EXISTENTIAL CRAP

Warren Buffett is to be giving 85% of his wealth to charity?

I could easily top that.

I’d give away 100% of my hard-earned and most cherished asset.

Anyway, what’s the use of 85% of a coffee-maker? To be enjoyed fully like I did, it should be given away whole.

My coffee-maker is all that I can truly say as a fruit of  labor. I bought it when I was an employee.

All other material things that I use and enjoy are not, ah, the fruits of my labor. They are blessings or I’ll just say I am only a steward.

If the line “I am just a passing-through” on one of the Christian hymns were true (which, by faith, I believe so), then, I am a nomad’s nomad. For, if, someone will ask everyone to take their hard-earned possessions and move along, I’d be like a fly hovering above the heads of everyone else who - as if they were stuck in the mud - couldn’t move.

I am proud of it in the sense that I thank God for allowing the course of other people’s generosity lead to, um, me.

My loved ones believe that, to say the least, I have flashes of brilliance which I could use in my profession to earn some money so I could improve my personal asset, even if only just to make it plural.

Maybe I am like a stream in early April: the only way of knowing it’s a stream is that, well, there is supposed to be water flowing right on that spot.

It should not cause the heart to be troubled though, for wet season is just around the corner.

Blessings… The only nagging little burden that hangs onto it is the guilt of undeserved reward.

Critics say that one of the top movies of all time is Casablanca.

So I watched it.

All I can say is that that movie poured more booze and lit-up more cigarettes than any of the meanest movies I have ever seen.

Even liquor and cigarette companies would consider that movie too nauseating to watch and too vulgar -if it was to endorse their product.

Even in the most romantic scene -and considered a classic - I see smoke rising.

In that movie, every time a person stands still or seat, they pour him a drink. And to think, Casablanca is like the “50 First Dates” of the 1940’s!

Men in uniform populate the gin joint. Those men don’t have any business hanging around in such places; they should have been kicked out of service for violating the dress code.

But, of course, that was a bygone era, a time when drinking and smoking was like eating a donut and drinking coffee nowadays- only, more fashionble.

It wouldn’t bother me seing a uniformed policeman at a Mister Donut.

One might say “they’re supposed to drink and smoke because the setting was in a bar”.

What about in the airplane hangar?

Recently, a tortoise died at the age of 250.

In the days of Noah, it’s not unusual to live to almost a thousand years.

After a period of test run, God decided to reduce the life expectancy of man down to 120 years max.

Not only was that God not content with man for being mortal but also because they were so evil that there is no reason to grant them more time to waste. Who wouldn’t?

But the issue is like ‘chicken and egg’.

The hearts of men were generally evil, precisely, because they had long lives!

For heaven’s sake, even for a life expectancy of 60 years, people today couldn’t stay good for just a fraction of it! Imagine how much evil I would accumulate if my life would go on for another 840 years?

I think that the people of today deserved the flood more than those people in the time of Noah. If the ‘good’ days of the people of old were to be added up, out of those 900 years, it would accumulate to something close to, say, - a conservative figure of - 120 years.

That’s equivalent to two lifetimes, already - amazing display perfection!

That is why compared to the people of today? Those people who died in the flood were angels.

People of today?

I’ll put it like this: it is not surprising anymore to see some people being converted to some form of religion in their deathbed!

Live your whole life in folly and decide to submit to a Christian life for about 6 hours or much less. And hope you don’t commit sin in that span of time.

What a difficult task. I wouldn’t want to be in anyone of these guys’ shoes.

Considering the great plan of redemption –the New Testament, God would really have to greatly reduce man’s life because it is the only way that the gospel of Jesus would fit in and make sense.

How?

If I am still living in the time of Noah and someone in the street is proclaiming “repent, the end is near”, I would wonder what he is talking about. The word ‘near’, in relation to my lifespan, could be 500 years in the future.

No need to rush.

The success of spreading the gospel is partly due to its sense of urgency. For all I know the word ‘urgency’ was invented after the great flood.

What could be so urgent when I’m 200 and planning to have my second child at 535?

I believe there were fewer cases of suicides in those days. If one had already made up his/her mind about committing suicide…then, it must be that bad.

