Live and Let Live

(excerpt from my journal entry dated April 22, 2012, a Sunday)

A few days ago, a Facebook friend of mine posted something about Christianity and atheism on his wall. It was a poster propaganda for atheism. To this effect, it said that Christians believe because they fear hell and punishment, and have faith only because they expect to be rewarded; while atheists do good not out of fear or the prospect of being rewarded, but for the sheer humanity of it.

In a way, it has a point. There are Christians (and there are many, I think) out there who get by this life with that belief, and I’m not saying that I am totally exempt from it because, from time to time, I do feel that way about my faith, too.

Question is, is it a bad thing? And if so, how bad is it? Who’s to say?

Ultimately, this is not because the faith itself is flawed. I think it comes with our humanity—our sense of justice, our sense of right and wrong. We have been raised that way. All of us—atheists and believers alike.

It’s the way our parents raised us. It’s the way our teachers educated us. Yes, even atheist parents and teachers do that, too, so they’re not totally guiltless about it.

You do good by them, you get praised, even rewarded. You study hard and get good exam scores, you are rewarded with high grades.

Otherwise, you get punished. You get sent to your room, you get called an idiot and stupid, etc.  It’s basic in our learning process, okay?

But soon enough, there are people who mature in their beliefs, enough to do good to their fellowmen without expecting anything in return. Now, this is also true for BOTH atheists and Christians. [Yes, atheists are believers, too. They, too, believe in love and peace and unity. That is why they are “people of good will” by the Focolare Movement. They, too, adhere to the dictum “Do unto others what you would have others do unto you,” just like everyone else of good will.]

I was almost tempted to comment on that wall post. Obviously, the propaganda was made by an atheist who thinks so highly of himself, he’s talking out of his hat. I almost wrote, “Really . . . ? And I thought atheists do not believe because there is NOTHING in it for them.” But then, I’m tired. Tired of arguing about it. Why can’t we just live and let live?

Besides my comment would be a tu quoque fallacy, pointing out the hypocrisy of the author but not necessarily the flaw in the argument.

I have atheist friends, Christian friends, Muslim friends, agnostic friends, etc. and we get along well, as far as I know. I don’t think Jesus’ message to “love one another” is exclusive to Christians only. I also think the Bible, the Quran, the Vedas, the Tao te ching, etc. are wisdom books that we can all learn from and enrich our lives with.

You can choose to agree or disagree over these things until Kingdom come, but ultimately, all you’ll end up with is wasted time. 

Persistence

Of course, blog sites should continue to exist and persist even without readers. There's not much capital involved in it, if at all, unless the author behind it has gone brain dead. And so, there's no reason to declare blog "bankruptcy."


Besides, blogs are private thoughts to begin with. Readerless, they've only emancipated themselves from public scrutiny. Or better yet, they've just settled themselves in a private nook in the memory of mankind. That's all.

Flowerhorned

(excerpt from my journal entry dated May 11, 2012)

I paid up our telephone bill yesterday. For two months. Not that we neglected to pay last month. I was disappointed because last month, they did not send us a bill, and then this month, they sent us two-months’ worth of phone bill, and that’s almost P3.5K. And in just a couple of days’ notice, they expect us to settle the full amount or they’d cut their services. Well, that’s why I went out yesterday. To pay the stupid bill and buy methylene blue for my fish, a female flowerhorn who had been autistic for some weeks already.

A neighbor who is now into raising and trading flowerhorns saw my fish and he said it’s sick and severely stressed. He gave me five more flowerhorns to raise, all younglings, with guarantee that they’d grow heads that are really humpy, and then he suggested that I kill off my old flowerhorn and those of the five he gave me that would not grow up to my liking.

Of course, I didn’t want to do it, we’re talking about life here. Although from his end, it’s all just business—making sure only the fittest survive for “re-breeding” and trading. I guess I won’t make a good flowerhorn trader if that’s the industry SOP.

