MY PUNY VALENTINE

[February 14, 2012 at 11:30am]

Today, the world celebrates its most beloved day of the year. With far more compliance than Michael Jackson’s “Give Love On Christmas Day” order.

Of course, everyone should be entitled to have at least one unforgettable Valentine moment in his/her entire life, whether that moment tickled the heart and senses with joy or hurt him/her bad like been cut by a knife.

Refreshing a memory, how did I spend thee, Oh thou sometimes-sweet-at-times-cruel Valentines Day?

How could I forget the moment I softly touched three red roses right on her face, only to discover later she was allergic to flowers after she slapped them back to me as she continuously sneezed?

I’ll always remember the time I was solicited by and gave a girl prospect three imported chocolates, only to find her later sweetly eating them with her well-kept boyfriend who was also our classmate? But I made them pay for it thereafter by licking another two chocolates which I re-sealed and gave again to them. At the time I didn’t feel any guilt at all as I savored every moment watching them both eating.

Moral lesson: Never underestimate the fury of a man scorned. The “revenge of the nerd” is chocogerms-adorned. Anyway, that was just one of my naughty yesterdays, folks. When I erroneously thought true love could only be found in figures and good looks.

Finding true love only on a surface is like finding a spook.  Believing in them is like believing in fake news:  on Facebook.

ASH

[February 14, 2013 at 3:30pm]

As our tradition, I was the last man out of our workplace last night, and subsequently strolled by my lonesome to Jaro Plaza sans fright. The Jaro Plaza, despite its being a historically rich site, is still pitifully bereft of adequate street lights. It was as if I was back to good ole days of giving darkness a fair fight, despite failing then to join Fred Guapo’s group named “Walk By Night.”

Upon reaching the spot near the Cathedral, I was initially shocked and turned pallid, when I met a throng engulfing me all having a single mark on each forehead. I thought I was already in the end times like what was written and prophesied about the mark of The Beast. But after my eyes checked the design and found not any sign of a Six-Six-Six, only then that I had managed to heave a silent sigh of relief.

Suddenly I remembered it was for “Ash Wednesday,” and that was a symbol of obedience given by a priest, done after the ritual signaling the start of “Lent” season by the Roman Catholics. It could mean too as their sign of pride and bravery for of a religion they should boast, as they are all head up high after receiving the mark like newly commissioned wartime commandos.

But I think when it comes to such kind of mark of obedience in the “faith,” far better are the beggars and children of the streets. Day in and day out, they all have their symbols on foreheads, on faces and their bodies, as if un-washable and fixed.

Somebody told me it’s also for the “faithful,” that “dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return” (Gen. 3:19) for a yearly reminder. Like the way the folk-rock Kansas reminded our generation that all we are is dust in the wind, to be blown away forever.

The ironic grossness of which is manifested only when Filipinos of all status and geographic class uphold their tradition of kissing their folk’s forehead after the “mass.” Yes, it is in our culture with the olds in showing them respect and love, but we have to beware, remember that kissing their forehead is also kissing their ash.#

SHE

[February 14, 2014]

Every Valentine’s Day, I always remember what was told to me by the former Pastor Sam who is now called The Doctor. It’s something like, the sweetest song for your one and only is Julio Iglesias’ “To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before.”

They’re all indeed worth remembering, truly. But some would stand above the rest, like she.

“She may be the face I can’t forget; The trace of pleasure or regret; Maybe the treasure or the price I have to pay…” Told you, I memorized these lyrics when I was six since it was played continually in front of our house from the jukebox of Nang Jessy. Thus, when destiny’s joke had started and our paths crossed after exactly two decades, I was so sure she’d be the “she” I’d refer to in that song, and the one I’d dub “The Face.”

Told you further, she’s more precious than rubies or Gollum’s ring that flees, even far more irresistible than the combined Cadbury, M&M and Kisses. She’s the chief cause if not the main reason why I came to know there’s a flower called Chrysanthemum. But most of all, in view of her beauty’s pull and her charm’s magnetic force, I went on to discover that roses were not just red but they come too in various colors.

