Chapter 4: The Art of Borrowing

Mark Villanueva had discovered that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who understood that life required risks, and those who were content to remain exactly where they were.

He had always considered himself part of the first group.

Unfortunately, the people he needed money from seemed to belong to the second.

On Saturday morning, he sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his banking application. His salary would not arrive for another week. The electricity bill remained unpaid, Paolo expected his thousand pesos back, and the balance in his e-wallet had dwindled to an amount that made him feel personally insulted.

He had not told Mika about the lost money.

Technically, he reasoned, he had not lied. He simply had not mentioned something that would only upset her.

There was a difference between keeping a secret and protecting someone from unnecessary worry. He preferred the second description because it allowed him to think of himself as considerate.

His phone vibrated.

Paolo: Pre, kailan mo maibabalik yung hiniram mo?

Mark read the message and locked his phone.

He would reply later. There was no point answering when he had nothing useful to say. Paolo would get his money eventually, and sending repeated messages would not make it appear any faster.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen.

Mika was preparing coffee. She had already showered and dressed for the day, her hair neatly tied back. On the table sat two pieces of toasted bread and a small plate of scrambled eggs.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

“May plans ka today?”

“Wala pa. Bakit?”

“I need to buy a few things. Maybe we can go to the supermarket together.”

Mark opened the refrigerator.

“Can you just go? I'm tired.”

Mika looked at him.

“You slept almost the whole morning yesterday.”

“So? Hindi naman ibig sabihin nun na hindi na ako mapapagod.”

She said nothing.

Mark poured himself a glass of water and drank it while looking at his phone. A notification from Jethro had appeared in the gaming group chat.

Jethro: Rank grind later? May event daw.

Another message followed.

Jethro: Pre, may bago akong nakita na betting site. May welcome bonus.

Mark's interest sharpened.

He opened the conversation.

The discussion was about an online betting platform that offered a promotional bonus to new users. Jethro was enthusiastic, claiming that a friend had won a substantial amount the previous week.

Mark knew better than to trust every story he heard online. He was not stupid.

But he also knew that some opportunities were worth examining.

He asked for the details.

Mika watched him from across the table.

“Mark, are you listening?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you could come with me.”

“I told you I'm tired.”

She lowered her gaze to her coffee.

“Okay. I'll go alone.”

There was no accusation in her voice, and somehow that irritated him more than if she had complained.

He wanted her to understand that he was exhausted. He wanted her to acknowledge that his life was difficult, that he was trying to figure things out, that not every day could be productive.

Instead, she simply accepted his refusal and returned to her breakfast.

Mark felt as though he had lost an argument he had never agreed to participate in.

---

By noon, he had decided to visit his parents.

He told himself he missed them. This was not entirely untrue. He liked his mother's cooking, enjoyed sitting in the living room where he had grown up, and appreciated the familiar comfort of a house where he did not have to think about rent.

But there was another reason.

His father had recently mentioned receiving a small bonus from work.

Mark had been thinking about that money for days.

His parents lived in a modest house in a residential neighborhood outside the city center. When Mark arrived, his mother was in the kitchen preparing lunch while his father watched the news.

“Anak!” his mother called. “Kumain ka na ba?”

“Hindi pa, Ma.”

“Good. Sakto, kakaluto ko lang.”

His father looked up from the television.

“Wala kang pasok?”

“Weekend, Pa.”

“Ah.”

That was all his father said, but Mark sensed the judgment beneath the single syllable. His father had never been particularly good at hiding his opinions. He believed in showing up, working hard, and doing what needed to be done even when a person did not feel like it.

Mark had spent years trying to explain that the world had changed.

His father had spent those same years refusing to be impressed.

During lunch, his mother asked about work.

“Okay naman,” Mark answered.

“Hindi ka na ba absent?”

Mark stopped chewing.

“Ma, bakit naman ako palaging absent?”

“I'm just asking.”

“Then I'm telling you I'm fine.”

