Cross section of an Underdeveloped Creative Lobe

Val would never in her life admit that just like most girls, receiving flowers—be it a bunch or a single stem—will have those popular effects on her. You know? Heart pumping, spirits soaring, tingling all over.

But then the day came when she received the flowers she believed she never waited for.

“Holy sh*t, I am crying!” Val manages to blurt out in the midst of a sudden surge of mixed emotions wrapped with disbelief.

“You’re crying over daisies!” Grace taunts dryly. “Where’s the dignity in that?” Grace punctuates her statement with apparent disgust.

Sometimes friends have a harsh way of lending a shoulder to cry on.

“You know what?” Val finally reveals her face smeared with what-obviously-was-not-waterproof-mascara. She takes a dramatic pause then continues, “I like daisies!” She then buries her face into her palms and proceeds on sobbing like a little girl turned drama queen, probably out of exasperation or plainly out of embarrassment.

“OK—” Grace prolongs the intelligible sound she makes hoping to draw out more information from her friend who seems to be shrinking right in front of her. For some reason, Grace appears to be enjoying Val’s alternate finest hour.

“Daisies make me smile,” Val attempts to explain without even budging from her may-the-earth-swallow-me-now stance. “Daisies make me smile when I’m sick. Daises make me smile when I’m blue.” She takes a deep breath, “God! Daisies will most definitely make me smile when I’m dead!” She finally lifts up her head.

For a fraction of a second Val and Grace stare at each other, seemingly at a loss for words over such absurdity. They could have gone silent for a few more minutes or hours had it not for Grace who finally bursts into suppressed laughter which immediately progresses into uncontrollable cachinnation.

“I’m glad you find this amusing.” Val tries to cut-short Grace’s fun but to no avail.

“Val, you received a bouquet of daisies—cute, colorful daisies and you are crying! To defend yourself you say that daisies make you smile. What’s not to laugh about?” Of course by this time, Grace was in tears—happy tears, that is.

“Yeah. Right. Some girl am I.” From her initial insane self, Val slips into her usual self-deprecating persona. “And my parents bothered to name me ‘Valentine’. Really romantic. Go ahead. Laugh.”

As if on cue, guilt crept into Grace. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to seeing you breakdown like that. Losing it over—what again?” The guilt doesn’t stop Grace from teasing her friend.

Val frowns, not the sympathize-with-me kind of frown but more of the how-dare-you type.

Grace eventually finds the decency to be serious, “Val, somebody’s going to give you something to woo you sooner or later. Thank God he’s smart enough not to be a cliché and offer you roses.”

“Or tulips which really is trying too hard, not to mention impractical.” Val instinctively finishes Grace’s trail of thought.

Now you see why, despite how they may occasionally bicker, these two are friends.

“Looks like, this time, someone did the right thing in trying to win you.” Grace says in a voice devoid of sarcasm of sorts.

“And you say that because a few moments ago I lost it over a bunch of daisies?” Val is regaining her composure. No doubt the old Valentine is back.

“Oh come on! If you’re pathetic display of emotions isn’t proof that finally someone got to you, then I don’t know what is.”

Val raises her hands like a cowgirl being mugged, submissive but not at all weak, “All right I admit. The flowers had their effect on me.”

“Well, that’s pretty hard to miss.” Now Grace is being sarcastic. “I foresee a ‘but’ soon to grace your next explanation.”

“But! I don’t think anyone can win me over flowers.”

“I don’t know, Val. After all, you, just like your name, can be unpredictably predictable sometimes.”

Val did not attempt to protest. “Unpredictably predictable.” She repeats to herself, trying to absorb what Grace just said.

“As un-you as it may sound; you are allowed to be not you sometimes.”

“Perhaps it’s Valentine’s Day creeping in on me.” Val avails of the most convenient non-sequitur excuse. Even she knows it.

“Cheer up, Valentine. It’s your day, anyway.”

“And I’ve got daisies.”