If not for her, I could not overcome my natural fear of slight darkness. More so of the eerie stillness of a soundless night, pitch black, moonless. But I said the moment has come, where a boy should be separated from a man. And when I commenced taking steps heading for that doorway, I was pretty sure only of two things, either a heart’s death or love’s liberty.

How did I love her? I did not count the ways. I would not count the ways. I could not count the ways. You tell me, how could one count or figure something when there's blinding sunray always, and tremors, the moment he sees her face? She was life’s seasons’ great equalizer in whatever phase.  My world had only one color whether during a dry spell or rainy days.

She was a barometer of what one could be capable of doing when something’s gotta give, or take, when his heart overflows with love rooted from the deep. That’s why I discovered through her that when a man loves a woman, awakened or in deep sleep, he would not just love, he would worship.

Therefore, some love would not prosper because we’d be no more aware that the Real Author of Love is only taken for granted, if not neglected, when such human love he thought as whole lot better. Ignoring what we learned from the beginning as taught by the Psalmist to delight ourselves in Him so that He’d give us the desires of our hearts for the fulfillment of a True Love forever (Psalms 37:4).

She will always be out there like a shining star. Only the eye could reach her from afar. A living proof in life, of dreams, that all others are dull and drab. Ask the dead poets, there’s no living feeling other than the unrequited love.

Someone may continue singing, “She maybe the reason I survive; The why and wherefore I’m alive.” And “The meaning of my life is she.” But I’d say, “Happy Valentines, 'she'”...#

THE SUFFERING

[Posted on FB on February 10, 2016 at 5:40pm]

After watching a bootleg copy of “The Revenant,” a great film by Alejandro González Iñárritu starring the greater Leonardo DiCaprio, I could not help but in awe of human resilience considering that the acclaimed movie is based on a true-to-life story. Of course, we have reasons to suspect there is little if not full exaggeration in the presentation of the story but Hugh Glass, the main character, was just one of so many in this world of sin and misery who had experienced that similar kind of agony.

Try watching every sensitive film, past and present, which subject matter is dealing about the holocaust, for even a comedy like “Life is Beautiful” depicts how man would fight for his life, and for his loved ones, at all cost. 

And I could not avoid too to seriously ask, how far can a man bear the most searing pain he would ever have before he finally snaps? Well, it was the same curiosity perhaps that drove Adolf Hitler to experiment the Jews that he would know first-hand all the needed facts.

Some people are seriously certain that to them the most devastating of all is no other than the physical pain, while others insist it’s a matter of the heart instead as it could shatter reality as well as their dream. 

Me too, I used to believe and to tell everybody with full confidence that the most painful experience in human life is having two successive love rejections. But wait till one of your kids was confined to an infirmary and you just beg for caution as he swallows the pain in held-back tears for eight-times daily injections.

And when we speak matter-of-factly of emotional, mental, and physical torture ever applied to a human being, no way there could be worse than what had been experienced by Jesus Himself, God and man all the same:

He was slapped with trumped-up charges, struck with human fists, spat on His entire face as He was dragged brutally despite His bruises and a blister. This while He was carrying a heavy cross on where He would be nailed later, and stripped naked that all shame in the world would He totally bear. 

He was insulted with blunt words at their worst and harshest, chastised with spiked iron whip, crowned with thorns and impaled by a spear. He thirsted but was given a vinegar rather than water, yeah, He took all those things in total submission like a dumb lamb being led to his slaughter (Isa.53:7).

Only then we completely realize that no affliction nor travail in this life, at present and in the past, would be more painful and agonizing than what had been through by Jesus. And what’s more comforting is Paul’s exhortation for the just that “the sufferings of this present time, are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Rom.8:18).

THE CHINESE, ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING

[Posted on FB on February 10, 2014]

I rummaged sometime someone’s school yearbook wherein he had these words for the arrogant, the greedy and the rogues: “Not all the days are Sundays; a dog has its own day, but not all the days are for the dogs.”

I remember again that phrase upon every emergence of bolstering evidence and corroborating witness for those charged corrupt politicians in our midst who are the true dangerous dogs in all public societies. Like the real canines, they have zero ‘delicadeza’ and shame despite overwhelming evidence against them for they believe the world belongs to them and their puppies. Just like what think the Chinese.

