Si Inday

Pa-order

2 Php per piece.

That was how much pandesal costed at the bakery closest to where Inday and Martinez currently stayed.

Inday felt the inflation rate sting a little more when she remembered how it used to only be 50 cents when she was younger. The baker of their barrio at the time would reserve 2 paper bags for her to pick up in the morning, and she only had to part with 20 Php for all 40 pieces of bread.

This time, however, she mentally budgeted what cash was in her wallet. Breakfast aside, she also had to think about utilities and rent two weeks from now. Inday didn't like inconveniencing people. The thought of their apartment's caretaker having to have to shoulder their bills and getting an earful from their landlord didn't sit well with her. Inday decided she would pay on-time, and she had to make it work somehow. She'd always managed.

The man in front of her in line at the bakery paid for his goods, and then was frantically stuffing his change in his pocket. Inday and him made eye-contact, and she gave him a polite nod to ensure him that she wasn't in a hurry. Kuya was grateful, and gave an apologetic laugh before waving Inday to take her spot in front of the register.

Inday nodded a thanks as he walked away, and she finally met eyes with the lady behind the register.

Inday fished out her coin purse from her pocket, "Ate, pandesal nga po." she requested.

Not many people from this barrio have heard Inday speak since they arrived 2 weeks ago. The only people she'd spoken to at this point were their apartment caretaker - whom she had to discuss payment terms with, and the Taho vendor - whom she asked directions from.

Aside from that, everyone in the barrio was curious about who the two newcomers from the city were.

For the most part, everyone knew what they looked like. Or they tried to get a glance whenever they could. It was almost comical how Inday and Martinez turned into the barrio's hot-topic since they arrived.

One rumor going around is that they were rich college-students scouting the area, looking for possible business endeavors in Agriculture.

Another rumor said they were backpackers on a honeymoon. Rich people in the city did that, right? Disappearing for a month... or three, not worrying about making income, and holing away in their haciendas at a province somewhere.

Did we have a hacienda nearby?, Clara wondered from behind the register. She looked at Inday, who was counting her coins, with curiosity. She doesn't look rich, she thought. Not to be mean, Clara just wanted to be able to tell her friends the facts later when they inevitably ask about the bagong-dating.

Owning a sari-sari store, or even better, a bakery, meant Clara knew everyone who had enough decency to get out of bed before 10am. She knew Aling Brenda, whose husband was cheating on her while he's abroad. She knew Ton-ton, who had just started his college applications for medical school. And she knew Lizel, who just turned 4, and could now get tasked to buy bread for the household some mornings.

The point is, as a Tindera, it was her duty to know everyone, and it was her responsibility to know things, just in case these people ever needed help at any point in the future. She didn't want to remain a stranger to them forever, after-all.

And whatever chismis she might share with her friends along the way, is a small sacrifice for the greater good.

So Clara looked at the short queue behind Inday, and Clara did what she did best. Clara pried.

Inday was placing her coins on the glass surface of the bakery display, when Clara engaged her in conversation. "Cute naman ng coin purse mo," Clara smiled at her. She didn't register what Inday's order was. "San mo nabili?" she asked Inday.