tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46420836698126418422024-02-26T10:51:59.972-08:00Letters to the Rain, Blowin' in the WindRuminations and ramblings, musings and meanderings, ponderings and proddings and photography...PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-1575801147756823722024-02-26T10:51:00.000-08:002024-02-26T10:51:09.282-08:00Compilation of short MORNING THOUGHTS on Facebook. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sublimities evolve in us. We just have to “listen” to the insistent voice inside. As a boy, I formulated many questions that didn’t get response/s from adults around me. So I hushed, and sought answers myself. I wrote, I created art, I explored my surroundings. Next, I had to share what I “discovered.” Words on paper weren’t enough. So I made art. Music, as well. Those were better, more peaceful, and certainly a lot more effective—than talking. Or screaming. ✍️🎼</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; white-space-collapse: preserve;">✍️</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; white-space-collapse: preserve;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y5zNVWPjvbvAFxgDPEn7TWeSmjjeNGsDfYXmmRz0qFGJHEcUWYQAsIUfWD8ZShtxg2YJb9SonErmwEQ6GMWHM5cwF75pQIxAaNUtEQ1sW7HvEfUVkOjPgdNY0NSJ1Va26PiCWY7bwhsUVIgNN3NYptl-rEYW07w9qOR_ulvkACfjPv9Bd0BRh8ixdZE/s800/birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y5zNVWPjvbvAFxgDPEn7TWeSmjjeNGsDfYXmmRz0qFGJHEcUWYQAsIUfWD8ZShtxg2YJb9SonErmwEQ6GMWHM5cwF75pQIxAaNUtEQ1sW7HvEfUVkOjPgdNY0NSJ1Va26PiCWY7bwhsUVIgNN3NYptl-rEYW07w9qOR_ulvkACfjPv9Bd0BRh8ixdZE/w400-h300/birds.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Longest Christmas in the world? In the Philippines. Four months, at least, starts on September—and ends on the first week of January. Not just religious or cultural. It is also primal response after months of typhoon misery. Employees are given a 13th-month pay or extra 1-month pay in November per labor law, excluding bonus. Most workers rest from work, paid, from Dec 15 to Jan 3. No excuse not to party or eat a feast of food! 🏵🎪🏵</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I was a media liaison staff for Presidential Commission on Good Government, directly under then President Corazon Aquino. PCGG was tasked to recover ill-gotten wealth by the Marcos family. I also sat with political think-tanks that ran the campaign of presidential candidates. I started my journalism career with Ang Pahayagang Malaya (The Free Newspaper), which battled the dictatorship. Looking back, I realize how different it was then. 1980s and 2000 onwards. So different.☎️📸📰</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Winter isn’t here yet but I am already thinking of springtime planting. Flowers and vegetables. Hoping to do “earth romancin’” better in 2022. I guess, gardening comes with old(er) age? My most colorful memory of sweetly tilling the good land is my grandpa Severino diligently tending to his veggie patch in the city and his garlic farm in the province, and grandma Luz and her orchids, roses, bougainvillea etcetera. Nurturing seeds, nourishing life. 🌴🌱🌿</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLxshjV4ILsrJDxr4rjHNQSnRxI1e0ShebKNd4R1R5KkUAynVZtvtgcx5AmF1FtRZR44Dd6iTgMVPPMRPzqJSs5ES3a-vsgdDw_1cfgVAHmC7LafUVNkKEjw6ZlmiDpgbMfNR-qvosDAOBSPy_LjsFe3r4NJtub6T4r0ukABxs6Z1OEnOK4YHaRe34Cc/s1200/dog%20and%20cat%20on%20FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLxshjV4ILsrJDxr4rjHNQSnRxI1e0ShebKNd4R1R5KkUAynVZtvtgcx5AmF1FtRZR44Dd6iTgMVPPMRPzqJSs5ES3a-vsgdDw_1cfgVAHmC7LafUVNkKEjw6ZlmiDpgbMfNR-qvosDAOBSPy_LjsFe3r4NJtub6T4r0ukABxs6Z1OEnOK4YHaRe34Cc/s320/dog%20and%20cat%20on%20FB.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Lost Art of Chillen. Dogs and cats remind us. No fail, right after the obligatories of morning food and bathroom moment, Arrow and Cyd go chill on the sun room. Chillen. That’s what we humans were before computer technology defocused, distracted, diverted—and divided us. Wake up on rooster’s crow, feed the animals, sweep the yard, cook/eat breakfast, read the morning paper just once, and the day happens sweatin’. We pursued the light irrelevant we waded in the dark. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> It’s not like we don’t pursue change or “the light” these days. We do. But we seek change as a massively divided front and broken peripheries. So call for "change" takes the form of a reactive/reactionary yell. 🌼🍂🍀</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We don’t observe Thanksgiving back home in the Philippines. And many other “holidays” that we do here in America. It’s fun! All I see and experience are people gathered, cool vibes converged for dinner. Although I am alone today, I am not lonely. I am with the dogs and cat. Enjoying the blessing of sweet warm light in the sun room, old rhythm & blues on the turntable. Later, I’ll share dinner with Arrow The Brat Doog, Rockin’ Riley, and Cyd The Koolcat! ☮️❤️☮️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Day before Thanksgiving. Travel time. Also, the day for many to spew grade school level mischief—insults, shaming, putdowns. `Though I don’t believe kids hurl inane asides in general compared with adults these days who throw all kinds of dirt just to be noticed or “liked.” But I get it. I get the historical backstory, Covid-19 caution, turkey drama. Politics. Yet Thanksgiving is family and collective dinner to thank the God/dess that we are still alive.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I am spending my Thanksgiving alone with the dogs and cat but if it’d be easy to just hop in Elon Musk’s spaceship, I’d be where my family is so far away. ❤️☮️❤️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Remember the days when we had to conserve (camera) films, careful with each shot, not to waste them? We develop negatives in a dark room or wait for a week for a photoshop to process them? We neatly arrange those photographs in an album and show them to visiting friends and kin. These days, easy! Click, presto! Then we post them for the universe to ogle at, anytime of the day! So why would I be concerned if Facebook “steals” them? LOL! I still got a lot and more coming. 📷🤪📸</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3uMlwtGxtYfEzkZAdMslarpJtLB238PXGYDs0wTBW8-lv5mJ580R21CEZqNzcwQ9yCOvsTCslV2l0HRkBW7dW8Zsnq3lJsU7Uz8TX1EtPojrlvvSDxbgEP2ZyfOhdWxmziUGAHo7zzNcWUPGRBkAnXPZ4iDgHcoFzatQyHAxpLI2B4Oi1Ctpt0V0R-ig/s1000/peace.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3uMlwtGxtYfEzkZAdMslarpJtLB238PXGYDs0wTBW8-lv5mJ580R21CEZqNzcwQ9yCOvsTCslV2l0HRkBW7dW8Zsnq3lJsU7Uz8TX1EtPojrlvvSDxbgEP2ZyfOhdWxmziUGAHo7zzNcWUPGRBkAnXPZ4iDgHcoFzatQyHAxpLI2B4Oi1Ctpt0V0R-ig/s320/peace.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When holidays approach, especially if it is Christian, expect a lot of dissing, shaming, insults. I don’t get the sense of these at all. We are never contented with spewing fire over political diversity and stuff. There’s just got to be a daily dose of reasons to toss a darkness trash at each other. All I see in holidays are break from work or routinary grind of life and family/friendship gathering. Yet we don’t see those. We see more reasons to thumbs-down. Ah. 🏵🎪🏵</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Reading old work and reading new work are worlds apart. It isn’t about 1912 compared with 1985. Not that I am saying writers these days, mostly 21st century authors, are less smart. They could be. The problem is "writers" proliferate these days and we are not even half-certain if they are legit or whatever they wrote, which end up in heavily trafficked memes and links, got credibility. As long as words capture the political bias or cultural prejudice, people click and share. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Exactly what Alvin Toffler wrote in 1970: “The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.” 📚🖊📚</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-10005604712999374932024-02-19T11:24:00.000-08:002024-02-19T11:24:50.262-08:00HOW IT WAS. Compiled from my previous Facebook posts. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Fiesta. Rooted in </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christianity_in_the_Philippines" style="font-family: georgia; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Christianity</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, dating back to the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_Philippines_(1521%E2%80%931898)" style="font-family: georgia; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Spanish colonial period</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. Communities of the predominantly </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catholicism_in_the_Philippines" style="font-family: georgia; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Catholic</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philippines" style="font-family: georgia; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Philippines</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> have a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patron_saint" style="font-family: georgia; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: black; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">patron saint</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> assigned to each of them. Filipinos treat these days as a communal party. Rain or shine, good times or bad. Fiesta must go on! Friends and families and strangers exchange fun banters: Basketball, boxing, beauty pageants, adobo recipes, and stuff. No Trump, Biden or Imelda drama, please! Thanksgiving is Fiesta Day. 🎪🇵🇭🎪</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiauE2JaVrKJcWHh1eaC3r4IfgYzN-RltSrXs_WwjCDx3QjskVwM8egnwRmwMxv2ffFJO3lIcsGVjCsS-tRknfXgn0kfQr58tcrceq4t-LOQJG7qi0IdaownP756tRFSAjcf1FCtDDBOMNqKTXAvKYcFglJ6yrJSetyw7YuBNmvbXaM9JdrWCp_w_Qq4o/s650/USED.fiesta%20in%20the%20Philippines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="650" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiauE2JaVrKJcWHh1eaC3r4IfgYzN-RltSrXs_WwjCDx3QjskVwM8egnwRmwMxv2ffFJO3lIcsGVjCsS-tRknfXgn0kfQr58tcrceq4t-LOQJG7qi0IdaownP756tRFSAjcf1FCtDDBOMNqKTXAvKYcFglJ6yrJSetyw7YuBNmvbXaM9JdrWCp_w_Qq4o/w400-h266/USED.fiesta%20in%20the%20Philippines.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My childhood snacks. Merienda: 10 AM and 4 PM on no-school days. On school days, “recess” snacks were eaten in those time/s as well. Then, there were no McDonald’s or Jollibee, the Filipino version. So no burgers, fries, pizza, Coke in cups and the likes. There was ice cream but the “dirty ice cream” that is peddled via a homemade cart in the streets. Usual snacks were “turon” or fried plantains, “halo-halo,” fresh fruits, “puto” or rice cake, and coconut juice. 🍎🥯🥥</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Canning and/or pickling are methods of </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Food_preservation" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">food preservation</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in which food is processed and sealed in an airtight container like </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mason_jar" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mason jars</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, and </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steel_and_tin_cans" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">steel and tin cans</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I am sure, canning is still a huge home-based activity these days but not how it was then. I used to watch my grandmother “canned” or pickled cucumbers, onions, peppers, and other vegetables. A favorite was “burong talangka” or fermented crab roe. Basically fresh river crabs stored and covered in salt. 