The Herbivorous Cat

I was about midway into my weekly ritual of cleaning the car last Sunday, when I saw the neighbor's cat seriously munching on stems of wild grass that sprouted from the sidewalk near to where I stood. I was curious and so I watched, whereas ordinarily I would have detested any trivial interruption to my chore.

I've known cats as essentially carnivorous creatures, and so for me seeing one munching grass was too much for my curiosity. I know I've read somewhere, though, that cats do eat plants they instinctively know to contain substances that kill parasites or counteract toxins in their gut, and in this respect, my neighbor's cat may only be acting out of the need to protect and prolong its existence.

In many ways, cats are like people, and contrariwise. There is also a sea of difference between them. Cats instinctively know what is good for them, and so they munch on stems of grass. People instinctively know what they want, which may be good or bad, but they want them anyway.

Cats live simply and take only what they need; all the other cats may have the other clumps of grass to gnaw on. People have their needs gnawing at them, and so they take what they need, as well as those needed by their fellowmen. Whenever they can, they would fence in everything for themselves, and deny everyone else. Greed is the engine that drives the entire spectrum of human activity. People, when they've made up their minds about what they want, such as material things and wealth, or abstractions such as happiness, love, or power, will stop at virtually nothing to obtain them. This determination, at times, turns fearsome or deadly, or both.

Cats also become insecure, but only with territoriality issues, and so they squabble and claw at each other. Otherwise, they are perfect illustrations of contentment; sleeping most of the time or else chasing butterflies.

People become insecure about themselves, and turn distrustful of other people. They jealously protect the trappings of their wealth and power. I've come across persons so insecure that they imagine I'm after what they have, and so they refuse to work with me, and design all sorts of ruses to prevent me from entering their turf. These people, so much like the politicians and warlords who have the false notion that their stations are eternal, miss out on the dynamism, the possibilities and opportunities of teamwork. I never postured to take what they have, at any rate, simply wanting instead to share whatever talents and skills I have. I just let these people be, and hope that one day they will allow their eyes to be opened to the wondrous, morally upright world of equal opportunities for all.

My neighbor's cat munching on grass has prodded me towards these musings. I'm grateful that I'm still able to see not-so-ordinary things behind ordinary ones, the ones usually and plainly overlooked by most.

People rush off to here and there, to the ends of the earth, in search of new and great discoveries, overlooking the still largely uncharted regions of the self, the journey into which consumes a lifetime, and where some of the greatest discoveries lie in wait.

Handheld

It is intimidating to be aware that I hold some people's lives and fortune in my hands. I want to shirk the responsibility and avoid it with all the might of rationalization I can muster. But as I have written before, if we disregard the obligations we've been fated to have, eventually we become unhappy. This is probably the reason why in this country, even after killer floods, a killer volcano, and the merciless killing of 57 people by a power-crazed warlord, people are still able to smile and to hope for better days.

As a nation we probably have long accepted that we were preordained to endure curses generation after generation. Take corruption, for example. It has been making its rounds long before my generation was born. I think it is safe to say that it will be with us until time ends, or this country collapses unto itself like some banana republic.

Accepting one's fate is, therefore, a key ingredient to achieving happiness. The sooner one determines the form and direction of one's fate, the better. Going against its mighty current is futile, and we only expend without purpose or usefulness our finite life.

Fate also sets the arena for the battle between Good and Evil. The ones destined to be in the service of the latter act with an enviable sense of urgency and conviction; while those on the side of good perform their deeds with the ambivalence and hesitance of a feeble breeze upon scorched earth. It is all too easy to see why Evil collects triumph after triumph, and Good is often preempted because it procrastinates.

I will do my best for those who rely upon me to see them through, but I cannot make any guarantees. Even at my age, I'm still deciphering the codes of my fate. The time its form becomes crystal-clear to me, is the time I will have to decide whether or not to accept it wholeheartedly or reject its entirety; and whether I shall be smugly content, or unhappy for the remainder of my lifetime.

Fortunately and Unfortunately

Jason Ivler and Andal Ampatuan, Jr. could have been the best of friends if they grew up together, attended the same school, or grew up in the same place. If they did, I'm certain they would be bragging and comparing notes about each other's killing sprees and murderous rampages. Fortunately, they are miles apart, literally, and in their respective social stratum and personality. Jason is clean-cut, clear-skinned, and yuppie-ish, a sharp contrast to Andal's dishevelled, oily, pockmarked, and unkempt appearance. Unfortunately for them, they are missing out on the camaraderie that would have terrorized a lot of people. Which is fortunate for us, I suppose.

Fortunately as well, both are behind bars, and this assuages somewhat those they have wronged. Unfortunately in this country, putting a criminal behind bars does not at all guarantee that justice will be obtained. Criminals' lawyers may be fortunate to come upon and take advantage of legal loopholes, and consequently spring their clients to freedom. Something like this is very unfortunate for those who seek redress.

Unfortunately, life is famous for its ugliness of having too many injustices. Fortunately, there is a Heaven and a Hell, and those denied justice in this life will be rewarded with an eternal form of it in the former, or so we were taught.

Now, Jason and Andal are, fortunately, both headed straight to Hell. However, in the event that they genuinely repent and perform acts of contrition, we may, if we are fortunate enough to end up in Heaven, unfortunately find these two angels there.

Inequity

There is one kind of success that baffles me and makes me jealous, the kind that appears to come solely from good fortune. You do nothing, it comes to you; you go the other way, it follows you. You can be the most incompetent, illiterate, bungling idiot, but if the heavens have ordained you to be successful, then you are. It is the kind of success that simply eclipses that which is borne out of long years of hard work and the acquisition of knowledge, and probably even patient, persevering prayer. For the fortunate person, it is simply there for the taking.

