IT’S NOT THE RACE

I don’t want a King Arthur, neither anyone from the round table, as I need Merlin, or any sage for that matter, quick!  Or anyone to enlighten me as regards the favorite speech of the President who is always unfathomably enigmatic.

Kindly correct me if I heard it wrong please, but he wanted this country to get rid of the Americans and replace them all with the Chinese.  If that was what he meant of “Independent Foreign Policy,” I’d only pray we’d get genuine independence and not China’s fake responses.

Upon hearing it, I imagined Xi Jinping revealing to his subordinates who’s Duterte for the Chinese the way American President Roosevelt described Tacho Somoza to the U.S. in FDR’’s unguarded speech.  Well, I have so many Christian friends, thus, so as not to offend them even if I would be quoting Roosevelt verbatim, let me use some homonym:  “[He] may be a son of the beach, but he’s our son of the beach.”

When Digong said he would prefer China over America because the former did not invade any country, or never been called colonizer, I simply did frown.  However, I give Digong full benefit of the doubt about his real honest reasons, although it’s a fact that throughout the world, in every city, there is a Chinatown.

In fact more, we peace-loving, fake-hating, Ilonggos need not look far anymore.  Here in our city, the Chinese are wantonly lording over us, to say it with frightful candor.  I’d say this to you with confidence and reassurance that I have yet to encounter upclose and personal any ill-mannered American.  On the other hand, since I learned to buy anything in the city from my youth up, I’d often meet a Chinese seller who’s so arrogant.

Buy in Iznart and try to implore a Chinese daughter or son to tell their dad and mom you’d ask for a discount and they would shake their heads and yell at the kids back with Chinese rant.  Sometimes, when I ran out of patience then, I was almost tempted to forget that I am a Christian so that I could gurgle my Kinaray-a and growled at them, “Daw Insik kamo ti batasan” (well, if you find Kinaray-a harder, its dramatic translation is here:  “You’re all like a mahjong there, because of your Chinese character!”).

But of course, at any time, we are not supposed to generalize any country or any race.  Only a bigot or a retard does it, someone, who, in a civil world, deserves no place.  As what Liverpudlian Paul McCartney and boy wonder Stevie Wonder had once sung:  “We all know that people are the same wherever we go, there is good and bad in ev’ryone…”

Even among Israel, the most blessed Jewish race, which we acknowledged to be God’s chosen people.  Not every one of them put their faith in Him although since the beginning of time He’s given them all.

Yes, the faith, which is the only equalizer among Jews and non-Jews alike when it comes to God’s righteousness’ and His love’s availment.  For it is written “many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 8:11 KJV).

BECAUSE OF LOVE

In the mall, our eyes met, I could sense that both our brains instantly worked like a scanner:  analyzing each other’s face—or what remained of it—and whatever memories we guessed we may have had formed together.  She already had my attention from afar and crabwise I slowly drew near her, and soon we were like total strangers in Mang Inasal or Kenny Roger’s forced to share a table but seemingly having no interest in one another.

My mind was desperate and I was pressured to remember a name quick.  Ah, “my dull brain was wrought with things forgotten, as said Macbeth.  Several names scrolled down my mind, I had to greet her before it was too late.  Suddenly, a bulb in my head lighted, not for a specific name but for one that’s safe:  “Sis!” 

Yeah, she was my “Sis,” as in Sister, not biological but fraternal, excuse me.  We both belonged to the same fraternity and to the same favored university.

I considered her once as one of the disadvantages of being in a well-established club because the internal rules said a male member should never fall for a Sister, to insist was like committing “incest” with her.  Boy, she used to be pretty, the sight of her then was enough to heat any young man’s blood that would subsequently give him immeasurable fever, and right at first sight, I knew I’d never consider her a Sister.

When I joined the fraternity I suffered and survived some sort of flogging unimaginable that was almost like Calvary.  And I promised myself that once I became a full-fledged member I would take revenge on the next applicant surely.  However, when I subsequently met “Sis,” I found out my heart was much bigger than my rage.  I frequented her department to meet her always, at the disguise of being sent by our chapter’s liege.