His father put down his spoon.

“Your mother is asking because she cares. You don't have to get angry every time someone asks you a question.”

Mark felt his face grow warm.

“I'm not angry.”

“Then stop answering as though everyone is attacking you.”

The words struck him harder than they should have.

For a moment, the room seemed too small. He was twenty-nine years old, yet his father still spoke to him as though he were a teenager who had come home late.

He had a job. He paid for his own room. He had a relationship. He was trying to build something for himself.

Why could nobody acknowledge that?

“I came here to eat lunch, not to be lectured,” Mark said.

His mother looked between them.

“Anak, your father isn't lecturing you.”

“Then what is he doing?”

His father leaned back in his chair.

“Nothing. Finish your food.”

The dismissal was worse than the criticism.

Mark finished his lunch in silence, waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with his father. When his mother returned to the kitchen, he followed his father into the living room.

“Pa, may itatanong sana ako.”

His father turned down the television.

“What is it?”

“Can I borrow some money?”

His father did not answer immediately.

“How much?”

“Five thousand.”

“For what?”

Mark had prepared several answers during the journey. He could say he needed to cover an unexpected expense. He could say he had a temporary cash-flow problem. He could explain that his salary was delayed.

Instead, he chose the simplest answer.

“May kailangan lang bayaran.”

His father studied him.

“Is this about the money you borrowed last month?”

Mark shifted his weight.

“I'll pay it back.”

“You haven't paid the last amount.”

“Pa, I said I'll pay it back.”

“And I'm asking you why you need more money when you haven't paid what you already owe.”

Mark felt the familiar sensation of being cornered.

He could not understand why money always came with interrogation. If someone had money to lend, why couldn't they simply help? What difference did it make whether he needed it for an emergency, a bill, or something that might improve his situation?

It was still money. He would return it.

Eventually.

“Never mind,” he said.

His father sighed.

“Mark, listen to me. I'm not refusing because I want to see you suffer. I'm asking because I'm worried about what you're doing.”

“I'm an adult, Pa.”

“Yes. That's why I expect you to act like one.”

Mark stared at him.

He felt something close to hatred, although he would never have used that word. Hatred suggested something ugly, something he would have to admit about himself.

He preferred to think of it as disappointment.

He was disappointed that his own father could not trust him.

“Forget it,” he repeated.

He walked out of the house without waiting for his mother to pack the leftovers she had offered to give him.

---

By the time Mark reached home, his anger had settled into something more familiar: a determination to prove everyone wrong.

He had spent too much of his life listening to people who thought they understood him. His father thought he was irresponsible. His supervisor thought he was unreliable. Mika thought he could not be trusted with money.

Perhaps none of them had ever bothered to understand what it was like to be him.

He opened his computer and logged into his gaming account.

Jethro was already online.

Jethro: Pre, tara. Five games.

Mark: Sige.

For the next three hours, Mark immersed himself in the familiar world of rankings, victories, and defeats. He laughed at Jethro's jokes, complained about teammates, and celebrated when they won a difficult match.

For a while, he forgot the money he owed.

He forgot his father's expression.

He forgot Mika's quiet disappointment.

Most importantly, he forgot the possibility that they might all be right.

When the gaming session ended, Jethro sent him another message.

Jethro: Pre, nag-deposit ka na ba? May laro mamaya. Good odds daw.

Mark stared at the screen.

He had told himself that he would not gamble again until he had paid his debts. He had made that decision only yesterday, and he remembered it clearly.

But yesterday, he had also believed that his father might lend him money.

Circumstances had changed.

He could not be expected to follow a plan that no longer suited the situation.

He opened the betting application.

The balance was nearly empty, but there was still enough to place a small wager. A small wager was not a problem. A small wager was simply a way to begin again.

He selected the match and studied the odds.

Then he hesitated.

For the first time that day, he remembered Paolo's message.

He remembered his father's refusal.

He remembered the money Mika had given him for the electricity bill.

