1. Discordia 2. Relief 3. Milestones

FIRST.
I would never have thought that whom I was certain to be a peacekeeper would put on a mask of discord.
The change in persona took me by surprise, and got me disappointed.
I would like to believe that it was just a mask.
I would like to think that he/she was just on drugs.
Or that the peacekeeper had to resort to war tactics. Some of history’s great leaders believed that peace can be attained by engaging in wars, never mind the collateral damage. Such, I think the peacekeeper thought so.
Otherwise, my belief system needs a revamp.
I’ll sit back, watch and see how the situation will evolve.

SECOND
The last time I had a cold (and not flu) was back in sixth grade.
It was a cold. Not a runny nose which usually goes with my semi-annual flu bouts or my occasional episodes of allergic rhinitis.
It was a cold with the works. Stuffy nose, difficulty breathing through my nostrils, heaps of Kleenex tissues needed. And the characteristic yellow mucus that comes with a bad cold.
I tried all sorts of home remedies. But I think the remedy set which finally cured me was a big steaming bowl of chicken tinola, supplemented by hot calamansi juice with honey.
So after 11 days of having a nasal voice and a blocked airway, I woke up one day with my breathing back to normal.
It’s a simple joy to be back to normal.

THIRD
Of course, reasons to celebrate. Milestones.
Let’s start with a simple thing.
I almost whooped with ecstasy at the swimming pool yesterday.
I managed to do a tumble turn 75% right. Two of my colleagues showed me how early this week, and were giving me pointers on how to do it properly.
Yesterday, I was at the swimming pool again. And I decided to test myself if I can do it.
I think I executed it right, because it felt right and natural. Freestyle swimming: stroke-stroke-breathe-tuck arms in-use core muscles to whip body forward-blow out through nose-twist underwater.
I missed hitting the end-wall of the pool though (was about a foot off). So I wasn’t able to kick against it. Hahaha...

And on to a more grand milestone.
Receiving a big brown envelope is cause for celebration in my workgroup.
I’ve been on my current assignment for only two months, and yesterday I was handed a big brown envelope.
Inside was a letter of congratulations, and stating a certain award.
Wahooo!
That big brown envelope makes my current job a bit more palatable.
And to think that I was doing things normally, my way, my style, the last two months. It seems that my workgroup recognizes such work ethics, and gives corresponding rewards for it.

Oreos

Some years ago, there was this TV commercial featuring a dad and his toddler son with a pile of Oreos and a glass of milk each in front of them. The father teaches the son the “right way” to eat an Oreo cookie: break, lick, then dunk. And then down it with a glass of milk. It was a nice picture of a father-son moment in a setting almost all of us have been in: being alone with your dad at the breakfast table and the rest of the house is still asleep.

Well, I didn’t have an Oreo cookie moment with my dad when I was growing up. Oreos were a luxury for our family when I was a toddler (I had to settle for those local Hi-ro cookies). And my dad doesn’t know the right way to eat an Oreo or a Hi-Ro cookie. It so happens that my instinctive way of eating a Hi-Ro cookie is the same way the Oreo commercial showed it; hence, in other words, I learned how to eat a sandwich cookie by myself.

And that is how pretty much my dad let me grow up. Learn most of the things by myself.

Like tie my shoelaces. (My teachers always wonder why my shoelaces keep coming off).

Or making my own projects from third grade. (I always envied my other classmates who had their collages made by their parents --- they looked really really good).

Or preparing my dad’s coffee. (It took me about a week to figure out how he liked his coffee).

In retrospect, I realize that what seemed to be my dad’s lack of handholding to me when I (and the rest of my siblings) was growing up is his way of teaching us to be independent, creative and competitive. I believe that all those times that when I was struggling to tie my own shoelaces or trying to make my first electrical circuit, my dad was stealthily watching me from a distance and silently cheering me to succeed in my small tasks.

And for that I am thankful. Much of what I have achieved now is mostly because my father taught me how to get or accomplish what I want with my own resources.

At lunch earlier, I had a surpise for my dad. A pack of Oreo cookies.

He grabbed a piece, popped it into his mouth and downed it with coffee. He still doesn't know how to eat an Oreo cookie.

Happy Father’s Day, Pops!

Supernatural

1.
Out of 30-or-so distant relatives whom I got to talk to at my grandfather's funeral/wake all had the same story to share to me:

My lolo has been making the rounds in their dreams. Every single one of them have been haunted by my lolo in their dreams while they were sleeping. Some of them weren't aware of my grandfather's passing away, while the rest simply INITIALLY chose not to attend the funeral or the wake.

So I guess this proves that seeing ghosts and supernatural stuff are common in my mother's side of the family (lolo was my mother's father).