“You’re pathetic.”

"Yes, I know."

They look at each other and laugh.

* * *

That’s how they come to me: as glimpses.

I have my characters, scene and setting. What I lack is a plot and, more importantly, a conflict. The decent kind of both.

* * *

I guess one message from my pseudo story is, “Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!”

Finding the Perfect Match at the Medical City

Waiting in line for a consult with a medical expert can be one awful patience test but as Sun Tzu once said, “Maneuver misfortune into gain.”

How, then, does one get something good out of waiting in line inside a hospital?

Being that it is February, the love month so to speak, and it is three days away from the great, red V-day, the answer to my self-raised question leans toward the convenient way of experiencing the commercialized essence of the season. Waiting in line can present an opportunity to meet one’s own perfect match especially for Valentine’s Day.

Doctors are all around. It makes bumping unto the perfect “doc” highly likely thereby igniting a possible personal version of Grey’s Anatomy. The situation makes it conducive to spot one’s own McDreamy or McSteamy.

Then there are the medical representatives who aren’t at all bad. They are presentable and are probably good conversationalists. They make good money, too, and chances are, they have cars, company cars, but cars nonetheless. (Materialistic, aren’t we? But I’m talking about turning misfortune into gain, remember? Gain can border on material things!)

Then there’s the possibility of meeting fellow patients with whom you can hit things off.

Patients like Arthur.

“What is your name?” He began with a tone which is not at all intimidating. He was actually genuinely friendly. I found no reason to withhold my real name.

“Have you been waiting long?” I asked him after we were passed introducing ourselves.

“A bit long,” he answered with a slight hint of uncertainty. Arthur didn’t seem to mind waiting for his doctor to see him. He then proceeded on asking me, “Are you sick?” He sounded rather sincere.

Now usually questions like “are you sick?” pulls down my defensive alarm switch which ultimately interpret such simple question as a masked attack on how I look. But I knew Arthur did not deserve any of my usual sardonic, defensive quips.

“Hopefully not,” I told him. “My ear hurts. I’m having it checked.” I was surprisingly pleasant to Arthur and his queries. “How about you?”

“Am I sick?” He tried to clarify.

“Are you?”

“Nah! I’m just here for a check-up.”

That’s good. At least the person I was talking to was healthier than I was.

The next 30 minutes of waiting for my turn to see my doctor have become less than a dull one, thanks to Arthur.

For a complete stranger, he sure does have a way about him that makes one feel comfortable with his presence. Not all guys are like Arthur: Outspoken yet not at all annoying. And if there’s someone I’ve met for the past week that’s been gifted with the most remarkable dose of wit and charm, it has got to be Arthur.

I have to admit that I like him already.

My chitchat with Arthur was cut-short by my doctor’s assistant calling me.

“The doctor will see you now,” she said.

As it turned out, Arthur’s time to see his doctor had come, too.

“It was nice meeting you, Arthur.” I said as cordially as I could.

“You, too.” He uttered with a wave and the sweetest smile that would most definitely win anyone over.

Arthur and I, we went our separate ways after that. Me to my EENT; him to his pediatrician, as led by his mom.

He’s quite a kid, you see. And impressively smart for someone who’s seven. I actually forgot I’m on a stake out for a potential McDreamy or McSteamy or McMedRep.

But that’s about it with Arthur. He would have been a perfect match if I were no older than ten years old. I mean, it’s not like I’m Michael Jackson, you know?

Blog Action Day—Of Gods and Dung

This post is in unity with the Blog Action Day Movement!, millions of bloggers’ attempt to share their voice in one day, all for the sake of our environment.

Of Gods and Dung

“Our problem with filth scattered all over town is getting worse, Kapitan Tano.” Roy told the town’s head.

“I know that, son. That’s the reason why I have ordered our tanods to capture wandering animals especially at night. We cannot risk anyone getting sick because some uncivilized citizen forgot to chain his pet.”