I took her under my watch that she wouldn’t suffer much during her entire “initiation period” in the first semester.  She was supposed to be the one to serve me and to do my bidding, but it turned out later she became my “master.” 

If my Brothers and other Sisters would know, I was ready to leave the frat, and its lifetime privilege—my main reason in joining—because of ‘love.’ “Just one moment in time,” I pleaded her then, but I didn’t get my answer as I quit school in the second sem, so I only remained as her mere “Brod.”

That was exactly what did Christ when He cared about every sinner, this I realized some years later.  He left His glory up there to serve the lowly and to minister unto, rather than becoming a master.

He could have thrown His weight around like did other lesser gods and do everything He would please.  Yet “he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness” (Philippians 2:7 NIV).

Because of love.

THE CALL OF DUTY

“If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing [it]?” (Matt. 5:46)

I couldn’t remember anymore when was the last time I yelled on top of my lungs for the Ginebra team.  But during that title-clinching sixth game, well, pardon the repetitive cliché:  it was déjà vu all over again.

Yes, for a very long time, I was not merely a Ginebra fanatic:  I was exactly like a now-called “Dutertard” by a Digong critic.  Well, to say it loud matter-of-factly, I was not just for Ginebra, I was for Jaworski.  I would argue and fight against anyone who’d say he was only fond of rough play.  Robert “Big J” Jaworski was not rough:  he was just rugged and playing tough.

More than the crown, what I’m happy for in this once my favorite team is a fine lesson as valuable as I have got from the Bible:  learning to love your enemy.  Why?  Note that the coach that made this latest triumph for the club after eight frustrating years is Tim Cone, once Ginebra fans’ most loathsome coach in the PBA.

Yeah, I couldn’t understand it yesterday why I hated Tim so much for he would ruin my day by just seeing in the news his face.  But after taking some considerations, I found out it was due to his capability to frustrate Ginebra’s bid for the crown always.  And look now, I could not believe I would love Coach Earl Timothy Cone like this.  It’s as if I am so restless now until I meet him in person to give him my embrace.

Therefore, friends, take this unsolicited advice:  harbor not any ill feelings toward any creature.  The days are uncertain:  the person you hate so much today might be your best pal in the future.

 

Like some daughters of Eve somewhere who love to war against you despite your being clueless, why not just give her the benefit of the doubt about the matter?  Who knows, her tough exterior could only be a protective coloring, below the surface is probably just a frightened girl who has no one in the world to take care of her.

So remember, Oh Christian, it’s your duty to understand (Eccl. 12:13).

WOMEN

(Memories on October 25, 2012)

The other day, I was nervously sipping my cup of coffee while sitting patiently inside a “turo-turo” resto along Guanco Street. I was waiting for somebody who would lead me to somebody who had a lead about somebody whom I’d need to meet. Half an hour later, a couple of students came in fast and took the table directly across my spot right after they got off a taxi cab. I guessed they were both eighteen or under but they obviously were in this so-called young love, sweet love.

More minutes later, such sugar-sweet love became sweeter. Especially when they both ordered beer as the sugar melted like in a pan getting hotter. I didn’t mind their public caressing of each other, knowing that today’s generation of lovers is nonchalantly daring and bold. I didn’t mind for I understood that when you’re struck by that crazy thing called “love” it’s as if you exclusively owned the whole world.

What caught my attention, aside from the girl’s carelessness and being unmindful of a further drop of her décolleté, was her propensity in gulping down every bottle in just a minute. To think that what they were having were not a beer in Spanish named after an angel but a much stronger sort with a picture of a red Trojan pet.

Wow, like a former Manila councilor in the days of yore, who, according to the late Mayor named Arsenio, “so young yet so corrupt,” when he was then referring to a fellow who’s running next year for senator again: Maceda, Ernesto. 

I said corrupt in the sense that that girl was corrupted by our decaying culture and total loss of values. That girl was corrupted by too much freedom given to her by unsuspecting parents perhaps to the extent that she had it abused. When I imagined replacing that girl’s face with that of my daughter’s, I trembled at the thought as fear gripped my entire body. Such scene is a certified nightmare for a parent and how could I, as a father, bear it inside me upon seeing my beloved only daughter turning into a wild young lady?

