Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Night of the Living Dex

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

I'm poor enough to appreciate her help, but then I can't forget the last time she did this for me. I wound up in Camp Crame. I was being paid well enough at the time (tax free) but the longer I stayed, the less meaningful my job became. It didn't help that there was always, looming over me like an oppressive shadow, the threat of screwing up Mom's friendship with Police General X. In Crame, I learned my first lessons in Complex Human Relationships in an Office Setting. While I found my short stay to be instructive, I have no plans of repeating the experience. (1)

Mumm Ra, The Ever Living
They say you're getting old when you begin to enjoy the company of children, or such chores as feeding chickens, more than you do making money. I see my Dad feeding chickens and I can feel his smile from where I'm lying down-- in the living area, a good ten paces from our backyard-- and I know this piece of urbanite folk wisdom is true. I must've been born old, as I've always found the baggage that comes with the relentless hunt for moolah problematic, and unhealthy doses of the preoccupation itself, atavistic.(2)


(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.

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