How Philippine Politics, Love Life, and a Possessed Pillow Ruined My Morning Shift

The Pillow Conspiracy: Why You Should Never Host Marites Hour Before a Morning Shift

Let me paint you a picture. It’s 9:20 PM on a quiet evening. I’m curled up in my third-floor apartment, ready to wind down when suddenly—ringing doorbells, continuously and urgently… Yvette opened the door. It was Aimee, and just after she closed it, someone knocked again, impatiently. I opened the door. It was Rizel. My two friends and workmates from the first floor arrived like undercover agents and hungry dragons. They were on the evening shift. We weren’t just catching up; we were entering full-blown Marites Mode.

By 9:25 PM, we were deep into a passionate discussion about corruption in the Philippines. From pork barrel scandals to ghost projects, we dissected every shady deal with the fervor of political analysts with zero credentials but maximum emotion. The rage was real.

Then, like any good Filipino conversation, the topic naturally shifted to love life. The snacks included nuts and sweets, while our opinions were spicier than Bicol Express and as complex as eating sunflower seeds.

By 10:30 PM, we had progressed from “Why is corruption still rampant?” to “Why is he still texting his ex?” We covered heartbreaks, situationships, and the mysterious case of the coworker who suddenly started wearing cologne. It was a mix of a TED Talk and a teleserye.

They left satisfied, and I went to bed feeling like a gossip detective who had just cracked the case of the century. I was emotionally drained but socially fulfilled.

But here’s where the downfall begins.

The Alarm Army That Failed Me

At 11:00 PM, I set up my alarm battalion: not one, not two, but four alarms—5:50, 6:15, 6:30, and 6:45. I felt smug, like a time-management ninja.

Fast forward to 6:55 AM.

I woke up in a panic, staring at my phone as if it had betrayed me. All four alarms had gone off, but I must have swiped them away in my sleep or conducted a full concert of snoozes without awareness. Has my relaxing nighttime music turned me into a deep sleeper? I usually wake up before my alarm even rings. 

Work starts at 7:00.

I called the nursing home with my voice still half-asleep, trying to sound professional while rubbing the morning glory from my eyes. This was my first time being late.

Marjo answered the phone with a teasing tone. 

“Huomenta! Anteeksi. Mä tuun töihin myöhässä.” 

So, I moved quickly. No warm water. No breakfast. No coffee. Just regret and panic.

I took a quick shower that felt like a splash of cold water. When I looked in the mirror, I resembled a soggy lumpia in scrubs. My hair was still wet as I sprinted out the door, as if I were auditioning for the Olympics, or rather, walking and running like I was training for the Helsinki Marathon.

My workplace is literally a 2 to 3-minute walk from my apartment. TWO. MINUTES. And yet, I arrived at 7:20 AM—twenty minutes late. Darn!

The Arrival Roast

I burst through the doors like I’d just escaped a tornado. Two staff members looked up and grinned. I smiled in embarrassment, greeted them, and tried to pretend I hadn’t just lived through a real-life action movie titled *Mission: Wake-Up Impossible*.

“Was your pillow too soft? Is that why you woke up late?” one of them joked. 

“Haha, yeah, I didn’t wake up to my alarms.”

The Tehtävä Tsunami

There was no time to breathe. I took the medicine room key and dove straight into the medication round—checking dosages, signing off charts, dodging confused residents asking if it was Sunday or shower day. Then came the tsunami of tasks: washing, dressing changes, blood pressure checks, blood sugar tests and insulin injections, patient breakfasts and medications, laundry, and one mysterious puddle that no one wanted to claim.

I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t had coffee. I was running on pure adrenaline, leftover gossip, and the haunting memory of last night’s political rants and romantic tales.

The Moral of the Story

So here’s what I learned:

Never—ever—host a late-night debate about corruption and love life when you have a morning shift.

Because no amount of opinion-sharing, emotional venting, snack-devouring, or scandal is worth waking up like a confused croissant and arriving twenty minutes late to a job that’s only two minutes away.

I also learned that alarms are only useful if you don’t treat them like background music.

The pillow is still under investigation. It may be possessed.

About Me 

Hi, I’m Mari Felices. I write about love, heartbreak, and the quiet lessons life teaches us along the way. My words are pieces of my soul—sometimes poetic, sometimes raw, but always honest. If even one person finds comfort in my story, then my writing has done its purpose.