God forbid. A very scary scene indeed.

If today’s generation is beyond imagination, what more would be tomorrow’s, the one “beyond redemption”? According to the latest survey, more than half of the drinkers today in our country are women. Well, that’s the problem when you give women their full freedom in this world or let them take the reins. No wonder the Taliban or Muslim hardliners are scared to give powers to them. They probably thought women would cause their eviction from paradise again. We can’t blame them, how many men of valor and renown in all history of the world had ended up in misery and sin because of women? 

But to prove their critics wrong, give always a chance to women. While some of them are ugly, out and in, some have beauty even beyond their skin. And in your relationship with them with avowed commitment, play the game of life like Letran: “don’t give up, don’t give in,” as some are more than just worth loving.

LILY

THE LILY

[Originally posted on October 24, 2013 at 2:41pm]

The moment I saw her picture on a wall, I quickly identified her as Calla Lily The Beautiful.

I heard the words Calla Lily for the first time when my friend “Lec” was about to get married for the first time. It was explicitly manifested by his then fiancée that her most favorite flower was Calla Lily, not Water Lily, but Calla Lily. I could not remember anymore if Calla Lily did also attend their wedding ceremony as she wished, for all that retained to mind since that day till now is that their married life’s still remarkably at peace.

From then on, I became infatuated with and mystified by Calla Lily so much so, especially when I felt rumors were true that it could only be found in the City of Baguio. Thus, upon our first hearing of another rumor, which was also later found to be true, that Baguio would be the couple’s honeymoon venue, I started the first serious money savings in life I’d ever do, till I filled up all nine orange KFC ketchup plastic containers with coins by dropping in them “lima-lima” and “piso-piso.”

That’s why I don’t pant for riches anymore or dream about exceeding great possessions for me, for once in my life it happened that I could not lift alone my own money, much less, move it in one single carry. The Land Bank UPV Miagao for me would readily testify. I just couldn’t remember anymore the teller who did almost cry.

And off to Baguio we followed when the couple followed their dream, but it was obvious that their faces were grim. There the pair could not run and could not hide just the same, for the “asungots” were ubiquitous and “naghahasik ng lagim.”

  

Then I suddenly remembered the coveted Calla Lily, but my problem I did ask her, “To whom shall I give thee?” Nevertheless, I started my quest right away for that wily and elusive flower which, like Solmux, I called “The One.” I was determined to find her there in Baguio before our group would return to Iloilo after finishing the fun.

I imagined Calla Lily as being delicately cultivated and specially potted like in hanging garden of a Babylonian. But when I took a leak against the wall of the clean Dirty Kitchen of our “bahay bakasyunan,” there I saw Calla Lily living under the sink or something you call dwelling “sa Calla Lily-man ng banggerahan.”

Oh, Calla Lily, you shattered yourself before me your own myth. Just like when I found lettuce growing at an abandoned side street.

Indeed, every flower of every plant in this world has its “human side.” The world’s perfect beauty a hedonist seeks he truly cannot find. There’s only one amazingly astounding, beautiful Flower that could satisfy man’s eye and soul from here to eternity. One that was already growing in from the Garden of Paradise to Gethsemane and still dwelling in our hearts, if we only let it stay.

The Preacher calls it The Rose Of Sharon for its beauty. Otherwise known as The Lily Of The Valley (Songs of Solomon 2:1).

GET BACK, JOJO…

I pity Jojo.  I’ve always thought he is many times over more learned or blessed than I am, or what pagans described as “luckier.”  I remember a neighbor slapping one of our drinking buddies after the latter told him that compared to Jojo, I was the handsomer.

And I am still wondering for that neighbor, why was he so enraged with the answer that propelled him to do that?  After the incident I remember asking that question so often in front of the mirror while standing, sitting or lying flat. 

I have always thought too that I was more adventurous than Jojo but again I was wrong, unlike me who stayed in relative’s abode, he managed to live in the big city on his own.  Thus, when he reached the country’s eastern mountains and flirted with forestation, I was convinced that with his sense of adventure like that, he deserved wider horizons.

