"An open letter to that lady who stood in the middle of the elevator earlier tonight."

"An open letter to that lady who stood in the middle of the elevator earlier tonight."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

Maam,

Gusto ko lang pong tanungin kong first time niyo po bang nakasakay ng elevator sa buong buhay ninyo?

Kasi kadalasan ang tamang gawin eh manatili sa kanan para makadaan ang mga bumababa at para mabilis ding makasakay ang iba kaagad. 

Di ko alam tuloy kung bakit nasa saktong gitna ka ng elevator tapos para tuloy gusto mong mag lips to lips kayo ng unang baba eh, yun ba talaga gusto mong mangyari?

Siguro ok na sa akin yun kaso ikaw pa yung mukhang galit nung may mga walong tao na bababa at napilitan ka din na umalis sa gitna para sila makadaan. 

Nakakabigla ba na may bababa ng elevator sa mga oras na yun eh uwian na ng ibang shift yun? Ikaw pa talaga yung nainis eh.

Siguro nga nagmamadali ka lang. Pero kaya naman magintay ng olang segundo lang sa mga gilid ano? For sure di naman mababawasan yung late mo kasi mukhang late ka naman na. 

Yun lang naman. Promise next time na makita kita itutulak na lang kita para sure na yung lips to lips mo. Maging sino man yung bababa.

Pekmans. Mamatay ka man.

Di Nagmamahal,

Doc June

"I Like Nature. I Just Don't Want to Sleep in It."

 "I Like Nature. I Just Don't Want to Sleep in It."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

I have a close friend who regularly takes his family camping, and they seem to absolutely love it.

I have never quite understood the appeal of sleeping in the woods, but hey, this isn't meant to ridicule people who love the outdoors. If camping makes you happy, more power to you.

It just isn't for me.

I have three main reasons.

1. Security—and Everything That Comes Out at Night

Forget the nighttime monsters that may or may not exist. I'm talking about the ones we know are real.

Bears.

Snakes.

Insects that can ruin your entire week.

You are, after all, sleeping in a forest. There are going to be things out there that consider your campsite part of their territory.

And then there are the real monsters:

Other people.

I've heard stories of campers dealing with people wandering around their campsites or trying to get into tents. A tent might be perfectly good at keeping out wind and rain, but it isn't exactly a fortress.

I don't know about you, but I prefer sleeping somewhere where I can lock the doors and windows.

Preferably with a guard somewhere nearby.

Call me paranoid.

I call it sleeping comfortably.

2. The Bathroom Issue

This one is particularly important.

As a guy, I probably wouldn't have that much trouble finding a convenient place to go, especially at night when nobody can see me.

But I can't exactly speak for my wife and daughter.

They might not be particularly comfortable with the idea of using the great outdoors as a bathroom.

And even for me, there is something deeply unsettling about having to walk outside in complete darkness, surrounded by tall trees, just to pee.

What if something is watching?

What if something moves?

What if I suddenly hear rustling behind me?

At that point, I'm probably going back into the tent and holding it until sunrise.

Not particularly good for my bladder, perhaps.

But considerably better than discovering that the forest has been watching me conduct my business.

3. The Work

Then there is the actual work involved.

Setting up camp.

Maintaining camp.

Breaking camp.

All that effort just to sleep on the ground.

I know, I know.

I don't exactly scream outdoorsy type.

One look at me will probably confirm that.

But more than that, I simply don't see the appeal of giving up all my creature comforts when they are already available at home.

I like nature.

I enjoy looking at mountains, forests, rivers, beaches, and all the beautiful things the outdoors has to offer.

I just don't necessarily want to sleep there.

I'll explore the wilderness during the day.

Then I'd like to return to a cabin somewhere.

Maybe a hotel.

Actually, scratch that.

A hotel sounds better.

It doesn't even have to be in the city. Put me somewhere in the middle of nowhere if you want.

Just give me four walls, a proper bed, electricity, running water, a bathroom, and a door that locks.

I have no problem visiting nature.

