Keys Me

So, I locked myself out of my apartment last Sunday. It felt extra dumb actually because I am quite the key neurotic. I always know where they are and every time I step outside, to throw trash for instance, I usually just unlock everything and leave the door open. I know, so safe, right. Anyway, that’s not the worst part. I locked myself out of my apartment last Sunday in nothing but an old sarong and my rattiest bikini. Sure, I had my goggles and kickboard with me. I even had a book (Concept-Based Curriculum and Instruction: Teaching Beyond Facts by Lynn Erickson) but, no keys. No phone. No Ipad. No mask to cover my face with.

Ampota. You are here. Outside. Without keys.

I was like…wtf. How the hell am I going to get back in there now?

I proceeded to blame the cat.

Blaming Mr. Marsellus Wallace. Naughty cat!

It was his fault, for stealthily zooming out the door, the moment I opened it. The plan was simple: go for a quick morning swim before leaving for the noon Sunday service. But, fail. Because my hands were full, I thought I had everything I needed, so I quickly closed the door behind me once schizophrenic Mr. Marsellus Wallace rushed back in. I glanced at everything I had in my hands and realized that, gah! I was keyless and too indecently dressed to walk to the nearest neighbor in Makati for my spare keys. It was truly a sumkinofva loser moment especially since it never happens to me.

Well, except for this one time…

It was the day Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment. I was getting ready for work when I heard the news. I was so upset, I grabbed my one million bags, stepped out of my apartment and realized I had left my keys in the little dish by the couch, where they usually were. It was 6:45 in the morning. I remember not wanting to be late for school. I also remember thinking, how the hell am I going to get to school when my car keys are attached to my house keys? I scrambled to look for spares in all the pockets of my one million bags. Nothing. So, I called my then boyfriend’s house to ask if he could bring his keys to my place. His mom from Crazyytown answered the phone and said he already left for work. In the end, I took a cab to where he was (the driveway of his office building) and borrowed his keys. I can’t remember now if I went home to get my car, if I proceeded to work or if I made it on time. I am also not really sure anymore why Heath Ledger’s death upset me that much. What I do remember was the way this now ex-boyfriend looked at me that frantic morning. I was in the backseat of a cab saying a quick hello, reaching out for his keys, when he gave me this vacuous look. One that should have told me he had already become a complete stranger. That beneath the empty stare was a suffering soul filled to the brim with anger, resentment, immaturity and despair. That the love that defined him was perhaps, long gone. It took two more years before I let that relationship end. But I should have known then, at that moment, that it was already over.

Anyway, what I ended up doing last Sunday was go to my building lobby in my ratty bikini and old sarong and called my mom’s house from the building landline. It was not pretty but I survived. The lobby guards were sympathetic and they didn’t stare at my out-of -bed bad hair. It was also quite early, so there were not too many lurkers hanging out. Turned out that my mom’s driver, who was usually off on Sundays, was doing some work for her that day. Yay! So, after swimming and reading for an hour and half in the pool area at my building’s roof deck, my mom’s spare keys arrived. I felt relief and gratitude at the same time. I also remember thinking about what would/could happen if I was already somewhere else in the world and I didn’t have my mom to run to for times like these. Ack! But that’s for another blog entry. Anyway, in the end, life went on. I turned the key, stepped into my apartment, hugged the fat cat and thought of Heath Ledger.

grateful slice: the things we remember and access to spare keys (thanks, mom!)


  1. Kapitan Tandem

    Ahahaha. Aren’t we all key neurotics. Mine even goes as far as being paranoid that my ADHD will make me think I have the keys. I end up getting the keys, putting them in my pocket/bag, getting paranoid, and checking my pocket/bag again. But I guess that’s better than being stuck outside with no keys and only in a sarong and the rattiest bikini. Shit, I wouldn’t want to be in that situation. Especially in the sarong and ratty bikini…

  2. Ms. P

    You know about the bag of laundry I left outside my dorr, right? And I only realized I had left it out there a whole week later? Not to mention the internet snafu…doh! Many apartment mishaps…they never really happen to me….except for this other time when…

    The visual of you in a ratty bikini..erase erase erase…LOL

    • ishha14

      Ew… Joey, you have a great figure and all… but awk. Not a nice mental image…

      Aw Miss! I think it’s worse when you only find out that you locked yourself out looong after, and you’re stuck being outside your house, when all you’ve been wanting to do for the past 3 hours was go home. bleh

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