Who is Ramon?

It was a little past seven am and I was checking my email in the desktop when I heard the intro of Fuel's "Sunburn" playing from somewhere in my bed. I had to think for a second where the music was coming from and soon I remembered that I had set it as my cellphone ringtone a couple of days ago.

I picked up the phone and an unregistered cell number was displayed. I stared at it for a while, deliberating whether I'd answer it or not. I still had terrible colds and my voice sounded like something from the deep underground. And most likely, it was a wrong number, anyway. But common courtesy won over and I answered the call as clearly as my blocked nasal passages would allow.

The other end of the line was a voice of an old man. An elderly gentleman.

It's them again, I thought.

He couldn't quite hear me and we spent the first few moments repeating our "hellos". Finally, I asked him - although I knew what the answer was, "Sino po hinahanap nila?"

"Maaari bang makausap si Ramon?"

"I'm sorry po, but you have the wrong number, Sir."

Pause. "Wrong number?"

"Yes po."

I am not sure if he said "ok" or "thank you", but there was a click not long after and that was the end of the phone call.

Two minutes later, the same number was trying to call me up again. But it was cut short. Fuel got to play only the first few chords. I decided to compose a text message to send to the obviously confused caller.

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number po. Kindly recheck the number you are trying to dial. Thank you po."

Another two minutes later, I received a text message from a different unregistered number. And reading it caused a twinge somewhere inside of me for no apparent reason.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!GOD BLESS!P.s. keep im touch."

It's the kind of text messages compositions I used to receive from my parents when both were still using cellphones. Awkward use of spacing and capitalization. No word shortcuts. Misspelled words usually mean they just find it tedious to scroll back and correct the mistake. Most older people I know also text in this distinct way.

Needless to say, it wasn't my birthday, but this unknown Ramon's. I have been receiving calls asking for Ramon for a long time now. Maybe two years already.

The first time, I thought it was a prank one of my guy cousins were trying to pull on me. The same cousins who answer their land line phone with the greeting, "You have reached Malacañang Palace. May I help you?" They used to have this meaningless expression of saying in matronly voices, "Si Ramon, kuyapan? Quezo de bola ang pamahaw? Imposible si Ramon kuyapan!" Roughly translated, "Ramon passed out? He eats quezo de bola for breakfast. It's impossible for Ramon to pass out!" The line do not mean anything. Just something that they say at random points in the conversation and we laugh about.

I thought it was a prank the first time because the caller was from a woman with an uncertain voice and provincial accent whom I assume was a household help When she asked for "Señorito Mon" and told me that his dad, "Don Ramon" was looking for him. A part of me was clouded with disbelief since it seemed that these were part of a telenovela where feudalism still existed.

Sometimes, it's a middle-aged woman. But oftentimes, it's the older gentleman. Don Ramon himself, I assumed. I always imagine him to be white-haired and dignified-looking. His voice was old, but sure. Whenever I answer any of these calls and politely inform them that they have dialled the wrong number, they do not call back again in the same period. Maybe they look more closely at the handwritten number in their directories and realize that the five is actually a six or the one is actually a seven.

It may be appropriate to mention that I've kept the same number since '97 or '98. I've been through sim upgrades, cellphone models, but I've maintained the same number. It is one of the few Globe prepaid numbers I know that still has the 0917 access code.

But who is this Ramon who worries his household every now and then? He must be some rich kid, insensitive to his parents' concern. Why isn't he even home on his birthday and why does he have to be reminded to keep in touch? There was something wistful in the birthday messages that I could sense. Was that the first time in a long while that they even kept in touch? I don't know. I guess I'm just letting my imagination run wild. After all, it was just a wrong number. Just another one. No reason to let it worry me. Maybe being sick makes me more sensitive. I don't know. I shouldn't be thinking at all. I just have to lie in bed, drink my meds, and get some rest.

I HAVE to work tomorrow. I can't miss another day. Just thinking of all the pending tasks that has been piling up since I got sick is making me more dizzy. What a cycle. How fun.

And, Ramon, whoever and wherever you are: Happy birthday. And for goodness' sake, call your dad, will you?