There’d be a very little chance that no one could convince a suicidal person not to do it. “Don’t do it. There’s still hope, my friend, your still young, your only 90, you still have a millennium ahead of you!…Don’t you want to see your children grow up to be fine young 200 year olds?…I am sure you’d have a stable job 100 years from now… Ok, so your life, at present sucks. Let this one slide, stay low for about 50 years and then start a new life”. By then, everybody, including himself, would have forgotten all about it.

Compared to today’s longevity, it’s like; I’ve been given 10 (Like a cat) lifetime opportunities to pursue a quality life. Life like that, who needs reincarnation?

“Boy, after undergoing the triple bypass operation, I feel like 400 again!”

I’m sure, in those days, stress was unheard of.

A person can tell he won’t live long when he’s always under stress.

Simply put, a symptom of a short lifespan is stress.

They say that stress causes some illness that will shorten a person’s life. I say it’s the other way around.

Stress is just a manifestation of a short lifespan.

I believe, that, by the time a person is born its body already knows how long it will live - An info that the owner of the body doesn’t know about.

It works probably like, um, adrenalin; it impels the body to work frantically once it realizes it only has, say, 40 years to exist.

So what stress does is to squeeze-in the same amount of what an ordinary 80 years usually can accommodate in 40 years.

That’s how fair life is.

So, a person who lives a stressful life seems to be working doubly hard, because, really he does.

By the time he’s 40 he’ll die and doctors will claim he died of some kind of heart ailment due to stress.

No, it was really time for him to go.

They will make it appear that stress is the culprit when they should have been thankful, for giving the man a taste of full life… in half the time.

Everybody notices how technologies quickly advance and how things change at a fast pace.

Everything in the universe works proportionately. That’s how it achieves a sense of equality. So the faster things change, proportionately, the shorter the lifespan of people become.

That’s why in the third world, where life expectancy is very low, the very poor usually experience it all in one day and on a daily basis. So it’s like, anytime, they’re ready to go. It’s not unusual to see men who work like slaves during the day and engage in an unparalleled blissful drinking binge after work.

If the drinking turns bloody, then, they should even be more grateful.

Of course, life was slow in the time of Noah. If life were still like in the days of old, then, I won’t be surprised to see Lapu-lapu still on his third leg of a nationwide victory parade for killing a foreign invader… Newer versions of game consoles and car models would come in every decade…retro fashion means, me, naked and holding a spear.

While the phrases ‘love your enemy’ was made popular by Jesus and ‘sleeping with the enemy’ is contemporary, ‘Forgive and forget’ and ‘time heals’ could be just two of many phrases that are still being used today that have their roots in the time of Noah.

=)

I read that 1 in every 125 Americans is a millionaire, and 8 out of 10 millionaires are 60 and above.*

This is an encouraging stat to those who chat. One needs only to have 125 messenger contacts and chances are, one of them is a real millionaire, as in, in US dollar.

That’s it!

The road leading to the land of overflowing milk and honey never had it so wide and well-paved for Pinays.**

Some even have come so close they could taste it, or so they think: for the way they talk…as if they’re already there…long ago.

Riches couldn’t come much easier than this, like it just drops on one’s lazy lap, because, maybe for reason of divine intervention, noticeably, all of those collections of American chatmates are geriatrics. Again, chances are, of all the old-fart chatmates, only a couple is a pervert bum and the rest are rich pervs.***

…Dirty old men?

Whose hands wouldn’t get dirty if he is counting a million dollars?

*     I made up the latter stats (But it could be true)

**   Some Pinays only

*** not all, some are really sincere companion seekers.

Instead of jumping for joy for Pacquiao, I felt bad when I saw Erik Morales down on all fours. He is my idol. I even love his name. Only Michael Jordan, Hakeem Olajuwon, and, yes, the ear-biting Mike Tyson (if only he would have the opportunity to taste dinakdakan, it’s going to be love at first bite for him) would rank higher in my list of favorite athletes.

