ice drop

i sold “ice drop” when i was (probably) around 10 years old, (it’s been a long time, i hardly remember what year that was.)  me and my friends go to the house-factory that produces the ice drops and enlist our services with the owner.

he provides us with a wooden box with a removable cover and something like a leather strap to carry the box on our shoulders with; and inside, he would put the quantity of ice drops we order, with some dry ice.  an ice drop costs 5 centavos.  i order 20 pieces.  we get a 10 per cent commission of the total sales — that’s our profit share.

i shout out, “ice drop, ice drop!”  my friends and i had an alternate call, as a promotion, “ice drop, pitik, salat… pati peklat, sinasalat!

pitik” – if the buyer guesses the face — heads or tails — of the 5 centavo coin on three tosses, he gets the ice drop for free.  otherwise, he just pays for it.

salat” – feeling the underside (like in mah-jong) of the coin with your middle finger, to guess if it’s heads or tails.  three correct guesses gets you your ice drop for free.  otherwise, you just pay for it.

pati peklat, sinasalat” – this is a taunt, especially to girls who have coin-sized scars, we insert, when sales are slow, and we get tired and bored.  haha.

one night at dinner, my mom was telling me, that on her way home with my dad, in the car, she saw a boy who looked just like me, selling ice drop on the streets, and she told my dad; but that both of them said, “no, it couldn’t be reyboy; why would he be selling ice drop?

i told them, “it was me!

slain in the spirit

my mom brought me to (something like) a charismatic renewal convention when i was about 20 years old.

i had taken drugs (drug addiction) and had taken drugs (been treated) for some withdrawal symptoms.  i no longer took (abused) drugs and have totally and completely stopped; but the needle and damage having been done, my mom thought it would be good to bring me some sort of spiritual enlightenment; so, she brought me to this charismatic renewal convention of sorts.

i hardly remember anything about the meeting except the part when i was brought (or called — i don’t remember) to the front, along with some others.  we were standing in line, side to side, (i don’t remember if we were on the stage itself or on the floor in front of the stage.)  then, the burly man — the minister — walked towards me and stopped, right in front of me.

“close your eyes,” he said, “don’t open them until i tell you to.”  he then placed his hand on my forehead, and i felt the pressure of his hand pushing me backward.  “someone will catch you,” he assured me.  i felt a pair of hands on my back, indicating that those hands would catch me… when i fall.  i did not resist the pressure of the minister’s hand pushing my head backward, and since there was the pair of hands already resting on my back, i fell on my back, the person behind me easing me down to a lying position.

“can i already open my eyes?” i thought to myself.  i did — i opened my eyes; but the burly man was stooped over me, looking down, glaring; so, i immediately shut my eyes, for fear, remembering what he had told me, “don’t open them until i tell you to.”  it was clear to me that i wasn’t supposed to open them yet.

i was — it appeared — “slain in the Spirit.”

what a fraud!