Please end your delusion that your singing cured cancer, solved poverty, or fed the hungry. You are also just an entertainer. KABABAWAN is your trade. You sing, people are entertained. That's it. Now get off your high horse and remember your "That's Entertainment" days when people were polite enough to not call you mababaw, corny, baduy.
I was born in the eye of the First Quarter Storm. I know what martial law is, but sadly, reading some ignorant comments on the internet and I've come to realize that the Pinoy Neo-Nazi equivalent, the Marcos loyalists, are spreading some nostalgic nonsense of better days under Marcosian rule. This is how it really was:
George was a mid-level employee at the city hall. Nothing really important, he clocked in at 9 in the morning and then clocked out 5 o'clock right on the dot. He would then go home to his wife, Sally, a public school teacher who taught in the mornings and would have dinner already prepared by the time George reached home at 6. Life was good. The young couple was eagerly looking forward to building a family together.
Until one day, Sally decided to get her hair done in a salon. There was already one customer being attended to, so Sally was made to wait. Patiently she waited her turn, reading some magazines to while away the time. Just when she was about to take her turn, some twenty-year-old something came barging into the salon, speaking of some important meeting she has to go to and demands she be attended to first. The gay attendant quickly finishes off the client, much to her dismay, but there was nothing she could do.
The young woman now takes her place. A little bit surprised, Sally, somehow, was able to summon the courage to comment that this can not be, she should wait her turn. Being a school teacher, Sally lectures the brash young woman about good manners and right conduct. To this, the young woman reacted by spewing expletives, "How dare you! Don't you know me? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Sally was shocked. Her face turned pale. And she wanted to get away. But the young woman would have none of that. First, she threw a hairbrush at the fleeing Sally, and then some other stuff -- whatever she could get her hands on. Of course, Sally had no more choice but to defend herself and fight back.
By the time the police got to the salon, the fight had already been finished. Sally suffered some scratches on her face and arms, the young woman a bloody nose.
Then Martial Law happened.
The police patrolman knew who the young woman was. She was the kept woman of the commanding colonel in the area. She demanded satisfaction. She wanted Sally arrested. The police patrolman resisted at first, trying to reason with the unreasonable young woman. But the young woman insisted and demanded to radio the colonel. Once she was finished telling her side of the story to her lover, she then gave the radio to the patrolman, who then could only be heard saying "Yes sir, right away sir."
And so Sally was jailed. For what crime? The easiest charge of course, the go-to, catch-all crime of the times. Sally was jailed for being a communist sympathizer -- a charge that didn't need any evidence, just the mere say so of any uniformed officer and you can be locked up for as long as the Bagong Lipunan sees fit to keep you. There would be no court dates. No arraignments. His husband, George, of course, is also now guilty of associating with communists. And would be harassed whenever communist activities are suspected of being conducted in the area. He would eventually be made a fall guy for a robbery hold-up he didn't commit, when the colonel was ordered to produce results or else during one bad month of crime sprees.
Sally would be released after a week. Justice, Martial Law style, has been served. George, on his part, would need to wait for February 1986, to even hope for a fair trial to his case.
My wife can be a bit of a show-off. Her cellphone must be high-end not for high-end functionality sake but for brag-worthiness. She can't be left behind. She needs to have the best or nothing at all. Her dress must be perfect -- not really expensive, but perfect for the occasion. It gets me exasperated that she would shop for a dress for that one occasion that I do not even feel the need to dress up for. It gets me winded sometimes. And I should be pissed. Until I found out yesterday, meeting her family, it came to me -- I am one of the things she brags about.
For the few of you who know me in real life, my dear kamag-anak inc., and friends from my Facebook account, please know that while I blog mostly about my life and my posts are made in the first person point of view, I do, from time to time, exercise literary license. Yes, I lie! Lol. No. Some of the stories depicted here are fiction. That I do not tell which is which, makes it a little more fun, doesn't it?
No animals were harmed in the production of this blog. Parental guidance is advised. And no approved therapeutic claims. Hindi ito gamot.
Mungo Conspiracy would like to thank:
Kuya Bing for all the support without which I would not have been able to start this blog. My baby sister Charo, who has always been my number one fan. Gie for twisting Kuya Bing's arms to lend me support. Rocky for being the first follower. Chris for the free ad space on MTC.
I would also like to mention Kuya Jong and Kuya Rolly, Rex, Kim, and all of my pumpkins, Dustin, Innah, Jonas, Danwell, Glea, Jiro, Ram, Yzab, Hannah, and Annika, who are my inspirations for many of my stories here.
And thanks to the Iligan Chapter of the conspirators who were the first to fill-up my followers' box! :)
Yeba! You read that right. That is how I want to begin. You know right away this is not going to be Shakespeare. Not that there is anything wrong with William. I am just not nearly as talented enough.
I cannot, for one, hold my line of thought long enough that I can compile one genuine effort into one seamless novel. A long short story, maybe. But that, aside from being an oxymoron, would be a stretch.
These are my random thoughts, nothing more. A little foolish, maybe, but always, I hope, in line with the same spirit of honesty and wit as you would find in the works of the Bard of Avon. Oh yes, William Shakespeare was funny, you semi-literate nincompoop!