And Jojo once tried to dwell happily in the desert where values were high, especially financially-wise.  But as they say, when love beckons, it’s not hard to decide, even if you’re heading north career-wise.  And Jojo joined the throng of individuals sentenced to life.  He'd chosen a united path where only death could divide.

Jojo was compelled to give up his dry seal in such love’s name, and sang the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “An American Dream.”  And there he was fighting about every domestic issue, that even in his peripheral vision it was clearly a united nightmare for him.

There, he pressed on to become a man he would never be.  There, he won an argument and lost everything else gradually.  There, I fear that he could never be loved as what he is.  There, he might be loved only if he’ll join the money race.  I could only pray for Jojo for God’s enlightenment, patience, understanding, and grace:  to consider his vows and to do things now with dignity than to do it later with disgrace.

But he must do it not at an impulse, however, as there are many things that involved now and the road is still windy, winding and long.  But if push comes to shove, those who truly love Jojo can finish that Beatles’ song, “Get back, get back to where you once belonged.” 

REMEMBERING “DEMI MOORE”

 (Memories from October 19, 2011 at 5:16pm)

I was already sitting pretty at the left window seat at the back row of the bus at the terminal on my way home last night when a lovely couple came up and took the right twin seats immediately next to my row.

Since elegantly elevated was the back row, this sweet couple was in my eyes’ full view. I studied their actions and reactions and absorbed myself in their joyful but romantic conversations. I rummaged through the woman’s face and facial expressions.

The sparkling eyes behind the glowing glasses, long straight hair of a Greek goddess, and the splendidly fresh makeup-less face were her primary features any examining eyes would firstly notice.

Since my vision was regularly turning lately into 3D, I beheld her for more than two minutes and not to take a glance only. Suddenly I confirmed what I suspected minutes ago, that face was undoubtedly familiar to me too. Someone who appeared in sight during special times in my life, someone I knew for years whether I was at peace or in strife.

It was “Demi Moore” once more.

I could still vividly remember the location and the occasion the first time I saw “Demi”. Summer league in Guimbal, summer of ’93. With a friend Robert from Cainta in tow, we cheered for Miagao team while “Demi” and friends chanted “Guimbal!” beside the court’s front row.

Robert was then fond of chasing skirts, thus, his eyes easily caught “Demi’s” alluring smirks. He requested me to accompany him after the game to approach her group. I would oblige, I told myself, but I had to know first which one among them would be Robert’s “prospect” to choose.

My eyes quickly scanned each and every member of that group’s outstanding core. That was the time I saw a resembling beauty in full that I secretly named her “The Young Demi Moore.” 

I was so sure of what to do next when Robert confirmed his “chosen one” to me. While the game was in progress, I devised a plan to deviate Robert’s fiddling attention, or fatal attraction, to “Demi.”

In almost a month of Robert’s stay in our old house, he never had a chance to go back to Guimbal to see “Demi” again, much less her house.

My devious design to “save” “Demi” from Robert, I begrudgingly admit, was for my own probable gain.  Which was to prevent both of us in knowing about her personal circumstances as well. I had never known anything of her, her why’s and wherefore’s, nor even her name.

When Robert went back to Cainta, “Demi’s” and my paths never did cross again. Until I met Lovely Lassie from a saintly, not barbaric, southern town in ’93 second sem.

One time on my way to Lassie’s house, my both hands full of flow’rs and chocs, I happened to see in the city pretty “Demi” still in her finest form. This time, she was more wonderful and elegant in her Doctor’s Nursing uniform.

My mind shouted at her, “Behold, the then apple of my eye!”
And added, “I’ve found the grapes now, so I bid you goodbye!”

But as ‘fate’ would have it, if you think Lassie and I ended up together, no, it’s otherwise! For despite toiling and worshipping her for two years plus, she dumped and busted me, not just once but twice.

A week after that last gallows experience, I happened to see at Guimbal plaza the smiling “Demi” again. But she didn’t ride on the jeepney where I was still riding then in pain.

