The Boss

Once all body parts assembled and decided to elect a boss for the entire body. 

Many parts applied.

The brain said, “I should be the boss because I am the one who thinks, recognizes and makes the decisions”. 

The heart said, “I should be the boss because without my continuous pumping of blood all of you are dead”. 

The eye said, “I give vision, and without vision all of you are as good as dead”. 

The legs said, “I should be the boss because without me you can’t go anywhere”.

Then the asshole also decided to apply. 

All other body parts laughed so hard at the asshole's desire to be the boss.

They could not stop laughing for a long time. 

This made the asshole upset and so he closed up in silent protest.

After a while, the entire body was feeling the effects of the asshole’s rebellion.

Soon the brain clouded up and was no longer as sharp. The eyes blurred and had difficulty focusing. The heart started to palpitate and beat erratically. The legs grew wobbly and did not have enough strength to stand, much less go anywhere.  

They realized the importance of the asshole and so they unanimously decided to make him the boss.

The asshole was so happy, he immediately opened up, let go of all the crap and the body went back to normal.

The moral of the story: 

You don’t have to be a brain to be the boss…

…An asshole can do the job.

Author’s Note: I read this somewhere but I can’t remember where. I just tried to re-tell the story the best I could.

Gift or Curse

I'm not trying to sound like Spider-Man.

I like the guy but I like Superman and Wolverine better.

Anyway, what I'm talking about is my ability to talk to myself in the second person and listen in the third (sometimes even the fourth depending on my psycho-analytic mood).

Although this has been a great help inasmuch as refining my values and analyzing my beliefs are concerned, for the past few months, the revelations I have been uncovering have been becoming more and more disturbing than ever.

In fact, going through it, I usually imagine myself as St. John the Divine as he was being shown the Revelation of Jesus Christ or as Dante as he descended into the rings of his Inferno.

As I go through this process, more and more do I hope and grope for that elusive and non-existent "Reset Button", or better yet, the "Delete Button".

Oftentimes, it is easy to talk about moral, emotional and spiritual restructuring, but it truly is an impossible task when you can't let go of certain things that you need to.

My second person (the ever-dependable confidante, the one I talk to) espouses, I can just concentrate on the things I need to concentrate on such as family and work. He can take care of all other things I am still having an attachment to and I don't need to know or worry about them. Sounds great, except that I would still be privy to whatever he's up to and that knowledge alone is enough to get me off course like a ship with a broken gyroscope and compass and is caught in the middle of a tempest in the high seas.

My third person (the silent but discerning listener, who's also one hell of a bad ass) believes I usually create my own problems by deliberately refusing to let go of past attachments. He says I'm one greedy son of a bitch, wanting everything but refusing to compromise and giving no quarter whatsoever. He's convinced I have sticks the size of Redwoods up my ass and they're up too deep they're poking my medulla oblongata and my hypothalamus - which explains my inexplicable moral-spiritual-emotional attachments and quirks. He recommends I subject myself to a jumbo-sized enema and rectal surgery by none other than Vlad the Impaler.

My fourth person (the one with logic colder than deep-space ice) says the situation is easy. I just need to make a list of things that I don't really need. Emotions should be set aside as well as any kind of attachment when making the list. Once the list is complete, all I need to do is to let go of those things. Leave them behind and move on and never look back. he says, this is my primordial "Reset Button".

Both my second and my third disagree with him because they know that as soon as I follow his advise, all of them would inevitably disappear. My fourth seems unaffected by this prospect. He's for logical solutions and nothing more. This is the reason why my fourth is usually left uninvited during "Introspective Meetings". But somehow, he still manages to be in the loop with everything.

Sometimes I think he's psychic.

Before anyone of you guys get any ideas, I'm not going cuckoo.

Far from it. I've never felt more sane than ever before.

I think it's the rest of the world that's going crazy.

Thursday Bloody Thursday

Last Thursday was an emotional rollercoaster.