Anyway, after I’d paid the telephone bill and bought the methylene blue, I went for siopao and siomai at Kowloon and satiated my long-time craving for their dimsum. So when I got home around lunchtime, I did not eat lunch anymore, and instead ate lunch around 4 p.m., with merienda for dessert and lots of extra-extra food on the side, and so I got myself all bloated up. Let that be my lesson for not eating on schedule.

I feel fat and think about doing something about it, but then I keep putting it off for when the time is most convenient. And when would that be? It never comes.

Well, that’s that for yesterday’s overindulgence. As soon as I got home yesterday, I immediately poured a bit of the methylene blue into the fish bowl in which I quarantined my old flowerhorn, and then poured some into the aquarium where the new ones are, to kill off bacteria and diseases in that aquarium in case there are.

My old flowerhorn seems to have improved. Before, she’d just stay down in one part of the fish bowl. But now, she’s “exploring” the “smallness” of the bowl, and I think she’s dissatisfied, I can almost hear her complain, “Why is my new home very small?”

I also think she’s hungry. Hungry for protein, not the pellets we give her. I’m going to have to go out and buy her some worms then. My friend recommends pellets called “Humpy-humpy” or something, which kinda reminds me of something else, although it’s about enhancing growth of the hump on the head. Ah, yes, now I remember. It’s “Humpy Head,” which kinda reminds me of something else, yet again.

Anyway, I’ll go look for it later when I go out. I’ll tell everyone in the house that I’m going out to pay up the phone bill (which I already did) and buy Humpy Head instead. I didn’t tell them that I’ve already paid up the bill yesterday. That’s two days of gala for me. Wow.

The Stuff of Dreams

(my journal entry dated April 19, 2012, a Thursday)

It’s amazing how yesterday I wrote about dreams and how I perceive them to be, and then last night, or rather, just this morning, I woke up from a dream of watching the Beatles performing songs that I’ve never heard before.

I dreamed I was watching TV, and on it was some sort of a Beatles special featuring all their videos, and one after another, I heard songs that were unfamiliar to me. But they were very good, really, so good that I was watching intently so as to know the title of each song, except the screen didn’t show them.

So when I woke up, I was wondering what the hernia those songs were, and then I realized, could it be there were no such Beatles songs? That the songs I heard were actually “originals,” and that if only I had the musical sense to remember them in writing, I could have made the songs my own and pass them off as my own compositions?

Sayang. Anggaganda pa naman ng mga kanta.

Now I know how Guiseppe Tartini felt when he woke up from that dream which inspired the composition of his “Devil’s Trill” sonata. He dreamed the devil was his slave, and so he asked it to play for him the most beautiful violin music, and the devil complied. Upon waking up, Tartini was able to write down only those that he remembered, but in his dream, the devil’s performance and music were so much more superb.

Fortunately after that, I drifted into sleep again, and in a matter of minutes (or seconds?), I dreamed again, and in it I heard a melody, and when I woke up, I remembered it. It was 6:30 in the morning, which is way early for my regular waking time. Lacking the technical facility (I don’t know how to write or read notes!), I just had to get up already and play the melody on my guitar before I completely forgot it. I had to make my fingers remember, at least.

Doing that, I somehow got a glimpse of how dreams work.

You see, the other day I was singing karaoke with my cousin Kuya Jing, and I sang Toto’s “Africa.” I also remember Jessica Sanchez’ performance of Jazmine Sullivan’s “Stuttering” on American Idol, and then there’s this other song I was listening to sometime ago (I forget now what it was). Somehow, all those songs were in my head for the last couple of days, and then, in my dream—voila!—they merged! Elements of each song merged together to form a distinct melody!

Wow! It’s just like this idea that came to me that I’ve been toying with in the last couple of years. In the dream state, we have a set (or sets?) of “realities”—our physical realities, our past realities, our desires and fears, etc.—that merge or conform or transpose into each other. And the manner they do this, or the manner that this happens, is “guided” or “abides by” some kind of “logic” that is just perfectly acceptable to us in the dream state.

We don’t question them at all, they just occur and we just react. We allow ourselves to be taken where our dreams lead us. The fight-or-flight ability is still with us there, but it seems we have little control over it (unless, of course, you are lucid dreaming—which I think is about being conscious of the fact that you ARE dreaming, and you can control your reactions and even the very content of your dream).