I just prefer to experience it from a comfortable distance.

Because apparently, my definition of roughing it is a hotel without room service.

"The Hydra We Keep Feeding"

"The Hydra We Keep Feeding"

by:

Virgilio F De leon Jr.

I have often said that corruption is everywhere.

It may never be completely eradicated. Perhaps the best metaphor for it is the Hydra: cut off one head, and two more grow in its place.

Every political system contains the temptation to abuse power. People can enter politics with idealistic intentions, believing they can make a difference, only to become corrupted by the power they acquire—the power to bend rules, escape consequences, and, in the worst cases, take public money from the very people they were elected to serve.

Perhaps the difference is that in some countries, corruption still operates within certain limits. The people in power may take their share, but they leave enough behind for governments to continue functioning, for public services to operate, and for infrastructure to actually be built.

Here in the Philippines, however, it often feels as though even those restraints have begun to disappear.

Look at the social media posts of the past few weeks: houses carried away by floods, vehicles of all sizes stranded in rising water, families watching years of hard work disappear in a matter of hours. Ordinary Filipinos suffer because the greed within our government—regardless of political party—has reached a point where corruption seems to exist at every level of the chain.

It is no longer about taking a small piece.

Everyone wants the biggest piece they can get before what remains trickles down to the next person.

And so the common Filipino suffers.

People who are already struggling to improve their lives find themselves pushed backward again. And even those who have managed to build something through years of hard work can see it swept away in a matter of hours.

Then comes the inevitable question:

Will anything actually be done?

The eyes are elsewhere.

The ears are listening to other things.

The mouth is talking about other topics.

Meanwhile, the suffering continues unabated.

And perhaps, someday, something else will rise from these waters.

Something other than Pinoy humor.

Something other than another celebration of Filipino resilience.

Perhaps it will be an urge to do something different.

To choose differently.

But then comes another question:

Who are the alternatives?

Will they simply be another version of the same animal? Another group waiting for its turn at the trough? Or will they merely be the lesser of two evils?

Because lesser does not mean good.

Evil is still evil, no matter how much smaller the portion may be.

No one seriously talks about revolution, of course. Not openly, anyway. In an age when people can communicate more freely and instantly than at any other point in history, it is strange how rarely the word itself enters the conversation.

Perhaps it is because many people have come to believe that revolution would accomplish nothing.

Perhaps they have seen too many revolutions replace one group of powerful people with another.

Perhaps they are simply tired.

And maybe that is the greatest danger of all.

Not that the Hydra has too many heads.

But that we have become so accustomed to feeding it that we no longer believe there is any point in fighting it.

For as long as that remains true, the Hydra does not even need to defend itself.

We will keep feeding it ourselves.

"The Places Where Her Glasses Go"

 

"The Places Where Her Glasses Go"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

My wife has this weird habit of losing her glasses, even though our master bedroom really isn't that big.

She'll get out of bed, touch her forehead, turn this way and that, and ask,

"O, asan na naman ang salamin ko?"

Where are my glasses again?

There are the usual places.

First is her office table, where she keeps an unusual plate that I jokingly call the V-plate because, well... it looks like that particular part of the female anatomy.

She always corrects me afterward by saying that it's a cloud.

I just nod and agree.

Then there is her dresser, where she actually has a designated holder in one corner. It's lined with velvet and fur and looks suspiciously like Santa's boot. This is where I usually put her glasses whenever she falls asleep while I'm around, or whenever I happen to find them lying somewhere they shouldn't be.

And if the glasses aren't in either of those two places, there is one more likely location: a particular part of our bed.

The part where I usually sleep.

We call this area the Abyss.

The Abyss is normally inhabited by our stuffed sharks, Shiloh and Shasha, along with Aven's gift to us—a microbeaded lobster whom I lovingly named Pinchy.

But the Abyss contains much more than marine life.

It holds hair clips, her phone, the TV remote, and an impressive assortment of things she may have been holding when she eventually fell asleep.

