Oysters:Pearl = Me:Ranting

A pearl is formed when a foreign object is introduced into a mussel or oyster. In turn, the animal coats that foreign object with a substance called nacre. The piling up of nacre makes the pearl.

Now, if human beings could only be like oysters that not only coat irritants, but also create something beautiful. Alas, this is not the case, especially for your truly. Irritating objects are subjects of, well, irritation, and therefore it is my ernest wish that they be eradicated from the face of the earth. No, I'm not an oyster, hell no. So, sue me.

It just so happens that our planet is filled with irritants, and much of them are things I cannot really eradicate, unfortunately. They come in all forms and circumstances, mostly unavoidable - songs that stick in your consciousness like moist booger, overheard conversations you wish you hadn't heard - you get my drift. So, let this blog serve as my vent for things irritating, in the hopes that, despite not having the enviable talent of oysters, I may still hold on to what's left of my sanity.

Case in point:
One afternoon, I was in line to pay for junk I wanted to eat minutes later, and two ladies dressed in university uniforms were engaged in a very animated conversation. It was their turn already but the girl holding her supposed purchase was lost in her thoughts, as she was trying to remember something to contribute to aforementioned conversation. The cashier was thirty seconds close to hurling expletives, with her eyes ready to commit murder, if looks could kill. The conversation became a variation of the popular noontime show staple Pinoy Henyo, and everyone got into the action because it felt like the girl will not hand in the bottled water she wants to buy unless she remembers what it was she really wanted.

Girl Friend: So, inumin siya? (So, it's something to drink?)
Gaga girl: Oo, shiet, ano ba kase yun? Ungggggggh. (Yes, shit, if I could only remember. Scary sound of frustration that one wouldn't expect a lady to produce, with matching feet stomping).
GF: Softfrink?
GG: Hindi. (No.)
GF: Kape?
GG: Hindi.
GF: Juice?
GG: Mmmmmm.....deeeeeeeee. (Neeeeeeee..........oooooowwwwwwwwwwwww. Imagine sound of someone constipated for two days.)
GF: Masarap? Ano color? (Is it delicious? What color?)
GG: Parang yellow na orange. (One of two things: Mountain Dew or urine???)

Cashier is frothing at her mouth and threatening to transform into Emily Rose any second.

GF: Iniinom natin? (Do we drink it?)
GG: Oo naman. (But of course, stupid.)
Counter bagger: Malamig siyang inumin? (Is it a cold drink?)

GG shots CB a sarcastic glance along the lines of "Yah, like that's gonna help" while refusing to honor what I felt was a valid question.

GF: Oo nga, malamig? (Yes, is it cold?)
GG: Duh, syempre. (Duh, of course, with matching rolling of eyes, with undertones of "Why did you listen to lowly counter bagger. You're supposed to be on my side. Some friend, eejot!")

Cashier breathes extra audibly like her lungs were about to combust.

GF: Naku, ano kaya yan? (Oh my, what could that be?)
GG: Basta, maikli lang yung name. (Well, it's got a short name.)
GF: Mga ilang letters? (Around how many letters?)
GG: Sure ako. Sure ako. Two. Two letters. Ayan na!!! Nasa dulo na ng dila ko!!! (I'm sure. I'm sure. Two. Two letters. There it is! It's at the tip of my tongue).
GF: May ganun ba? (Is there such a thing, you moron? We're causing a scene. I don't wanna be identified with you after this.)
Cashier: Coke? (In between gnashed teeth)
GG: Two letters, 'te. Two!!! (Two letters, sister. Two letters. Don't you know how to count? You're the cashier, you're supposed to know how to count.)
Me, who is 95% so over this woman: RC?

GG stares blankly at me, considers my answer for 5 seconds, then says: Hindi e. Hindi siya softdrink. Pero two letters talaga e. (No, it's not. It's not a softdrink. But it really has two letters, with her eyes starting to get misty from the struggle of thinking)

Two guys who looked like construction workers making the building beside the store and our office were behind me at the line. One of them was beginning to mutter "Pasalamat to babae sya..." (She should thank her lucky stars she a girl or else, I would have clobbered her to a pulp).

Then, by some stoke of genius, GG turned around and looked at the construction workers behind me. Her eyes widened like she found a pot of gold when she saw what the other construction worker was holding.

GG: AYAN!!! Ayan!! Girl, Ayan o! (There it is!!! There! Girl, there it is, pointing her friend to what the guy was holding)

The guy was holding a plastic bottle of C2 iced tea.


C2. C. Two. C. 2.

GF: Ah!!!!!!!!!!! C2! Hahahahahahaha. (Nervous laughter, meaning: Shet, nakakahiya ka.)
CB: C2 pala e. (Oh, it's C2. If you weren't pretty, I swear you're just plain dumb.)
Cashier: C2? (Medics, I think I'm gonna faint.)
Construction workers: Ah, eto? (Oh, this one? )
Me: ... (ANAKNGPUTAKTE. BOBA. SINCE WHEN NAGING LETTER ANG NUMERONG 2? HA? BWAKANANG(*)^$^&B V*B!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
GF: Girl, balik ka dun at kuha ka na ng C2. (Girl, haul your hiney on the double and get that effing drink before someone whoops your ass.)

After the two of them left the counter, I looked at the cashier, the two construction workers and the poor bagger. I swear they, me included, looked like we almost got ran over by a car seconds ago.

Cue REM.
"Don't let yourself go." (looking at the bagger whose mouth was still agape)
"'Cause everybody cries..." (looking at the cashier who has been shaking her head for two minutes now)
"Everybody hurts...." (looking at the two construction workers, whose bottles of C2 iced tea are already dripping precipitate)
"Sometimes." (Feeling like I just ran a 100 meter dash)

I walked out slowly of the store while devouring my bag of Mr. Chips in record time.