When I eventually learned to rise from the ashes and started another love once more, I saw a laughing “Demi” in a restaurant celebrating an unknown occasion with several others more.

When I suffered another setback anew, I saw in a jeepney stop a restless “Demi” bringing books for nursing board exams review.

The last time I spotted her, locking arms around the waist of a handsome guy, was two weeks before I’d stand before a magistrate to recite a marital vow of peace. And last night, with that same handsome guy-husband, I saw a very happy though health-gained “Demi Moore,” whom till now, never knew that I ever exist.

CONFESSION OF A MARRIED STUPID

I was so ashamed. So very ashamed. And so mad at myself, very, very mad. How could I be so irresponsible like that?

This happened after someone told me I owed their family in 2005 more than Forty Thousand Pesos. Of course, I was shocked and did erupt almost, as, for an ordinary worker like me, the amount is no joke.

Initially, I vehemently denied, and that, my friends, is my bad side in fact. When I am innocently accused, I furiously react without checking the facts. Well, after tracing back history of correspondence I found out it was not really my personal loan. It was just that at the time I only tried helping and saving a desperate common relation.

So there, I was greatly humbled, no, humiliated, because I lectured my debtors about paying back dues. And here I am, a “personal loan” I facilitated for another eleven years back did I inadvertently overlook. What a shame, how fiendish I am. Another proof I’m a very sinful man.

I’m the only one to blame for it, but what can I do, compared to my siblings, I’m the dunce in the family. I am so quick to assume about almost everything and we all know that assumption is a sign of stupidity.

Therefore I appeal to all my friends, especially friends with benefits, who have constantly poured me all their lives, their genuine generosity from then on. I beseech you, while I’m still alive, let me know if some if not all of those things were, in fact, my loan because I suspect they’ve already reached millions. I don’t have to name you one by one here, you know who you are. Besides, the list is endless: I grew up with friends around and afar.

I’m now confused: I’m always that restless about my P500 debt. And yet, for a staggering amount of forty grand, I easily forget? But I am happy there’s positive side in this: this means my memory gap is selective. Like, I forgot another instance what was the cause, or a certain purpose, but I remember I paid up that’s family’s family once using an envelope.

From now on, I will write down all my received cash and kind and have the list with me always, in joy and in strife. Even if they said “it’s a gift,” there must be a great deal of latitude of interpretation for it like a suspicion of a wife. As I can never be certain if it will cause love or rage. Just perfectly like the uncertainty we get from marriage.

Ahh, marriage is indeed a leap into the dark, or even into something darker: you could never really know another person until after you had lived together.

Anyway, like the way I reluctantly pay my marriage vows so far, to such forgotten ‘debt’ I will pay. If I fail in this lifetime, I’ll urge my children to pay, as my God had said in guarantee: “I will repay” (Rom.12:19).

THE LEAST AND THE GREATEST

Wow! We would have witnessed some great spectacle in the Lower House last week, no, not the one that would feature eloquence and wit, but an exciting boxing bout between two Mindanaoan permanent representatives.  I was disappointed with that lady in red that went in between and averted what could have been the fiercest fight in the history of Congress, when Barbers left his seat and fired at Pichay congressional expletives.

Had the trading of angry blows materialized and the smoke got cleared, I was sure the loser would be Pichay.  It’s because, judging from Barbers’ stride, he would stop at nothing till he turned Mr. Prospero into ‘lantang gulay.’

I’m so envy of other democratic countries whose representatives in congress could punch a colleague that sometimes would result to free-for-all fisticuffs like a riot in a football league.  Our country would benefit from it, especially if they’d go to the max like “canceling” each other the way we solved problems in mathematics as we’d have great savings from their ‘pig.’  

I liked it so when Duterte issued a memo prohibiting the title “Honorable” when addressing any member of his cabinet or any executive branch’s chief of office.  When Digong signed it I did really expect our congress to follow suit because I thought the word was also giving them goosebumps if not severe skin allergies. 

I was wrong, entitlement is like gold and the phrase “Your Honor” swells the ears, and heads as well, of impossibly wealthy individuals in congress.  Maybe, they’ve yet to realize that the world is still full of people who understand that love and friendship are more important than title and riches.