The initial “tamer” part of the rollercoaster happened when I went to my daughter’s school's children's party in line with the celebration of Children’s Month.

The party was fine. Despite my daughter throwing a tantrum early in the morning because of a "minor misunderstanding" with her mother regarding her hairstyle, she immediately lightened up as soon as we got to the school and she saw her friends.

They presented a Hawaiian dance and I think it was cute with all their costumes and inability to keep up with the beat. You can see they were having fun though. Some classes presented a variety of other dances and songs. It was fun and I enjoyed it.

When food was served during lunch, I heard some of her classmates complaining about not having enough cake or ice cream or not liking the way the spaghetti tasted or that the spring roll tasted funky or not being able to finish their food after just a few mouthfuls and all.

The usual whining that children at that age usually had.

My daughter was quiet though and tried to finish her food. I have always trained my children to finish their food the best they could. So she tried - in between glances to my direction. 

When she finished, she left half of her serving of chocolate cake which I let slide since my wife actually put a lot of it on her plate.

Overall, the party went okay.

In the afternoon, I joined my officemates to tend to another children's party. 

This time, it was in line with the City Government's own observance of Children's Month. We sponsored a Trick or Treat event for street children.

That's where the "gut-wrenching" part of the rollercoaster began.

When I arrived at the venue, the committee members were getting ready to feed the children. A local restaurant sponsored lunch for the streetchildren consisting of rice, fried chicken, buttered vegetables and a brownie.

It was pandemonium.

The children were rowdy and undisciplined. 

As soon as they saw that we were ready to distribute the food to them, they started yelling and shouting and scrambling to get their share. 

It reminded me of a movie where a wounded man accidentally slipped and fell into a piranha infested pool. Knowing, Hollywood, you probably know how it ended for the poor guy.

Fish food.

After noisily finishing up their food in a split second, the children saw that one of the committee members still had an unopened food pack. As soon as he announced, he's giving the food to whoever was still hungry, he got mobbed!

Huge mistake!

I was half expecting him to lose an arm or half a leg when 60 children lunged at him asking for their share of that one food pack. 

Poor guy in a pool of piranhas.

During the actual trick or treating activity to store owners in the city-owned mall, we got smart and assigned one marshall for every five children. We knew how stubborn these kids can be so we made it as manageable as possible for the marshalls. Before they did their rounds though, the children gave a special presentation. They sang three songs; the City Hymn and a couple other church songs.

It seemed as if the entire mall went silent when they began singing and I felt a small pinch in my heart as I listened.

The songs were sung in acapella. Amidst the dissonant sound and their off-key singing you can hear them actually try to please everyone. With every rise and fall of their small voices and every wave of their skinny arms with the simple choreography I saw, for the briefest moment, a flicker of hope in their young eyes. Hope that there is, somehow, some bright future awaiting them.

I don't easily get moved by these things. But I couldn't help but get glassy-eyed as I watched them sing.

I quickly blinked the threatening dam away and glanced around to make sure no one was watching.

The hypnosis ended as soon as the children finished their songs and started to get excited about all the goodies that'll start filling up their bags.

The rounds were completed without incident.

We fed them dinner afterwards and it was a sequel to their horror story of a lunch. 

Worse even, they started throwing food at each other. One boy even chased a little girl who was making faces at him and gave her a quick right-hook that hit her smack on the kisser - but not before she hurled a left counterpunch that would have put most Mexican boxers to shame.

The rollercoaster ride ended 30-minutes later.

That night, as I was huddled in front of my PC working, I remembered the entire day. It started playing in front of my eyes and right at the computer screen like an old movie.

Just as I was banishing the memory to concentrate on work, my kids came to me and gave me their customary goodnight kisses. My daughter was a bit more tender as she hugged me tight and said, "Love you Papa" before giving me a peck on the cheek.

It was then that the dam broke.