It (lucid dreaming) has happened to me several times already. Once I was being chased by an aswang, and I realized I was in the dream state, so I decided to fly to get away. Another time, I was wandering about, realized I was in the dream state, and then decided to fly (again!) and enter people’s houses and gardens with impunity, etc.

There was another time when I was flying in a dream, and to make it more fun, I “added” zombies chasing after me on the ground below, just to make the dream more “exciting.” Ahehe.

Ah yes, I also had dream “layers” wherein I dreamed I was in a dream in a dream in a dream (sort of like in the movie “Inception”)—and I was aware of them all! Hehe. Freddie Krueger, kiss my arse! Ahehe.

Dreams like those rarely happen to me now, if at all. Who knows when they’d occur? I’m just glad over the gift of the melody this morning.

Now, more than ever, am I realizing that there is definitely more than one way to perceive the realities of this life. Just as there are myriad ways with which things happen, logic (or logical thinking) as we know it has got a lot—and I mean A LOT!—of evolving to do.

Getting old

(my journal entry dated April 12, 2012, a Thursday)

I came home at 1:30 a.m. from our get-together with college friends last night, but I didn’t get to sleep until it was around 4:30 a.m. I woke up at 9:30 a.m. just now, just five hours of sleep, but I’m not complaining because five hours suffices as enough sleep time for me.

I did not specially like waking up this late, with so much noise and bustle already happening around. This morning, however, is different because everything around is so quiet and the sun shines so brilliantly already, and I can see that through the bathroom window as the sun’s rays hit the leaves of the trees and vines in the backyard, you’d think you woke up somewhere in the middle of a jungle and just at anytime, an elephant would come out in the clearing.

I guess if I could have a “shortcut” way of describing these impressions, it would be all right to say, “I woke up in an African morning today,” or “I had a French evening walk last night,” or “I haggled like Chinese comedy actor in the market this morning.”

The French evening walk would have to do with the night sky and the stars and a quiet evening of coffee, or simply just walking in such a landscape with accordion music swirling in your head. As for feeling Chinese, well it’s not limited to haggling or to comedy actors. I sometimes feel like I’m a Chinese chef, a Chinese scholar, or a kung-fu master, depending on the situation I find myself in.

While there would be those who would say that it’s got to do with being an “old soul,” I’d just safely assume that it’s got something to do with having lots of memories. Memories of impressions. Growing up, watching lots of Sampaguita and LVN movies [there was no cable then], and then you walk into a very old house with wooden floors and wood staircases, and you just can't help widening your eyes looking around, expecting Gloria Romeo or a gangly Dolphy to pop up at anytime.

When I was very young, Nanay and I went to Malibay, Pasay, where she grew up, and while we were walking, I asked her, “Where are we going?” and she answered, “We’re going to Canita.” Canita was her half-sister. Back then, I thought I heard her say “Juanita” instead of “Canita,” and I felt very excited because I thought we were going to see Juanita, that character which Rosemary Sonora played in that old movie. So, I asked her, “Are we going to see Juanita Banana?” I forgot whether she found it funny or whatever.

I guess that’s one of the benefits of growing up in a world that was slow to change. There is wonder in your head, with only just a small percentage of your daily life concerned with the latest that has happened with the rest of the world, or with what’s in and out in trends and fashion. I mean, my goodness, there has got to be a better way to live than being “in the mode” all the time.

I guess you can say that it’s just me getting old. I’d counter that by saying it’s just me gaining sense. Or having gained enough perspective in life to arrange it in the compartments of my mind and deciding which ones make sense and which ones can be considered garbage.

Last night, my college friends and I had a get-together. We did karaoke and sang old songs and we had a good time. Making friends and keeping friends make sense. And keeping them to just a few people make sense, too. One does the talking, one does the listening, one does the funny stuff, and one keeps it together, and so on.

And it was very special not because of what words were said or what gestures were exchanged, but rather, all the time that these were happening, you feel special. You feel privileged being in such a company.