🫙🦀🫙</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Soap Box Derby is a youth-oriented (7 to 20 years old) </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gravity_racer" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">soap box car</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> racing program held in </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akron,_Ohio" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Akron, Ohio</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> each year. “Cars” race downhill, propelled by </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gravity" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">gravity</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> alone. The race has been running in the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">United States</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> since 1934. But are your kids aware of this popular family-oriented activity? Community winners travel from across the U.S., Canada, Germany and Japan to compete. This year’s event was held in July at Derby Downs Drive in Akron. (Photo: The Detroit News.) 🚘👦🚘</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9MS7iwpzvfKb8rkbEogkDcoi3AN22hAIi1XGPkakadclDZKdtsqiyTkBU6bxBrtQAKmpH_uxgKXWvHyVf-rCvZokQ9Ri8wtlV1RHIBWxdWQnmmw0NksA82LjUR0e8dAvv9TzTKq1eVX_IwsCcwyQ1XEVd_NMUiSnSQfnXvQTGC_8DEO9pZg0VkY6dbo/s2997/USED.soap%20box%20derby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1693" data-original-width="2997" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9MS7iwpzvfKb8rkbEogkDcoi3AN22hAIi1XGPkakadclDZKdtsqiyTkBU6bxBrtQAKmpH_uxgKXWvHyVf-rCvZokQ9Ri8wtlV1RHIBWxdWQnmmw0NksA82LjUR0e8dAvv9TzTKq1eVX_IwsCcwyQ1XEVd_NMUiSnSQfnXvQTGC_8DEO9pZg0VkY6dbo/s320/USED.soap%20box%20derby.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jukebox, a machine that automatically plays a selected musical recording when a coin is </span><a href="https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=580323760&hl=en&sxsrf=AM9HkKmmfupJ0xY7yyZGSuD6gulY0b4nhg:1699464522500&q=inserted&si=ALGXSlYmNhxeZOJxNGRDYi-2PpnDzFxIg0xJiaMBWuDOxa2mGbwtAk4E4u07LDZ7l9qx843Lpz46arXDBH1WMV_mi1PBiF5WBSl4GZVZmu4Bp2ESMTLucEU%3D&expnd=1" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">inserted</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Many are still around, especially in small town bars, pool halls, and diners. But the young may seem unacquainted with these “strange” thingies. But, oh my, I remember those high school days. I’d take my date to a restaurant and would insert 10 centavos to play Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love” for her. These days, a jukebox would cost from $800 to $12,000! 🎼🎧🎼</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Kitchens such as this in Asia, photo credit to Marcus Lacey (grabbed via Google). Wood, charcoal smear, smell of smoke. Basically, outdoors or doors and windows are kept wide open. Scent of food wafted through the next few neighbors’ houses. No prob. Summer rain would fall nonstop and the earth floor sometimes got flooded. The “inconvenience” was primal existence or day-to-day life so we were used to it. Somehow, I miss those “natural” kitchens, no e-gadgets. 🥥🔥🥣</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I was born into and grew old(er) in a culture where laughter is life’s staple. Laughing is breathing. Each time people gather or hang out, jokes are tossed. In between workplace meetings or editorial deliberations, jokes are shared. These days, a joke doesn’t seem funny if it’s not “political humor,” which of course ridicules the other side of the spectrum. Or you gotta be careful with that joke. You might lose your job. Or massively insulted (shamed) online. A joke must be correct? 😁😅🤣</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6vDYO4l-S0bWcK6Sjg7WcB1RYMnhl3bM5KCACvqsD8XoT0jl29vk0J_OswV-jrcussHxHwLDQ6rygUEs5jaYltCjzt6hsQesLj6KwarzTWB5UqZyEOk4kvE4eJimDRg3_UPcd3I9IXu660AgBoyXQMFTlvfE1VTC_qoIinqTNXqXA3DgboM4xE6MxTM/s349/USED.laughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="349" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht6vDYO4l-S0bWcK6Sjg7WcB1RYMnhl3bM5KCACvqsD8XoT0jl29vk0J_OswV-jrcussHxHwLDQ6rygUEs5jaYltCjzt6hsQesLj6KwarzTWB5UqZyEOk4kvE4eJimDRg3_UPcd3I9IXu660AgBoyXQMFTlvfE1VTC_qoIinqTNXqXA3DgboM4xE6MxTM/s320/USED.laughter.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chess in the “sari-sari” store front. In between moves, people would banter about stuff. Neighborhood gossip, last night’s basketball game on TV, coming elections, Tour of Luzon bicycle race, new popular movie, stuff. Fun. Sublime staple of community. The convenience store was “convenient” in the real sense of the word. Village folk could take out loans in goodies, payable on payday. People were talkin’. Humans, not AI. 📺☎️📸</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Backyard vegetables. Apart from the ordinary “ampalaya” (bitter gourd) and “talong” (eggplant) that we usually planted at the backyard or “bakuran,” other leafy vegetables simply grew. Examples are “kangkong” or water spinach, “saluyot” or jute leaves, “alugbati” or malabar spinach, sayote, and “talbos ng kamote” or leaves of sweet potato, which are very nutritious and medicinal. Meat (pork, chicken, beef) and fish/seashells are mixed with these veggies. Swarap! 😋🍽😋</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Leftover food. My mom used to call leftover rice, “kilabban,” and insisted that those were healthier than freshly-cooked rice. Leftover foods were dinner staples of my childhood years. These days, I notice that few younger people eat food that is a day old. They prefer “new” chows or “fastfood” offerings. When I was a boy, I didn’t trust food eaten beyond the house or those in restaurants, especially meat or fish. For me, it was all about food cooked by mom and dad or grandma. 🍲🍜🍛</span></span></p><p><br /></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-31876955691274766932024-02-13T12:49:00.000-08:002024-02-13T12:49:37.432-08:00HOW IT WAS. Compiled from my previous Facebook posts. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">Scrabble days, family days, friendship days. Those days when home games were about people, collectives, gatherings. Before video games, internet games, and computer stuff took over our home existence. Scrabble was a favorite childhood leisure in my family. Parents and children were into it. Scrabble tournaments were held in school. Scrabble brought friends together. These days, humanity is mostly alone. Hence, funky inertia takes over. What’d life be when AI takes over? 🧮📝🗂</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeYutNQuWmJ1EgY4OPjI-BIiEVoSQvzulZLg2WOLX9-SeerarPSoEhbWh7nmnWPNkRCwj2xzp2_PPYItsDgD9QDKqccY6WsXrJl9Vd93HeEnGnvlgiLYKjKD0DkiiVUsO4aqr6FZgzi4rZrCP10Oa3_1bycxRJEKET-QR43zIHJ2lO_3CuJy1PnTThZQ/s1050/USED.scrabble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1050" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikeYutNQuWmJ1EgY4OPjI-BIiEVoSQvzulZLg2WOLX9-SeerarPSoEhbWh7nmnWPNkRCwj2xzp2_PPYItsDgD9QDKqccY6WsXrJl9Vd93HeEnGnvlgiLYKjKD0DkiiVUsO4aqr6FZgzi4rZrCP10Oa3_1bycxRJEKET-QR43zIHJ2lO_3CuJy1PnTThZQ/w400-h266/USED.scrabble.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">House chore implements. <>“Walis tingting” is an outdoor hard-broom made from the hard primary veins of the leaves of the coconut palm. Houses back home in the Philippines are usually gated. Cleaning the yard with “walis tingting” is an ordinary task. “Bunot” is "coconut brush" used in polishing/brushing the floor, usually wood house flooring. Good exercise as well to use “bunot” over floor polishers, which are used only in work offices. These house tools save electric power as well. 🧹🧺🧹</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Vinyl library. I still keep vinyls and play them, once in a while. In fact, I prefer vinyl records spinning on a turntable over other ways to listen and enjoy music. I don’t like 1,001 songs in downloads or stocked up in a computer file. Those years, as a boy, when I spent hours and hours reading what was written on LP sleeves, listening to all kinds of music. The vinyl was invented by Emile Berliner in 1887, a lateral-cut flat disc to be played on the gramophone. Cool! 🎼🎧🎼</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I was in high school, me and some choice classmates would organize “disco-dancing” at a friend’s house. We’d pool resources or money for food and stuff but no alcoholic beverages because parents are at home. Even when mom and dad were out somewhere for the weekend, neighbors will know. Although they will not call the police, they will surely report to parents what’s going on. Those Friday or Saturday night dance frolic were fun. Of course, it was “Saturday Night Fever” and salsa days. 💃👯♀️🕺</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo866iiUW5hZAxdG4vNY34MmYlGvrYqOYIYLXidJZMpayPM44EIvaCsx6UXpbHDbuB-2vC7arGOAEgu2eji1v9dFNZMihMQ9JQVt1dvkcMYKP-f6KULK4g97leKsbjof2BGYwA56exz_LME-1o433MLq8SaWuCwz_qGqXt9vy1233p3hnuKoxm-W-8Lo/s1566/USED.disco%20party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="1566" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo866iiUW5hZAxdG4vNY34MmYlGvrYqOYIYLXidJZMpayPM44EIvaCsx6UXpbHDbuB-2vC7arGOAEgu2eji1v9dFNZMihMQ9JQVt1dvkcMYKP-f6KULK4g97leKsbjof2BGYwA56exz_LME-1o433MLq8SaWuCwz_qGqXt9vy1233p3hnuKoxm-W-8Lo/s320/USED.disco%20party.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When I was in middle high school, I co-founded a “little secret club” called Bredspays. That was after I saw the movie “Bless the Beasts and Children.” The 1971 film follows six teenaged “misfit” boys who are ostracized by other boys but form a bond among themselves. After seeing a herd of bison selected for culling by local hunters, they resolve to set the penned bison free. The Bredspays did similar stuff as well. Just remembering youth when we actually gathered as a cohesive unit and had fun doing good deeds. ☮️🦬☮️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Partially inspired by American mainstream </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comic_strip" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">comic strips</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_comic_book" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">comic books</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, “komiks” has been widespread and popular throughout the Philippines from the 1920s to the present. I grew up with them; whenever my dad got home from work, he’d bring home a Liwayway “komiks-magasin” for mom and two boxes of Max’s fried chicken for the family. I will go for Liwayway, instead. My most favorite “komiks” author was Jim Fernandez, who crafted the wildly popular “Zuma” series. 📰🗞📰</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">How did you record rock concerts then? This dude (photo credit, CTTO) is quite inventive, isn’t it? Music festivals were fun! Remember Woodstock? Sure, there were fights or disturbances then. For example, the Altamont rock concert in California in 1969 where the Hells Angels were involved. But I didn’t shun concerts then, 1980s to early 2000s. It was still relatively peaceful. Unlike these days. Mass shootings and insane theatrics of hate mar concerts or public gatherings. 🎸☮️🪘</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As a little boy, I was a huge fan of war/soldier TV shows: Combat! Rat Patrol. Garrison’s Gorillas. And cowboy movies. I still watch war movies, Westerns, and police procedurals, of course. Guns and bombs and crime or human annihilation are staples of these shows. Yet I evolved as a virulent anti-war activist and advocate of gun regulation. I am anti-war but I am not anti-military, I must repeat. And I hope discussion of this subject is as civil and grown-up as in the past. ☮️☮️☮️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2DwNWp-ioOLyPx1rfI4mW1MhlmgIPoR9VbXXsGAWfCmMkRMaS_q1YXynTXdA5kLr42Vbi78dpHUa1ScQBklgpMwz8VcYsoHCyP5BbDrxEfhQvP6rpQ8CcfQKXp2XhUA6Ua8emWItgmx2J-_ikzIjjBUeLC9ggnvKcjUjS2e5nwBP5HRCLY037-IRgrA/s637/USED.combat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="637" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2DwNWp-ioOLyPx1rfI4mW1MhlmgIPoR9VbXXsGAWfCmMkRMaS_q1YXynTXdA5kLr42Vbi78dpHUa1ScQBklgpMwz8VcYsoHCyP5BbDrxEfhQvP6rpQ8CcfQKXp2XhUA6Ua8emWItgmx2J-_ikzIjjBUeLC9ggnvKcjUjS2e5nwBP5HRCLY037-IRgrA/s320/USED.combat.