I wanted to rail and rant at the parents of those children we handled earlier in the afternoon. Their irresponsibility and inambition left those poor kids with a future that may be best described by Ninoy Aquino's favorite song - probably their parents' favorite videoke song as well.

From time to time, we get a glimpse of that ever widening chasm between the haves and the have nots. But none is probably more mocking in it's blatant ugly truthfulness as seeing the gap in the faces of young children.

I can, at least, do something about my own children.

But what about the rest?

She

She was like

A breath of fresh air

In a scorching desert

Refreshing yet fleeting

Gone sooner than she arrived

Which makes you think

Was she real or just a make believe

Yet even as she vanished

She was able to provide

A few moments of reprieve

From the discord

That I feel

Like music

Floating

Like leaves

In a puddle

Rippling the tears

Of an unsolved riddle

Life and love merged

In that transient moment

Time and space

Bent forward and backwards

As if light passing through a crooked prism

Bathing my being

In a dance

Of light and shadow

And defining my very existence

Even for but a faint second

How can a short episode

Of a union of souls

Rival a lifetime

Of pre-supposed peace?

How can love so pure and true

And enduring

Be shrouded in lies?

Author's Note: This is one of the few surviving free verses I wrote impromptu from college

Random Sky Shots

I once accompanied my sister-in-law on a business transaction aboard a cargo ship they were commissioned to do repairs on (She and her husband run a company that sells and repairs power generators and stuff).

They had me along because they needed my "communication skills", as the owner of the ship was a foreigner (Greek, I think) and both husband and wife were somewhat intimidated by the prospect of dealing with someone who speaks another language (we spoke in English, not Greek, in case you're wondering).

Anyway, we stayed onboard the cargo ship for about three days. It was not really a 'memorable experience' as one would define such but it afforded me some rare chances to take snapshots of the sky in that magical time when night succumbs to day.

Here are a few shots:

I have always been fascinated by the colors of the sky especially in the early mornings and late afternoons.

It's amazing how quickly its colors and hues can change right before your eyes without you noticing.

Take a look at these next three pictures. They were all taken from the same spot all within a 5-minute period.

Notice the moon glowing faintly on the first one?

And here are some shots from my own backyard one afternoon not very long ago.

And have you ever wondered how differently a single scene changes depending on the colors the sky paints it with at different parts of the day?

Not even Michaelangelo, Leonardo (and the rest of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...LOL!) can do justice to the beauty of the sky's ever changing palette.

Aint God wonderful for giving us such a canvass adorned with his own masterpiece as a canopy over our heads?

Author's Note: Pictures were taken using a Motorola V3i phone.

Of Compiling Life Stories

From time to time, we come across something (or someone) that has a way of jolting us out of our self-imposed stupor and slapping us with ice-cold insight that never fails to shove our faces straight into this porridge filled bowl we call ‘our perfect lives’ and re-evaluate the way it tastes - first at the lips, then the tongue and later at our grissly insides before it gets slopped up into every single cell of our so-called life.

Life is a collection of pictures and videos and songs and files and what-nots stored, at times haphazardly, in what I have come to refer as man's 'bio-hard drive'.

These experiences are interwoven into a delicate fabric that make up our life stories. The more experiences, the more intricate the pattern.

Consciousness, after all is simply a continuing story - a tale we weave with every single thing we do - and we get to decide how it twists and turns and ends and continues like a river snaking it's way from the mountain where it's spawned, through forests and meadows, through deserts and marshes, until it finds its way to the sea.

I have always thought of myself as an early bloomer.

I was preparing dinner with my mother for my siblings at the same time that my peers were wading and playing in knee-deep mud puddles. I was helping out my father do home fixes at the same time that my peers were ranting about the kind of brakes their bikes should have. I was working in a minesite as a laborer shoveling rocks and mine goop at the same time that my peers were enjoying high school summer vacation. I was already initiated into the sinful indulgences of the flesh at the same time that my peers were giggling like schoolgirls about their first kisses. I was starting out a career in teaching at the same time that my peers were still unsure what to study in college. I could continue on but I’m sure you get the picture.