Pacman would be right up there on the list also for the thrilling fights he gives everytime. In regards to his boxing ability, for me, even Gerry Peñalosa is a far more technically-sound boxer. But it is like comparing Alvin Patrimonio to Samboy Lim. Summer basketball clinics can’t teach to kids what Samboy does inside the playing court. Just like Samboy, Pacman draws his appeal and popularity from his innate crowd-pleasing charisma. Samboy’s high leaping ability, ‘come what may’ aerobatics and his unassuming personality not only made him a much-loved player, it also forced him him into an early retirement from too much injuries. At the height of Samboy’s career, every time he touches the ball, everybody would scream expecting a spectacular play. Patrimonio was a great player but not as thrilling to watch as Samboy. Samboy drives hard first, and while in mid-air, plans on what to do next- but usually decides on an impossible shot. The most obvious similarity between Samboy and Pacman is that they both look awkward in their sport: The reason why Samboy is so accident prone is because he jumps and lands awkward, and almost always on the receiving end of a hard foul - The most horrifying was committed by Jojo Lastimosa. When they collided, Samboy was so high up, that when he spun out of control with his back parallel to the floor, he almost kicked the rim. Paramedics carried him out of the playing court on a stretcher.

The same case is true for Pacman. Whenever he delivers his straight left, he gives it all that he lunges forward awkwardly, momentarily losing balance, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable to counter-punches. But that’s exactly his bread and butter, he wouldn’t be the famous Pacman he is now of he is cautious.

Maybe the reason why I admire Morales is that he doesn’t look like an athlete to me…I don’t consider myself as an athletic type. Aside from being undeniably an “el terrible guapo”, he’s a lot like me in built – only thinner, especially during official weigh-ins (I’m 140+ lbs. and considered a skinny already by those who’ve known me and expect more because of my ability to consume much - they should see the eating champ, small and thin, Sonya Thomas beat her opponents 5 times her own size – how would I look 10 lbs. less?). 

So, just like Pacman, who gives hope to every poor, but hardworking, Filipino youth who’d been enduring a life of hardship which, incidentally, made him emotionally and physically tough (like the part of a song that goes something like “ang kakisigan ko’y sumpa ng kahirapan”), Morales fuels the fantasy of guys, like me, who are beyond their youth, and whose underdeveloped torsos and prominent ribs, makes even undressing alone an embarrassingly difficult task.

Morales is like the Larry Bird of boxing. Larry Bird looks like a corporate guy -only taller. I think it’s his and Bill Laimbeer’s level of athleticism that the assumption “white man can’t jump” was based upon. I’m not saying Morales is not that athletic because it takes great athletic skill to deliver a counterpunch with great accuracy and power while twisting the body to avoid a lightning straight left. But like Larry Bird, Morales is an intelligent fighter.

There are so many young men around who’ve got what it takes to become good boxers, but in most cases, only the smart ones become champions. In one construction site alone there are plenty of contenders. I had a laborer nicknamed Dodong -from Pacland also -whom I played basketball with…and boy was he tough and his stamina was infinite. He had no excess fat and those six-pack (pandesal) of his I could punch all day and he’d probably feel nothing.

When I was a young boy in the province I had a distant cousin who boxed on the regional level. He’s a lot like Dodong in built. I don’t know what his real name was, but I remember everyone he knew calls him “Puraw” (white) because he’s Caucasian-like. I also remember he had a balikbayan sister, who was in her teens, from the

US

. I was only 7 years old then, but I already could tell what is smoking hot, and she was a prime specimen. Her nickname was ‘Tililing’.

After a short stint at boxing, Puraw went to the States also. I remember his training time was at around 3pm, right after watching old Pilipino Movies on RPN 9. He would turn off the TV and let everyone out – only a few household had TV sets back then, which explains the neighbors gathered in and around his house.  He trained in their living room and everyone who was there for the TV would now be peeping on the windows outside watching Puraw train.

I should look no farther. My late first cousin, Nicomedes, I don’t know why but, except for his relatives who calls him Medes, everyone calls him ‘Durang’, short for Durango. Though he goes by many nicknames, Durang was the most enduring.

Durang had well-defined muscles -all cuts. He used to challenge me to give my best shot in puching his pandesal. He had long limbs, which translates to long reach (an advantage in boxing), quick reflexes, and nothing much up there, inside the head –in short, an ideal boxer. I think he even looks like Diego Corrales. But sad to say, the closest thing he ever got involved in boxing was either in a neighborhood brawl or a rumble in the municipal plaza.

