How ‘I Love You’ becomes complicated
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
What if one day someone told you; “Alas, my sagacity has comprehended the convolution of the physiological progressions relentlessly functioning medial to the membranes of my pericardial cavities. Indeed, the continual projection of acetylcholine escalating the throbbing of my cardiac muscles has been an observable phenomenon that has persistently dwelled upon my cranial region seemingly encroaching the hemispheres of my intellect.” Could you hang on for a minute, blood’s rushing out of my nose. Seriously, what he simply want to say is, I love you. If someone would propose to me blubbering those apparently nose-bleeding words, I’d rather grow old unwed. I have nothing against the use words that will force you to buy the latest dictionaries, I know a lot of people who are so fond of using them, even I myself am guilty of muttering some words alien to the average society. But, to recite a thesis report during the night you’ll be waiting for her sweet yes and I do, I say forget it.
Making simple things complicated, here’s a talent almost all of us had practiced to perfection. Situations that can be solve with a frank yet peaceful conversation usually leads to a legal yet chaotic session in the courtroom. A few weeks ago, nothing but private owned vehicles roamed the streets of Iloilo city and province. The two-day transport strike painted the overwhelming smiles on the faces of students who had been spared from the hassle of waking up early. Yet, sketched the distress on the weary faces of some families who for two days will have to tighten their belts because their father joined the cry of his fellow drivers. The roads were paralyzed for a single reason, to ask for a roll back on the price of gasoline.
If only I took up a major in Economics then I’d be able to react more vividly. Yet, with my frail understanding, I see this to be quite simple and making it complicated would get us nowhere. I don’t consider this a petty matter but, some case simple enough to have some doable alternatives rather than paralyzing both the streets, as well as the lives of commuters. As I understand we don’t have much control on the regulation of oil prices or anything that we import to our country, so sacrificing two days of not routing the streets for a seemingly hopeless objective would soon turned out to be, unfortunately, immobile. We tend to complicate instances that could actually be done in a simple way, avoiding the negative blobs to both yourself and the larger group.
Let the simple things remain simple. Look at the traffic flow in the highways of Iloilo, for such a small and barely urbanized locality, the commotion is darker than the filthy soot. I see a lot of public utility jeepneys paying no attention to road signs, loading in places that are prone to slow traffic. Every one wants to get some meters ahead, overtaking three consecutive cars in a row, worse, in a rascal manner. Both sprinkle the sundae of a sluggish-decongesting vehicle flow. Let’s pretend I’m some guy those PUJ’s follow and eventually made them obey those simple traffic rules what would become of them? A driver’s six roundtrips for his whole day may be raised to some nine or ten roundtrips, adding up to his minimum profit. An increase in profit to equalize the steady increase of gasoline purchase won’t be a bad thing right? Simple problems have simple solutions. Although, it may not be a solution but it’s a start, compared to wasting away in the deserted roads a two-day’s profit.
A lot of articles other than mine may provide the best of the best theoretical solutions and mature viewpoints. I can’t argue, since I can’t give what I don’t have. Yet, I think more people would appreciate and to the extent, understand a simple I love you rather than a cluster of utterances clogged in an abandoned lexicon that only scribes of astonishing mental power have convened to employ and utilize in the daily existence of a struggling homo sapien sapien.
When you talk about stuff that is beyond the tangible reality, you’ll appear delusional and psychotic nowadays. Try murmuring simple, practical and lay terminologies; you’ll be surprise that the average Juan de la Cruz will appreciate you more. As everyone had concluded, the world is complicated, why make it more complicated? Remember, priceless pieces of jewelry that’ll rip off millionaire’s pockets, are stored inside simple and small boxes. Great things show up for simple yet real and feasible strivings.
The next time someone asks you if saying “I love you” could get anymore complicated, you know the drill.
And thus, my phalangeal region owe much gratitude to the invariable function of contractile proteins following such unvarying typing that—who am I kidding? In non-nosebleed terms I mean, my fingers are tired of typing.
Keep it simple.
Flying Reindeers (January 7, 2008)
Flying Reindeers
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
There I was running in circles around our front lawn. The newly trimmed carabao grass brushed my five year old feet with dewdrops on a Christmas night. My eyes were peeled for a bright spark amidst the twinkling stars in the sky. My ears were keen for a sleigh bell jingle amidst the carols of children in the streets. My five year old self was determined to meet that legendary man with poinsettia red clothes, snow white beard and a tummy rounder than his laugh. Those look-a-likes in department stores can’t fool me, I know the real thing. I know he doesn’t need a five hundred peso worth of purchase for me to sit on his lap. Yet, when I found out Santa Claus had long been dead and can’t possibly exist in a toy factory below zero degree, never again did I addressed a single wish list to North Pole.
