*The above paragraph is a complete and utter lie. The company I work for actually invited me over to work on the user-generated content/social piece of a bad ass website we are going to launch very soon. Also, in the process, I got denied a US Visa–twice; so, the only thing “transient” and “spontaneous” about the entire thing was the fucking money ($232 to be exact) I spent on my US Visa Applications. And my ego.”

Anyway, after finally being approved a US Visa and facing a monster 12-hour flight from Manila to Los Angeles, one of the very first–and probably the most important preparation I made was to see my shrink. Long time readers of this blog know that, sometime last year, I developed this paralyzing fear of traveling on a plane. So I visited my psychiatrist and explained my situation to her adding how I noticed that I’ve become a little claustrophobic all the while trying to sound as normal as possible and being careful not to say something that exudes undertones of my intentions to abuse the shit of whatever pill she is going to prescribe me.

In the end, she yielded and wrote me a prescription for 15 tablets of Clonazepam- a mild benzodiazepine. Well, sup.

On my way to the pharmacy, I did some crazy math: I’m going to be staying in the United States for 21 days and I only got a prescription for 15 tablets? Am I supposed to just perch myself on a rooftop and pick random people off with a rifle to cope with the 6 days I am going to be without my medication?

As I pulled my car into one of the pharmacy’s parking slots, I deliberated for a solid 20 minutes whether or not I should forge the shit out of my shrink’s prescription, which said 15 tablets and add an extra zero to make it 150 tablets. In the end, I thought better of it. I mean it probably wouldn’t help my mom who, in the first place isn’t confident with the idea of me staying in a foreign land for three weeks practically by myself, to get a call from the PDEA informing her that her son has been indicted for falsifying documents to grab a hold of mild tranquilizers he can get high off of.

My anxiety involving the entire flying thing and not having enough pills to last me my entire stay has gotten so bad that I actually contemplated threatening my doctor to prescribe me more pills.

That would’ve gone down really bad. “Hello Doctor Bondoc, this is Mike. Mike Villar, listen, remember that prescription for 15 tablets of clonazepam you gave me the other day? So I went ahead and bought all of them right? But guess what? A homeless person said he would trade me a golden barbel with magical powers for my pills. So we traded. Asshole crossed me, the barbel didn’t have magic powers, and worse–it wasn’t made of gold; it was made of aluminum foil made to look like gold. So yeah, bottomline is I don’t have my pills and I was wondering if you can refill my prescription. What do you mean no? How about if I gave you 2,000 pesos? No? Well, how about I steal your Mercedes Benz and drive it off the bridge? How does that sound? Awful, I know. And guess what, you have nobody but yourself to blame. Bye! *click*

Next: California, the city, the women. THE STRUGGLE