Of course, I can’t definitely say they are wrong in that aspect, as right and wrong don’t count much in this world—only the next.  We Christians should just follow Christ’s words on how to behave:  “Whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave” (Matt. 20:27).

As He didn’t come to be served, but to serve only.  And to give His life as a ransom for many (v.28).

IGNORING BEING IGNORED

One night, inside a near-closing Iloilo leading supermarket branch, I was falling in line like a sheep meek and dumb.  I guessed the scene was similar to Jews queuing for a crumb, resigned to their fate, inside a Nazi concentration camp.  I was paying for some selected grocery items corresponding to my tight budget for the next day.  I was green with envy of many fellow customers who were pushing three big carts simultaneously.

There goes your bad side again, just count your blessings only, as I murmured and rebuked my own self immediately.  I almost forgot to appreciate that although so few were those groceries, they’d still make one family live another day.  I knew after we ate them satisfyingly by tomorrow, I would gladly rephrase Churchill anew:  never again in the field of the human hunger was so much owed by so many to so few.

Later, I was waiting in a jeepney stop when I saw a female customer with a mischievous smile being followed by a young grocery helper carrying her five big plastic bags full of merchandise.  The lad loaded all the bags inside her still plate-less sports utility vehicle in shining white, no doubt the woman was unimaginably rich because of the way she'd stare with condescending eyes.

And then I recalled those eyes, those deep-set now-hazel eyes, and her other familiar features.  I could not be mistaken, she had been someone I knew to be so nice, in person and in pictures.  Before she embarked in her vehicle, our stares met, and I was sure she was stunned, and I smiled, but I was snubbed.  Ahh, she’s rich now, so, breeding counts for nothing anymore as she was no longer the sweet biddable friend I loved.

Yeah, then we were nice friends, good friends, no, better friends, although there was no spark in between.  We used to borrow cash and kind from each other when the going got tough and tougher times got going.  And I told myself further, maybe true was that old saying not to borrow money from your friend, lest, you’d lose that money and him.  Well, she was my evidence, and considering what I did for her, I was tempted to say I don’t have many regrets but she’s now one of them.

Actually, what deeply hurt me in that instance were not those unpaid lent cash in the past, if any:  it was the way she deliberately ignored my greeting stares as if I was an outcast in our society. 

What she did was totally not unlike what a Supreme Court loan association did to me after I desperately filed therein last July 2016 my loan application jointly with my four other colleagues’.  Theirs were unceremoniously OK’d but mine’s still in limbo to date, yet not an angry word neither a text saying it was denied nor damned was sent by such landline-less lending office.

Today, I’m still waiting, no, not anymore for my loan’s grant and release, but for their courtesy of a reply and for a little amount of respect.  What is mind-boggling is seeing some institutions engaging in the business of lending, yet their officers, personnel, and staff would act as if charging interest is a noble calling.

They should not have ignored me by sending just a note telling I was snubbed that I’d no longer hope.  They help me, yes, yet I help them more, in truth, for in my every need, their business stays afloat.

THE COLOR OF LANGUAGE

I presume a lot of my old friends and familiar friends know it full well why I don’t comment anything about anyone who loves to speak a foul word or profanity.    Okay, before they could disseminate this information to my enemy, if any, I’d like to divulge it here that yesterday cursing belonged to my daily vocabulary.  Yes, I admit it like what Prophet Isaiah did quip:  “Woe is me…. because I am a man of unclean lips” (Isaiah 6:5).

I used to start and end my sentence with vulgar words when I talked before my fellow “istambay” at Minyang’s store.  I had loved to be the “bangka” always in our gathering early in the morning and late afternoon, alternating with Tibor.  

Of course, we were not encouraged at home to swear, I got them elsewhere even if I was listening to others with half an ear.  But most people are entertained by colorful language as they probably think a speaker has to make a stink to make them hear.