Durang always gets into fights. Sometimes his younger brother would help out if he’s outnumbered, more than he can handle. Durang’s appearance was deceptive, he was tall (6ft) and lanky, yet he was strong. He could take on 2 to 3 guys at the same time. I think he’s one of those who have a low level of serotonin: He wouldn’t jump off his seat if a tiger suddenly appeared and sit beside him.

There are times also that he would fight his brother. Once I saw them, to the delight of the neighbors watching, against each other and each had a weapon. Richard, his brother held a small club while Durang was waiving a long bamboo pole to keep the former at bay. Being who I was, when I saw them I immediately told our grandfather and when they went home, they had more of what they’ve given each other, this time from Lolo.

When Durang moved to

Manila

to help out in our auntie’s household, he was not welcome in the neighborhood, at least not to those other young men who thought he’d pose a challenge to their dominance. And besides, anyone who doesn’t know him well would be pissed off at his attitude.

One day he went home bloodied from stab wounds.

Durang didn’t make it to the hospital.

P205 ang ticket ng thrill ride?

sulit na sulit!

Yan ang NLEX, malayong talo nya ang mga latest game consoles available... Ala nga sa NFS yung option na puwedeng i-off ang aircon (thingking na lalakas pa lalo ang makina) only to turn it on again after a minute dahil di na matiis ang init.

Kung may mapupulot na aral sa buhay ang pagtatahak ng kahabaan ng NLEX, eto: na hindi mauubusan ng mao-overtake-kan.

Part of what made me what I am today is credited to Lolo. When I think about it there are a lot that I have learned from him. Just like tiny seeds sown long ago that, in time, have taken roots and grew, his influence now have become part of who I am. Yet when he died I did not shed a tear. Not until my uncle –and insisted he be the first- gave his eulogy.  For a son in-law, –and a military officer at that- to ‘beat everyone to the podium’ to express his paternal love for his father in-law while sobbing, tells much about Lolo… That’s when I shed tears.

Sure, my heart melts seeing an ambulant vendor on the overpass , whose yet to make a ‘buena mano’, cuddling her child to keep warm on a cold night, but were not in the mood for tinapa for supper nor breakfast, so we just briskly walked passed them.   

I silently laud those who authored the city ordinance prohibiting giving to beggars. At least now I can turn them away and feel righteous.

Sure, I highly regard the guitar-playing skills of a certain blind individual in one of the overpasess but I have yet to drop a single centavo into the tiny tin can attached at the end of his instrument.

Sure, I give away my old clothes to those I deem fit to receive it, But only after some balikbayans replenished my closet with his own used clothes. They call it Spring Cleaning — never thought climates of the western hemisphere would have an effect on me.

For the sake of conserving limited resources, to flush the toilet I bravely endure the cold sting of the early morning rain just to fetch rainwater from a ‘drum’ at the bottom of a downspout. But whenever I see water gushing out the main pipe on the street, like the big fountain at Glorietta, I just shrug and tell myself that someone had already called the water district to report it.

For the sake of conserving the environment, I urged my family to segregate garbage, to throw the bio-degradables at the open lot beside our house.

beauty

I think that a person is beautiful if I think that he/she thinks she/he is. Confidence plays a big part in a person’s physical well-being and it even radiates outward to undermine preconceived perceptions or standards. On the other hand, one need not have a well-trained k9’s nose to smell the difference of a true self-confidence from insecurity heavily wrapped in opaque plastic with the words "confident" written all over it in bold letters.

war

Why are there rules on how to wage war? if the nations in conflict are bent on killing each other (which is what war is all about) it is but natural to expect everyone involved to throw in everything and anything they can get their hands on to kill or to keep himself alive. A person who would want to end another person’s life in not in his right mind and with that, no one, whether insane or in a fit of rage, would be ble to think rationally, let alone draft rules or even laws on how to do about his killing spree or how he wanted to be murdered. Killing is killing, someone will end up dead, whatever manner it is done the end is the same. Rules, agreements, treaties or laws won’t change the outcome. Rules only apply to playing games.