Most of the time, her glasses can be found in one of those three places.

But that particular night, they were nowhere.

We checked the office table.

Nothing.

The Santa-boot holder.

Empty.

The Abyss.

The sharks and Pinchy were there, of course, along with half the contents of our bedroom.

But no glasses.

My wife finally sighed and said something that I found ridiculously cute.

She wished her glasses would simply return to her hand like Thor's Mjolnir.

And, naturally, my brain immediately supplied the image.

My wife standing in the middle of the bedroom, holding out her hand dramatically as her glasses flew across the room—

whoosh!

—only to fly straight past me and into her waiting palm.

I don't know why that amused me so much.

Maybe because after being married long enough, you start developing your own little mythology for ordinary things.

The Abyss.

The V-plate.

The Santa-boot glasses holder.

The legendary glasses that apparently deserve to be summoned like a magical weapon.

Eventually, we found them.

They were sitting quietly beside her dresser the entire time.

Of course they were.

We had dinner afterward.

Nothing particularly exciting happened.

No dragons.

No magic.

No Mjolnir-like return of the glasses.

Just the two of us having dinner after solving yet another very small mystery in our very ordinary home.

And somehow, I think that is what I like most about our life together.

Sometimes happiness isn't found in grand adventures.

Sometimes it's simply knowing where your wife's glasses are—

even when she doesn't.

"The Last Room"

"The Last Room"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

By the time the emergency department quieted down, it was nearly two in the morning.

Not because there were fewer patients.

Only because there was finally enough space between the ambulances for everyone to breathe.

Dr. Kenji Aizawa leaned against the nurses' station, eyes closed for exactly four seconds before another resident handed him a chart.

"Last one."

He almost laughed.

"They always say that."

Seventeen hours.

Two cardiac arrests.

A child with appendicitis.

A construction worker with a shattered pelvis.

One elderly woman who had squeezed his hand after surviving surgery.

He hadn't eaten anything more substantial than convenience store bread since breakfast.

When he finally walked outside, Tokyo greeted him with humid summer air and streets that looked strangely peaceful.

As if none of the night's chaos had happened.

He checked the station timetable.

"...You've got to be kidding."

The last train had left twelve minutes ago.

Across town—

Umi Hoshino wanted nothing more than to erase every trace of makeup from her face.

Today's gravure shoot had begun before sunrise.

Three locations.

A swimsuit campaign.

An interview.

Two livestreams.

A magazine cover.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Looking energetic.

Looking glamorous.

Looking effortless.

By midnight, even lifting her camera bag felt like work.

Her manager had apologized at least ten times after the schedule overran.

"I'm so sorry, Umi..."

"It's fine."

"It isn't."

"It happens."

Now she stood in front of the empty station entrance.

The display blinked mercilessly.

Service Ended.

"...Ah."

She simply stared.

"...Right."

The last train.

Gone.

A taxi finally dropped both strangers in front of the same small business hotel.

The lobby was warm.

Comfortable.

Almost sleepy.

The elderly receptionist bowed repeatedly.

"I'm terribly sorry."

Kenji already knew what came next.

"We only have..."

The receptionist looked embarrassed.

"...one room remaining."

He sighed.

"That's fine."

Before the key appeared—

Another voice interrupted.

"...Excuse me."

Kenji turned.

A young woman wearing a baseball cap, oversized hoodie, sunglasses despite it being night, and carrying enough luggage for a small vacation.

The receptionist's smile became even more apologetic.

"I'm afraid..."

She looked between them.

"...there is only one room left."

Silence.

The receptionist swallowed.

"...One bed."

Five minutes later.

Both stood awkwardly in the elevator.

No one spoke.

Kenji looked exhausted enough to fall asleep standing.

Umi looked like she hadn't smiled sincerely in hours.

Finally—

She removed her sunglasses.

"...You won't recognize me, right?"

Kenji blinked.

"...Should I?"

She stared.

"..."

"..."

Then laughed.

It came out unexpectedly.

"...That's refreshing."