And when you look back on these things, what else do you remember? What else do you treasure in your heart? The rest would just be “enhancers.” Like those unruly Koreans who were fighting among themselves in the parking lot when we were leaving the karaoke house. Thanks to them, my friends and I were even more “together—with them being the “enemies”— and it made the night even more special.

Neighbor talk

(excerpt  from my journal entry dated January 21, 2012, a Saturday)

It’s almost 12 noon. Just like yesterday, I opted to write here later in the day (instead of in the morning) and finish up first all that needed to be done around the house. That includes the chores and giving Tatay a bath, and then taking a bath myself (because I didn’t take a bath yesterday; I also didn’t brush my teeth at all yesterday—these things I find so trivial, I think it would help if I did them while in a trance).

Anyway, I was in the backyard earlier. I had just finished watering the plants and feeding the fish and our mascot, the rooster, and together with Kuya Jing (who was sweeping the fallen leaves) and the kids, we were enjoying ourselves when, suddenly, something splashed on our roof and it smelled of liquor.

I got so pissed that I walked up to the edge of our yard, to the fence bordering our place and the next-door neighbors (who live in two-story apartments) and launched a “piss” talk on them—whoever they were who were on the other side of the fence who could hear me and who must have thrown the liquor on our roof.

I could hear voices on the other side, but I couldn’t see them because the fence was rather high (which should have been higher to make up a firewall, so says the law which maintains that if a house or structure is set on the edge of a property line, a firewall should isolate it from the next property—or something to that effect). But then the fence is not high enough to isolate from us those who occupy the second floor units, and so they can easily throw their crap on our roof from their windows, albeit without impunity* (I’ll check later what “impunity” means).

Anyway, I could hear one of them on the other side “answering” me back (albeit in a very low tone, more like muttering, as if he did not intend for me to hear his words), his point being that the leaves that fall from our trees also litter their side of the fence. Whoa! Tu quoque, eh? I answered him back (loudly, that is). I told him that if it happens that our trees “litter” their side of the fence, then it is still THEIR fault for not building a high-enough firewall to separate the two properties.

I was so pissed that I called them “Baboy!” (pigs) because if you’d climb up our roof, you’d also find used cotton buds, candy wrappers, cigarette butts and (one time) a used sanitary napkin, which apparently people from their side threw onto our roof.

Finally, the guy on the other side climbed up the fence, probably just to take a peek at who he was dealing with. But when he saw my face, he immediately climbed back down. But it was already too late for him because we had already made eye contact, and I had on this “yeah-I’m-talking-to-you!” glare in my eyes. 

And so, I shot at him, “Kayo ba yung nagtapon ng alak dito sa bubungan namin?!” [Did you just throw liquor on our roof?!] And he answered, “Hindi po kami ‘yun; sa taas po yun….” [It wasn’t us; it came from the rooftop….].

"E ‘yung mga cotton buds na nakakalat sa bubong namin?!” [What about the used cotton buds scattered on our roof?!] I shot back at him. He answered, “Hindi po kami nagtatapon ng cotton buds dyan….” [We don’t throw used cotton buds there….].

At this, I concluded the confrontation in a very loud threatening voice: “Siguraduhin n’yo lang!” [Just make sure you don’t!]. And that was it. Short and sweet.

Now I have to include in our budget fencing materials (hollow blocks, cement, metal rods, wire, etc.) so that I can make the existing fence higher so as to function like a firewall. That would mean they won’t have windows to our property, ergo, no window at all from which they could throw their trash onto our roof, and through which no more light and air can come in to their house.

Of course I will have to think this through because light and air are basic to conducive living, and I don’t think I’m the type to go out of my way to cause anyone such a discomfort. Besides, it would cost us extra.

My sister is agreeable to it, saying it is high time that we do it. But I’ll still think about it.

Last night, I stumbled on a Facebook page that evaluates people’s Facebook profiles and then, just for fun, revealing what people were in their past life. They came up with mine. They said that in my past life, I was a bitch. Ahehe. I guess that explains a lot. Chapter!

*impunity - (noun) exemption from punishment; immunity from detrimental effects, as of an action.