These were Kapitan Tano’s strong words before the plague began hitting the town of Pembo. Everyday, there would be a new set of animal dung scattered around the town’s grounds. The unsanitary condition inevitably caused many of the townspeople to be sick, reaching a quota that resembles an outbreak.

“We have done everything, Kapitan Tano. Almost all of the animals which populate our place are detained in the capitol’s slaughter house; still our problem with filth remains unresolved.” Said one tanod.

“What would you say if tomorrow night, we all go on a crusade? We will not sleep until we find out what’s causing this.” Kapitan Tano replied.

“Anything for our family’s sake, Kapitan.” Retorted the tanods in unison.

Come the crusade night, Kapitan Tano and his men set out with a bolo in their right hand and a lighted torch in their left. Kapitan Tano himself divided his men to make sure that they get the place covered. Kapitan then hopped from one vicinity to another to check out for himself the goings on in their town after the sun has set and after majority the people have retired to their beds.

Aside from the few men he saw dumping their day’s accumulated rubbish to the riverside, he did not notice anything unusual. Although from afar he could hear reverberating sounds followed by a masked thump of a solid body hitting the ground.
“Illegal loggers,” one of Kapitan’s tanods whispered. “They usually come out at night to do their business. They think no one can hear them, but we do.”

Kapitan Tano couldn’t help but scratch his head. “When will they ever stop?" he thought.

While making their rounds, Kapitan Tano and some of his tanods reached the newly opened midnight bar located at the least remote area of his jurisdiction. Since he was tired, he decided to enter the establishment to get some refreshment.

Upon penetrating the blinking lights and deafening sound the place initially offers, he noticed that the place is packed. The people in there were very much alive, too. They were dancing, drinking, and performing private activities in the “publicness” of the place. It was an ultimate rave party in there. Everyone was happy as they engage their own form of orgy.

Kapitan Tano could not stand the aura of the sinful house. Without further ado, he left the place. He could not help but wonder how such establishment prospered in his town, in his jurisdiction. The next morning he ordered that the establishment be closed.

“Kapitan, that is not our concern right now. We have a problem with filth, remember? Why don’t we concentrate on it first?” reacted one of Kapitan Tano’s subjects.

“Don’t you want us to clean up our town? Isn’t shutting down a house of sin a way of cleansing our town? And while were at it, why don’t we prohibit our people from discarding their trash irresponsibly?” Kapitan Tano insisted. “Starting today, too, I myself will make sure that those illegal loggers who rape our forests will put a stop to their abuse.”

The tanods had no choice but to obey the kapitan’s instructions. They raided the establishment and had it closed. They also reprimanded those who treated nature as a one big dumpsite. On the other hand, those who hid in the dark while exploiting their forests were put behind bars. They did all these in one night.

The next morning, the filth was gone. The mysterious lumps of dung scattered around suddenly disappeared.

“We did it.” Kapitan Tano said. “We have cleansed our town. We have appeased the gods who are giving us back the filth our townspeople created by engaging in their evil ways. Our problem is now over.”

With that the town regained its former vitality as the plague subsided and the dung vanished.

We disrespect nature and we disrespect ourselves. Let’s put an end to this now. Otherwise nature may soon get back at us. When that time comes, we will all lose this dirty game we seem to love to play.

A Not-So-True Story

Malakas ang ulan.

Sa isang bakanteng waiting shed, may susukob na isang babae na basam-basa ng ulan.

Babae: (Titingin sa paligid. Mapapansing siya lang mag-isa.) Waaaahhh!

Lalakas pa lalo ang ulan.

May darating na lalaki. Susukob din sa parehong waiting shed. Di siya masyadong basa di tulad ng babae dahil may dala siyang payong.

Lalaki: Miss, OK lang kayo?

Babae: (Titingin nang masama sa lalaki. Babalik sa pagngawa.) Wahhh!

Lalaki: OK lang yan, Miss. Lahat naman yata tayo nabasa sa lakas ng ulan na ‘to.