When I was younger, I thought Christmas was just about that jolly chubby man who likes reindeers. Then the humbug Scrooge came together with his friend the Grinch, both made me realize that it’s about giving and sharing. But, just this Christmas someone told me otherwise. He said, Christmas is a time when shopping malls are flooded, a time when people aimlessly spend their money on costly gifts and glossy wrappers, a time when business seekers rule the streets each having their own gimmick. Consumerism told me that Christmas revolved around him and his best friend Materialism. They crept like thieves into homes of both the rich and the poor increasing the economic gap between them. They slid into every commercial establishment, forcing them to mislabel their packaging of goods, pirate original merchandise, and implore additives to lengthen their product’s shelf life; fooling consumers just to get ahead of one another. Consumerism wasn’t finished, he blurted out how the world is now deafened of children’s carols and would rather watch some television shows starring him. He bragged about how the lanterns gradually lose their shimmer as neighbors compete unto who has the larger or more expensive parol.
Now, you don’t expect me to just stare at him and listen to his crappy non sense yakking. Yes, malls may be flooded with people each contributing to consumerism, but see how their trolleys are filled with would-be presents for their significant others, see how materialism was developed into a virtue of sharing. Yes, business seekers rule the streets competing with each other, but see how their profits for that day would provide each of their own families a noche Buena to remember, see how competition was developed into a virtue of concern. Yes, treachery is in every corner where customers flock, but see how authorities perform their duties of maintaining a fair yuletide season to sellers and buyers alike, see how deceit was developed into a virtue of responsibility. Yes, people may have been under his domain, hypnotized, forced or even slaved, but see how the spirit of Christmas remained alive even after how much it was crushed and pounded into pieces.
I may be too big of a baby to still believe in Santa Claus. But, there are still nights when I circle our front lawn, of course not running anymore, constantly looking at the night sky still hoping that I’ll be seeing some flying reindeers. There are still nights when my five year old self pays a visit telling me that the true essence of Christmas had never changed. I can’t say that I still believe in Santa, but I am not giving up hope to hear some sleigh bells jingle.
New Year is coming, louder than any fireworks painted in the canvass of the sky, telling us that Christmas is over. And so, in comes another eleven months for us to define what our Christmas should be the next time around.
Let consumerism and his friends come, anyway we can’t stop them. Let them enslave the shopping malls, terrorize media, linger in every nook and corner. After all, at the end of the day, it’s just between you and your hope of seeing Santa Claus.
If you ask me, we had an awesome Christmas.
Happy New Year Everyone!
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
There I was running in circles around our front lawn. The newly trimmed carabao grass brushed my five year old feet with dewdrops on a Christmas night. My eyes were peeled for a bright spark amidst the twinkling stars in the sky. My ears were keen for a sleigh bell jingle amidst the carols of children in the streets. My five year old self was determined to meet that legendary man with poinsettia red clothes, snow white beard and a tummy rounder than his laugh. Those look-a-likes in department stores can’t fool me, I know the real thing. I know he doesn’t need a five hundred peso worth of purchase for me to sit on his lap. Yet, when I found out Santa Claus had long been dead and can’t possibly exist in a toy factory below zero degree, never again did I addressed a single wish list to North Pole.
When I was younger, I thought Christmas was just about that jolly chubby man who likes reindeers. Then the humbug Scrooge came together with his friend the Grinch, both made me realize that it’s about giving and sharing. But, just this Christmas someone told me otherwise. He said, Christmas is a time when shopping malls are flooded, a time when people aimlessly spend their money on costly gifts and glossy wrappers, a time when business seekers rule the streets each having their own gimmick. Consumerism told me that Christmas revolved around him and his best friend Materialism. They crept like thieves into homes of both the rich and the poor increasing the economic gap between them. They slid into every commercial establishment, forcing them to mislabel their packaging of goods, pirate original merchandise, and implore additives to lengthen their product’s shelf life; fooling consumers just to get ahead of one another. Consumerism wasn’t finished, he blurted out how the world is now deafened of children’s carols and would rather watch some television shows starring him. He bragged about how the lanterns gradually lose their shimmer as neighbors compete unto who has the larger or more expensive parol.
