Searching for Antidotes to Bad Places

One should not love something that one cannot own. Loving entails dreaming for that which one loves. And what would be the point of expending energy dreaming for  that which one will never be a part of?

****

Alice stares at Jonas while he was sleeping. She cannot help feeling like a voyeur; but since  this is the only time she can permit herself to be with him without being defensive or guarded, she relishes such moments.

She stares at his eyelashes — the ones she had, once upon a time, found so entrancing — resting peacefully against his wasted face. She still loves his eyelashes; and as she remembers how he used to get annoyed when she teased him about them, she smiles.

Alice wonders how a man who possesses such lovely eyelashes can turn (wittingly or unwittingly) into a monster.

*****

She remembers the time he held her hand, that far-off time; a stormy June at the faculty lounge. 

He brought her lunch at 4 pm: siopao, dimsum and chinese noodles. She was grateful, nervous and hungry. And he was looking at her with a mixture of fondness and amusement as she was eating.

He was telling her about Helen. His ex-girlfriend who was a drug addict.

“I haven’t heard from her for years. Then she called the university looking for me.” Jonas was tracing random figures on her palm. It felt ticklish but he was so absorbed in it that she let him go on.

“She was in trouble,” he continued. “She got into a group that was really bad for her. She quit her job and was not living in their house.”

“Where was Helen staying?” Alice asked, not that she was particularly interested.

“A bad place,” Jonas answered simply. “They uhmmm, they were blackmailing her. She had photos with them and they were threatening to release those photos and humiliate her and her family.”

“Why did she go to you for help?”

“I don’t know. She just did.”

“Do you always remain  friends with your ex-girlfriends?” she teased him.

He smiled, “I try.”

*****

Years later, after that conversation, when Alice was Jonas’s pseudo-ex-girlfriend, he told her that he really really wanted to kiss her then, in that faculty lounge. But he was afraid that she might bolt or slap his face. Given the person she was, Alice agreed with his conclusion.

****

How often can a person  change in one lifetime? Now Alice wonders.

She so wants to reach out and touch Jonas.

But she is afraid that he might bolt, slap her face. Or worse.

*****

 

Author’s comments (not that I matter in this story): I have always been  more partial to Nat than to Betty. So I choose to believe that Alice will turn into Scarlett Johansson and save Jonas from himself. Or, will it be the other way around?

 

Advertisements

Better Late Than Never

Yesterday, December 10, was International Human Rights Day.

Sixty-nine years ago yesterday, this document was signed by 48 states including my beloved country.

The creation of the document was mainly a reaction (horrified, deeply saddened, remorseful, resolute) of the world to the atrocities that happened in World War II (which is just a sequel to World War I; just in case someone becomes interested in making a superhero-movie out of it — there’s your marketing strategy people.)

Image from TheHumanist.com

*****

Jesus was probably the 1st (well-documented) human rights advocate. John the Baptist was also maybe a human rights advocate too; but we do not know that much about him — King Herod beheaded him upon the request of Salome in behalf of her mom Herodias  whose  marriage to Herod was criticized by John the Baptist as unlawful because Herodias was already married to Herod’s brother. Yeah, this was the soap opera during Antiquity.

From Pinterest

I am not really sure about Gautama Buddha’s position on human rights; he was a proponent of The Noble Eightfold Path which emphasized a lot on doing the “right” things, but I bet he would relegate “human rights” into the background if it derailed the Eightfold Path.

As for Confucius —  naah, definitely not a human rights advocate. Someone whose worldview emphasized believing in your parents (and other authorities) even after they are dead would not a human rights advocate make.

I will not say anything about the Prophet Mohammed at this point out of respect for my adoptive country. (But … note to myself: write an article about how lip-smackingly delicious forbidden sex can be, consensual sex of course, once you are out of Dune.)

****

In any case, the concept of human rights, and its subsequent adoption as a basis for human relations, changed the world as we know it. It’s much like the Eukaryote Revolution, but on a smaller scale.

Because of human rights, people do not have to worry about being killed arbitrarily — the law is supposed to protect them from that; which is why “murder” is a crime and the state is the only one with the authority doing the killing (ooops, this is still a muddlesome subject in human rights circles).

Human rights, supposedly, should prevent authoritarian regimes from having absolute power over their people.

Human rights made us recognize women’s rights (which are creatures who are also human, you know, even if they do not have a Y chromosome).

Human rights made us more sensitive to persons with disabilities (PWDs). So now, PWDs do not have to secure online appointment and can just walk-in to the Department of Foreign Affairs Office to secure a Philippine passport.

