Before we set off on our trip, my brother leaned over into our car and asked us, "Hey when you get to Sagada, can you score some pot?"
First off, I feel like I have to explain why this is okay for me, as an older sister to a younger brother. My relationship with my siblings may be hard to understand by outsiders. We are a very-close-knit set; we cover each other's asses. We party together, we support each other. We are really good friends.
We discovered sex, drugs, and all that jazz independently. We confide and seek advice with each other. We know our limits, and I know my brother isn't a pothead.
The mountains up north are famous for producing quality weed, and of course, just like my brother, I was curious as to why this was considered the best in the country.
We really enjoyed our trip up north. Crisp mountain air, small, artsy, laid-back community, amazing food and great restaurants, this was right up my and Thomas' alley.
Thomas, like me, also enjoys the occasional joint. When we got there, he was also eager to sample the goods. I was reluctant to ask around for a score, so Thomas did the asking. We didn't have to go very far.
As we suspected, where there was smoke, there was a joint. On our second night there, we returned to *Bonfire Inn, where we had dinner the first night. We were greeted at the entrance by two teenaged kids making merry with liquor, who offered us a swig of their Tanduay. We refuse, as we raise the bottle of tapuy (rice wine) we brought with us. Instead, Thomas asked if they knew where to get something "to smoke."
"Oh, just go inside and ask for *Janice. She works for the restaurant inside."
So off we go and hunt for Janice. A few moments later, she materializes and she immediately understands what we want from her.
She took us to a dark corner, and produced a wad of tissue from her bosom. Gingerly unfolding the fabric, she says that her hash is P 500 for 10 grams. "I have good stuff, good stuff," she assures us, when we question the price.
After the purchase, we go back to the boys. They ask us if we were able to purchase something. We nod. Alwin and Mark. Alwin studies in the local high school, while Mark is a university student in Baguio. The examine our block, sniff it. Yes, this is a fresh harvest. We invite them to sample it with us.
We didn't have any paper with us, but they had cigarettes. Mark demonstrated a technique that I could not perfect. With his lighter, he burned off a corner of the stone, which later crumbled after pinching it off. Then he heated the cigarette stick, loosening the tobacco inside. After emptying the cylinder into his palm, he mixed the hash and the tobacco leaves, then scooped the mixture back into the paper vial. He is very adept at the skill.
I inhale during my turn. Heavy smoke fills my lungs, and the sweet aftertaste of the hash ring my lips. With each puff, my eyelids grow heavy, and words begin to fail me when I try to form sentences.
A man approaches us from the opposite side of the fence by the entrance. He offers us weed, saying that he has a fresh harvest. We negotiate--P 200 for 10 grams. He says he has to go home to get the merchandise.
Alwin creates another stick. After sharing the second joint, Mark begins to utter gibberish. Alwin apologizes for his friend; he's been drinking since 8 pm. Thomas, Alwin, and I take alternately take a swig of either tanduay or tapuy.
In the middle of the conversation, Mark suddenly falls silent. We leave him, thinking that he was trying to collect his wits. He suddenly falls on his side, on the grassy earth. Clutching his stomach, he vomits. Thomas says that he is puking in the right position; no need to worry about choking.
The man returns, and produces dried stuff that fills half of a small plastic bag. He also gives us a fresher batch "for free," wrapped tightly in paper like a giant ball of candy. We thank him for the stuff, and leave Alwin. "Take care of your friend, make sure he gets home," says Thomas as we wave goodbye.
The next day, we buy rolling papers from an artsy cafe in the mountain town. We ask for advice how to take it back home, fearing random inspections from police. You'll have to try your luck, says the storekeeper, there is no surefire way to prevent it.
Back to earth, during my brother-in-law's last night in the city, Thomas and I, My sister and her husband, and my brother sit in a circle and enjoy a joint--three joints, as perhaps our parents had, enjoying the smoke, the cameraderie of friendship and relations. The pot mixture turns out to be too strong for Thomas, and I help him back to bed.
NikkiAlfar
Tobie Abad
Gabby Lee
Andre Mischa Cleofe
*Name has been changed
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