Reservations is holding me back to write this story because I am afraid that people's impression on me might change. But I find the incident noteworthy so I am compelled to write this in my journal. Eventually this will be an effective tool in aiding me recall this segment of my life.
Two days ago a row happened between me and one of the food servers in our mess. The cause was so petty that it turned to fracas. It started this way, it was breakfast time, a few minutes past 5 AM, I surveyed the trays in array for healthful treat. I snobbed the oatmeal and its kin, the old time favorites, GMC's in boxes. Tired of looking around I settled on my usual breakfast--a bread roll thinly spread with butter, coffee and fried eggs. I prefer fried eggs over omelet because the whites are easy to separate from the yolk. Poached eggs are boring; it's gone in one gorge, breakfast consummated in 2 seconds, ha-ha. I come from a family of hypertensives so I have to be easy with the cholesterol-rich yellow of the egg. The genetic gift that I inherited manifested signs on me when I was 36 years of age. Since then I am careful with what I eat. But sometimes I stray heeding the call of my taste buds for some earthly delights, and so my story continues...
At the end of the counter, where the cooked eggs are to be collected, I saw bacons sizzling on the griddle. In hesitation I thought of having some. And then on the plate full of still raw bacons I saw some lean slices partly hidden under the heap of fatty ones; I decided to have some. Politely and struggling with my French I asked the server, a local guy, if I can have some of those lean slices. Straight away he frowned, shook his hairless head in negation and said in their local dialect that all the slices are the same, loaded with fat. Despite my explanation on how bad it is for the health he proceeded in cooking the fatty ones, as if I have no right to choose and we are at their mercy. My blood boiled with anger. How could an ugly and illiterate individual challenge my rights for what is good for me. I warned him that I am not going to eat what he cooked and I am going to report him to the management. This made him upset and the row started. The argument crescendoed into a shouting match of invectives. Not understanding with each other because my French is as bad as his'. I lost my composure and rational judgment that time. The kitchen staffs rushed out to quell the fight. The diners seated were looking at us in awe. It was really a scene. I only calmed down when I saw 2 guys waiting to be served at the counter watching us. I then instructed that ugly server to stop blabbering and go back to his work and serve the new comers.
Still livid and residues of the fight still milling in my mind, I forced myself to eat my breakfast. My coffee was too sweet for I was not counting anymore the number of teaspoons I put on it. I don't even remember how the bacon tasted. I was done in less than 3 minutes. What a way to start a day.
At work I became irritable. A mere raise of voice by other people agitates me as if courting for trouble. At the same time my emotions was ambivalent. I hated becoming belligerent. It's not my nature." What is wrong with me?", " Why am I acting like this?" These were the questions I asked myself.
Is this what they call mid-life crisis? Will I overcome this? If not, what will I be when I'm 70 or 80? A monster?
When I was young with emotions still fragile this incident is unimaginable to happen. I was never agressive in my life until lately. I had a commendable threshold of patience to be proud of. As I matured, my emotions had evolved into a stable and more defined one, and I became expressive with my feelings, some times no holds bar. But there is a big BUT about this. If I think I can dominate the person or situation then the agressive side of me comes out. But when I'm challenged with persons superior than me and those who I respect I tend to become meek like a helpless child. A case of a Jekyll and Hyde syndrome or in short, double standard . I don't know what to do about this.
Yesterday and this morning's breakfast the same local server was serving the food. I was watching him carefully with an eagle's eye for fear that he might do something at his vantage to make even with me. Who knows he might flavor my food with his spittle. I have done this before to someone I hated and I'm afraid it might come back to me.
With this story I don't know how people will react and judge me.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Weekend in Solitude
In the four corners of my room I spent another weekend in solitary confinement. There was an invitation to picnic near the dam that I turned down. The heat outside at 49 degrees centigrade was just too excruciating for me to enjoy. Besides, I had an appointment to call home at luchtime.
My day started with breakfast at 5 am. A cup of coffee, bread roll and fried eggs were enough to perk up my energy. No need to carbo load --- physical activity is zilch today.
In the environs of a cluttered desk my notebook lied. Next to the desk is the TV. I spent the day watching TV and at the same time browsed the net. I swicthed channels between National Geographic and MTV only, refraining from watching movies lest I stop net surfing. I read blogs and news and chatted. Read and wrote emails. Took quick naps in between activities whenever my eyes give in to drowsiness. My bed is just a hop away.
I gazed the ceiling and examined my conscience, making peace to myself and the world.
