Catching Mishka

I have my own SIGNED copy now, of course, but more than three weeks after that blessed day, I still remember the funny incident attached to the autographed copy of Mishka’s cd in my hands.

It was August 31. I was with friends on our way to Belle’s going-away dinner when I received an SMS from James. Mishka was going to have a free miniconcert and cd-signing in a couple of days. What could I say other than the word free doing it in for me? I didn’t need to be wheedled.

September 2, the big day, came and I was still wrestling with James about cutting my driving lessons short so I could catch Mishka at 6pm. Well, there was no other way. And what about James? He cut his working time short so he could catch Mishka at 6pm. :-P

My driving instructor, fully aware of my plan, was so caught up he didn’t notice that we had to park by 5:30pm. Out of desperation, I broached the idea of him dropping me off in front of Tower Records at Glorietta. It was a no-brainer.

Running late, the MRT would bridge the gap between Point A and Point B the quickest. You could never guess, Bloggie, how fast I sprinted to the train station. Inside the coach, I was unmindful of the hot eyes surreptitiously eyeing my cell phone. James was letting me know how miserably late I was for the show. When the cabin door finally opened at the Ayala station, I made a mad dash out. You could never guess, Bloggie, my struggle as I bumped each person who sort of got in my way. I was right smack in the maddening rush hour traffic. Just great!

I reached Tower Records almost in a daze, failing to even comb my hair. Then I heard the familiar strains of God Bless the Child. It led me to the basement. The owner of the voice was indeed there, so young yet so very good at what she was doing. My bubble dream burst when James, his right hand covering his nose, blurted out, “Ang lakas naman ng pabango mo!” I didn’t care. At least a few spritz of Lacoste Pour Femme prevailed over the fumes, dust, and smoke which kept me company as I waded through the sea of humanity just to get to the venue.

After the show, I bought a copy of Mishka’s cd. I was not particularly proud of the cd being spanking new but then I thought it would be eternally insulting to present her with an unmarked copy – courtesy of James - for her to sign? Got it, got it?

With the cd on hand, I queued up for Mishka’s autograph. Hopeless shutterbug that I am, I brought along my digital camera to sort of immortalize the moment. When my turn came, I made her write my nickname before she wrote her dedication. You understand, Bloggie, that I have one of the trickiest nicknames on the planet. Yes siree, I spelled it out for her! I felt so cheap. Again, I didn’t care.

The affair finally wound up but James and I lingered some more. Why? She was still there! Poor James, I dragged him to where Mishka was sitting. I managed some incoherent ramblings that somehow fashioned themselves into a request to have another shot taken with her. She obliged.

I finally let up. Thirty seconds of her voice and a few photos were enough.

I couldn’t remember being so star-struck…well, there was the Sharon Cuneta incident back when I was doing the audit of a certain movie outfit.

But Mishka’s not even a pop star for crying out loud.

I promise to high heavens that I will restrain myself just please let me see and hear her perform again before I fly to Marrakech*. I promise NOT to be late, come what may.




* Marrakech is USA. Sorry. Dreams. :)