My mom thinks that being the prudent and proud (but stingy) man my grandfather is, he made rounds in the dreamworld to ensure that his wake and funeral is well-attended, thereby generating enough abuloys (alms) to cover most of his own funeral expenses.

Even in death, he remained proud.

2.
Our Baclaran house is my lola's property, and never was my grandfather's. So all the while, I believed that the house test I and the rest of my family believed in will not change in terms of mechanics.

My lola's house test was simple: Bring your friend or guest to our old Baclaran house for a night's stay. If the guest finds himself scared shit or screaming in the middle of the night, he failed the test. If he gets a good night's sleep/rest, he passed the test.

The people who fail would normally describe a clammy feeling of someone grasping their ankles or legs in the middle of their sleep. The really unfortunate ones think that they saw a hand or two hovering above their feet.

My dead grandma grants a good night's sleep to those guests whom she thinks are good influences to the host. Conversely, she provides an "unforgettable" experience to those whom she think will be bad influences.

So far, there have been only four cases of screamers among the various guests that I and the rest of my siblings have brought over to our house for a sleepover.


3.
Now that my grandfather's dead, it seems that there's been a new set of nightmarish experiences at our Baclaran house.

Some of the old people who found themselves dozing off while trying to maintain a vigil had dreams of my lolo sitting on top of their chests, and trying to open their mouths with his bare hands.

I'm puzzled by what that dream meant. None in my immediate family have experienced it so far.

At any rate, I am making a mental note of that particular nightmare. It can be a potential 'test'.

"I Am Rain"

That's the working title of a potential koreanovela-style TV soap opera that I've conceived if I were a scriptwriter.

One does not need to look far to find inspiration for developing a storyline that is the current fad in Asian TV dramas. In fact, the reason why I was able to come up with this blog-post is because I took a macro-perspective of the relationship dynamics of a certain group where I belong to.

I built a character storyboard based on that.

And it turned out to be a really complex one which is good for the purposes of an imaginary TV-novela.



Circles are male characters.
Triangles are female characters.
Arrows represent potential "relationships". Or to state it in another context, these are lines of "interest".
Solid blue lines are lines of preferred acquaintance.
Broken lines are 'relationships subject to interpretation.'
Lightning symbols represent points of conflict.

No names have been provided, but in a Sodoku-like style, I'm putting in one identifier to help the reader figure out who's who in the diagram.

And your last clue: Nope, I am not Rain.

The things that I get to think of just to amuse myself...

Eulogio

I spent last night wearing myself out in order to get a decent night's sleep: an hour and a half at the gym, two hours of badminton after that, and 10 laps in the swimming pool to cap the night. Dinner was a light meal of vegetables and braised pork.

I got to sleep soundly last night. No fits of restlessness, no dreams or nightmares.

At 0510 early this morning, I woke up for no reason. I just found myself with my eyes open staring at the ceiling of my pad. That's weird, knowing that I usually wake up at three in the morning and then snooze until around six-thirty.

I reached across to my bedside table to get my mobile phone. Checked the time. Yup, it was 0510 in the morning.

I saw the LCD display on my phone switch from 0510 to 0511. I've been staring at it for a minute.

And then a text message comes in. "1 message received".

My mom. "Your lolo already passed away."

My "Lolo Daddy" (everybody, including his business associates, calls him "Dad" because he used to control a lot of the properties and businesses in our area -- the palengke, botica, horse-betting stations, the largest grocery in the neighborhood, a hardware store, a bakery and several buildings and houses for rent) is not my favorite grandparent. He's a known womanizer.

But he was a doting grandfather to me.

He got me my first bank account.
He'd give me fifty pesos for every medal I take home at the end of the school year. 20 years ago, fifty pesos was a lot of money for a 9-year old.
He shouldered almost all of my Boy Scout camping trips, including an international jamboree.
He taught me the basics of tennis at the CCP tennis grounds every Sunday.
He pinches my ear if he finds out I haven't gone to confession in a month.
He offered me to learn his business, which I politely declined.
He bought me video games which I didn't really like.
He'd make me peanut butter sandwiches whenever I was around, even if I stopped liking to eat peanut butter sandwiches right after college.

And then he had a stroke. And then three more over the years. At first, he needed only a cane. Then a wheelchair. The last stroke rendered him bedridden, requiring the care of a nurse 24-hours-a-day and a weekly visit from a local priest to give him Penance, Holy Communion and Unction.

The Angel of Death has come to our ancestral house to finally claim my lone surviving grandparent.

At the age of 92, Lolo Daddy "Eulogio" slept peacefully for the last time.