****

So there are many reasons to love International Human Rights Day … hence I wrote this blog post even if it is a day late.

On a side-note, related to my country’s present predicament (and maybe related to women’s rights? and state rights? and uhmmm s-e-x!!!? ehem there is such a things as sexual and reproductive health and rights or SRHR boys and girls) one of my favorite bloggers just said this, and I quote: “Saying ‘I love you’ to get a good lay is not right.” Wow … 🙂

Image from PhilNews.ph

 

Just Because Today is Feast of the Immaculate Conception*

I have always been a Mommy’s girl.

*****

When I was 5 years old, my brother got sick; so my mother would not let me sleep beside her because I might disturb my brother who had the privilege to sleep with her in view of his illness (that malingering twerp!). So Mommy told me to sleep beside Daddy instead. I erupted into a humongous insufferable fit of tantrums which resulted in a particularly vicious spanking. (When I related this tale to G, he just laughed and said that I totally deserved the punishment. G is another rascal, in the same league as my brother.)

I hated my Dad because he did not speak my language (Ilokano); he always wanted me to hug him (which seemed so needy and hence uncool); and he had all these hair on his face that made him look like a villain (see Max Alvarado, Paquito Diaz et al; all self-respecting Pinoy movie villains have moustaches).

So I loved my mother more (sorry Daddy). Given the choice between being a slut and being an old maid, I would have chosen the latter, not because of any deep abiding principle or a lack of proclivity — but out of love for my mother (who, after she died, I learned had been a slut after all, but that’s another story — courtesy of my Dad).

*****

from Reporter.ph

I got into all that personal introduction because of Leila de Lima. 

Yup, that Leila de Lima — the one with the alleged sex video and who was an alleged drug lord and is now imprisoned without bail.

I love Ms. de Lima, the same way I loved my mother.

I do not care if she fucked the whole basketball team and made a documentary out of it. (I mean, really, Mocha Uson and Sass Sassot have probably done worse.)

I do not  care if she was a strict, by-the-rules, priggish marmalade who was into human rights in ways that are impracticable in a slave-country like the Philippines.

I do not care if she is fat (although she lost weight after a year in prison and now she looks really great — eat your heart out Digong!), has boring outfits (fashion sense borrowed from Dinky Soliman; Ms. Leila, you should borrow Kris Aquino’s stylists more often), and a pedestrian taste in men (Really? Your driver?).

*****

from pinterest

I love her for all that she reminds me of my Mom — the steadfastness, the tenacity, the you-don’t-give-me-no-bullshit attitude.

I love that when she testified during the impeachment of Renato Corona, she brought her aging father who was a former government servant into the august halls of the Senate.

I love that she went after human rights violators who ordered the killing of children in their bailiwicks because of drug use — only a woman with true sense of compassion can understand that no, KILLING A CHILD IS WRONG. The child became a monster because of the adult. And if anybody should be blamed and gutted here, it should be the adults that allowed these kids to go out into the world in the first place. Only a mother can understand a mother’s heartbreak when that same child (no matter how Lucifer-like he/she is) dies.

I love how she carried herself during the time in the Senate when every self-righteous so called anti-drug-wannabe in this world ganged up on her. On the other hand, maybe I do not love her that much during that time — she appeared shrill and harpy-ish. But then, with all that stress, can we blame her?

And now, I love her while she is in prison, because of the patience and grace with which she handles this ordeal.

*****

from Pinterest

When she died, my mother gave me the most precious gift — my freedom.

Fact is, I do not consider her giving me life (as in allowing her egg to be fertilized, going through almost 9 months of gestation and expelling me out of her vagina) as something she gave to me; rather, it was something she gave to herself.

(I did say in so many words, somewhere in this blog, that wanting to be/being a biological parent entails a bit of narcissism.)

But my mother’s dying was another matter. It set me free; in every way a person can be free.

It is probably morbid of me to thank her — but here it is: Thank you Mommy.

====

*This is such a looong post, but the point of it is (as the title suggests): It irks me no end that the only time we consider women to be heroes is when they go through Virgin Births. I mean, seriously!?

Margaux Stalks JL Or How to Plot the Perfect Revenge

(a continuing  story)

I’ve always hated ugly smarty pants bitch do-gooders. I don’t trust them. People who do not have apparent skeletons in their closets are elitist cunts who love to lord their lily pure resumes over you.

I have done plenty of stuff  that I am not proud of. But I am honest enough to admit them. Besides, I have paid my fucking dues, lots of times, most of them on my knees.

I am trying to better myself, you pig-face – that’s why I posted those photos of myself studying.

