Roach Kill

"A cockroach can streak at 70-80 cm/s while rapidly changing direction to escape a predator or a well-aimed shoe."

~Delcomyn 1985~

The battle began when I was five. I was trapped in a room with a flying roach circling the air between me and my only avenue of escape. I stayed in the same spot, hyperventilating with silent tears running down my face, not daring to make a peep lest it hears me. After what seemed like three hours, Yaya Marie came in and saw me in that corner, paralyzed with fear and holding on to my blankie for dear life. I wasn't sure if she was laughing to herself as she removed a flip-flop and killed the bastard, but she was my first hero. I declared war between me and all roaches after that incident.

Little 5-year old Nat & the Evil Roach

The most recent encounter with my foresworn nemesis was just a few weeks ago. I was hangin' out with a friend in a respectable coffee shop in Makati. It is a well-known fact to those dear to my heart that my bladder morphs into a pathetic pea whenever I drink coffee or alcohol, so after several sips from my first cup, I felt the uncontrollable urge to run.

As I closed the washroom door behind me, I saw the ugliest, fiercest and grossest creature to ever roam the face of the earth--right by my foot. With a leap and a ridiculously loud thud, I lay paralyzed flat against the door with my arms outstretched and my feet on tiptoes (as if that would prevent an oncoming attack).

With Oriental-turned-Pakistani eyes, I watched as it hurriedly crawled for cover under the toilet. My knees trembled as I gasped for air and felt that all-too-familiar sense of panic taking over.

Damn it.

Now, the only thing that's worse than finding a roach in a bathroom is losing it. You'll never know if it's about to drop on your head, crawl up your leg, fly into your face or maybe even land on your butt while you take a pee (now that would be a bitch and a half).

Fighting the temptation to curl into a ball of mass hysteria and cause a humiliating scandal in the bathroom of that particular coffee shop, I tried to think straight and heard a small voice in my head telling me to stand up for myself and fight. That would probably be better than having my friends (or worse, enemies) read about me in the local tabloids:

MED STUDENT

NABALIW SA BANYO NG C*F*EE B**N

Shaking off my fear of roaches and shifting to fear of social stigma, I decided to confront my archrival. Without taking my eyes off the spot where it disappeared, I reached for the bar of soap at the sink (there's no-ho-ho f*ckin' way I'm gonna use my Havaianas) and raised my arm up high, prepared to strike as soon as I spot even just a millimeter of its disgusting antenna.

After ten long minutes of nail-biting suspense (yes, I stood there motionless, bar of soap overhead, for ten whole f*ckin minutes), I desperately tried singing "The Eency Weency Spider" to coax it out of hiding (gimme a break, can you think of a song about roaches?).

Nothing happened.

With half-squinted eyes, I bent my shaking knees further and took aim, throwing the bar of soap onto the floor behind the toilet.

No sign of it still.

Suddenly realizing that I just lost the only weapon available for its possible extermination, I panicked, succumbed to my fear, opened the door and ran for dear life.

I felt smug nevertheless for being so brave in the face of potential combat. I wasn't a coward. I was the party on the offense after all. I felt powerfully renewed. Released. Omnipotent, even.

But I still had to pee.

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Note of Interest:

"Determined to reduce the number of disease-carrying insects, officials in Manila, Philippines offered a bounty of 1.50 pesos (six cents) for every 10 cockroaches turned in. The Asahi Evening News reported the offer has given rise to a booming industry in the Philippines — roach farming."

~The Hindu~

(an Indian national newspaper)