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Building or crafting a diorama from old luggages (“maleta”) was a childhood obsession. I would gather my toy soldiers and animals and superheroes and other tiny implements and construct a village, war zone, school ground, zoo, jungle, or sports plaza etcetera. That way, I could “create” a physical manifestation of the fictions in my head as a kid. I would spend hours and hours in a room while other children played outside. Busy, busy brain cells of mine. (Photo: Freepik.) 👦🧸👦</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Flying kites in the meadow. That was my childhood. Summertime fun! Most kites were devised from old newspapers, crafted on bamboo stick frames. Strings were just about anything that we could find or improvise. There were afternoons when dozens of kites flew and soared in the air. There were even “dogfights” or kite battles up there! Some kids would save money, from school allowance, to buy colorful crepe papers for their kite body and tails. Cool! (Photo: CTTO.) 🌬🌤🎉</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-82203913436708929992024-01-12T11:40:00.000-08:002024-01-12T11:40:15.607-08:00HOW IT WAS. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Compiled from my previous Facebook posts. </b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“Sailing” toy boats, mostly made of paper or cardboard, by the ditch was a favorite child’s play in my time. Since rains are a perennial nature’s way back home, there’s always a steady stream of mild water on the ditch by the street after a downpour. So while waiting for rain to subside or stop, I’d craft my little “boats” and then hollered at playmate friends for a boat race. We usually wagered toy comic cards or “teks” or rare soda lids. Fun! ⛵️🛶⛵️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1muERdxFhXrjymxSbY5vLU8ft2nrss5YwcolR7wQ7J3n3x6K1DtcTs766VM6pl6gVuGTmUoAeXb5hyphenhyphenGwfA8Yid725ps_2Cvs7n7aiZyN6DBQiFw3i999GOOUnnPrU9byDnwBiEPMHI90CT_hyphenhyphen4QVAN24jbNQfZQwMJpZDAksM8KwYCaclxzmiHwDslzw/s540/USED.paper%20boats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1muERdxFhXrjymxSbY5vLU8ft2nrss5YwcolR7wQ7J3n3x6K1DtcTs766VM6pl6gVuGTmUoAeXb5hyphenhyphenGwfA8Yid725ps_2Cvs7n7aiZyN6DBQiFw3i999GOOUnnPrU9byDnwBiEPMHI90CT_hyphenhyphen4QVAN24jbNQfZQwMJpZDAksM8KwYCaclxzmiHwDslzw/w400-h266/USED.paper%20boats.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Traditional irrigation. Basin, check basin, furrow and strip irrigation. Each of these methods is suited for particular crops and land-types. The Qanats, developed in ancient Persia about 800 BCE, are among the oldest known irrigation methods still in use today. They are now found in Asia, the Middle East and North Africa. When I was a boy, rice fields in the mountain terraces were irrigated via natural waters from the land. I was endlessly perplexed. 🌬💨💦</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Long time ago, calculators were banned in school. We were even taught how to use the abacus. Fractions, decimal points, geometric configurations. We had to figure these all out via our innate thinking ability. Poetry, creative writing, journalism. Handwritten words. Fast forward to 21st century as computer technology subverts life. Mathematics, music, literature etc are now handed to AI or aided by “artificial intelligence.” All I see is Matrix-like doom. 🤖🧮🤖</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Summer fiestas in the Philippines. “Endless” community parties where everyone is invited to join. Every barrio, town, province, and city have their own fiesta to celebrate. Good times or bad, it's unstoppable. Free foods! Shows, carnivals, sports, games. Fiestas or “pyesta” start right after Lent and end by July or start of rain. Fiestas also strengthen bonds between people and villages, which are tested during natural calamity seasons when rains evolve into typhoons. 🎪🇵🇭🎪</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Ok3wCSdGYuO2EoOj9Mq5QjgAVbmljO0luZrws5Iq-tdsJPrrSc2y4pBOYBb6Kh9A9AGcECA3j3DY3jlqjt7gTKR4LBVauiPaiFPACl55vbS1H2dpJmAnhD5xAOJd-v0xwbm04kdNzEAuogowvBP8MQwil-iQbYFK5BdnNOboJaRHHLaWNUCTdUA0yE/s650/USED.fiesta%20in%20the%20Philippines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="650" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9Ok3wCSdGYuO2EoOj9Mq5QjgAVbmljO0luZrws5Iq-tdsJPrrSc2y4pBOYBb6Kh9A9AGcECA3j3DY3jlqjt7gTKR4LBVauiPaiFPACl55vbS1H2dpJmAnhD5xAOJd-v0xwbm04kdNzEAuogowvBP8MQwil-iQbYFK5BdnNOboJaRHHLaWNUCTdUA0yE/w200-h133/USED.fiesta%20in%20the%20Philippines.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">On election season in the Philippines when I was child, it was all fiesta-fun for me. Of course, I was oblivious or unknowing of the “bad stuff” in politics then (I was a child!) I’d collect colorful election paraphernalia: Pamphlets, posters, handbills, buttons, hats, flaglets, shirts etc etcetera. In fact, I read all those campaign literature without really “understanding” what was going on. But then what I read or evolved in time, primed me to pursue journalism. 🧒🇵🇭👧</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Street games. Patintero. Luksong tinik. Taguan. Step no. Holen. Teks. Etcetera. Fun! Playtime was after school at 4 to a few minutes before Angelus at 6, when dusk began to fall. On weekends, we had longer play time, after we accomplished our house chores. During summer, in a mining town where we lived, we’d trekked up the hills and gathered guavas. Imagine how we climbed up trees, walked by monkey bridges, and hunted wild spiders! 🧒🇵🇭👧</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oMlV3E3AlTeVEL690hA_9O4FopXmSWKdnPLPoSem_y2oD79yJq12cnt220J1I-9jGA5N5XbqBtqRE0ToGCaqQRcJFYyht4mG7_rbcrs-3ia-AtxDaRIBoQTCqX9kcCcVEHh7jPlR8BwzqBdVF0SMl-DsJiDFYJV92462h1Jc_IFJ2SDMraqYxxR72bY/s640/USED.street%20games.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="640" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oMlV3E3AlTeVEL690hA_9O4FopXmSWKdnPLPoSem_y2oD79yJq12cnt220J1I-9jGA5N5XbqBtqRE0ToGCaqQRcJFYyht4mG7_rbcrs-3ia-AtxDaRIBoQTCqX9kcCcVEHh7jPlR8BwzqBdVF0SMl-DsJiDFYJV92462h1Jc_IFJ2SDMraqYxxR72bY/w200-h120/USED.street%20games.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Carabao. Water buffalo in English. Called “kalabaw” in the Philippines, the super strong animal represents hard work. Before machines took over ricefield toil or agricultural labor, the carabao plowed the land. Watching them work with human hands was main reason why I spent summers in the barrio when I was young. Human/animal synergy was alive. On rest time, the carabao would take a nap on a puddle and I would sleep on top of him/her. 🐃🇵🇭🐃</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Asheville’s Friday drum circle in downtown’s Pritchard Park is a leading community attraction in my home city. For many years, at least since I got here. I haven’t been much in downtown for years now though, apart from passing by it when we do quarterly errands. Not sure if the circle is still active as it was. In fact, the drum circle was a major motivation for our “Bonfires for Peace” concert events that we also held in the same park for years. Till hate took over. 🪘🎼🪘</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0fFSirZUy0uEo7LsveevvwLgRH4JNjfFqvCp7UbER5FzJUi20wAoMowYP_fvpwAPJBeKWNGGd-Qah7yw7aijGgRZ_OX3RHepl-N3u4VA4c4uEpoB0wFTeNXIS0YPqJdl0c94vHRgj4MnXR6XBqn7aPi1yBVZ0nc3FJo7h-2O-oPyhpx7Xc2tvKhgfRU/s526/USED.drum%20circle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="526" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0fFSirZUy0uEo7LsveevvwLgRH4JNjfFqvCp7UbER5FzJUi20wAoMowYP_fvpwAPJBeKWNGGd-Qah7yw7aijGgRZ_OX3RHepl-N3u4VA4c4uEpoB0wFTeNXIS0YPqJdl0c94vHRgj4MnXR6XBqn7aPi1yBVZ0nc3FJo7h-2O-oPyhpx7Xc2tvKhgfRU/s320/USED.drum%20circle.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In those days we (mostly) only called people on the telephone when it was necessary. Not all houses had telephones. In the Philippines, payphones were in stores for 1 peso for 3 minutes use. Or in booths for a quarter or two. These days cellphones are used not simply for communication. Which is a cool improvement. Until we placed “all our life” in this tiny gadget. How am I supposed to take photos of Arrow, Ching and Fizz without my cellphone? ☎️📞☎️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Public transport. Bus, trains, jeepneys etcetera. There are about 1.474 billion vehicles worldwide per 2023 count. In 2015, around 947 million. About 19 percent of those vehicles are in the United States. While we mouth advocacy of “climate change,” transportation continues to contribute to global pollution. Electric vehicles help but what’d help the most is lesser dependence on private vehicles to instead focus on public transport, the way it was. The way I grew up. 🚌🚐🚌</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-68640224335957364002024-01-08T11:30:00.000-08:002024-01-08T11:30:17.021-08:00Children and Internet. And Stuff. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Previously posted on my Facebook page. Or written years ago. </b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">HOW do we teach kids and students about internet safety? Can we, really? It was an intense subject of PTA discussion in a Lakewood CA middle school (that I covered years ago). Should parents impose more restrictions, should the school system modify curriculum and introduce a new program to serve the purpose? </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLEE4pc5fqY9RO8JKtCvFsJtVGrWCWsTamDuFpJlTjB0a6qbIqIucSlWe2if7XYhSY4g5UttNOascKMnwuf8EeqGOzcbn0d8Nz8BCmfhu6GujzmSFktV-AJe2QY1ILDn8HuJY1gr6yobJArzEDW8P3L2alnc8R88Bfn_veZ5J0Lzu-cBnU9R2w4v2AuY/s1024/reading%20and%20kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="1024" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLEE4pc5fqY9RO8JKtCvFsJtVGrWCWsTamDuFpJlTjB0a6qbIqIucSlWe2if7XYhSY4g5UttNOascKMnwuf8EeqGOzcbn0d8Nz8BCmfhu6GujzmSFktV-AJe2QY1ILDn8HuJY1gr6yobJArzEDW8P3L2alnc8R88Bfn_veZ5J0Lzu-cBnU9R2w4v2AuY/w400-h243/reading%20and%20kids.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Meantime, when a child's curiosity gets a bit too zealous, how do we block him/her from the alleged sexual predator, and other kinds of ogres lurking on the e-wall shadow? Put a password barrier, stabilize firewalls, buy some more anti-this/that apps and software? Remember the first time a child learns how to click the TV remote, or when a teenager first ferrets a Budweiser onto the crib, or a youth excitedly maneuvers his first sedan on a city back alley? </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Should we heighten the Restricted signs or PG advisories, or post more cops on the road, or should parents start checking every little post, selfie, shared video, Instagram, email etc that their kids send and receive 1001 times a day? Crazy, right? 👶📲💻</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I HAVE a very old-school, maybe primitive remedy—or inroads to remedies, should I say. Truth of the time is—that iPad or laptop or iPhone will always be there. There will be a time when all human beings got a Smartphone, plugged in 24/7. Even an infant will be signed into a 5-in-1 Verizon plan, you reckon? So what do we do? </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I guess, we just have to not get tired of reminding our kids that people are not emoticons or avatars or emojis that they can control, one-click. People can be nice or rude in a playground, flea market, campus grounds, or dog park. That's real, breathing life—learn how to deal with truths afront. Games are not always Super Smash Bros or PvZ Garden Warfare. There are real games like little league baseball, soapbox derby and table tennis—or what about a real acoustic guitar and piccolo in favor of downloaded dubstep? </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRwbzuqCWb5FUUtKR2XrbGg6tGGm3GfwUfv2O9haqi7MrfGSJcDqhogRUoq8X1jAoDIYQPN_GnOT54CRiGBBa6QaQMC1y0CCIFBagI0Y4fE7wBuKc1heRzahxFKl7PdT2-RwhOXHBjmKpI25A3cJyPLNGZhpgv6xQbOD2T-oqEHyRLhxuSDMiJaebSnI/s1600/internet-safety-for-kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRwbzuqCWb5FUUtKR2XrbGg6tGGm3GfwUfv2O9haqi7MrfGSJcDqhogRUoq8X1jAoDIYQPN_GnOT54CRiGBBa6QaQMC1y0CCIFBagI0Y4fE7wBuKc1heRzahxFKl7PdT2-RwhOXHBjmKpI25A3cJyPLNGZhpgv6xQbOD2T-oqEHyRLhxuSDMiJaebSnI/s320/internet-safety-for-kids.