Biyernes, Nobyembre 29, 2013

Feeling Like the Paraplegic Macaulay Culkin

8 November 2013

did not report for work this week's thursday. muscles were leaden, heavy and stiff. slept until it was 1pm. things were going better than planned with me sending money to mom's account which she would pay for piglets. sam's ticket for her trip to manila which i brought with me would be refunded anytime within the year with a 20 per cent surcharge because by the time i have refunded it at the calapan port office, the vessel had already departed as printed in the ticket.

mood swings were bad. for a while i thought i would be deeply annoyed about everything again for no apparent reason. then after a giant serving of sour passion fruit tea, i felt better. before i downed down all of it, i was imagining that i was sipping it as i swing. how i miss the outdoors and the swing. if i were in Sual, i would've been swinging. back in my granny's house i would've gotten my whim as i sway under the shade of bougainvillea canopy. partially my peace may be attributed to ackowledging the fact that for anything i want, i should be willing to pay a certain price. this assuaged my complaint on beauty coming with a hefty price; beautiful things are expensive. my anger on how only the rich could possess beautiful things dissipated. as i was walking on the tiled floor of midtown wing, i saw a man in worker's attire: long sleeved shirt under a tee over jeans with their own constellation of white paint, the man's shy above the shoulder hair tucked under a kerchief. he looked respectable and in sync. if everyting around me evoked my irritation, the sight of him calmed me. i regreted not having enough memory on my phone for a photo of him. he was the thunderclap, the cue to make me see how dignity is beyond clothes and fashion but under a bearing of ease, unpretentiousness, honesty and the extreme absence of self-pity. like the little child that i am, i went home and played dress-up with the clothes in my closet.

contentment is a state which man could not strive for but can be bestowed freely. in truth, i was afraid of my own greed as expressed by miscontent in place of my usual gratuitious outlook. much more is my dread since i know greed feeds on itself. how i would delight to be offered the fluid of life which would quench me until thirst would be an urge i would not recall. my body might be filled with sustenance but if my soul remains parched, not the most exquisite food or beverage would make it go away. my soul was satiated. may i praise the Lord for this and more.

as expected, tito tony and tita terry contacted me. my immediate impulse: prattle on fb a pm for cze that would report the incident. duty squelched fancy. that meant i had to clean the house and probably not tell on the tale. the sun persists on rising so i make myself stand was written beside jeniffer lawrence on the standee poster for catching fire. this plus Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham and i was sure i would finish on meticulously cleaning the house. this made me miss Sam more. Cleaning up would be accomplished much faster had she been with me.

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