"I work too much to watch television."

"Oh."

Another pause.

"I'm Umi."

"Kenji."

"Nice to meet you."

Likewise.

The room really did only have one bed.

A queen-sized one.

Nothing fancy.

No sofa.

No spare futon.

Just enough floor space for luggage.

Kenji looked around.

"...I'll sleep on the floor."

Umi immediately shook her head.

"You'll wake up unable to move."

"I'm used to uncomfortable places."

"So am I."

Silence again.

Then—

"We're adults."

Kenji nodded.

"...True."

"We're both exhausted."

"...Very."

"I don't think either of us has enough energy to be awkward."

"...Probably not."

She smiled.

"...Let's just sleep."

Ten minutes later—

Both lay on opposite edges of the mattress.

Still fully clothed.

Blanket neatly divided.

A distance of nearly half the bed between them.

The room remained quiet.

Neither reached for their phones.

Neither had enough energy.

Eventually—

"...Doctor?"

Kenji opened one eye.

"...How did you know?"

"Your hospital ID is still around your neck."

"..."

He sighed.

"I forgot."

"You must be exhausted."

"...A little."

"You look worse than I do."

"I probably am."

She laughed softly.

"I've spent all day pretending to look beautiful."

"I've spent all day trying to keep people alive."

"..."

"..."

"I think your day wins."

"I don't know."

He looked at the ceiling.

"People think doctors are stronger than they are."

She answered quietly.

"People think idols are happier than they are."

The words settled naturally.

Without drama.

Without pity.

Just honesty.

"What do you actually do?" Kenji asked.

She hesitated.

"I'm a gravure model."

"Oh."

"...That's it?"

"I said I don't watch television."

She smiled.

"I suppose."

"My grandmother probably knows you."

"...Your grandmother?"

"She buys every magazine."

Umi burst into genuine laughter.

The first real laugh she'd had all week.

"You know..."

She stared at the ceiling.

"It's strange."

"What is?"

"I should be uncomfortable."

"Because I'm a stranger?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'm not."

Kenji considered that.

"...Neither am I."

"Why?"

"I think..."

He searched for the words.

"...we're both too tired to pretend."

She thought about that.

He was right.

No polished smiles.

No carefully chosen words.

No flirting.

No expectations.

Just two people whose jobs demanded so much from them that tonight there was simply nothing left except honesty.

"Do people thank you?" she asked.

"Sometimes."

"Does it help?"

"...Yes."

"You deserve more."

He looked at her.

"You too."

She blinked.

"For smiling when you don't feel like it."

She stared quietly into the darkness.

"...Nobody says that."

Outside, rain began falling softly against the window.

Tokyo became quieter still.

Somewhere around four in the morning—

Neither remembered drifting closer.

Not intentionally.

Simply because sleeping humans moved.

When Kenji briefly woke, he realized one thing.

Umi's shoulder rested lightly against his arm.

She was sound asleep.

For the first time all day—

She looked younger.

Peaceful.

No cameras.

No lights.

No makeup.

Just someone who had finally stopped performing.

He smiled faintly.

Adjusted the blanket over her shoulder so she wouldn't get cold.

Then closed his eyes again.

Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains.

Umi woke first.

She blinked.

Looked down.

Realized she was using Kenji's shoulder as a pillow.

"..."

She froze.

Slowly looked upward.

He was still asleep.

Hair messy.

Dark circles beneath his eyes.

One hand still loosely holding the edge of the blanket he'd apparently pulled over both of them during the night.

She smiled.

Not embarrassed.

Not alarmed.

Just... strangely comfortable.

For someone she had met only hours ago.

Almost as though they had unknowingly spent years carrying similar burdens.

When Kenji finally stirred awake, he noticed her looking out the window.

"Morning."

She turned with a sleepy smile.

"Morning, Doctor."

He stretched carefully.

"I hope I wasn't a terrible roommate."

She laughed.

"I was about to say the same thing."

For a brief moment, neither of them rushed to leave.