I could just imagine how difficult it is to be an oyster.

The Fast and Comfortable are Complaining

"The aid is never fast enough for the armchair aid workers sipping their lattes."

STEVE MATTHEWS, spokesman in Haiti for World Vision, on the critics who say that aid has not gone to Haiti quick enough; blogs and social networks have questioned the response to the devastating Jan. 12 earthquake

Oooooh, now that's a fierce bitchslap from someone who's actually there! Amidst all the clamor by bloggers and social network addicts for whoever is in charge to speed up the aid to the hapless victims, let's collect ourselves and think. Or as Kris Aquino has popularized with her interview last week, count to 10, or at least say you tried.

Now, as someone who is from the Philippines, a country with a social calendar that's incomplete without its at-least-once-every-quarter share of natural and man-made disasters, I could only imagine how difficult it must be to send all the help to Haiti. The Philippines is also surrounded by water, and the logistics of passing aid in that kind of situation is almost impossible. To send planes and helicopters full of aid is time-consuming and budget-draining. I mean, where else can Haiti get aid? From the rest (read: poorer) regions of the country? From the Dominican Republic, the only country that shares a border with them?

Yes, it is a foregone and mildly irritating conclusion that aid for Haiti would primarily come from the US. Of course, when the US headlines a cause, whatever it may be, results are expected to surface as fast as a McDonald's counter giving you your Big Mac and French fries. So, what to do Americans do when CNN and The Huffington Post report of the continuous suffering of Haitians? Complain via their blogs and social fora.

Well, well, well, isn't that just convenient? Now, before hurling a fresh batch of complaints, consider: if you donated cash to Haiti victims (like I did when the deadly typhoons hit this country), it should be understood that your cash goes through a process. Your money will be used to buy stuff. The stuff will be packed and transported, which will take a bit, considering the stuff will not be going through the Channel Tunnel or be transported by a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. Once whatever stuff was bought with your money arrives in Haiti, relief workers need to sort through them again and they will be transported to where they are needed the most, which will take more time, considering the earthquake made Port-au-Prince's roads worse than rocky road ice cream.

So, I dare say, if you want fast results, results that you can actually see and experience for yourself, why not go to Haiti yourself and lift some bricks and recover some victims? I don't know how you're gonna go there, maybe take a plane to Santo Domingo and walk. Volunteer under the Red Cross. Ask Ricky Martin to lend you his private jet. But until then, if you think that your monetary donation gives you the right to yap the whole day and demand that the UN move their asses, you are unfortunately wasting your energies.

I knew a lot of people, in the midst of the two typhoons hitting the Philippines in the span of two weeks, actually move their own asses and distribute relief goods or use their surfboards to rescue flood-stranded people. In hindsight, I could only remember the actual victims complaining because they had the right to do so - after all, they were suffering. The rest were busy in networking with their friends on how to join a volunteer group and using their Facebook, Twitter and Blogger accounts to organize relief efforts. To summarize, everyone was too busy with their own thing to complain. People like me, who were a bit chicken to brave the chaos or were hampered by logistics to help and could only spare a few pesos, shut their holes and knew that the people actually doing something were heroes.

So, bloggers who can't seem to do anything but complain about how slow everything is with regard to Haiti while typing their entries in Starbucks, shush. If you want fast results, get your own asses moving and experience how it is to actually help these people in Haiti.

Until then, why don't you pray along with Pat Robertson?

* * *

Don't even get me started with the Dominican Republic. Read "The Feast of the Goat" by Mario Vargas Llosa for more info. But before you get your underwear in a twist, the Dominicans are doing all they can, with even their congressmen pledging 10% of their salaries to the Haiti efforts. It's just that the road between Port-au-Prince and Santo Domingo has not been developed, with their nasty history and the mountainous landscape between the two capitals.

Hit me like a ton of bricks at 5:00

I have a student that I talk to at 6 in the morning, Korean time (that'd be 5 AM in Maniila) every goddem weekday. It's a cheeseball class - we use a cheesy book and the student is, in my opinion or maybe forced by the circumstances of his book, gives the cheesiest opinions. The student is the usual Korean guy - in his mid-30s, working as a manager of some firm, workaholic (works from 7 - 9), with a child and a wife, stickler to grammar and doesn't understand the part that a huge part of the English language operates on expections to the rules, very obvious East Asian accent. There are days when I wish the ten minutes would speed past, as the cheesiness can get to my nerves so early in the day. I mean, I could only deal with so much pros and cons of being optimistic vs. being pessimistic as my patience would allow. I am guilty of tuning out at times. Me bad teacher.

Earlier, we were talking about another cheeseball topic, expectations. As per the book, I asked the question:

Me: What makes you raise your expectations? Why?

Ben: Teacher, with me, it's who. My 8 month old daughter makes me want to raise my expectations of everything. I want to be the best in my work for her. My expectations of the world are higher because I want her to experience a world that is kind to her.
* Me thinks cheesy alert, cheesy alert. Ring the cheesy alarm!!! *

Ben: I love my daughter so much I want everything to be perfect for her. Even if she has already had 2 surgeries because she has a weak heart. I know she will survive. My expectations become my hopes for her. How about you teacher? Is there anything or anyone that makes you wish that everything is perfect?

SILENCE. Teacher too dumbfounded to answer.

Ben: Teacher?

Me: Ben, sorry, I'll have to get back to you on that.

Two hours later and I have yet to go back to sleep as Ben's question has scared sleep from me.

Can somebody answer Ben's question?