Sign of the times: letters blooming on a screen

me: can you give me a moment?
friend: A moment to what?
me: A thought just occurred to me which I think is worth typing down.
friend: Ok.

whatever happened to "worth writing down?"


William Shakespeare's handwriting

Let me shout, too.

In the same way that I put off writing about typhoon Ondoy (I eventually did, I couldn't help it), I have also tried to put aside saying anything about the Maguindanao massacre. And this, for reasons difficult to put a finger on; though I will definitely make an attempt to make sense of it in this post.

I did try, you see. Tried to be my usual, clammed-up, indifferent self--a side of me which only the people closest to me understand, or tolerate--who would much rather stay in one corner and watch while everybody else scrambles for something. It's a sorry state to be in, most people would say. But it does have its advantages, which might seem selfish, but to those who understand the human psyche and its workings, and how the clamming up is a result of some trauma or another, it would make sense.

But, moving on, I could only stay quiet for so long. Not that it matters if I could, in any way, influence those reading this blog--which is not to say that I fancy this blog to have a host of readers because I am fully aware that it doesn't; but if I could provide some faint glimmer of rhetoric to you, dear reader reading this now, then I would be content. And as for the self that is trying to make sense of this whole thing, let it be spelled out that this is for you, so that you could gather whatever pieces of it you may and, in the process, perhaps emerge the least bit enlightened, for whatever it may be worth.

I realize that this may be the only time that I get to vent about it, so now is definitely not the time to hold back. Excuse the lack of understatement. It is not called for, at this time, nor will it be until the perpetrators pay—and pay what they owe—for the deed they have done.

So, the massacre. Massacre. The word itself is chilling, and for it to be actualized is nothing short of horrifying. Horror should be reserved for the movies, not real life. That this atrocity even happened is stupefying.

What evil, allegorical worm could be bad enough as to plant itself in someone’s mind, which must be narrow enough, small enough for the worm to be incubated and for it to grow to a size unwarranted by such a brain, so that it would, at some point in time, break loose into an act so violent, so full of hate, so blood-curdling?

I did feel my blood acerbate the first time I saw it in the news. How dare these people think that they could kill and violate and tamper with life and get away with it, too? It’s the proverbial glutton wanting to have his cake and eat it. Or, the severely misguided charlatan who was given a hand and now wants to take the whole arm.

It is an assault to the Filipino, this barbarity; a crime against humanity and its animus.

I am fuming as I type this. One can only shake one’s head and wait for what happens next. And the Filipino—even this Filipino--will wait. Woe to him who underestimates our capacity to think, and feel.

At the end of the day, though, is the question of what will happen next: so we have expressed outrage at what happened; so we have talked about it, discussed the details in detail, shaken our heads at the unreality of it all; so some of us, especially those in positions of power, have vowed--in front of millions, in front of the press, making our words seep through the television screens and the airwaves--to follow this affront through and ensure that justice sees daylight.

The question, then, is: where does this all end?

Here is a prayer that the archives get to record the event to its last; and may it be written in the last page:

RESOLUTION: JUSTICE.

And What Came After

Once in a while, it happens: two people meet, fall madly in love and live happily ever after.

Once in a while.

And then there's the rest of the time, where two people meet and fall in love and wait, and wait, and wait for a happy ever after that never comes.

When I was a little girl, the couples I knew always found happy ever after. Now, I realize that the pages i loved so much were merely shielding me from the harsh, bitter truth: that Rapunzel's hair was never the same when it started to grow again, so that her prince eventually left her to look for a girl with prettier hair; or that the Beast, who went back to his human form because of Beauty's love, got transformed back to a beast because he had a difficult time shedding away his beastly ways; or that Cinderella, having broken free from being a slave to her stepsisters virtually all her life, left her prince and became a women's rights activist in some obscure land (the prince had turned out to be even more oppressive than the ugly old maids in her former home, you see).

Happy ever after turned out to be just another fairy tale, after all. Tsk, tsk.

Bummer.

And so, now, people who greet newly-married couples "congratulations" are actually muttering "good luck" under their breaths. A girl who announces her upcoming wedding gets greeted by frowning, knowing looks and unsolicited advice to "think it over first." Those who have been there and found their way out (and it's amazing just how high their percentage has become, just try asking around) no longer bite back their cynical opinions on the great M-- word.

It's most probably because they've discovered that there were still pages and pages that came after the endings--or supposed endings--of the fairy tales they'd read as children.

Sign of the times: Countdown

People in the office have begun the countdown to Christmas.

I've been, like, "what? So soon?"

Quite a number of friends are celebrating their birthdays this month. Happy Burp-day to: Sheila, Fenina, CJ, Mae, Wema, Emillie, Ribbon, Steve, Tatat, Gino, and Sweet.
=)

Sign of the Times: Fruit Cake

Cartoon from this site.