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> With these, they can sweat funk out, and laugh aloud, and high-five friends, as well. “Surfing” could be something like paddling a boat in a recreational lake, and “texting” could rest on the dinner table and living room in favor of simply savoring the food blessing or speaking and talking with mouths open not heads bowed. Share some future dreams, travel wishes, and what happened in school today? </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Books were leafed pages, not electronic flashes on a tiny gadget that got lost in an ocean of legos and puzzle pieces in the den. Teach kids to wash dishes with hands, pick up stuff and things on the floor, fold laundried clothes, vacuum the floor on a weekend at least, build a backyard garden and care for it, walk the dog and have the duty to feed them whenever. 👶📲💻</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">GOOD ole children's chores when oldies like me were kids. Or in case you have extra dough, travel beyond the US—go to cultures where the internet is simply complementary to “offline” life. Or instead of purchasing more online games and Blu-Rays, why not extra money for saxophone tutorials or ballet classes? In this way, we don't have to get neurotic and paranoid that maybe our 12 or 13 year old boy maybe stealing glances at a Pornhub page or our little girl is chatting to a pedophile in the guise of a cool and awesome 12-year old. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKAg9-5U3yf2rZBJ92bn9MLfvzXcmo2efmL2q0czN3_4zmPPWMhlDvLVJPHZYIKkFTX3XOxKEXk1m-qtvOQl_dj_1jSohtSxzsWvqf7u_UAbZT0qwcPQzIgVwkJd3IMrZe67uv7Pv4auDiHTTUZqhTp3D59aV8FQs5rYOEiavBTb3xYKrD0X_vLKV6MU/s811/children1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="811" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNKAg9-5U3yf2rZBJ92bn9MLfvzXcmo2efmL2q0czN3_4zmPPWMhlDvLVJPHZYIKkFTX3XOxKEXk1m-qtvOQl_dj_1jSohtSxzsWvqf7u_UAbZT0qwcPQzIgVwkJd3IMrZe67uv7Pv4auDiHTTUZqhTp3D59aV8FQs5rYOEiavBTb3xYKrD0X_vLKV6MU/w200-h168/children1.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Children need to learn “internet safety” as they learn life and living taught by parents who are more concerned with the total well-being of a child, or future adult—not just how to wade around the internet. Computer technology could be as important as automobiles and microwaves—but humanity survive life and salvage wisdom without these. There are other aspects and concerns of life, apparently. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> We need to mold a child's mind, instead of conditioning their brain; we are raising kids who feel with their hearts because they hear, see, feel, and taste life—and not because all these are programmed, ready for the taking (or tapping, clicking). 👶📲💻</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-16062380739697759212024-01-01T10:42:00.000-08:002024-01-01T10:42:50.608-08:00HOW IT WAS. Compiled from my previous Facebook posts. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">Writers workshops. I must say I learned more poetry and literature in writers workshops than in school or university. I am particularly referring to a writers group Wednesday workshop that Galian sa Arte at Tula (GAT) in Manila used to hold. The best literary personages in the Philippines mentored or started here. I was lucky to be part of it. I also started many writers workshops in Manila, New York City, and Asheville NC. ✍📃✍</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooeZJTt133qz19AzXatqR-d9WRBBdG5aHTxQ3EnCGhT2t8rFumY-rs_zBhaOiT1wZZKCR_VoCX9-xZFf4HUnzdgS2IJWwmRfAHV5pULVPDbqFrBdT23ZeUZJMR1K7l58PeoSL_HWPg4L4B41q2QfbkFyr9MZy2K_RSGdHH3AQOoTOuZT3YgwctKJgQHc/s450/USED.awriters%20workshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="450" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooeZJTt133qz19AzXatqR-d9WRBBdG5aHTxQ3EnCGhT2t8rFumY-rs_zBhaOiT1wZZKCR_VoCX9-xZFf4HUnzdgS2IJWwmRfAHV5pULVPDbqFrBdT23ZeUZJMR1K7l58PeoSL_HWPg4L4B41q2QfbkFyr9MZy2K_RSGdHH3AQOoTOuZT3YgwctKJgQHc/w400-h263/USED.awriters%20workshop.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Whoever said street dissent is easy? My youth was punctuated by protest moves, as an activist and/or journalist. Dictatorship years. We were hosed down, tear gas’sed, truncheoned, and many simply “disappeared” or shot dead right there. The end justified the means yet we heeded “rules” of civil disobedience. We stayed right where we were, we stood our ground, we delivered the message. Yet it wasn’t an “awareness” picnic. Don’t expect coolness and sweetness in a street protest. ✊👊✊</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Moviewatching was a staple household activity when my children were little. Mostly, they chose the movies. On our obligatory weekend trip to the open market, we’d pass by the video rental store and rent 3 or 4 betamax tapes. Movies helped me in my parenting responsibilities. Movies that are aptly suited for young, developing minds. Their favorites were “Stand By Me,” “Hook,” “ET,” lots of dog movies, chimp and dolphin movies, too. These days? PG isn’t really PG. 👧🎥🧒</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Summer delight. Fiesta season basketball games in the town plaza. Me and my brothers played, coached, and organized events as well. On regular days, neighbors would gather in one house and loudly enjoy games on TV. Heckling, laughters, and petty wagers. “Ending” means guessing the last two digits of final scores. The “ending” boy (or girl) would scour the village for bets before the nighttime game. They get paid and earn for week’s school allowance. Fun. 🏀🇺🇸🏀</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I was a little boy in a mining town in northern Philippines, 4 PM was an eagerly-awaited time. Our favorite radio fantasy adventure “Simatar” was on. We kids would gather together and listen in total pleasure. Those days when afternoon TV “soap operas” occupied lazy chill moments of mom and aunts. “Tia Dely” and “Kuya Cesar” were popular stuff. I’d pretend to sleep but I was actually listening. My imagination was very active. 📻👦📻</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Turntables. Growing up, a Victrola turntable was in constant activity in the house. My dad was a huge fan of Elvis Presley and so he’d be doing the pelvis moves as “Jailhouse Rock” rocked. My mom, Patsy Cline and Doris Day. My uncle Elpidio would play bossa nova LPs by Sergio Mendes, and others by Herb Alpert and Javier Cugat. Santana’s “Abraxas” was in helluva rotation! Then I’d be spinning vinyls myself for family and immediate neighbors. Sweet! 🎼🎼🎼</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKUtH0EmliYukKpNzBQRQS4pL5SKNpyS1DwWCaGDyDM_sONLa6KG64hoAnHvj_haVBpLYQxcNGb8ZxEX91E2cnqOuWqH5kdPHI4EGxxogPPFv4HK2xcvhi_6VCUgFQ3lJIpGTj04CY7htim-Lx40zQ8C0MvBvtGFSBCpsFE4YE-CAY13GONGYsL7OK9g/s1548/USED.turntable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1548" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKUtH0EmliYukKpNzBQRQS4pL5SKNpyS1DwWCaGDyDM_sONLa6KG64hoAnHvj_haVBpLYQxcNGb8ZxEX91E2cnqOuWqH5kdPHI4EGxxogPPFv4HK2xcvhi_6VCUgFQ3lJIpGTj04CY7htim-Lx40zQ8C0MvBvtGFSBCpsFE4YE-CAY13GONGYsL7OK9g/s320/USED.turntable.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We call it “poso” in the Philippines, derived from the Spanish “pozo,” an old-style water pump. Pumping of water is a practical technique, better than lifting water in a hand-held bucket from the well. Since water supply as basic utility service wasn’t cheap, poso was a logical means. Conservation was necessary and living imperative. Plus village discipline was observed. We had to line up per “agreed” number of pails for our turn to fetch water from the poso. 🌬💧💦</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Open markets in Asia. Produce, meat products, and other goods are not regulated so untaxed although the place is inspected by the health department. While some maintain stalls, most peddle where space is available. No fixed pricing; all depends on negotiation. Community fervor is alive. A general “reuse” vibe is also practiced. Old newspapers are recast as shopping bags, bottles and cans are refurbished as vessels for vinegar, cooking oil etc. 🥦🐟🍆</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walking. Except with my life in New York City (late 1990s to early 2000s) and few meters walk with the dogs in our village each afternoon, walking isn’t my life’s thingy anymore. But not because I don’t want to. America is different from the Philippines or Asia, where people inhabit the streets, 24/7, literally. In the U.S., unless you are walkin’ with a dog, you’d be mistaken as some shady dude. Walk far, you could be hit by a vehicle. No walk lane. 🚶🚶♂️🚶</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Picnics of my childhood or youth. When we were little, my dad would bring us to the beach a lot or in a camp on summer days. Seafoods royale and rice cooked on firewood, with pure water from a brook nearby. When I was a teenager, I’d constantly travel to my kin’s sylvan village in the barrio. We’d picnic by the river among rice fields. We’d gather escargots and catch cat/mudfish. Corn and veggies were fresh harvests. Cook `em right there. Those days. 🐦🍃🐓</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-54761099499621289102023-12-22T10:48:00.000-08:002023-12-22T10:48:45.455-08:00About Dogs and Cats and their Buddies.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Previously posted on my Facebook Page. </b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">YOUR dog might be stealing things because they are looking for something to do or for some interaction with you. Dogs need both physical and mental stimulation to prevent boredom and giving them suitable outlets for their energy will prevent them inventing their own means of entertainment! Arrow though only steals Ching and Fizz’s little toys because she tends to get jealous that the kitties get more attention sometimes. But Arrow is a good doog. 🐕👀🐕</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczAVbdMpQ7usrV6djPwnK3bGxpsDYWZ00oB75iyRgIAxDhOwp0tQ9NFLY4gwKCMC1N4oXoAf8QPs9Z1WVVMEs58bAPRoOyDrm4yAPCJWY4BrVs4JneBpDIdyZjscX9Y9xw3nPvH0zkyK7FPQjSn9EKXMUIcG1uky215EQVG63LKpn3Hw7nYL2yZUUBbM/s1173/USED.atriobozz%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1173" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczAVbdMpQ7usrV6djPwnK3bGxpsDYWZ00oB75iyRgIAxDhOwp0tQ9NFLY4gwKCMC1N4oXoAf8QPs9Z1WVVMEs58bAPRoOyDrm4yAPCJWY4BrVs4JneBpDIdyZjscX9Y9xw3nPvH0zkyK7FPQjSn9EKXMUIcG1uky215EQVG63LKpn3Hw7nYL2yZUUBbM/w400-h278/USED.atriobozz%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">CATS and dogs definitely watch TV shows? While some cats go nuts for on-screen antics, others are content to watch the activity with an air of calm. In fact, Ching and Fizz are now addicted to bird videos on YouTube. We may have to bring them to a therapist. Meanwhile, there are a number of features about television shows that dogs find attractive. Of course, “best in show” dog events. Though Arrow is more interested in volleyball on ESPN but finds “Naked and Afraid,” weird. 🐈📺🐕</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">WEATHER PATTERN occurs when the weather stays the same for days or weeks at a time. Some common weather patterns include hot and dry weather, wet and rainy weather, and cold weather. If weather patterns go on for too long, they can lead to emergencies like heat waves, flooding, and blizzards. If you wanna know more, google it or ask your cat. 