Having said that, if wars have rules to follow, then wars are only games. If that is the case, then why don’t they just include it in their rules to issue soldiers only squirt guns: whoever ends up less wet wins. Anyway the object of the game is to only prove who is right through might. In boxing, anyone can tell who is a better fighter in 12 rounds. The judges don’t ask the fighters to kill each other just to determine who is better.

In fact, I have a good idea, less gory,  straight from Rocky movie (I’m not sure if it’s part IV): why don’t the conflicting countries just send their best boxers to fight each other. Example, say, Coalition vs Iraq –but everybody knows Iraq’s boxers have no match to their world-class western counterparts. By just comparing the tale of the tape anyone could correctly guess who will win, which is exactly my point. There is no difference between sending boxers and actually going to war: Everybody knew, except for Saddam or did he?, who is going to win. But they still went to war anyway.

Going back to the idea of sending boxers, it should be included in the rules that the weight class will be done away with since the weight reflects the military might of a nation because if it were otherwise, for example- God forbid- there will be tensions between, say, Mexico and U.S. and a third party decides that they fight in superfeatherweight division, U.S. will be pulverized singlehandedly by Eric Morales. Why look far across the Pacific? Philippines can have a big chance to finally chalk one up on the ‘wars won’ column if the weight division were enforced. But if it will be, as I proposed, an open tournament (or war, as it takes on a new, less destructive meaning)  everyone would expect the top nations to be throwing in their heaviest, genetically enhanced heavyweight which will also serve as the symbol of their military, technological and economic advancement. But of course, that behemoth dude could be an import. U.S. could be represented by an African. Will this be allowed? by all means. It’s actually part of a country’s flexing her economic and political muscle. It’s part of ‘war’. Besides, importing fighters symbolize and only reflect today’s fusion of everything brought about by globalization. What is globalization for if not to turn our world into one global country?

But if that is the goal of globalization then wars will eventually become obsolete. In a world where everything from ideas to goods are traded globally while people migrate, it is not far-off to imagine a war when a soldier will be face to face with his enemy who turns out to be a former neighbor whose family left their native land in search of greener pastures. Then one of them shoots with a gun whose parts are assembled, quite sadly, in his enemy’s country where labor is cheap. The ironies could go on forever.

But the final irony lies in the phrase "rules of war": Rules are created in civilized conditions while war is by nature, barbaric.

justice

If I am a filipino everyman (why should I not be?), then I could explain or at least understand why filipinos are good and bad citizens at the same time.

Example:

I pay jeepney fares, automatically. To even try not to pay is like trying to think of sleeping standing up– nobody thinks of that. Paying jeepney fare is natural to every filipino like what I mentioned above, it’s automatic. Now here comes the jadewell on-street Pay Parking. Unlike in the jeepney where the driver doesn’t go to every passenger to collect fares, the parking attendant, on the other hand, runs like hell to all vehicles attempting to park in his assigned area to collect parking fees. Inspite of showing professionalism and legality (which ironically is exactly the qualities lacking in most of jeepney drivers) by their uniform and quick-to-issue receipts, I am still reluctant, and at times outrightly rejecting, to pay. Why is that?

Some filipinos are like Dr. jekyll and Mr. Hyde. They work industriously and honestly abroad as if they’re not the same lazy and unscroupulous government employees just a few months back here in their homeland. Why is that?

Given the opportunity, maybe I won’t fare better.

Theses expats or immigrants, I think, believe that what they do is justified. It is manifested in the amount of compensation they receive and the fear and respect of the law.

I don’t like to pay jadewell because, for reasons I cannot explain, I strongly feel it is wrong, unjustified. No matter how they try to hide it behind the cloak of professionalism and legality, it won’t convince me otherwise.

Snorkling was so fun that I stayed in the water for so long, completely ignoring its terribly painful and ugly consequence: Sunburns–which I am now suffering from. But I believe that I still got the better end of the deal.

I even surprised myself for opting to watch the marine life all day, with my back against the scorching heat of the sun using goggles that have to be constantly drained of water because some manufacturer didn’t think that a person of my skull structure would be using their product, when, I could have feasted my eyes on scantly-clad (conservatively speaking) women of various nationalities while lazily lying down under a shade - all day (yes, there were plenty of them coming and going).

That’s how irresistible the call of Nemo’s cohorts were.