With these ‘advanced experiences’ I have always held my head over and above my age level (and sometimes those a bit older than myself) thinking, “I’ve seen more than you can possibly dream. You haven’t seen anything yet, buster.”, as I feigned interest in their own stories.

But recently, I simply realized an entirely new perspective in my life’s experiences that I’ve never ever seen before.

You see, I’ve long since stopped savoring my moments. Food is fuel so you just gobble it up. After all you don’t see cars lingering in the gas station ’savoring’ the fresh injection of diesel in their tanks. A beach in any part of the world is simply the same - salty water meeting sand and sometimes testing its resolve against rock cliffs.

I have stopped compiling my stories thinking I had enough.

But right after I came across an article, a rant or whatever (I can't remember) that talked about continuously writing your stories and looking at the world through the eyes of people who knew what living was all about, I realized how wrong I was in thinking I had enough.

Now I have a newly reborn desire to pile it up, absorb it all and to try to breathe it out in paper and ink so I could show it off like the spoils of conquest.

Simply put, if at this stage (I’m 33) and I already have stories that will make most people I know who are in their 40’s and even 50's look like kindergarten, what more if I was older?

I have always been told that you should pile up riches in places where moths and rust don't eat and destroy.

Well, let me now pile up my stories. Let me continue to revel in the beauty and enthusiasm of life. Let me bathe in its triumph and defeats. Let me marvel at the enormity of life's span and scope. And hopefully in the end, when I get to sit with my progeny gathered around my feet and staring at my wrinkled countenance, I would have a wealth of stories to tell them - of the dragons I slayed and of the maidens I danced with and kissed, of the tears I shed and the happiness that made me want more, of the music I've heard and the silences I treasured, of the memories that made me full and the experiences that colored me.

Summer has ended as I am writing this, but I feel like the sun’s beating at my shoulders and stinging my eyes as I feel sweat trickling down my back as the humid air fills my lungs and the salty and tangy scent of skin fills my head.

It’s summer all over again and this has got to be the best I’ve had ever.

On The Logic Of The Foolish

Foolish people never learn.

That is, what experience and life teaches them never really sticks. They remember it while the licks are still fresh, but as soon as the flesh cools down, the memory of the lesson supposed to be learned vanishes like morning mist towards the midday.

There is a reason why we say, "history repeats itself." 

The most common is that because it does. If you want to go academic, there are plenty of proof that this is true; the Dialectic, the Principle of Socio-Political Cyclical Movement, Psycho-Social Patterns etc. Even the Bible says, "That which hath been is now: and that which is to be hath already been".

Given this premise, it is then logical that we really should "learn from our mistakes", or "heed the wisdom of those who have gone before" or "remember the lessons of the past for reference to the future". Because if history repeats itself, it follows that the difficulties that come with it also repeats itself. In which case if you've encountered a particular problem in the past, you will encounter it again today or tomorrow and you're in trouble if you don't remember how you can solve it.

This truth applies not only to singular aspects of life but in multiple occurrences in a several alternate planes.

After all a man is not just a man. He is a son, a brother, a friend, a master, a husband, a lover, an enemy and the list goes on. And each of these alternate planes have its own history of decisions and indecisions. And all these realities are intertwined in a single complex fabric of experiences that encompass the entirety of a person's life memory.

It follows then that if a person sees a pattern that recurs several times in one of his life planes, it is understandable that he take measure to prevent any negative effects that this may bring about. If it persists, then he can continue trying to shield himself or he can simply change the way he looks at it. Maybe the pattern is an integral part of the fabric.

Most of the time, it is.

As such, there would be no sense fighting it as doing so would only disrupt the fabric and possibly even create a tear.

Don't miss the forest for the tree.