🌬💨☀️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">SNIFFING bags and boxes is often tied to a cat surveying their territory. Cats will usually scent mark their territory. This signals to other cats in the area and provides information such as whose territory it is, how many cats have been there, and whether or not it's a territory that your cat wants to try and claim. So if your cat likes the smell of your bag, she will claim it as her apartment. 🐈📦🐈</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6y4kj-ReLQOuLZxxyKbmp4cdHN8g960l3w7mIvkHQtVXdmVFPEnL43sf8U3P3lTUGfhvStAulQ93jgVUrypDgN2b9L3NDnY1h-FSp0xx6s6JVu6lEiWalQB6SX4NiId-IHAuWVbXevzwJHxUg_M93rYi4lhOCHroQG9nNpLTjHKHLx6TaPHGB8eTOf4/s1876/arrow%20poser%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1489" data-original-width="1876" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6y4kj-ReLQOuLZxxyKbmp4cdHN8g960l3w7mIvkHQtVXdmVFPEnL43sf8U3P3lTUGfhvStAulQ93jgVUrypDgN2b9L3NDnY1h-FSp0xx6s6JVu6lEiWalQB6SX4NiId-IHAuWVbXevzwJHxUg_M93rYi4lhOCHroQG9nNpLTjHKHLx6TaPHGB8eTOf4/s320/arrow%20poser%205.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">GOOGLE search says dogs see cats as prey, and cats see dogs as a threat. They don't choose this; it's just hardwired into their brains. And when they live together in a house, they compete with each other for food, territory and human attention. FAKE NEWS! Not a fact, so untrue! Dogs and cats coexist peacefully because they don’t do politics. They are not hoomans. 🐕🥰🐈</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">MOST recent estimates indicate that more than 1,800 pandas now live in southwestern China, and their numbers are increasing. That trend prompted the country to announce, in 2021, that pandas are no longer endangered. Pandamic! Notice as well that Panda Express by Master Chef Ming-Tsai Cherng are increasing. Ha! 🐼🥢🥡</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">YOUR dog seems hungry, always? Maybe she has health issues? Diabetes or worms? Side-effect of meds? Stressed over what the cat shares her from Facebook? Not getting enough of the right type of food, including the expensive “The Farmer’s Dog” chow? Hey, that’s just the way it is although Arrow isn’t “hungry” always because when she feels like eating, her wet food and dry food are just around her. Eat! In fact, Arrow eats based on the diet program that Fizz devised for her. 🐕🍽🐕</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">BOSS is the one who manages and supervises your work and the one whom you refer to during normal daily work, like when Ching and Fizz closely monitors me as I clean their litter box and boss space in the bedroom and bathroom. CHIEF denotes a rank which dogs use to refer to the cat. So you know what a Bosschief is. 😺😾😸</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">CHILDREN who are into reading have dropped from 79 percent in 2017–18 to 72 percent in 2021–22, says a survey. In 2021, some 97 percent of 3- to 18-year-olds had home internet access, according to another study. Specifically, 93 percent had access through a computer, and 4 percent relied on home internet access via cellphone. The other 3 percent had no internet access at home. Those 3 percent know Orwell, Shakespeare, and Dickinson. That’s the info that Fizz shared with me. 📚👶📚</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKg7z0l_FtxV4u3JRm1JFpF4UFj1WfvyR8i4tOt3OSGrdM00O03Ig1bD5RReHaIgErr0QQdFjuY7qDilV3YmistlGX1_2Y-GdcuvgnJCQFTQnnFq3Qfu6H-mp40kgv0DsVeA0O-oeFyLHfTuA4srkIiyr9aJBgtLaDOoRLiXYsi0xkGPkH8sqo50NmKU/s977/more%20more%20ching%20fizz%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="977" data-original-width="621" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKg7z0l_FtxV4u3JRm1JFpF4UFj1WfvyR8i4tOt3OSGrdM00O03Ig1bD5RReHaIgErr0QQdFjuY7qDilV3YmistlGX1_2Y-GdcuvgnJCQFTQnnFq3Qfu6H-mp40kgv0DsVeA0O-oeFyLHfTuA4srkIiyr9aJBgtLaDOoRLiXYsi0xkGPkH8sqo50NmKU/s320/more%20more%20ching%20fizz%201.jpg" width="203" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">SOMETIMES, collars with buckles can be irritating for your dog, or sometimes, collars that feel too tight or have to reach over their head can be irritating. Sitting with your dog, using treats, and encouragement to help them bond with the experience of having the collar can help them adjust. Or let the cat convince your dog. Although Ching doesn’t see the sense in collars on her since she (and Fizz) are indoor cats anyways, still–she persuaded Arrow to wear a collar with diverse colors. 🐕🦮🐕🦺</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-16783026403597883792023-12-11T11:38:00.000-08:002023-12-11T11:44:21.816-08:00Compilation of short MORNING THOUGHTS on Facebook. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">My media life started at age 14 for a provincial city newspaper. Through the years, I pretty much navigated journalism in all its forms, grease, and politics till I “rested” in 2009 after two years stint with an Asian American newspaper in Los Angeles. I never felt “involved” with my news copy; always detached. I was trained that way. A spade is a spade. Fact is fact. Crime is crime, politics is politics. No Left, no Right. My personal take of the world goes to my poetry. ✍️💻</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; white-space-collapse: preserve;">✍️</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN34YATiGc_rf2mIWCCLIQGE60SDCVFGx_GROhJsIVoQFZYCTvAWMFXuxXlTJVxQ1V9vFBGXoJeRu5iZQ_Gxk-nlRv6baBwS9BCU7zi2babzskpmONEjS09n82OUK298CKLJf8imabmrG1kKhYWicRM6auYeaFdRdbM-IP1lr18hc-y6LQ4Rjqnjs6-dg/s1500/USED.kids%20deliver%20newspapers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN34YATiGc_rf2mIWCCLIQGE60SDCVFGx_GROhJsIVoQFZYCTvAWMFXuxXlTJVxQ1V9vFBGXoJeRu5iZQ_Gxk-nlRv6baBwS9BCU7zi2babzskpmONEjS09n82OUK298CKLJf8imabmrG1kKhYWicRM6auYeaFdRdbM-IP1lr18hc-y6LQ4Rjqnjs6-dg/w400-h266/USED.kids%20deliver%20newspapers.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chillen. The art of chillen is learned and acquired via life experience. No amount of spiritual advice, shrink hours, helluva pills, wine, sex, and rock `n roll etcetera could calm a tortured soul, shattered heart 55x, or a massively bothered mind. All these are just marketing pitches and denial mojos. We don’t know when we’d finally get moments of peace and quiet. It just happens. Mostly, when we inhale exhale and say “Been there done shit…” And then we cool out. 🦋🐧🐦</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cleaning up after the doggie is pretty much like cleaning up after little kids, my life many years ago. Arrow wakes me up, interrupts my writing/reading, and coaxes me to play tug/pull or go out for bathroom break (or she just tricks me, she simply wants to smell the air). Afterwards, Arrow keeps quiet and leaves me alone. “Interruptions” like these though are sublime. I feel needed, same way a child needed me. You feel a sense of importance, value, and presence. 🐕😍🐕</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I still am into old-stuff like vinyls, cassettes, and CDs—because they keep memories secured. There are so much to enjoy in the past than those that are in front of us these days. If there is a time machine, I’d like to return to the years before 21st century. I don’t dig this technological overload against the easier and more accessible life long time ago. ☎️📼</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;">☎️</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There’s gotta be something to amuse ourselves while we are at home, with majority of time fronting the computer screen or streaming TV. Reading the same political murkthrow irks, for sure. But not the dog and cat videos, which are very entertaining. Me, I entertain myself by making selfies. In fact, I have thousands of photos here on Facebook. Me, afraid that FB will “steal” them? Why would I care. At least, I am certain, not just me watches my own face, LOL! 👽😎👺</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYocikxUMW9bTVwa7XOCiBLR59Bgj9vr17xP00XWC7TAF1F_gxmXblVe3OEQBpiJeSFuwu_AdtzdUz54w_lF-0lxSI_P9_S-VSQZ-KFGqW_RWE4iY2jNj5ucq_xa0VtCI110XGswCJob98uwLDuZPfa8RAvE15pNaGulqU4T1O0I1cu4H_th6hl3Xo41s/s2985/USED.typetypetype2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2969" data-original-width="2985" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYocikxUMW9bTVwa7XOCiBLR59Bgj9vr17xP00XWC7TAF1F_gxmXblVe3OEQBpiJeSFuwu_AdtzdUz54w_lF-0lxSI_P9_S-VSQZ-KFGqW_RWE4iY2jNj5ucq_xa0VtCI110XGswCJob98uwLDuZPfa8RAvE15pNaGulqU4T1O0I1cu4H_th6hl3Xo41s/w200-h199/USED.typetypetype2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is cold season again. I easily get cold. In fact, all seasons I wear socks. My feet are never without socks! So on winters, thermal underwear and jackets and gloves and scarves and winter slippers are obligatory. But if you ask me why I prefer the East’s chilly snow over the West’s sunny beaches? I don’t know. I guess, I am just human. LOL! 🌬⛄️</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;">🌬</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sunday chores. Take trash out for Monday collection. As a boy in a brood of nine, I had my own daily and weekly house chore. I’ve gotten used to that life task. Haven’t outgrown them. There are also daily habits that stay. I fix my bed before I leave the bedroom, never left a dirty plate on the sink, triple-check closed doors at night, OCD-arrange my clothes in closet and drawers etc etcetera. ☀️🌫</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;">☀️</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A Supertramp song goes: “At night, when all the world's asleep / The questions run so deep / For such a simple man.” Indeed, life and living can be tough. Profound. Complex. Dense. Many times, the news in my life isn’t all about climate change, white supremacy, health insurance, Kyle Rittenhouse, and 20-year wars. News: My new favorite chips is Utz and Cyd The Koolcat’s new fave chow is Hartz Tuna Delectable Squeeze Ups. 🙂🦋😎</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Autumn leaves. Time passes. Seasons. Seems like few years ago when Elle Cyd The Koolcat used to accompany me outside, blowing and raking leaves, and gardening. For more than 10 years. Just hangin’. She has grown older. She prefers staying in these days, chillin’ on the sun room, and ruminating in her spot in the house. In these internet days, Cyd assumes the sublimity of existence that we sometimes disregard. Life is being there, here, and everywhere. No need to talk. 🍂🐈🍁</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Stuff and things from the past. Memories. Remembrances. Recollections. When we remember, we also remember the bad along with the good. So we reflect how it was, how we dealt with those, and how we survived. When I look at old mementoes in the house, I am brought back to those years. And it gives me calm and peace. Basis of comparisons. And I can always say, it was a lot better then than these days. But I see blessings than misery. ☎️</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;">☎️</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large; white-space-collapse: preserve;">🦋</span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-24663752243915540132023-12-09T17:01:00.000-08:002023-12-09T17:01:34.805-08:00Rituals and Holidays and Christmas<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Previously posted on my Facebook page.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">CHRISTMAS, celebrating the birth of the Christian God. Thanksgiving day, giving thanks for the blessing of harvest? Do we point the cursor at religious feasts? Spanish explorer in San Elizario, Texas in 1598 or in Saint Augustine, Florida in 1565, or the Virginia Colony or the Berkeley Hundred in Charles City County, Virginia in 1619? The New England Calvinist Thanksgiving? Or do we gather and mourn this day to restoke the fires of anger in our chest, memory of that tragic day in 1637 in Mystic, Connecticut, the blood of the 700 Pequot humanity?