I didn't go to the canteen for lunch. In the room I simmered a cup of noodle soup and savored it with crackers. Supper at 5 pm was quite loaded with carbs, making up the measly lunch that I had.
Another weekend well rested in solitude. The whole experience was revitalizing as well as uplifted the spirit. Just love it.
Ahead will be another week of gruelling work.
My day started with breakfast at 5 am. A cup of coffee, bread roll and fried eggs were enough to perk up my energy. No need to carbo load --- physical activity is zilch today.
In the environs of a cluttered desk my notebook lied. Next to the desk is the TV. I spent the day watching TV and at the same time browsed the net. I swicthed channels between National Geographic and MTV only, refraining from watching movies lest I stop net surfing. I read blogs and news and chatted. Read and wrote emails. Took quick naps in between activities whenever my eyes give in to drowsiness. My bed is just a hop away.
I gazed the ceiling and examined my conscience, making peace to myself and the world.
I didn't go to the canteen for lunch. In the room I simmered a cup of noodle soup and savored it with crackers. Supper at 5 pm was quite loaded with carbs, making up the measly lunch that I had.
Another weekend well rested in solitude. The whole experience was revitalizing as well as uplifted the spirit. Just love it.
Ahead will be another week of gruelling work.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The Culprit
Finally I am back on striking keys again. It took me a long time to prompt myself to start. The culprit is the wicked TV in my new room. I call it wicked because the temptation to switch it on is just irresistible like a cold drink on a hot summer day. And once the remote control is already on my hold I can't stop anymore from hopping channels until I finally find the program/show or movie of my interest for the day. Blogging is sidelined again as next priority, promising myself to start writing once I'm done watching the show. On the other hand and to be honest this culprit has practically entertained me. It's more animated than the internet as far as my knowledge about the world wide web can stretch. If only I have the generosity of time to watch TV and blog later then the world for me would be perfect.
One thing in my daily routine that is not affected by the onset of this other entertainment medium is reading blogs. I can still manage to check what's new and comment if necessary in my favorite blog site, This Randomness, despite the lack of time.
My structured life here in the Dark Continent has limited my relaxation time to just 3 hours a day---that is after work hours and I have already done my thing---that is when I'm in bed facing the box and later surfing net. If I get so engrossed with the show, that means I have to forego the internet. And at the strike of 9 in the evening that means lights must be switched off and I have to go to sleep, otherwise I will suffer the brunt of drowsiness on the following day if I go over the limit like the couchmen in the fairytale, Cinderella, turning into mice at the strike of 12 midnight.
Yesterday, Good Friday we worked like mad dogs until off time. Today, we only worked half-day. Tomorrow is off and the day after tomorrow is Easter Monday, a holiday. This is a big bonus in blogging. I'll make sure that my friend the wicked TV won't get me on the hook. Probably switch it to CNN and hide the remote control away from my sight. There's no more stopping, no fingers crossed, I must publish a post.
One thing in my daily routine that is not affected by the onset of this other entertainment medium is reading blogs. I can still manage to check what's new and comment if necessary in my favorite blog site, This Randomness, despite the lack of time.
My structured life here in the Dark Continent has limited my relaxation time to just 3 hours a day---that is after work hours and I have already done my thing---that is when I'm in bed facing the box and later surfing net. If I get so engrossed with the show, that means I have to forego the internet. And at the strike of 9 in the evening that means lights must be switched off and I have to go to sleep, otherwise I will suffer the brunt of drowsiness on the following day if I go over the limit like the couchmen in the fairytale, Cinderella, turning into mice at the strike of 12 midnight.
Yesterday, Good Friday we worked like mad dogs until off time. Today, we only worked half-day. Tomorrow is off and the day after tomorrow is Easter Monday, a holiday. This is a big bonus in blogging. I'll make sure that my friend the wicked TV won't get me on the hook. Probably switch it to CNN and hide the remote control away from my sight. There's no more stopping, no fingers crossed, I must publish a post.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Mr. Steve Jr.
The earliest childhood memory that I can remember is when I was 3 years old. That was the death of my maternal grandfather. Though faces are faint traces I could still recall the wake and the burial. But it's strange that I could not remember the time I started to recognize my first name. I knew my full name when I started Grade I.
My father’s name is Tiburcio, a very unique name, of Spanish origin and in my whole life there were only 2 persons I met with such name---my father and a certain manager of a steel company. Both of them are goners now, maybe calling each other “Sangay” in heaven.