Babae: (Hihikbi) Hindi naman yon e. (Susubukang piligan ang sarili sa pagkwento pero magpapatuloy pa rin.) Birthday ko bukas. (Pipigilan muli ang sarili pero mapapabulalas pa rin.) Wahhh!

Lalaki: (Matutuwa) Ay, happy birthday, Miss!

Babae: Umiiyak nga ako tapos, “happy”!?

Lalaki: (Mapapaisip)

Babae: 27 na ako bukas. Huhuhu.

Lalaki: Naku, ka-edad mo pala yung bunso kong kapatid na ikakasal sa isang linggo.

Babae: Wahhh!

Lalaki: Ay wag ka umiyak! (Magpa-panic.) Bata ka pa naman kagaya nung kapatid. (Magpapakaseryoso) Sinasabihan nga namin siya na masyado pa siyang bata para mag-asawa.

Babae: Hindi naman 'yon ang iniiyak ko. 27 na kasi ako pero parang wala pa rin akong nagawa sa buhay ko.

Lalaki: Grabe ka naman magsalita, Miss—

Babae: Kagaya nyan, wala pa akong asawa. Ni wala nga akong jowa. (hihikbi)

Lalaki: Baka naman hindi nyo pa talaga panahon magka-syota.

Babae: Simple lang nga yang jowa-jowaan na yan, di ko pa magawa. Mas lalo na yung magpakasal.

Lalaki: Darating naman yan, Miss, kahit hindi mo hinihintay.

Babae: Hindi ko naman talaga hinihintay yon. Kaya lang madalas naiisip ko na kung yung bagay na yon na kayang gawin ng lahat ng tao sa paligid ko ay hindi ko kayang gawin, papaano pa kaya yung mga malalaking bagay?

Lalaki: Iba-iba naman tayo, Miss.

Babae: Hindi rin. Tinganan mo. Alam ng lahat ng nakakakilala sa akin, I’m going to be great someday pero ano? 27 na ako pero ganito pa rin ako.

Lalaki: Bakit, Miss, ano po ba kayo?

Babae: Ordinaryo.

Lalaki: (Hindi makakaimik.)

Babae: Hindi ko naman pangarap magkaroon ng rebulto kahelera ni Lapu-Lapu at Rizal sa Maynila. I just want to do something big in life.

Lalaki: Hindi pa naman huli para magawa niyo ang pinapangarap niyo. Si Julio Igelias nga 40 years old na siya nang ma-discover niyang marunong siyang kumanta.

Magsisimula nang humina ang ulan.

Babae: (Sisinghot.) Ganoon? E di may pag-asa pa pala ako!

Lalaki: Oo naman, Miss. Sabi nga ng Lola ko noon, habang buhay pa ang isang tao, limitless ang capacity niya to do great things.

Babae: Ang totoo niyan, ayaw ko naman talagang sumikat. Gusto ko lang maka-contribute ng something good for the people around me para naman pagtulog ko sa gabi, maghihilik ako ng nakangiti.

Lalaki: Kaya mo yan, Miss. At kung ano pa man ang iba mo pang hinahanap, makikita mo rin sila balang araw.

Tuluyan nang titila ang ulan.

Babae: (Aayusin ang sarili. Ngingiti.) Pasensya na’t kailangan mo pang makita yung pagngawa ko kanina.

Lalaki: Ayos lang yon, Miss. Birthday mo naman e. Happy birthday nga pala ulit.
Babae: Salamat.

May titigil na FX sa harapan ng waiting shed. Matatakpan ang Lalaki at Babae.

Magdidilim ang entablado.

The Curse That is Tita

Call me Tita. I wasn’t born special. The weather wasn’t unusually hot nor was there a terrible storm when I arrived in this planet. My head wasn’t especially big either. I came out in a maternity hospital where a thousand mommies give birth to a thousand babies everyday.