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWaJRtZh70DeSZzNV5JzZsOTdNMEuEU32Pjx0ulELXmqjLEQiTnL6bo06j3g8LcPEUvwsKrCByFJ8PJBUep7_w6Z4QMOCT3Pq4-oz34vNIwF74wahkxdckp4o0Q3K3uTfD4uSAnY05jeKE3YsW39iQz4af1_NZ2hXKhb5gLM-zMyiedAybW0L7IqSDgc/s2131/christmas%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1407" data-original-width="2131" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTWaJRtZh70DeSZzNV5JzZsOTdNMEuEU32Pjx0ulELXmqjLEQiTnL6bo06j3g8LcPEUvwsKrCByFJ8PJBUep7_w6Z4QMOCT3Pq4-oz34vNIwF74wahkxdckp4o0Q3K3uTfD4uSAnY05jeKE3YsW39iQz4af1_NZ2hXKhb5gLM-zMyiedAybW0L7IqSDgc/w400-h264/christmas%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /> </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Or what is Saint Patrick's Day, or what the Irish call, “Lá Fhéile Pádraig”? The death date of the most commonly-recognized patron saint of Ireland, Saint Patrick—who brought forth Christianity in the land? Or do we also pause and light a candle to those who perished from the creeks to the pulpit in the name of religion? Or what about Christmas Day? An exalting convergence central to the Christian liturgical year? Mistletoes and Santa Claus? Or should I turn back the pages of time that it was the Christian cross that subjugated my people and pummeled their beautiful, wealthy earth to submission?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Or is Thanksgiving simply an Earth Fare turkey baked with Food Lion stuffings, Saint Patrick's Day is a keg of Guinness, Christmas is an ornamented tree circled by colorful gifts recycled from Goodwill, flea market, and Dollar Tree purchases? Maybe. For whatever it is, and whatever historical, political, or commercial backstory or front-story that we choose to interject with these holidays, these are simply moments of pause and ease. Moments of family, friends, community. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> So let us cease to crowd our template of dogmatic hatred with more hatred. Holidays will never be “just another day,” because “just another day” is a tedious grind in the workplace, lumbering traffic of harassed souls in the street, necks and wrists bloodied by credit card gallows, and unmitigated smoke of war in the prairie of our discontent. There must be a day or days when we just have to easy up on the psychoanalytical bombast or sociopolitical bravado of knowing too much and too deeply, lest our spirit starts to slip slide away to a swamp of numbed, synthetic existence. 🎁✝️🎅</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">REST the redundant bickerings with mom or dad, set up the chess set for bro and cousin, start the grill with compadre and comadre while Bee Gees music plays along, hand over a slice of appleberry cake to the new neighbor, share a PBR or Guinness with whoever happens to be without a family around that time and talk about Kobe or LeBron or Pacquiao or Kim Kardashian, nothing heavy. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfAqIlsVkCUeUfCt-PYsKVq0jGVhG9qMlob32d4x7_If2r8T17f3_HZEYkl8N2yafuDg4bnnb0hdh3ScyN0_m67QiC-FHwQY3VtSOBL_64B-G4xoaiuH_FlYHmQzmc6RnijIWbA62c5LNJnZonSTEAlkItTp8GJQ6Gzdk8vpKHLRu9CNhMCg-xOAri9A/s800/christmas%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfAqIlsVkCUeUfCt-PYsKVq0jGVhG9qMlob32d4x7_If2r8T17f3_HZEYkl8N2yafuDg4bnnb0hdh3ScyN0_m67QiC-FHwQY3VtSOBL_64B-G4xoaiuH_FlYHmQzmc6RnijIWbA62c5LNJnZonSTEAlkItTp8GJQ6Gzdk8vpKHLRu9CNhMCg-xOAri9A/s320/christmas%203.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Somewhere in an island-galaxy so far away, I was born in and around a wounded humanity that bury their dead in thousands after almost 6 months of calamities, and they weep and weep days and nights—enough for tears to nourish the earth again for springtime harvest and summertime revelry. On Christmas season, they pause and take it easy for more than 30 days—and just live, just live like what life is all about. Let life and love happen while these gifts are still beating from within and without. There are no Thanksgiving or Saint Patrick's Day where I came from. But there are people, diverse people from 7,107 islands who speak 19 languages and worship a dozen or more different gods—who gather when a holiday ensues and just, well, they just gather. It's all about a holiday of hearts that talk and speak with a singular language. Maybe that language speaks about love, sumptuous turkey, or queso de bola, or best brew ever. Whatever it is, it's all good. 🎁✝️🎅</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">GIFT-GIVING. Do we have to overthink or intellectualize handing over a gift to a friend, loved one or even a random acquaintance? To give love is to receive love 7 times. Even long-ago tribal homeys and visiting travelers exchanged sweet little things to proclaim their new friendship. Commercialization of holidays? Consumerism of humanity? Do we really believe that there'll be nothing but a “handcrafted, politically-correct and environmentally-sweet” bauble and necessity sold in our neighborhood store one day someday? Do we sincerely believe that we will never consume beyond sea salt and backyard leeks? “Commerce” and consumption are all personal. As in giving... </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBFrMS9bUSwQ69l3C4qAkTWajM3Ll_lZTSqauckK_wVMbiD5y9MwbuZ4YrzLFFSb6veMDO57STyPWCXAwW4CGwZwn8rGYEijRWGVQoazaV9sdhxi9kqM_QG7eQ6RQrKwoPuaPF5Dc95fIIm3L7W0QhIXLKGYZUJyd2cOwn5H9b4Jh-gEQgtN6KQvUpJY/s900/christmas%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="900" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBFrMS9bUSwQ69l3C4qAkTWajM3Ll_lZTSqauckK_wVMbiD5y9MwbuZ4YrzLFFSb6veMDO57STyPWCXAwW4CGwZwn8rGYEijRWGVQoazaV9sdhxi9kqM_QG7eQ6RQrKwoPuaPF5Dc95fIIm3L7W0QhIXLKGYZUJyd2cOwn5H9b4Jh-gEQgtN6KQvUpJY/s320/christmas%201.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Hence “giving” or buying should not be sweepingly categorized as objects of another's sociopolitical (or even ultra-religious) point of view. We are all wading and working around the commercial queue before us. We are all consuming on the basis of what we individually need as long as we can afford them or we don't steal them. If you are unable to, it is not others' fault—please don't make them feel guilty. On Christmas Day (or any holiday), we give and we share. That wrapped blessing is not $100 or $10, that is a heart in a physical body of a scarf or a baby doll. The receiver may already have 101 copies of “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack LP but his 102nd copy came from you, so that is VERY special. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> As in the Little Prince to the Rose, “You are my rose—the rose in a hundred other roses...” The Bee Gees LP from the hundred other Bee Gees LPs—the one that we keep in a glass globe of our heart. So please don't see the negative shadow of a human tradition of love and giving. The few dollars that we spend for three Higland Gaelics, or the gasoline that we let our cars guzzle in to drive to the next bend to score a condom, the little materials that help us create our personalized keepsake to a friend—are not owned by some Enlightened Gnome that vibe with our girth, somehow the One Percent Demigods have some stocks somewhere. So sacrifice a few puffs of the magic herb, and buy 7 sets of baby diapers and wrap `em with colorful Christmas crepes at Dollar Tree. Stop commodifying everything! Simple gestures of giving aren't an AC Morgan Chase pitch, it is a human nature of coolness and awesomeness. So be cool and awesome, buy me a gift! </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> MERRY CHRISTMAS! 🎁✝️🎅</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-80316307762304853842023-11-23T16:50:00.000-08:002023-11-23T16:55:42.782-08:00Compilation of short MORNING THOUGHTS on Facebook. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Previously posted. </b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">For the whiner, today (Thanksgiving) is the day of wicked tribal blood and a day of poking wounds with family. Life is smothered with hate. Ah. I am old. I keep unhealed pains, too. I may not forgive but I have forgotten. Usually those who have wronged others have more to say to defend themselves due to guilt. I also hurt some but I’d rather forget, hushed. I thank God/dess that I am still breathing. Sports TV, dogs and cats, few friends, and Netflix help. Thank you! 🍎?☮️</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kzJv1rlMEVsbtqi6PxALnSII-mTarc5i9F180JpufmiewCI-tK9n1yCpIl-rwVwYdCjDD9sMf_XREAzdsQ3RDo12AO2b_qUmOjUXBHHNVtYqYVJTbEgyVUshKnAPqrJBewybgzjL7G_YqNBtpVVUmOoAFxWPXe7xkWsYR4kBTmlnHYxoq-ucRJccUcA/s800/birds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kzJv1rlMEVsbtqi6PxALnSII-mTarc5i9F180JpufmiewCI-tK9n1yCpIl-rwVwYdCjDD9sMf_XREAzdsQ3RDo12AO2b_qUmOjUXBHHNVtYqYVJTbEgyVUshKnAPqrJBewybgzjL7G_YqNBtpVVUmOoAFxWPXe7xkWsYR4kBTmlnHYxoq-ucRJccUcA/w400-h300/birds.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then, those in the fringes, underground, or the idiosyncratic were simply called “different.” Your unique existence has a community, reserved just for you. Goth, punk, gay, Communist etcetera. These days people are pressured to accept the “new correctness.” Refuse, speak up against it, you are shamed and lose your job. I wonder, do some people ride with the politics of New Left mindset to be cool, safe, hot? Do they really believe what they seem to profess? 🤨🗣👥</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Popular meme: “Teach your son that cooking and cleaning are basic life skills not gender roles.” Cooking and cleaning… Interesting. I was born into and grew up in a culture where men cook on a daily basis. Primal truth. We learn to cook rice, not aided by “rice cooker,” by the time we reach grade school age. Takes skill to cook rice correctly. Cleaning? Each child has a housework task from sun-up to dusk. Boys and girls. No “gender roles,” whatsoever. Life as is. 🔌⏰🪠</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Obviously, hooked I’m on sports. I savor and relish an entertaining game. “Tanking” in sports refers to the practice of intentionally employing weak player combinations to take advantage of league rules that benefit losing teams. In NBA, losing teams get to pick high or first in next year’s draft. Hot talk is 18-year French 7’2” talent Victor Wembanyama. So by mid-season, teams start to “tank.” I don’t dig this. Unprofessional, selfish, and takes so much out of sports enjoyment. 👎🏀👎</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I heard news about situations when a patient was operated on by A.I. and it went awry. Machine punctured the wrong spot etc. I had a major surgery, at least once in my life, in 2000. I was given the choice of continued medication or go “under the knife.” Right there, I chose the latter. Yet if that choice meant A.I.? Nope. Not a fan of automation as alternative to what human hands/brains are still capable of accomplishing. Pilotless plane? Don’t even ask. 🩻🤖👎</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qzM_Eyj8s0LZR-TjeAiJVPo9VfsRvjAETUdBbsN1miZviTh0EKZ3iiQMkpHnPytHfwqvOzDrLv-gD9yXLdIVgXqt_kK3aUSoy7KIDZA3Eoeql4SFdWYWsF2Tezglon7dMCU0I9oWhLc01IFBJU-OOdeuOaf5GrBJTA5FW649gtHyzDd-f-ZUpDXF0ZM/s1600/AI%20writer.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qzM_Eyj8s0LZR-TjeAiJVPo9VfsRvjAETUdBbsN1miZviTh0EKZ3iiQMkpHnPytHfwqvOzDrLv-gD9yXLdIVgXqt_kK3aUSoy7KIDZA3Eoeql4SFdWYWsF2Tezglon7dMCU0I9oWhLc01IFBJU-OOdeuOaf5GrBJTA5FW649gtHyzDd-f-ZUpDXF0ZM/s320/AI%20writer.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My favorite time period in movies/TV series is way back in history. Apart from the obvious that my thirst of knowing starts with looking back, I do believe women in the past, body shape in general and especially per fashion, are sexier. These days, I don’t think/feel lots of exposed skin is sexy. Thongs and Victoria’s Secret lace, tight jeans, body huggers. Nope. Leggings are fine but these have been “overworn.” Sexy stimulates the mind. Imagination, mystery. Sensual. 