I don’t consider our current president the greatest like Ramon Magsaysay whom I one time idolized, but let’s face it, P-Noy is far greater than Ramos, Erap and Gloria Macapagal Arroyo combined. 

Don’t you consider the abolition of “wang-wang” in this country the best thing that ever happened to you and me? Finally, the lords and commons in this administration have equal sharing and position in every country road, whether to glory or perdition.

You’ll know what I mean if you have experienced being bullied in the street while riding your motorcycle to save fare, when you’re almost sideswiped or nearly ran over by a trailer pick-up truck carrying a speedboat of an Iloilo Chinese zillionaire. 

And being nearly again bumped from behind by a convoy cruiser owned by a VIP without a warning, who they alleged loved to make life harder for his enemies during his time as congressman and king. 

Look now, every crook and cranky in those previous administrations that was previously untouchable, would now be finding his hands, as well as his records on file in the Ombudsman and Sandiganbayan and other courts, full.

I may not agree with P-Noy in every issue of the land but when it comes to this Chinese bullying, I will never take this sitting down metaphorically and literally since I also don’t take a seat when I’m FB-posting (so that I could turn around after clicking on something when all of a sudden here comes The Bossing). 

Personally, I salute P-Noy for his comparison of Chinese aggression to a preview of Hitler’s invasion of a Czechoslovakia region. Yeah, give Chinese a hand and he’ll devour your entire arm.

Do not believe when the Chinese says “peace,” because if you scrutinize the word surgically you’ll find that what he meant was “fakes.” They say that without sacrifice, there is no success. I’m tempted to say, ensure success, let’s sacrifice the Chinese. Dick the Butcher the adviser had to Cade’s ear this piece: “the first thing we do, let’s kill all the Chinese.”

Well, sometimes we really cannot avoid ourselves to feel homicidal and furious when the Chinese talk to the Philippines with arrogance rather than with the spirit of Confucius. Maybe the Chinese truly believe in that old dark saying, “In the end, China will win.” No wonder, conventional Filipinos ask the heavens when will America end China’s whim.

All they need and pray for is America’s lifetime guarantee in categorical statement for this land, like Uncle Sam’s recent declaration that in case China invades, he will protect Japan. But concerning our country, the United States of America’s hymnal answer, heard then in the city and the farm, to such prayer is also a prayer in return, “Heaven watch the Philippines, keep her safe from harm.” 

As if indirectly saying, “Fight your own war but when it comes to our own war against the likes of Iraq and Iran, our private enemies, perceived and created, I demand your help and assurance.”

Well, it depends on us, like the Abba, we could “take a chance,” who knows, when we’re besieged by the Chinese later, America would help perchance. But I have this very strong hunch: the probability that America will help us in our turf war with China is called Chinaman’s chance.

WORDS IN THE WORLD

[Memories from February 6, 2017 at 1:15pm]·

“It’s only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away…”

These familiar words from my favorite singing group back in high school were my battle cry each time I’d like to woo someone I found to be cool (read: beautiful). Mother may have had boldly argued with anybody that I also had pretty face yet when it came then to girls, it was my words that won my case, partially or in full.

Yeah, I reluctantly admit that I am not good at oral avowal of love because I am a man of slow tongue and slow speech, so to speak.  Nevertheless, back then, I was already fond of writing words when I needed to convey a message too hard to express using my beak.

Falling in love with someone you adore while you both live under one roof for one whole semester, with whom you walk every night to and from school and still you couldn’t speak love is a big boner. That’s why other people settle themselves to become a “mere” writer. But they write only for personal satisfaction and not to make a career.

However, some horribly found out not everything that is made through writing produces a good result. Sometimes, no matter how good their intentions are, things could turn out bad, and it’s their fault.

Being overwhelmed with joy sometimes causes indiscretion and lack of wisdom if not bereft of knowledge. There could be no such thing as sympathy and humanity for the rest even if there’s glaring absence of malice.

But all these years regardless of what others said against me, like disturbing my peace, I never stopped believing in the human race. I believe there’s always a good side in every man, and like the rest, he would know that in all rules, there are some exceptions to these.

But like then, I have quite bitterly learned once again:  Some words are much better left unsaid.

And unwritten.