Manila is as jammed as Santo Tomas was in 1942. Up to five families may be sharing a house, each with one or more servants. They have no electricity or gas; some have no water; and the price of food is high and still climbing. Some complain that they are eating less than they did late in the Occupation, forgetting that we were approaching disaster as our food resources were almost depleted.

Newlyweds need their own nest, but it's hard to find one these days. One of my best clients owns a number of houses but didn't even spare my feelings: "Hell," he said, "I not only have all my houses rented, people are even trying to move into the garages." I'm beginning to realize I'm living in a fool's paradise. Not much business is being done around here except by restaurants with GI custom. A few offices are of the one-chair one-desk type; and I mean for three people. One gets up and another sits immediately. Their next priority is a typewriter, if one could be found.

The Enemy Custodian Office wants another week before releasing Dad's property. They're quite touchy about delays too, forgetting that people need the rent money to live on. Meanwhile, looters have opened a hole in the back wall and are taking stuff out. "Well, it's our stuff isn't it?" said the Captain, and I'm almost sure he meant "Uncle Sam's stuff."

. . . .