👗🥿👘</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am a TV/movie addict, zealot, freak. Been involved in moviemaking, wrote film reviews, and still, on my old age—glued in front of a TV series or 12! Except when I am critiquing cinema, films are easy entertainment to me. I don’t overthink it. However, I notice there’s been a lot that are shot in insane dimmed background. Lighting is irritatingly dark. Not a night sequence. Dude brushes teeth, family dinner, people on a board meeting, grocery store frames. Dark. WTH?!? 🤨🎥😡</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">These days the word “traditional” is conveniently connected to/with “conservative.” Which I find ignorant, if not idiotic. When you are “old-school,” you’d be auto-judged as uptight/religious, right-wing populist, and irrelevant. And so on and so forth. If you ask me what’d be a stark difference between “traditional” and “modern,” based on current political mindset per academia? Consumer products. These days, we buy more stuff. And swallow more pills. 👈💊👉</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-86662009574738772222023-11-21T11:17:00.000-08:002023-11-21T11:17:31.602-08:00Loss and Love<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">“CAKE” (2014, Jennifer Aniston film) is an emotionally-charged little indie movie that deals with pain—from physical wound and most especially, pain from the loss of a loved one. Loss of a son. It could also be loss of wife, husband, mother, father, very close friend. This kind of pain, although I may not have experienced the deepest of it, I believe—is a pain that is the worst. It's like you are alive but “dead” inside. I lost my mom in 2005 and still, I am grieving her—yet I couldn't imagine losing a child forever. Especially to a mother from whose body and blood the child came out from.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIVqwewveUTxWr4hDRT5byqiGMKmIOqQw2z6ZBmh4N3q8Dwyd11eO79ywr22onBiqQGglZg62mLzrGk8E9_knlBh6xiiQx5dVI6-tPVc90RMnwnkX9NGvp4bAmtF4fm7uNVomEPuTtCJT3bV9S2s5AVg2jyoDcSbOD8NI_fDgXFHdx-497rBggknKLUE/s639/love%20and%20loss%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="639" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZIVqwewveUTxWr4hDRT5byqiGMKmIOqQw2z6ZBmh4N3q8Dwyd11eO79ywr22onBiqQGglZg62mLzrGk8E9_knlBh6xiiQx5dVI6-tPVc90RMnwnkX9NGvp4bAmtF4fm7uNVomEPuTtCJT3bV9S2s5AVg2jyoDcSbOD8NI_fDgXFHdx-497rBggknKLUE/w400-h235/love%20and%20loss%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> When my son was maybe 5 years old, I “lost” him in a frenzy in the open market back home. I used to bring my kids to the market when they were little so we could choose together what's up for dinner and then rent some videos for the weekend. Suddenly, Duane was gone—as we entered a video store. I was in panic, I was hysterical inside. The next 20 or 30 minutes—I scoured the market, frantically asked vendors, ran to the police station—it was like I was suspended on midair, all oxygen in me was gone but I was moving in all directions. I froze yet my body was on a rush like I was driving 100s on a highway. My heart, my mind were all about Duane. I just didn't know what to feel, what to think—I just wanted him back.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Then, a jeepney driver told me that Duane rode another jeepney to our house! Amazingly, my son knew what to do, where to go, and which jeepney to ride on to get home. He was already home when I got there. I held my son and just calmly said, “Never get lost again. Never.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> And on my 47th birthday in 2007, while here in Asheville, Duane contracted a deadly virus from most likely, eating street food following flooding/typhoon in Manila. The virus was eating him up fast and rendered half of his body paralyzed in few hours. He needed shots or 5 or 7 vials of antibiotics badly, if not, he'd die. In those hours of waiting, on the other side of the (telephone) line across continents, I felt I died. I didn't want another year in my life, no more—just give those years to my son. I can give my life to my son anytime. He was 21 at that time.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7myVwstnSGcM4FS-aJERfiIpyIEiZGJ5tF7qHlvl35wTA5nPKPYP8qYivXNoOq1Luuymoy76CFqQ5Dczgc1cHsTaQw8gnH7H4ekSsZ1FCdaiZ4Vp_QlhkaN9hU0-8OG3_uPZ5g6otb-4iFWnpBVg3EeeMxs7wG_SZAsNB2iHkKYLwjssoJY8mqoTaDg/s1440/cake%20movie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh7myVwstnSGcM4FS-aJERfiIpyIEiZGJ5tF7qHlvl35wTA5nPKPYP8qYivXNoOq1Luuymoy76CFqQ5Dczgc1cHsTaQw8gnH7H4ekSsZ1FCdaiZ4Vp_QlhkaN9hU0-8OG3_uPZ5g6otb-4iFWnpBVg3EeeMxs7wG_SZAsNB2iHkKYLwjssoJY8mqoTaDg/s320/cake%20movie.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> In 1995, I messed up my lungs so badly from overworking, not sleeping rightly, forgetting to eat, exhaustion. I collapsed, brought to ER and ICU. “Dead” for few minutes. In the haze, I cried out loud in that life-death stupor, “If there's a God and you are witnessing this—pull me out of this shit right now. I cannot leave my kids. Let me live for my kids, please!” The nurses and doctors later told me that it was close to a miracle that I survived. There was even a parish priest on my hospital bed. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> This is drama, I know... But hearing and listening stories of friends who lost their loved ones is no drama. That is life. That is love. That is humanity. That loss will stay in their heart and mind as they live. All my kids, now in their 20s, are healthy and intelligent, and so young and motivated. Any dreams that I built when I was young are dwarfed by the dreams that my kids pursue for themselves. Their joy and success bring more life to me. They are my heartbeat and my spirit. My life. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> “Cake,” the movie, fortunately ended in a good promising note. The grieving mother only had to accept that she was a good mother, she was—and she deserves life after the loss of her son. That life is a gift, not a bitter pill. Life is love. We will only embrace life after loss (of a loved one)—by accepting that good memories stay after they left. Only good memories. And those memories are the inspiration that makes us see light again. 💖🍰💖</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Photo credit: Psychology Today. </span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-3316660338184818372023-11-10T10:43:00.003-08:002023-11-10T10:43:57.373-08:00All the Love in your heart.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Written years ago. </b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">THIS little rumination is meant to friends who asked for my thoughts in regards the subject of love gained and love lost—as though I am a shrink or Dr Phil. Well, I am not—I just write silly love poems, that's all, LOL! </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> When two people break up, many times we hear one accuses the other of being a loony or crazy or “not well” (schizophrenic, bipolar, passive-aggressive etc etc), and vice versa. Of course. Let it rip, for the time being—that is frustration, disappointment. But when the smoke has cleared—try to understand that there are two people that got entangled in such a bittersweet mess, not just one. So when either starts pointing fingers, we say, oh well... </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTZLHmYrZt9q0FAAQ9YrOiR9TxFZAD1NH9E0Csn5S-2LdhH1V_7wKNUoIu4nkx1nXkGit1szfckW-EdAlvQYHODuD_rCMsQUQt3pXTT5gdx5oRnm_oZmDdk6YOU1mvW45TNGk7AlASIPLVbDm1cFRsYVOVDygPvPiU_8vefBvMxG3MKxV0sN7NgwFqic/s301/AI%20lover.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="301" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTZLHmYrZt9q0FAAQ9YrOiR9TxFZAD1NH9E0Csn5S-2LdhH1V_7wKNUoIu4nkx1nXkGit1szfckW-EdAlvQYHODuD_rCMsQUQt3pXTT5gdx5oRnm_oZmDdk6YOU1mvW45TNGk7AlASIPLVbDm1cFRsYVOVDygPvPiU_8vefBvMxG3MKxV0sN7NgwFqic/w400-h222/AI%20lover.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> That is the hard part—how to get up from the accusations, harsh condemnations, and still believe that you are still significant, beautiful, and worthy to love and be loved. If you are deeply affected by his/her vitriols just because the relationship didn't work, then you remain a broken person, a failure, a piece of trash... Which you are not, unless you are committed to mental asylum after the fact upon diagnosis. But maybe you are a beautiful human being within, it's just that the perceived chemistry or attempted synergy didn't work. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Humans are a bunch of expostulating atoms, unpredictable hormones and hot/cold body fluids—at the same time, we are a set of sensibility and sensitivity that act and react to given situations and circumstances. Relationships are not easy... That active atom, that innate ability to love can always find its fit when it fails—you can still find a parallel wavelength and aligned energy. Don't give up... Situations didn't work out, situations that many ignore or downplay in favor of the blades and missiles hurled as both vainly try to survive a gasping relationship. When you lose this one, move on—don't listen to whatever is hurled by a finished relationship. It's over. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> If you believe you have beauty in your heart, then let it be open—one way or the other one will enter again. Or maybe there's someone out there that you may have ignored because you were so busy exploring what you thought was the real thing... Let love heal, don't let human foible open wounds. Heal with the next shudder in your chest, don't break. Meantime, be happy, while alone. I recommend, cook yourself a nice paella, uncork a chardonnay, and go check out Netflix. Spring is here. ☮️☯️☮️</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-46029156851000441092023-10-30T10:59:00.002-07:002023-10-30T10:59:52.819-07:00MY Morning Thoughts. From Past Facebook Posts.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I only frequented one bar in Asheville. Westville Pub. I’d play pool there or sat in far deep corner with my laptop, writing. I knew the founding owners and I organized shows there as well. Then a shooting occurred few months ago. First time! Before that night, I seldom go out anymore though. Honestly, I am more concerned with the spike of crime in the city than the fear of catching Covid-19. But I am still here because any place on earth is as good, and bad, as any. 🎱💻⏰</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsGqwRUXkHTd_E2ICLXnN8xaHA-LGveLjjZEgqOFoLpyhQ5ylhdzUetkeiW8fFJVZFg5jUltn3L_eBltuy_4VTea5FISdNp1Y0-m6Q2b-9ZF5zlGXLG_G10kKnu-QNnB46qU8Yhu8-PI4xQyq1Wsau6TbyvRJWsHvjB7Xq_HlUz8OVtu3idOFjnq6e24/s1125/goofy%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="671" data-original-width="1125" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsGqwRUXkHTd_E2ICLXnN8xaHA-LGveLjjZEgqOFoLpyhQ5ylhdzUetkeiW8fFJVZFg5jUltn3L_eBltuy_4VTea5FISdNp1Y0-m6Q2b-9ZF5zlGXLG_G10kKnu-QNnB46qU8Yhu8-PI4xQyq1Wsau6TbyvRJWsHvjB7Xq_HlUz8OVtu3idOFjnq6e24/w400-h239/goofy%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When Facebook shut down, a quiet panic ensued. A daily ritual suddenly went pfft! Then I thought, what if the entire internet is cut? I couldn’t even watch a Netflix series. In fact, TV also pauses because it’s part of the server plan. Then it was time to read a book, spin some vinyl, and watch DVDs. Check flowers and veggies in the garden. And then what if all we have are old books? Then I will go back in time and stay a recluse in that “haunted” house and read books.