MORAL: WHEN YOU TRY TO DIG UP THE PAST, YOU GET ALL THE DIRT THAT WAS BURIED WITH IT

I have just ended a phone call with my travel agent, Miss Glecy. I was asking her to quote me a trip to Boracay, anytime in 2011. Yes, I want to go back there. I have to. Alone.

Isko conquers Bora in 2009

Anyway, our conversation was cheery. I was glad that she still recognized me. We were exchanging courtsies - me commending her expanding business, she asking me about the new company I am working for. It was like keeping in touch with an old friend - me talking about how neat their website has become (view site here), she trying to pick hints on why I suddenly resigned from my previous job. She was curious since my work changes whenever I get in touch with her.

The phone call went on - me was haggling for cheaper rates, she telling me about new spots she discovered and would greatly reccommend to clients. It was all a string of positive exchanges until...

"So how's <insert your name here>?"

But of course she remembers you, dumbo!
She arranged our first Bora trip.

Me was dumbfounded.
Lightning struck.
Ouch.
Gloom. Gloom. Gloom.

<Entry Title>