…once they leave your mouth, there is no real retraction. Once you click on send, your words end up being read (or ignored). Most often, words behave like homing pigeons, or worse, they behave like missiles that home in on (un)intended targets either bringing an explosion of laughter or numbing sadness.
Yes, messages can be misunderstood and can even be fatal.
A strange thing happened this evening. People suddenly took a pause to admire the moon and its halo. The usual stream of what-I-had-for-dinner photos and selfies got bumped off by the nearest celestial body. According to scientists and the Philippine weather service (PAGASA), the halo is from the reflection of light from the ice crystals in the air, or something to that effect. In olden days, some would just say that the lunar light show is an omen, a sign of bad things to come. I’ll take the positive awe over the negative “hell, no.”
and it shines like a living hymn (image via InterAksyon.com)
The moon sure has enough stopping power, either when it’s a big bright Full Moon, which I howl at, or when there is a unique phenomenon that occurs with it. I’m sure glad that nature can still shut people up with a freebie beauty show treat rather than shutting them up with a fear-inducing display of power courtesy of storms and quakes. Nature gave us a free show. Great!
Tonight’s show, I’ll take it as a reminder of how small we really are in this world. It could also be a reminder of how some things are beautiful by default. It also serves up the question: Why do people always have to complicate things when there is beauty in simplicity? That’s a question best answered over a few rounds of…something meant for a different writeup.
Tradition. It binds us. It binds us even if we need not be bound to it or hope not to be bound to it.
Having grown up in a traditional family. I was always expected to act in a traditional manner. Dad goes to the office. Mum stays in the kitchen. Well, mum, at least when she was around, realized that she can wear big boy pants. Dad had to keep up with her.
Having opened my eyes. I realized that I don’t always have to be “traditional.” I’ll keep tradition simply like wearing my underpants, er, under my pants. Tradition is the oldest form of “take it or leave it.” Tradition is that big booger up one’s nose that you can’t pick off in public.
Non-traditional becomes the unstoppable force. Tradition is the immovable object. What happens when the two collide? Non-traditional problems do not require traditional solutions, since they may not always work.
As I’ve grown to discover, they do sort of surrender to each other and have to do a bit of compromise from time to time. Non-traditional will always try to sneak in a few “insertions” here and there until tradition finally breaks down. Tradition will try to stay sane and will keep on trying until Non-traditional finally bogs down.
Good luck to both of them, seriously.
I think I should start a new category in this blog: Tales of a Split Personality
The smell of fried chicken is wafting through the air as I type this sentence out, as a family next to my table started eating fried chicken bought from a specialty restaurant. What is it with chicken? Seriously, I believe that chicken is universal comfort food. It is in serious competition with the noodles I love with a passion.
Our work group had dinner at the local chicken and waffles place near our office. Honestly, every time I go to that place, I start out wanting to order something else. Quite peculiarly, I end up ordering the two-piece pan-fried chicken. The meat is tender and juicy. The skin all crispy and tasty. I share that same fondness for that dish with a friend, whom I first shared that sentiment of always ordering the domesticated bird.
In an odd way, chicken can represent a unique comfort zone. When things aren’t going right, we end up with the chicken…or other dishes that can knock you into a moment, like in the movie Ratatouille, when you realize that the taste at the end of your tongue just smacks of what you’ve missing, events from your childhood or an earlier period in life. We leave thinking that we’ve had enough of it, only to come back for another serving at a later date because of the emotions it stirs up from deep down.
In my case, that can be the pancit canton, the lomi and the mami.