The memories came together in an uncomfortable sequence, each one pointing toward the same conclusion.

He was running out of people to ask.

Mark closed the application.

For several minutes, he sat in silence.

Perhaps he should look for another job. Perhaps he should reduce his expenses. Perhaps he should tell Mika the truth and work out a way to repay the money.

The thoughts were sensible.

They were also humiliating.

Each solution required him to admit that his current way of living was not working. Each required patience, discipline, and the willingness to begin again without any guarantee of success.

He did not want to start at the bottom.

He wanted a shortcut.

He wanted one moment of luck that would transform his circumstances so completely that nobody could ever question him again.

And so, after another minute, he reopened the application.

He placed a smaller bet than he had originally intended.

It was still a bet he could not afford to lose.

When the result came in, he lost again.

Mark stared at the screen.

This time, he did not shout. He did not slam his fist against the desk. He simply sat there, feeling the weight of the money that had disappeared.

He could no longer pretend that the loss was a minor inconvenience.

He had borrowed money from his cousin and failed to repay it. He had asked his father for help and been refused. He had a bill to pay and no honest explanation for where the money had gone.

Yet even then, a part of him resisted the truth.

He had not failed because he was incapable.

He had failed because the timing had been wrong.

Because the odds had been unfair.

Because the people around him had refused to support him.

He clung to those explanations as though they were the last things keeping him upright.

---

That evening, Mika returned from the supermarket carrying two bags.

Mark was at the table, pretending to read something on his phone.

“Nasaan ka kanina?” she asked.

“Sa parents ko.”

“Ah. Kumain ka na?”

“Oo.”

She unpacked the groceries and placed the receipts beside the refrigerator.

“I paid part of the electricity bill online,” she said. “I'll cover the rest after payday.”

Mark looked up.

“You paid it?”

“Yes.”

He should have thanked her.

He knew that.

Instead, embarrassment rose inside him so quickly that it became anger before he could recognize it.

“I told you I'd handle it.”

Mika turned toward him.

“And I told you it was due.”

“So you didn't even wait?”

“What was I supposed to do, Mark? Let it remain unpaid?”

He had no answer.

She looked at him for a moment, then returned to the groceries.

“I can't keep guessing whether you'll do what you promise.”

Mark stared at her.

There was something in her voice that he had not heard before. It was not anger, exactly. It was the sound of someone who had spent too long hoping for a different outcome and was beginning to accept that hope could not change another person's behavior.

He wanted to tell her that she was making him feel useless.

He wanted to accuse her of treating him like a child.

He wanted to explain that if she had simply trusted him, things would have been different.

Instead, he said nothing.

Later that night, while Mika slept, Mark sat at his computer and watched a video about successful online gamblers. The man on the screen spoke confidently about strategy, discipline, and understanding risk.

Mark listened closely.

He did not notice how carefully the video presented its promises. He did not question the stories of extraordinary wins. He did not consider how many people might have lost money following similar advice.

He heard what he wanted to hear.

That success was possible.

That he had not yet found the right method.

That he was not a failure, merely a man who had not discovered the correct path.

When the video ended, Mark opened a new browser tab and searched for ways to make money online.

He found a list of ideas: streaming, content creation, affiliate marketing, freelance work, and online selling.

He bookmarked the page.

Tomorrow, he would investigate them properly.

Tomorrow, he would become more disciplined.

Tomorrow, he would begin to turn his life around.

He felt better simply having made the decision.

And because he felt better, he mistook the feeling for progress.

Beside him, his phone lit up with another message from Paolo.

Pre, kahit partial payment muna sa payday, ha.

Mark read it, locked his screen, and turned back to his computer.

He would deal with Paolo later.

He would deal with his father later.

He would deal with Mika later.

There was always a later, a future in which he imagined himself wiser, richer, and more respected than he was today.

He had spent years living in that future.

The trouble was that his debts, his broken promises, and the people he was hurting all existed in the present.

And the present was getting harder to escape.