No rest for the wicked: Happy Martial Law-niversary
I promise, no pontifications. I've already dosed my readers with well-meaning exhortations to Never Forget What Happened 32 Years Ago in articles predating this one.
I spent the 32nd anniversary of the national bludgeoning of human rights waiting for a corpulent cop at Manila's Police Station 7. Mom had "pimped" me to the station commander as "the best graphic artist/computer systems expert/copy writing editor you can get on a budget," "the perfect guy to fix the holes in your communiques to Command." Which meant she had eagerly put her friendship with the station CO on the line just so she could get me decent employment.
Road to hell
Mumm Ra, The Ever Living
(1)I did dip my toes into it, in part to not make my mom look like a windbag. I guess I shouldn't have bothered, as I have only probably made another mess of things. Painful feeling, when expectations are not actualized for any reason, valid or otherwise.
(2)And yet the meanest monk will welcome money, especially when it comes out of someone else's pocket.