Wrecked Homes

It was on my early months in the Middle East when I first heard the phrase “ya kareb beitak”, a term casually delivered by some Arabs. Curious to learn, I asked an Egyptian doctor what it meant. He laughed at my asking and said “ya kareb beitak” means, "may your home be wrecked". I was stunned the short phrase is actually a terrible curse.

A friend we fondly called Engineer Doc was a cheerful man, an engineer by profession and “albolario” (quack doctor) because of his cure-it-all coconut oil liniment. His ever-smiling face and easy humor made the “barkada” (gang) constantly lively.

We were one happy group until, an associate broke the news, Doc was unable to work because of problems.

Inside a packed car one question was raised “anong nagyari? (what happened?), someone at the back seat replied “pare “natorotot” si Doc” (his wife left him for another man). Then there was silence.

Doc’s room was closed one of us knocked and called his name, a sad but firm voice replied that it is not locked. As we entered we saw Doc lighting a Marlboro took a deep puff and sat on the carpet beside him an ashtray full of cigarette butts. His face bore lines of sadness in contrast with the usual cheerful aura, the eyes visibly swollen because of tears.

Doc finally broke the silence “pare wala na si misis, sumama sa iba”, he continued “kumpare ko pa naman siya hayup siya” (my wife has gone with another man, he was my comrade ). We were all silenced none of us could advice on something we haven’t experienced. I asked him what his plan, Doc flatly answered “bahala na” (God knows).

After three days I was surprised by Doc’s early visit, he told me that his employer gave him a month and he is on his way to the airport. We shook hands as I lightly tapped his shoulders.

That was the last time I saw Doc. He was one of the many Filipinos caught by the terrible curse “ya kareb beitak”.