When I saw it on TV how the Donald was caught on tape recklessly talking about his thoughts on women, I guessed the incident would be the final nail in his coffin regarding his dream to become president.  But I know I must not underestimate the thinking of American voters because of their obsession of this liberty thing, no one can persuade them to vote for this or that no matter how good you are in any argument. 

Americans know they are always totally free.  They know it more during their election day.

Many conservatives have observed cursing is now as normal as breathing even if someone speaks of it in a formal gathering.  Enough for us to surmise expletive is unofficially considered the ninth part of speech, more so in public speaking.  But language evolves, what denotes as compassion today might mean tomorrow as rage.  Take the word “ass,” it used to mean a donkey but today it turns into a gutter language.

 

And as I have noticed, those who are fond of speaking it are those who can get away with murder, so to speak, because they are so good at it.  They could captivate the crowd with various tales using colorful speeches with half-truths by just being gay at one moment and fierce at the next.

Today, I’m sure it’s harder now to tell my five-year-old daughter Rahabelle that professing profanities is something bad.  I know I’d to find better explanations that wouldn’t confuse her young mind each time she hears other people doing that.

For she sees we’re now tickled to hear them.  For today those words make a president.

THE WONDER OF A WOMAN

Thursday night, October 6, I was about to go home after our ragtag basketball team bagged the second runner-up trophy when the host of the tournament, the Iloilo IBP, requested the pleasure of our company at dinner right there in the YMCA.  Of course, the IBP brought home the bacon, figuratively and literally, as no one can reckon against superior strength, size, and talent, and nobody can argue with a referee or can judge a judgment call except the IBP, but that’s another story.

Despite playing there twice a week, it was my first time to know there was a function room now in YMCA, wow, they built it so fast.  I headed our group marching in and saw IBP’s food stuff, then I approached the entrance slowly, like a door opening into the past.  As I anticipated, food and drinks overflowed like a river, not necessarily in that order.  A voluptuous all-girls band came to entertain us all while we devoured our dinner.

I looked at their preparation like an eagle to its prey:  full of excitement, yeah, eating with the IBP for the very first time is like sailing on a ship in her maiden voyage:  continuously in wonderment.  True to form, and considering the way they humbled every opposition in every game the way a rat is swallowed in one gulp by a giant serpent, IBP Iloilo members believe not in understatement.  Okay, you can ascribe to them the word acrimonious, but no way can you describe them as parsimonious.

Had I met these jolly nice people earlier in life, I then murmured to myself, I would have downed my first five bottles in twenty-five minutes and grabbed the mic when the program host Atty. Billena declared the singing was now open to the public.  I would have approached one of the girls to do anything as I pleased, regale her with my antics, and totally unmindful of prim people saying it was vulgar while concealing their envy beneath a pretense of distaste of what I perceived to be aesthetic.

After my stomach was filled to the rafters, so to speak, I hitched a ride with Atty. Monserate’s brand-new SUV, he being a member of methyphobic lawyers in the name of healthy lifestyle and most of all, his waiting family.  And we left the rest of his teammates, friends, and friends’ friends of the top four teams and non-playing members of IBP, who were all then starting to have the time of their lives once again, in the girls’ company.

Spontaneously, more blasts from the past filled in my memory:  how I wallowed myself too in wine and ‘good time’ yesterday.

On our way home, I remembered the four things the prophet Agur did not know, which I almost never knew too during those days, that he thus said:  “The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid” (Prov.30:19 KJV).

RAISING CAIN

I was right again, no matter how high were the praises people heaped for him, I always knew that I and the rest of the world are truly like Teddy Boy Locsin:  He and I are the same, prone to commit mistakes.  Albeit we’re worlds apart in faces and intellect.

Let alone in personal properties and finances.  But it’s a given, he’s a bourgeois if you please.

I reluctantly credit him for introducing to my vocabulary the phrase ‘dirty finger’ when I was still young.  I first read about his flashing of which in 1986 and I thought the press referred to an unmanicured one.

Little did I know that in reality, the figurative sense is much dirtier than its literal meaning.  Since then, I started to loosen my awe of the intellectuals as they seem to be no different.  When it comes to actuation, action, and speech, they could be as ill-mannered as the uneducated.