Now, you don’t expect me to just stare at him and listen to his crappy non sense yakking. Yes, malls may be flooded with people each contributing to consumerism, but see how their trolleys are filled with would-be presents for their significant others, see how materialism was developed into a virtue of sharing. Yes, business seekers rule the streets competing with each other, but see how their profits for that day would provide each of their own families a noche Buena to remember, see how competition was developed into a virtue of concern. Yes, treachery is in every corner where customers flock, but see how authorities perform their duties of maintaining a fair yuletide season to sellers and buyers alike, see how deceit was developed into a virtue of responsibility. Yes, people may have been under his domain, hypnotized, forced or even slaved, but see how the spirit of Christmas remained alive even after how much it was crushed and pounded into pieces.
I may be too big of a baby to still believe in Santa Claus. But, there are still nights when I circle our front lawn, of course not running anymore, constantly looking at the night sky still hoping that I’ll be seeing some flying reindeers. There are still nights when my five year old self pays a visit telling me that the true essence of Christmas had never changed. I can’t say that I still believe in Santa, but I am not giving up hope to hear some sleigh bells jingle.
New Year is coming, louder than any fireworks painted in the canvass of the sky, telling us that Christmas is over. And so, in comes another eleven months for us to define what our Christmas should be the next time around.
Let consumerism and his friends come, anyway we can’t stop them. Let them enslave the shopping malls, terrorize media, linger in every nook and corner. After all, at the end of the day, it’s just between you and your hope of seeing Santa Claus.
If you ask me, we had an awesome Christmas.
Happy New Year Everyone!
A weekend without Friendster (December 18, 2007)
A weekend without Friendster
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The 1200 paged anatomy book crashed with a silent thump against the foam filled bed. I satisfied myself with a lungful of air, a first in four hours. My body purposely slammed into the cotton haven of my pillows, as my back couldn’t get any curved in posture. It’s like the fluid inside of me was dehydrated into a desert of exhaustion and boredom. Yes, for four hours, all I have been doing was chit-chatting with the organelles of the cells and sharing some updated gossips with the ribosome in the endoplasmic reticulum. None of these would have happened if not for the brain diffusing chapter exam next Monday. My weekends are usually spent in front of the computer editing my shout-outs and profile skins on Friendster. But, in laying all the cards on the table, the aces have to be picked, priorities have to be considered. It’s between the joyful keyboard tapping hours or some dull page-flipping moments assigned by your pedantic professor.
Choices and priorities, they may seem so universal, yet only a few succeed in making the right ones. A simple housewife pushing her trolley across the aisles of the grocery, rummaging her coin purse on which brand of detergent to purchase, yes, she has to make a choice. A business tycoon scratching his head for the third time, looking at the pros and con on which proposal to sign, yes, he has to make a choice. The weight of the decision does not determine immediately the significance of the choice. That housewife may pick the better detergent while the business tycoon may sign the proposal he’ll soon regret. Though the housewife’s decision may appear menial compared to the make or break it decision of the business tycoon, it isn’t completely so. What if the housewife made a wrong choice of detergent that might possibly spread dye from a colored shirt to her husband’s white uniform? What if that petty accident may cause a heated babble between wife and husband? What if that heated babble may lure some lawyers to arrange their legal separation? Funny, how a wrong choice of detergent powder can ruin some years of marriage.
Man has not yet perfected the art of choosing. Man has still yet to improve in making his priorities. Evidences are the continually brewing arguments in the senate and congress, each having different priorities that to my own belief should be set aside for the essential ones. Having some controversial government officials impeached is of greater priority to them, than some hundreds of families in the evacuation centers after a recent typhoon. Writing blame all over the backs of fellow lawmakers is of greater priority to them, than some thousands of out of school youth driven to human trafficking and drug addiction. Looking good in front of the television during assemblies with their half an hour speeches is of greater priority than some millions of Filipinos that couldn’t even afford to buy televisions. Indeed, they made “right” choices. Yes, they “did” prioritize. But these weren’t the essential ones.
Abraham Maslow made a hierarchy of human needs which classifies them into seven ranks, each lower level much be satisfied first before proceeding to the higher one. Maslow prioritized human needs, making oxygen and body fluids more important than feeling secured in a social group. He was kind enough to point out the obvious. Truly, you can’t exactly murmur by yourself being out of place in a peer group while grasping for some air and slowly deteriorating because of dehydration. But to some extent, man rebels to this obvious and no-nonsense concept. During fiestas on a densely populated barrio, Mang Juan would utilize all his resources and even seek the intercession of his Indian friends just to prepare a king’s worth of a banquet for his “friends”. In the end making, poor Mang Juan drowned in 5’6 debts and Aling Pacing’s rage because her pieces of jewelry were loaned in the nearby pawnshop. Man could get so stupid at times. Amusing it is that all of these were because of a wrong choice, an error in priorities.
