't a surprise. I could perfectly imagine how deeply he would have detested seeing the local politicians drinking the alcohol he knew I had sponsored for his rival. Knowing he wasn't there, I called him that afternoon to casually ask his whereabouts.
Still carrying that heavy, sad tone in his voice, he claimed he was in a remote village attending a meeting and simply couldn't make it to the party. To change the subject, I asked him about Dr. Becka. He sighed and said they hadn't spoken in a very long time, claiming he was no longer interested in her.
I didn't believe him. Out of the picture, things should have been incredibly easy for them to resume their relationship. The silence between them felt wrong. Unwilling to sit with the mystery, I decided to call the swine specialist myself to find out the truth.
The psychological warfare of the post-breakup period reveals the author's struggle to regain control after being humiliated. By leveraging her resources to charm a powerful, respectable political rival, she successfully executes a campaign of manufactured jealousy. But John's reckless, near-fatal drive along the mountain cliffs shatters the satisfaction of that victory, exposing the dangerous collateral damage of trying to solve emotional wounds with political strategy.