(By the way, I totally agree with Mam Lory when she said you are ugly enough to arouse reverse erection in a man. Lory should know what she’s talking about since she studied Anatomy and actually finished medical school, while you are just a fucking law student.)

And yeah, assholes, I read that book. Not cover-to-cover, as I do have a day job that I try to fulfill as faithfully as I can; but I read enough to know that what differentiates  so-called lawyers from me is just the amount of words that they use. Hell, I can infuse my fucking sentences with wherefore and therein and you scumbags will be impressed by my erudition. (Hah! See I do know big words you motherfuckers!)

So, JL you fat-porky-excuse-of-a-female, yeah see you in school … and we will see if you will still be laughing when I seduce your fucking boyfriend right under your nose. The only reason he sticks it in you is because he’s never had anyone better. He thinks you are the pot of gold. Well honey, wait til I make him come. Ha, ha, ha ….

Being smart does not mean you can make the world a better place. Look at all those smarty pants debating on whether giving the vaccines to the kids was right or wrong. Some of them are saying only 1% of those vaccinated will have a severe infection. That 1% is more than a thousand children, pea-brains. If your kid is one of those 1% what would you fucking feel? Not so good, yeah?

The problem with know-it-alls like you is that you do not recognize that you are already doing Oplan Tokhang in your own way.

You. Are. Hypocrites. You accuse my Big Daddy of genocide when all he wants is to rid this country of hopeless criminals who do not deserve to live anyway. But you cannot even see that you are committing the same thing to this country’s children. And yeah I’m not a scientist or a doctor but between killing children and killing criminals, well I think killing criminals is way better.

Enough with this ranting. I still have that goddamned book on Constitutional Law to plod on and pictures to upload on FB. It’s getting late and I haven’t removed my makeup and put on my moisturizer. Dry skin is the least of my worries though. These genital warts are killing me. I really have to get them cauterized. Again.

I wonder which dickhead retard SOB gave me this infection. I swear if I find the bastard I will castrate him and feed him his balls!

This is what Kris and I have in common. I love her! That’s a secret but I do — I mean, have you noticed that I do not bash her too much? She is just sooooo inspiring (I love her skin, her style, her hair and her bags are just glorious!) …. and if she could beat Chlamydia, then I can survive genital warts!

Maybe I should have listened to my OB when she told me to get that HPV vaccine?

Shit.

****

References:

https://pinoyakoblog.com/blog/mochang-studious/

https://pinoyakoblog.com/blog/epekto-sa-mga-health-worker/

http://filipinogerman.blogsport.eu/up-to-200-filipino-children-risk-severe-dengue/

http://www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/philippines-rolls-out-worlds-first-dengue-vaccine

 

 

Orphans

Image from pinterest

I am ambivalent about the morality of assisted reproductive technology (ART). That may be a reason why, despite being a fascinating scientific area of study, I chose not to go into Reproductive Endocrinology. More’s the pity as there are less than 200 board-certified reproductive endocrinologists in the Philippines, a nation of 120 million.

This article is not about doctor-shortage (although it is tempting to make it about that as I have a lot of rant on that topic as well), but rather this is my ruminations about parenting.

***

Image from pinterest

The best and worst thing about having a progeny is being confronted with one’s mortality. It need not be a biological progeny: one can have a Grand Life Project — like maybe, “Giving Women the Right to Vote” (Alice Paul), or  “Ensuring Philippine Freedom From Colonial Spain” (Jose Rizal), or “Ending Marcos Tyranny” (Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino) etc etc.

If the point of living is to prepare us for dying then what better way to spend that prep time than to strive for something we are really passionate about. Life is to foreplay what orgasm is to dying.

Progenies remind us of death because they are what come after us — the orphans we leave behind.

It would be a wonderful universe if we leave our orphans with a situation that is better than what we had. Unfortunately, more often than not, the Universe  is cruel and uncaring. Our orphans are left destitute and scrounging for a place (any place) to exist. How many orphans have perished at the demise of their parents, I wonder?

We are puppies, kittens, cubs, nestlings, fingerlings, tadpoles, caterpillars — left behind by mothers and fathers who did not survive our births.

***

Image from Pinterest

Of course, it is a self-defeating attitude to resent a parent for not being strong enough to live. One is never ever ready to face a parent’s death. And a parent will never be able to protect its kid forever. That is Reality, sad but true.

***

Image from Pinterest

I was walking along a foreign road this morning, tears streaking down my face, remembering my mother. I would give an arm (the left one as I am right handed) to see her again.

Before she died I asked her plaintively what am I going to do when I have a kid of my own and she is not there. She said that I have my aunts to help me through that.