I wasn’t born pretty, too. My skin color did not pass the standards of beauty. Even Papa had to double check if I was theirs. As it turns out, I was too dark to become one of them.

Mama had a way of reminding me of their first impression of me. She would call me names referring to black minorities. She did it even on a good day.

I knew I would not have a fair share of the spotlight looking the way I did. So I tried being funny. You don’t have to be pretty to be funny. It’s hard though—making people laugh when, sometimes, you are crying deep inside.

I wore hand-me-downs for quite a while. Until I noticed and posed a protest—a hunger strike to be exact. I could hardly talk then. Needless to say, I learned to fight for equal rights even before I learned to pronounce my words correctly.

Since I never tried to be pretty, I never wore a gown. Well, once, maybe, during my preschool graduation. I had on a white itchy gown. I guess that’s how gowns go. The prettier they are, the itchier they get. I never had a coming out party. As the fates would have it, the year when I turned 18 coincided with the year our mini-empire-that-never-was fell. It didn’t matter. Otherwise, the heavens would roll into laughter if I started pretending I was pretty.

I grew up with plenty of friends but not all of them were there forever. But I’m used to it. People come and go. Sometimes they come. Often times they go. I don’t care what they say. You don’t have to count on other people, especially not family. As long as you have yourself, you’re fine.

I never had lovers. I was Mama’s youngest daughter and tradition dictates that I take care of her with every last breath. I wonder if it’s her breath or mine. Whoever’s breath it is, it meant that I wasn’t allowed to marry. Having been sentenced of being single for eternity, I saw no point of entertaining romance. Maybe some of us are just not meant to love.

The wheels spun. Everyone moved on with their lives. Mama’s all wrinkly but I stayed the way I was—her youngest daughter. Dark. Unpretty. Single.

Sometimes I worry. Mama has me but who do I have? Who will stay with me when I am all wrinkly just like Mama?

A dark cloud hovers over my head when I think of those thoughts. But I can’t do anything about it. I can pronounce my words right but I can no longer pose a protest. I can no longer fight for equal rights. I got rid of the hand-me-downs but not being Mama’s youngest daughter.

Then I had a dream. I wasn’t Mama’s youngest daughter. I wasn’t dark. I was pretty. I wore a white gown that looked better than the one I wore during my preschool graduation. Everyone adored me. And far across the room was a man who waited for me. He adored me more than others. I paced towards him. But the more I walked to his direction, the farther the distance between us was. And then my white gown that looked better than the one I wore during my preschool graduation started to itch. I felt my skin burning. My fair face, arms and legs turned dark—toasted. Everyone laughed at me. I didn’t know what to do.

I knew it was just a nightmare.

Because when I woke up, I was Mama’s youngest daughter again. Dark. Unpretty. Single. The wheel will continue to spin and I will stay the way I was.

Not everyone will laugh, especially not me. And most of the time I wouldn’t know what to do.

And every time I wake up, I will know that it is just a nightmare.

Tatsulok

The Cheese is alone.

Enter Minnie and Jerry. The Cheese, Minnie and Jerry hang out together. The Cheese thinks Minnie is OK. The Cheese thinks Jerry is OK, too.

Minnie tells everyone but Jerry that Minnie thinks Jerry is extra OK. Minnie wants to be extra nice to Jerry.

Meanwhile Jerry seems extra nice to the Cheese.

The Cheese thinks that if Jerry likes to be extra nice to the Cheese, then the Cheese can be extra nice to Jerry, too.

But Minnie told everyone but Jerry that Minnie thought Jerry was extra OK and that Minnie wanted to be extra nice to Jerry.

The Cheese remembers. The Cheese cannot be extra nice to Jerry if Minnie whom the Cheese thinks is OK wants to be extra nice to Jerry.

The Cheese grows arms and legs and walks away. Minnie and Jerry are left to be nice to each other.

But the Cheese is the one that stands alone.

And hi-ho the merry-o, the Cheese stands alone!