The name is so unusual, yet a favorite character in the fiction world. In my prepubescent years when soapies was still a hit on the radio, the most popular one titled “Diego Salvador” had a villain character named Don Tiburcio, enemy of Diego Salvador. In the Noli Me Tangere and sequel, El Filibusterismo, one character’s name is Don Tiburcio, the husband of Dona Victorina.
It is an old name, as old as Don Quixote and Jose Rizal, that in my grandparent’s time only few parents name their sons with Tiburcio. Now, no one will.
It is a funny name too. It tickles me, I don't know why. It’s not being disrespectful to my late father but it’s a fact of life that his name brings fun to people. In first days of school my heart would beat fast when our teacher would announce to let us introduce ourselves. If only we could exclude the parents name I would have done that because the moment my I mention my father’s name my classmates would start to giggle. It did not happen only to me but to all us siblings. They too suffered the stigma.
I could remember some of his friends called him Steve. We could only wish it was better off if its his real name.
When I entered freshman in college we were required to submit our birth certificates. It was my first understanding what a BC is and its significance in person’s identity. I took a copy from the city registrar’s office and to the shock of my life I found out something very outrageous in my BC. I have 2 first names and main one is Tiburcio. I was a junior of Steve. My first reaction was to get angry why I had not been told since the beginning such that I would have lived with it casually. My despair that time was futile. There was nothing that could be done but to accept the fact that I was a Steve Jr.
I don’t know if the secretary in the hospital where I was born did went to school or simply she is a dolt. Everything in my BC was misspelled---my name, address, parent’s name etc. It was terrible. I vowed to totally correct all these discrepancies one day.
Before I graduated college we went through the legal process of changing my name. It took several hearings and notices to the public before I got my new BC. The irony of it, my father has to appear in court alone without me because I was in Cebu busy with my studies. Him busy removing his name from my mine. My wish that time was granted. I was happy.
If I am to go back time with my present mindset I would retain my father’s name. I just thought how happy he was and proud of me when I was born. I would have been much prouder than him to be his namesake. If I will have a son I will name him Tiburcio in honor of my father. Will you do that if you are me?
My father’s name is Tiburcio, a very unique name, of Spanish origin and in my whole life there were only 2 persons I met with such name---my father and a certain manager of a steel company. Both of them are goners now, maybe calling each other “Sangay” in heaven.
The name is so unusual, yet a favorite character in the fiction world. In my prepubescent years when soapies was still a hit on the radio, the most popular one titled “Diego Salvador” had a villain character named Don Tiburcio, enemy of Diego Salvador. In the Noli Me Tangere and sequel, El Filibusterismo, one character’s name is Don Tiburcio, the husband of Dona Victorina.
It is an old name, as old as Don Quixote and Jose Rizal, that in my grandparent’s time only few parents name their sons with Tiburcio. Now, no one will.
It is a funny name too. It tickles me, I don't know why. It’s not being disrespectful to my late father but it’s a fact of life that his name brings fun to people. In first days of school my heart would beat fast when our teacher would announce to let us introduce ourselves. If only we could exclude the parents name I would have done that because the moment my I mention my father’s name my classmates would start to giggle. It did not happen only to me but to all us siblings. They too suffered the stigma.
I could remember some of his friends called him Steve. We could only wish it was better off if its his real name.
When I entered freshman in college we were required to submit our birth certificates. It was my first understanding what a BC is and its significance in person’s identity. I took a copy from the city registrar’s office and to the shock of my life I found out something very outrageous in my BC. I have 2 first names and main one is Tiburcio. I was a junior of Steve. My first reaction was to get angry why I had not been told since the beginning such that I would have lived with it casually. My despair that time was futile. There was nothing that could be done but to accept the fact that I was a Steve Jr.
I don’t know if the secretary in the hospital where I was born did went to school or simply she is a dolt. Everything in my BC was misspelled---my name, address, parent’s name etc. It was terrible. I vowed to totally correct all these discrepancies one day.
Before I graduated college we went through the legal process of changing my name. It took several hearings and notices to the public before I got my new BC. The irony of it, my father has to appear in court alone without me because I was in Cebu busy with my studies. Him busy removing his name from my mine. My wish that time was granted. I was happy.
If I am to go back time with my present mindset I would retain my father’s name. I just thought how happy he was and proud of me when I was born. I would have been much prouder than him to be his namesake. If I will have a son I will name him Tiburcio in honor of my father. Will you do that if you are me?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)