Saturday, July 19, 2003


My critic was right about me excessively liking the sound of my own voice. In fairness to me, that was why I listened to Ian and put up my own blog. However, if I were to keep rambling I would be bound to offend someone important-- the girlfriend, the family, the friends, the prospective employers. I really should be putting some sort of notice on my journal. A sign that says something along the lines of "Rated PG. The author's opinions do not necessarily reflect those of and the public-at-large. Read at your own risk."

Death in the Family

Dad hasn't been receiving our weekend relatives from San Lazaro and Sta Ana of late. That's 'cause the horsies who grace the tv on Saturday afternoons have taken a backseat to more immediate family-related concerns.

1. I've a grand aunt in Bataan who just bought the farm. I could not make the funeral. She was a great lady who bore an uncanny resemblance to Jaya Ramsey. She was kind to us.

2. I've got a grand uncle who needs a pacemaker; who may not survive if he gets one anyway, as his body's defenses have been ravaged by opportunistic infections. His immediate family is at their wits' end trying to scare up the money to save the old farmer's life. My immediate family is expected to shell out a substantial amount of moolah to finance another life-saving operation.

The High Cost of Living

I remember writing a mass letter to my friends about the cost of a human life. (My life, starting cost at P50,000.00) The gist of which, was that I was a non-performing asset of the family unit, and since I was unlikely to be contributing to the family's general upkeep, maybe they shoulda just let the typhoid finish me off. I am wondering if my grand uncle is contemplating similar thoughts right now, as he's being carted from a hospital in Batangas to a hospital in Metro Manila.

I'm also thinking about my recently deceased granddad, and the moral debate regarding the disposition of his then soon-to-be corpse, which created considerable tension between branches of Clan Lira. Some family members were all for saving his life at any cost-- even of penury, even of granddad's dignity. The rest were all for leaving his fate to the Almighty, letting nature take its course. After all, the old guy was pushing 90, had seen his kids succeed, start their own families, had lived a full life, had made his peace with Jesus. Besides, he hated having to lie down with a plastic tube lodged in his esophagus. Granddad wanted to die. And he wanted to be with his family while he was at it.

What was the cost of his life?

**For the record, I'm not asking for doleouts. Yet. I already owe too many people too much money. ** Besides, I can't exactly show up at the ABS-CBN Foundation to beg for a pacemaker and a cartload of antibiotics-- nobody there would believe my grand uncle's deserving of their money if I were the bearer of such bad, bad news.

Dying Young

Players of the Neverwinter Nights' original game module will probably run into a bard named Sharwyn. Picking her for a henchman will allow them to dialogue with her, and ask about her backstory. She has this to say about death:

"There are ways of dying that don't leave behind a corpse."

Post Mortem

Granddad's death helped cement for me my decision to quit Culture Crash. I was, by that time, a non-performing asset (what is it with me and investments!?) anyway. I had a thesis to finish. I didn't have the energy it took to continually fight off the women in my life while waiting for success, some form of vindication: I had to live with them in the first place. My mother and my girlfriend were against my staying on because, "You're such a lousy worker." The damning thing about it was that it was true.

And just as in my aborted courtship of one Muse from Paranaque, I was speechless through it all. I was never good at explaining myself: not when it wasn't in writing, not when it mattered.

I left, and the guys at the office (between sighs of relief) probably wondered why. Then proceeded with their lives: there was still an issue to finish.

"There are ways of dying that don't leave behind a corpse."

I regret every waking minute of my post-CCCom life. But I cannot countennance having to ...crawl, to ...beg for my old job back. I've made my bed. Now, I have to lie in it.

O little man
Puffed up like a fish!
Fancy yourself a king?
Stop your mouth we will,
Crown you with a hook!
Hang you from our nets,
Cut you open with a spear!
Break you, as bread, an' eat you.
You are supper, proud sir,
And not our last.

Good luck, guys.

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