Those four hours of anatomy fever, literally, became nine hours of merciless mental draining. I did not get to change my shout-out in Friendster that weekend nor pushed the on button on the CPU to the very least. Yet, I’m still satisfied with my decision, with my choice, with my priority. I’m equipped with a mind full of anatomical terms that hopefully would lure me to a priority one point zero (1.0) grade in the nearing chapter test. If Hamlet chose between to be and not to be, so did I.
Honestly, I did not regret a single bit of having a weekend without logging in to Friendster. Maybe because I have fooled—err—encouraged my mind unto thinking that the lipid bilayer of the plasma membrane would give me more advantages than some rhythmic tapping of the keyboard.
The world is full of choices.
Make the right one.
Prioritize.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The 1200 paged anatomy book crashed with a silent thump against the foam filled bed. I satisfied myself with a lungful of air, a first in four hours. My body purposely slammed into the cotton haven of my pillows, as my back couldn’t get any curved in posture. It’s like the fluid inside of me was dehydrated into a desert of exhaustion and boredom. Yes, for four hours, all I have been doing was chit-chatting with the organelles of the cells and sharing some updated gossips with the ribosome in the endoplasmic reticulum. None of these would have happened if not for the brain diffusing chapter exam next Monday. My weekends are usually spent in front of the computer editing my shout-outs and profile skins on Friendster. But, in laying all the cards on the table, the aces have to be picked, priorities have to be considered. It’s between the joyful keyboard tapping hours or some dull page-flipping moments assigned by your pedantic professor.
Choices and priorities, they may seem so universal, yet only a few succeed in making the right ones. A simple housewife pushing her trolley across the aisles of the grocery, rummaging her coin purse on which brand of detergent to purchase, yes, she has to make a choice. A business tycoon scratching his head for the third time, looking at the pros and con on which proposal to sign, yes, he has to make a choice. The weight of the decision does not determine immediately the significance of the choice. That housewife may pick the better detergent while the business tycoon may sign the proposal he’ll soon regret. Though the housewife’s decision may appear menial compared to the make or break it decision of the business tycoon, it isn’t completely so. What if the housewife made a wrong choice of detergent that might possibly spread dye from a colored shirt to her husband’s white uniform? What if that petty accident may cause a heated babble between wife and husband? What if that heated babble may lure some lawyers to arrange their legal separation? Funny, how a wrong choice of detergent powder can ruin some years of marriage.
Man has not yet perfected the art of choosing. Man has still yet to improve in making his priorities. Evidences are the continually brewing arguments in the senate and congress, each having different priorities that to my own belief should be set aside for the essential ones. Having some controversial government officials impeached is of greater priority to them, than some hundreds of families in the evacuation centers after a recent typhoon. Writing blame all over the backs of fellow lawmakers is of greater priority to them, than some thousands of out of school youth driven to human trafficking and drug addiction. Looking good in front of the television during assemblies with their half an hour speeches is of greater priority than some millions of Filipinos that couldn’t even afford to buy televisions. Indeed, they made “right” choices. Yes, they “did” prioritize. But these weren’t the essential ones.
Abraham Maslow made a hierarchy of human needs which classifies them into seven ranks, each lower level much be satisfied first before proceeding to the higher one. Maslow prioritized human needs, making oxygen and body fluids more important than feeling secured in a social group. He was kind enough to point out the obvious. Truly, you can’t exactly murmur by yourself being out of place in a peer group while grasping for some air and slowly deteriorating because of dehydration. But to some extent, man rebels to this obvious and no-nonsense concept. During fiestas on a densely populated barrio, Mang Juan would utilize all his resources and even seek the intercession of his Indian friends just to prepare a king’s worth of a banquet for his “friends”. In the end making, poor Mang Juan drowned in 5’6 debts and Aling Pacing’s rage because her pieces of jewelry were loaned in the nearby pawnshop. Man could get so stupid at times. Amusing it is that all of these were because of a wrong choice, an error in priorities.
Those four hours of anatomy fever, literally, became nine hours of merciless mental draining. I did not get to change my shout-out in Friendster that weekend nor pushed the on button on the CPU to the very least. Yet, I’m still satisfied with my decision, with my choice, with my priority. I’m equipped with a mind full of anatomical terms that hopefully would lure me to a priority one point zero (1.0) grade in the nearing chapter test. If Hamlet chose between to be and not to be, so did I.
Honestly, I did not regret a single bit of having a weekend without logging in to Friendster. Maybe because I have fooled—err—encouraged my mind unto thinking that the lipid bilayer of the plasma membrane would give me more advantages than some rhythmic tapping of the keyboard.
The world is full of choices.
Make the right one.
Prioritize.
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