Outside, the city was already hurrying into another busy day.

Inside that modest hotel room, two exhausted strangers shared one last quiet cup of instant coffee before stepping back into their separate worlds—both carrying the unexpected comfort of a night where nothing remarkable had happened, except finding someone who understood the weight of simply being tired.

"The Secret Lair Slot Machine"

 "The Secret Lair Slot Machine"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

I love Magic cards, and I love playing the game of Magic: The Gathering.

But Wizards of the Coast has been milking the players of this game for a very long time.

They pioneered the direct-to-player release of cards through Secret Lair. These were curated selections of reprints, alternate-art cards, or occasionally a mechanically unique card that could only be found in a particular drop. It was all the rage. People wanted the unique-looking cards, the exclusives, and the feeling that they were getting something special.

At least in the early days of Secret Lair, your biggest problem was simply getting one.

You had to queue for a chance to buy the product, and sometimes you didn't get it. But if you did manage to get one, at least you knew exactly what you were paying for and what you were getting.

Well, except for the occasional bonus card that changed from drop to drop.

That was Secret Lair.

It has been that way for years.

But apparently, Wizards of the Coast no longer wants you to gamble only with Play Boosters and Collector Boosters.

Now it wants you to gamble with Secret Lair as well.

Enter Secret Lair x MSCHF: The Zeta Set.

For the first time, Wizards isn't simply selling you a collection of Secret Lair cards.

It's selling you booster packs of Secret Lair cards.

Think about that for a moment.

The whole appeal of Secret Lair was that you knew what you were buying. You saw the cards. You knew the treatment. You knew what you were paying for.

Now we're taking that concept and putting it into a booster pack.

To be clear, these cards are inspired by the original Magic playtest cards. They are not the original playtest cards themselves.

Instead, we're being given a carefully constructed nostalgia package based on the materials, fonts, and general aesthetic supposedly associated with the playtest era of Magic back in 1992.

And honestly?

Such nostalgia baiting. Such bullshit.

Most players would never know what those original playtest cards actually looked like.

Most would never know what materials were used to make them, what fonts were used, or what happened to those cards afterward.

Many of them may not even exist anymore.

But that doesn't matter.

Because Wizards has figured out that it doesn't have to sell you the history.

It just has to sell you the idea of the history.

And targeting some of Magic's oldest players with a product built around that nostalgia feels particularly cynical.

These are the players who remember when Magic was new. The players who remember the game's early years. The players who have been around long enough to recognize the references.

And now that nostalgia is being packaged into a product where you don't even know exactly what you're going to get.

That is where this starts feeling less like Secret Lair and more like a slot machine.

And perhaps that's exactly what this is:

An experiment.

Wizards has increasingly been experimenting with how much the Magic collector base is willing to tolerate—and, more importantly, how much it is willing to pay for.

If people buy this, if people enjoy opening these Secret Lair booster packs, and if the product generates enough money, then Wizards has learned something.

It has learned that players will accept randomness in a product that was originally built around certainty.

And once that door is open, where does it stop?

Secret Lair Boosters.

Secret Lair Mystery Packs.

Secret Lair Collections where you have no idea which cards you're actually buying.

Suddenly, the thing that used to be a guaranteed purchase becomes another opportunity to roll the dice.

And of course, the house always wins.

Mark my words: if this works, I wouldn't be surprised if Wizards eventually finds a way to use the same model for products that never sold particularly well.

Those Secret Lairs sitting in warehouses?

Those cards that didn't move?

That "Wildcard" they are advertising as potentially being of any rarity?

Well, what do you think the odds are that you're going to open something amazing?

Maybe I'm being cynical.

But we've played this game before.

The wildcard could be something nobody wanted in the first place.

Or, in the case of a re-release, it could be something that already sucked—

and now sucks twice.

That's the part that bothers me most.

Not that Wizards wants to make money.

Of course they do. Magic is a business, and nobody expects Wizards to give away cards out of the goodness of its heart.

What bothers me is the constant search for another way to monetize the people who already love the game.