Teddy Boy really has this talent for needlessly annoying people, in contrast to his father the late Teodoro Sr. who lived by a code.  Just lately I noticed the son felt he has everything, ranging from the trivial to the tragic, I just hope he’s not in self-destruct mode.

I could not believe then he could say that speaking ‘Tagalog’ in a presidential debate is useless.  That ‘English is the language of men,’ so, does it mean that ‘Tagalog’ is definitely a “swardspeak”?  Oh, poor Balagtas, now I understand the leaf wreath around his head was actually petals of gumamela and all similar flowers.  I never knew that he was gay, and it could be Florante and Adolfo too, and all the rest of ‘men’ in Florante and Laura’s characters.

And now this, here are Teddy Boy’s tweets, “You may find this hard to believe but the Nazis were not all wrong, give or take killing millions of the wrong people.  Keep an open mind.”  Oh, well, his great father was one of the passionate defenders of our democracy, so try to respect Teddy Boy’s opinion please, no matter how opinionated it is, as if like that of a sick mind.

But on the other hand, Teddy Boy never knows it but he gave me a big relief.  With him as an example, I would no more pressure my son to pass all his subjects.  I’d rather keep my son Jackal as what he is than seeing him growing up to be an intellect like Teddy Boy and acting and thinking exactly like him.  Remembering great men of society who did great early in life but messed up in the end, I’d say the world as it was, the world as it will be again.

Truly, a father’s worst nightmare is always as old as when our planet was still under Adam’s domain.  No, not thorn or thistles the ground would bring, neither finding sweaty bread:  but raising Cain (Gen.3:18-19).

OF MURDER AND REASON

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world:  the unreasonable man persists in trying to adapt the world to himself.  Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man - - - - George Bernard Shaw

I enjoy the spectacle between President Digong and Senator Leila in their word war now which started from little spat.  I hate to compare their tussle to that of two little children playing in the mud and throwing dirt at each other, tit for tat.

Lately, the House of Congress opined that it is amenable to the proposal that the purported controversial sex video of the Senator would be shown in its hollowed, or hallowed—depending on which side you are—halls, ‘in aid of legislation,’ simple and pure.  Regardless of affiliation, suspected closet perverts in Congress could wait no more, knowing that in our society, as one writer said, a man who has love affair may be considered wicked but romantic, while a woman who does the same is called a whore.

But we should understand Congress if they find wisdom in showing it, even before verifying from the experts if the video is fake or authentic.  We voted them into office, which means, we put our trust in them in exchange of loose change they put in us during the elections in this republic.  So for sure they know better.  The way they know pork either.

Just like leaving it to history to judge Digong later regarding his discretion about dealing with drug matter.  He is said to be a lawyer, so I couldn’t argue with him if he says killing is the final solution like did Hitler.  Although it cannot be denied that the bodies littering in the streets only belong to the poor man’s kids.  Not just a few are waiting to see more politicians’ and rich men’s addict children suffer the same fate.

The President is sincere, and hell-bent on stopping this narcotics problem, no matter what the cost.  But others say that it is dangerous to be sincere unless you’re also stupid, ignorant and obtuse.  Will the end really justify the means, even if it’s at three million lives’ expense?  Granting President Digong ends up totally triumphant in his own kind of endeavor, will a succeeding president build later a great statue or temple for and in his honor?

Thousands of years ago, the unbeatable King David of Israel, dubbed “A Man After God’s Own Heart” (1 Sam.13:14; Acts 13:22), desired to build a temple in honor of the God of Israel, nevertheless, God Himself forbade him to do it.  “You have shed much blood and have fought many wars. You are not to build a house for my Name, because you have shed much blood on the earth in my sight,” was the Lord told David through a prophet (1 Chronicles 22:8).

Indeed, contrary to skeptics and agnostics accusation that the Lord God of the Old Testament is a vengeful and murderous Deity, the same Testament would reveal too how He values holiness and purity in bestowing honor; in His eyes, murder is always dirty.

But of course, it’s not me or that fellow who can say who among us is right or wrong.  There’s the Word of God to guide us, after all, we’ll all be facing the Judgment Throne.