I used to have this runaway kind of success, but it has run out somewhat. Now I have become like most other people in this country, with an existence mostly barren of hope and dreams, and with only the minutest chance for redemption. Literacy and knowledge serve no other useful purpose here other than to make one more aware of the stifling onus of stagnation.

There are the fortunate few, however. Those who pluck out riches from thin air, the corrupt politicians and officials who steal from the national coffers through their malevolently-designed contracts; the unscrupulous men of commerce who hoard and overprice goods, exploit the desperate many through slavish labor and, consequently, amass immoral profits; the warlords who terrorize their subjects into submission, steal whatever little they have, and commit them to a lifetime of poverty. They are appropriately called the "lucky bastards", anomalies in an otherwise equitable and harmonious world.

Bridge Builder

My friend confided that if this one will
go down, then he will
have to go down with it; it will be his final bridge of dreams;

He has built other bridges before, some small,
others grand, some with spans that did not hold;

The small wooden ones, which take my special note,
hang low and wonderful, spanning a clear stream
between two gardens; my friend's worlds connected;

The grandiose one he works on now,
shall connect East and West,
if integrity holds, and remains unfazed
by storm and wind;

If it does not, my friend declared, he may be unable
to salvage his lofty plan, as his soul is mingled
with the beams and cement that will
come crashing down;

If it falls, he has plans: Either he will
snuff himself out through vicious alchemy
that crackles and hisses out of thin air, just the
thing for fatigued souls; or he will be an illusionist
unto himself, and vanish into thin air;

My friend said: Life having failed me, I will now
be a godless god in an island at earth's end,
and nightly my rakish appetites will consume
the salty tastes and odors of native lasses;
I will care not for their souls or mine,
God didn't mind, why would I?

Aware that I, too, was a bridge builder of sorts,
with bitterness at par with his own,
an invitation was laid out for me to join my friend
when he concludes by vicious alchemy, or indulge
till death in earthly heavens;

I was taken aback, muted, by the dare,
they seemed attractive for those who have
axes to grind against Fate, and lives to enjoy
and, afterwards, throw away; I've given it much thought
and each day, I want to know how his bridge has fared.

Egg Cracklets

I've always loved hard breads and biscuits, really crispy toast, and bread sticks, too, but I am really partial to my favorite, egg cracklets.

During college, when my classes were spread out within an entire day, I always (well, almost always) brought along a quite large bag of egg cracklets for lunch. They went so well with ice cream, or with plain cold water when my weekly allowance was dwindling.

Today, I just ogle at bags of egg cracklets stacked neatly on store shelves. I have not bought any for quite some time now, the reason being either of these two, or both: That I have a misplaced sense of frugality, just a tad short of miserliness. If I wanted to, I can forever forgo acquiring things that will benefit only myself, but will gladly spend the greater portion of my finances for things to be enjoyed by the majority of my family. I look upon such a deed as obligatory, rather than unequivocal selflessness. From birth, each one is given a roster of obligations to fulfill, and should we balk at doing them, or treat them with disregard or avoidance, we would become very unhappy; OR, I am an overly optimistic individual, the kindred spirit of those who seek justice, ever hopeful that it is obtainable; and of the perpetrators of crimes, forever seeking avenues of escape and the delay of sought redress; as well as the faceless many whose lives and dreams are regularly decimated by both natural and man-made tragedies that visit this land, but who rebuild each time and move on.

In this country, the hope for change is a national obsession. It accounts for the popularity of a home-grown tv soap about an orphan boy possessed of the divine gift of healing and miracles. At the rate the boy heals people of their morbid illnesses, gunshot and stab wounds, fractures, paralysis, even bringing back people from the dead, he could well surpass and better the record of Jesus Christ. Which is why I think the show is blasphemous to a certain extent, promoting misguided values and fallacious expectations. Healing and change do not happen at the instant of an orphan boy's touch, or overnight. They are brought about by serious work and commitment over decades, at times even lifetimes.

We are dead certain (no pun intended) that better days are in the offing, and that it is written in Fate's pages that they will come. And so it is with me that I await buying my delicious egg cracklets again, promising myself a special treat, a reward, on the arrival of better fortunes.

The Road Ahead

When I was much, much younger, I welcomed the new year like most anyone else: With firecrackers, with noise and merriment. It was difficult to disregard the forceful habit of tradition.

As I turned older, I became disillusioned with all the wasted resources used in welcoming the new year, and so disenfranchised by economic hardship that I had no other option but to be austere on New Year's eve. Thinking about it, if we can collectively become disillusioned with tradition and economically disenfranchised, then we can altogether avoid the casualties and injuries that we foolishly incur when welcoming the new year. Alas, this is highly improbable in this archipelago of contradictions: Where else can you find, but in our poor country, people who perennially complain about the high costs of keeping body and soul together, but who buy deadly pyrotechnics to welcome the new year, spending enough to register a blip on the country's Gross Domestic Product and to keep the fireworks maker well-fed for another year? Or people who pride themselves on being the friendliest, most hospitable on the planet, but who mow down human beings by gunfire, mutilate and disembowel them, and either leave them rotting for flies to feast on, or bury them hurriedly in a mass grave using a payloader? It could only be here, or in some other country masquerading as a God-fearing nation.

I now welcome the new year with a mixture of cautious optimism, a dash of both anxiety and cynicism, but always with redeeming HOPE. The road ahead does not afford me the view of clear directions, it only shows me that lives and dreams are fragile and fleeting. The new year thrusts me into unknown territory, and makes me bow my head in humble, imploring prayer.