We buy the cards.

We buy the sets.

We buy the boosters.

We buy the Collector Boosters.

We buy the Secret Lairs.

And now we're apparently being asked to gamble on the Secret Lairs themselves.

Maybe the Zeta Set will be a huge success.

Maybe players will love it.

Maybe I'm completely wrong about where this is going.

But if this experiment succeeds, I fear it won't remain an experiment for very long.

And that is what makes this such a sad turn of events for a game that I genuinely love.

Magic has always had randomness built into it.

I just never thought the randomness would eventually extend to whether the product I'm buying is worth buying in the first place.

"Credentials, Google, and Yakult: Three Things Difficult Patients Have Taught Me."

 "Credentials, Google, and Yakult: Three Things Difficult Patients Have Taught Me."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

Over the years, dealing with difficult patients has taught me many things. Some of them are about medicine. Others are about human nature.

But if I had to narrow it down, there are three lessons that come up again and again.

1. They will try to intimidate you.

“By the way, I’m a manager…”

“Meron akong nurse na kamag-anak sa States.”

“Kilala ko si Doctor So-and-So…”

“Alam mo ba ginagawa mo, Doc?”

“Hindi naman ’yan ang sabi ng endocrinologist ko.”

The funny thing is that, in many of these situations, the intimidation comes after they have already been caught in a lie.

You point out the discrepancy. You show them the evidence. You explain what actually happened.

And then, almost immediately, comes the next attempt at establishing authority.

“By the way, I’m a manager.”

“I have a relative who’s a nurse in the States.”

“I know Doctor So-and-So.”

Apparently, when the facts stop working, credentials—real, exaggerated, or completely irrelevant—must take over.

Funny indeed.

2. They know absolutely nothing, yet demand to school you on something you have literally spent your life studying.

“Doc, sabi ni ChatGPT…”

“Ang galing nung doctor sa TikTok, sabi niya…”

“Cancer daw ito, sabi ni Google, Doc.”

“Alam mo, Doc, depressed ako.”

The internet has done many wonderful things for medicine.

It has also convinced a remarkable number of people that reading three search results is equivalent to medical training.

There is nothing wrong with patients asking questions. In fact, I encourage it. Patients should understand their conditions and participate in decisions about their own health.

But there is a difference between asking questions and insisting that a TikTok video, a Google search, or an AI chatbot has somehow invalidated years of medical education and clinical experience.

Most of the time, I simply let people wallow in their own ignorance.

It is funnier that way.

3. They suffer the consequences of their actions—and then complain about them.

This one is perhaps the most frustrating.

“Hindi ko tinapos yung gamot, Doc. Masakit ulit umihi. Bumalik ba yung UTI ko, Doc?”

“Okay naman na BP ko eh, kaya tinigil ko na.”

“Mahal yung gamot, Doc. Tumira na lang ako ng Yakult.”

You explain why they need to finish the treatment.

You explain why maintenance medication is called maintenance.

You explain that feeling better does not necessarily mean that the underlying problem has disappeared.

And then they stop the medication anyway.

When the problem returns, they come back and ask why.

Medicine is sometimes like that. There are consequences to decisions, and unfortunately, the human body does not always care whether those decisions were made because someone was stubborn, misinformed, or simply trying to save money.

What makes it particularly difficult for doctors is that we are often expected to fix the consequences while simultaneously being blamed for them.

And that brings me to the uncomfortable part.

These interactions are not the reason doctors become doctors. We enter the profession because we want to help people.

But after years of dealing with intimidation, misinformation, self-diagnosis, noncompliance, and patients demanding that you undo the consequences of decisions they knowingly made, the frustration accumulates.

One difficult patient is manageable.

Another one is manageable.

And another.

But eventually, you begin to wonder why you are fighting so hard to help people who seem determined to fight you every step of the way.

And this is why more and more doctors are becoming tired of the profession.

Not because we stopped caring about patients.

Sometimes, it is because caring for patients has become the easiest part of the job.