Well Mommy, that is an unsatisfying answer, I have expected something more Buddha-esque from you. To give you credit though, you have gone through more pain in your life than I can even imagine, so maybe I should cut you some slack for not being more philosophical.

While we are at it Mommy, let me remind you that being a doctor was never the greatest dream of my life. I can save a thousand bodies from dying an untimely death, but that will not satisfy my soul as much as making up stories can. Yes, I would rather be a professional liar than a professional healer. How’s that for a life goal, mother?

***

Were you a good parent or a bad one?

(I would think that I have a right to judge you as I am your progeny. And since you are dead, eviscerating you in print won’t matter very much.)

Image from Pinterest

What makes a “good parent” versus a “bad parent”?

Should parenting subsume one’s life at the expense of everything else, the way women have done for centuries?

Why are biological progenies supposedly more acceptable than non-biological ones?

The world is overpopulated with humans so what is the point of having more of us?

Image from Pinterest

***

Mommy I don’t want to sound nihilistic (although I know I am), but maybe your biggest mistake was having me?

I keep thinking that if I did not come along, you would have lived longer; the same way your older sister (the one who went to another country and shares my name) is now living her life to the fullest.

What was the point of having me Mommy?

Seriously … I cannot understand. That is my problem.

Image from Pinterest

The Definition of Consent in “Consensual Sex”

 

I am not a guy … and will never be one. (Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing will be for history to decide.)

I do have friends who are males; and my bestfriend in the whole world possesses an X and a Y chromosome. Most of what I know about maleness, I learned from him, so if my ideas are wrong, he is probably to blame 🙂

***

This morning, I got to thinking about hazing in fraternities and the morbidities and mortalities that arise of such practice.

Full disclosure: my bestfriend (the one who has the XY chromosome) went through such a practice himself and survived. So, that is my bias.

The thing is:

  1. There is a term called “informed consent.” And while the concept has been originally applied to medical procedures that will be done on a patient, the idea as a metaphor can apply in this case.
  2. People who enter fraternities are assumed to be adults (fraternities are banned in high schools and people below 18 are not allowed to join by the college).
  3. Adults are presumed to know what they want.
  4. It is not a big secret that initiation rites that may/may not involve hazing happen in fraternities. Like, hello, I may have been a naive ignorant virgin at 22 but even I knew that when my then boyfriend said he was paddled, it didn’t mean that they went kayaking.
  5. The adult neophyte was not bullied into joining, not coerced, not forced in any way — at least ideally that should be the case. Systemic factors may come into consideration like, some fields (dare I say Law School?) may have the reputation among undergrads that say “success in later career will be determined by being a Greek or non-Greek”, hence the pressure. But still, hey you are an adult, and a law student at that, and you caved in to peer pressure and allowed yourself to be humiliated and physically molested when you didn’t want to? What kind of lawyer will you turn out to be? I mean, just saying.
  6. This is where my data is hazy: the neophyte, can say “no” at anytime during the hazing process.

***

Now if you are wondering, why I kept blabbing about hazing when the title of my article is about consensual sex. Then read this:

Judge accused of ‘victim blaming’ for saying women risk rape by getting drunk

I have never seen, for the life of me, an argument in a hazing case that goes like this: “Neophyte was asking to die by getting into an organization that he knows involves an initiation rite where other guys will paddle him to death.”

Seriously.

***

In conclusion: the correct question during a trial investigating hazing where a victim died is “did, at any point in time, he say no?”

***

 

 

Stalking Teddy

I have a new crush.

His name is Teddy and he has long hair and he comes from a tribe of warriors.

The Northern part of my country had been infamous for head-hunting activities in their distant past; on the other  hand, the north is also famous for one of the Eight Wonders of the World, the Banaue Rice Terraces.

from Mr. Baguilat’s twitter

Mr. Baguilat is the representative of the lone district of Ifugao. He is 51 years old and I cannot find any details of a wife or partner  when  I googled him.

Can it be that he is still single? Waiting for THE ONE ? 🙂 🙂

In any case, Rep. Teddy is one of the more principled, outspoken, hardworking congressmen we have.

=====

I came across this interview in The Philippine Star … here are some excerpts:

What is your favorite occupation?
Writing documents, doing my communications, letters, project proposals, concept plans. My laptop is my loyal sweetheart. (imagine that, the guy is unattached!!!!)
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
As a constituent, patience. “Please be patient,” I tell constituents when they ask me for work or about their projects. (Teddy, I am the queen of Patience)

======

And no, this is definitely not a paid advertisement.

I just love the long hair.

from aminadoditalentado.blogspot.com