☎️💽📺</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Pickled Bologna. Given by a friend, native of Kentucky. I haven’t tried it yet. I am an”adventurous” eater although I was an on/off vegetarian for 12 years before I gave up in middle of 1990s. Food is an effective way to interface cultures. And I used food/cooking a lot to introduce myself with new friends and communities. I eat what they offer; and the I present what I can. Some people get “offended” when their food is refused. I understand. 🍴😋🍴</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Lest I’d be boxed as a populist conservative, I favor community traditions. Seek a changing society? Go to big cities. That’s what seekers do as they leave their small town. I decided to live here in Asheville after 9/11 though I have been visiting since 1999 from New York City. Cool! I love local culture. I organized events and published a newspaper. Then transplants from mostly big cities moved in and changed Asheville. But the beautiful colors of the mountain stay. 🏕🍁🚧</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Arrow’s “pull it!” Her favorite game. Her favorite hobby is draining stuffed toys out of innards (cotton insides) till they are “finished,” then she collects them in a box. Sometimes I wonder, what’d be in dogs and cats’ mind? Do they think about us, humans? For sure, they “feel” because their level of action/reaction adjusts in so many ways with ours. In my case, my reflex and response follow their beat. They trained me pretty good, I guess. 🐕🙂🐈</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Halloween candy madness is over. Time to visit the dentist to clean kids’ mouth and teeth. My grandsons Keian and Kaiden, kids of my eldest Daphne and Keith; they live in Ohio. Children’s world isn’t adult’s world. Let them frolic, have fun. No need to intellectualize every little thingy in life. What matters is attention and love. Governments, schools, church, media etcetera assist but it is parenthood that matters the most in a child’s life. 👨👩👧👦💓👨👩👦👦</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrKwb4OFMzZjUfRHoqhRICP1J2mA7OGZl7pVuWT3LjhQhTvRBDzeYvYvbmiY4i2rIvOzOAVUsV63IdqjqgGIHVC4WJyuZhdk71yYqioyBGBdy69JZLsHRwfjjhu5ckwtQTa-ymCQ2UTN8_hiQC2gRMg86E3KJIyp2OgZnvEBOT_msmM8xESYxv4gINKI/s603/hallow%20dude1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="406" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrKwb4OFMzZjUfRHoqhRICP1J2mA7OGZl7pVuWT3LjhQhTvRBDzeYvYvbmiY4i2rIvOzOAVUsV63IdqjqgGIHVC4WJyuZhdk71yYqioyBGBdy69JZLsHRwfjjhu5ckwtQTa-ymCQ2UTN8_hiQC2gRMg86E3KJIyp2OgZnvEBOT_msmM8xESYxv4gINKI/s320/hallow%20dude1.JPG" width="215" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Beyond the fancy glare of electronic baubles. We see a universe of expostulating earthlings. And we realize we don’t really want to see most, or all, of us. One-click "knowing" is not good. Let the mysteries be for the seeking. The quest is what makes life a majickal adventure. “Life” in the backyard: Angel child beside the greenery. Strange “cactus?” sticking out of a tree stump. These offer calm and peace more than the whiny drama of 7 billion insatiable humanity. 🦋🍁🐓</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Made in India. India is the U.S.’ manufacturing fallback in case China doesn’t break. China, India, and Mexico are Top 3 in providing us consumer products. Ease of tariff over more Chinese purchase of U.S. products was agreed in the Jan 2020 U.S./China trade pact, as cure to the 2000 deal. But this side of 1 Percent don’t concur. So India is it. Yet gut issue is: Made in China, India, Mexico, or the U.S. You buy or you don’t. The rest is just political caterwaul. 👜💸👟</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Valentine’s. Etc etcetera. Tradition. Culture. Fun. Life. We don’t have to overthink, intellectualize, or politicize all these—just to magnify that you are more aware than those who don’t belong with your moral plane or correctness trip. Consumerism? Everyday, it’s consumer time. So that’d be primal common sense. So chill. If you don’t want to abide, don’t. Close your door tonight when trick `n treaters come knockin’. The cat will entertain them and give away Reese’s. 👹👺🤡</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Even before Covid-19 hit last year, I already decided to push my reclusiveness deeper. So that’d mean, I am mostly with two dogs and a cat. We in the house usually mind our own business, so to say, and chat only when needed. We don’t waste time on stuff like political banter. So I talk more with Arrow, Riley, and Cyd. They do get my English despite the accent. And I do hear them. And we don’t talk about politics either. 🐕🗣🐈</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-50474353646718869892023-10-27T11:39:00.001-07:002023-10-27T11:42:06.300-07:00Life Evolves.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><b>Written Years Ago.</b></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">LIFE does evolve. It is not about us oldies anymore. It's about the future of the young. Remember the days? A 17-year old hotshot smartass slugging out my dad's admonitions or grandma's reprimands: “I've been there and back! Listen to me, young man!” Well, I probably “listened” but off the “annoying” words exiting off my left ear soon after I stepped out of the house. Now, my own kids have grown and one is now a parent (so I am a grandpa). </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzNdIRXJYbezIhIl8IJcA7Ee3cyh2HKjm2S-HaE1UPkOU-TaI9ZEUkLytMg8fWD-8sI65qFLcgt2LzFN1Y__W1by4W-B4rcpy474qSCyFZF__eXqLVTzfAGF4L5BLuL8TRxlWy0isGYWElQnK_eipbwIb2j_XVi62fp0xfYIMWc-oAGMnJM8tp_xmub4/s400/life%20and%20love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzNdIRXJYbezIhIl8IJcA7Ee3cyh2HKjm2S-HaE1UPkOU-TaI9ZEUkLytMg8fWD-8sI65qFLcgt2LzFN1Y__W1by4W-B4rcpy474qSCyFZF__eXqLVTzfAGF4L5BLuL8TRxlWy0isGYWElQnK_eipbwIb2j_XVi62fp0xfYIMWc-oAGMnJM8tp_xmub4/w400-h268/life%20and%20love.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Now I talk like my dad. To my artist/filmmaker son: “I know art shouldn't be sold like a material bauble, but you gotta earn to pay bills, son.” To Law student daughter: “Rest up sometime, please. You can't solve all problems posed afront you. Relax.” To my middle daughter, a parent: “Yes, you have two kids at 23 but life isn't over yet. Dreams don't die. But kids are blessings.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I heard those words over and over and over again in the past—from mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, aunt, uncle, mentors, and elderly who cared and loved me deeply although I always defined their generosity with the tone of their exasperated voice or pummeling ebb of their sentiment whenever they said those reminders. Perhaps, I allowed my youthful impatience to cloud the beauty of their heart. I listened alright but did I feel—beyond the harsh words and frustrated tears? I can only shake and bow my head in apology... </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Ah, the “cool” ones that I preferred to hang out with, soft voices and nice lessons, those who seldom disagreed, they were so “cool.” Yet they left when the tempest started shakin' and breakin'. And those that are left to bear with my flaws and faults, indiscretions and imperfections—are those whose words I now channel through my own “admonitions” and “reprimands” to my children. ☮️❤️🩹☮️</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-68008312956899861212023-10-17T10:11:00.001-07:002023-10-17T10:13:56.134-07:00“Love Gained, Love Lost, Loving and Leaving.”<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Written, years ago.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">IN the past few weeks, I've been kind of talking or helping out three longtime friends who've been painstakingly laboring over their respective relationships/marriages. Two are married, one is single (or supposedly “engaged”). Sadly, in almost stunning coincidence—all of them finally broke up this week. I didn't know if my words did matter but I tried to objectify situations and stuff. Yet I know whatever I said were simply buffers or respites from the turmoil. They decided because they had to. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg76C8XFtOUc-jyrtUgb4YGPwpWSKltS51vvCiLmzcoeJcXFdph0uo6TrIx9Cp2MhfBOTXMSgN-ZmfOsAO-FvAp-dhVXeiu27tqcPMHp76R64WGNCO01zFoeFjLwWoAUY8-LvB1CuJxXKmr6qxt_-BOp4O6kfucXtTjp__GJGnmChUO0ySdnQvNB22GNI/s421/life.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="237" data-original-width="421" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg76C8XFtOUc-jyrtUgb4YGPwpWSKltS51vvCiLmzcoeJcXFdph0uo6TrIx9Cp2MhfBOTXMSgN-ZmfOsAO-FvAp-dhVXeiu27tqcPMHp76R64WGNCO01zFoeFjLwWoAUY8-LvB1CuJxXKmr6qxt_-BOp4O6kfucXtTjp__GJGnmChUO0ySdnQvNB22GNI/w400-h225/life.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /> </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> A relationship, despite the glowing promises of the courtship/honeymoon phase, is not a picnic by a serene beach. Mostly (due to physical realities beyond the “I love you”) it is a raft jaunt amidst a turbulent sea or a rollercoaster ride that refuses to stop. Yet that magical glue called love keeps two together and consign all the challenges and hardships to the backburner. Love will find a way. There could be nine staggering “dealbreakers” in a relationship—more than enough reasons to end it, yet that one item, LOVE, negates everything.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> That's the case with my friends. Or in my case, as well—not just faults and wrongdoings by my ex but also mine. Yet some are able to soldier on and survive the darkness, no matter how overwhelming they were, and celebrate their 20th or 30th, 50th wedding anniversaries. Some don't. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> So when people finally broke up and ended it, that is the time—after few days of reflections and ruminations—that they'd say and realize that they couldn't stand her/his ways and lifestyle, mode of thinking and general attitude anyway. And love wasn't strong enough to find a way. Reason and smart-sense set in. Time to regroup and replan... And move on.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Moving on is only possible in humility and surrender though. The ability to accept that a failed relationship was a two-person accountability. There is no sense pointing fingers that it's all her/his fault why it didn't work out. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> People's reflex and response, I believe, is ushered by the situation and circumstances in and around. And that situation/circumstance is the relationship. A partner could either make a person a better individual or the worst that he/she could be. If it failed, it's because the relationship failed—not the person per se. It's a two-person teamwork. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> So we move on with the hope that the other person enters a new world where she/he can improve on things that needed it, realize potentials, pursue delayed plans, achieve dreams—and maybe find another partner that could really add real meaning to the word, synergy or compromise/negotiation. We move on with the hope as well that we realize the same positive, pro-active and output oriented life, and love. Worse that could happen is—for one or both to self-destruct after the breakup.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Bottomline, life doesn't end after a breakup or divorce. It is just a shake up leading to a new beginning. ☮️💖☯️</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-3011584440921099732023-09-30T20:34:00.004-07:002023-09-30T20:34:59.048-07:00Living with cats and dogs. <p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Facebook Homepage Chat Response. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">IN the last 13+ years of my life since I started living with dogs and cat/s (never did) I somehow learned how to coexist with them. In fact, more than how I vainly tried to coexist with humans (or a relationship, LOL!). Dogs are no brainers, of course. But cats are different creatures. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSjxqbSr1EziQGwjNswjGKsS-ITGjS0h4eYOQzYEyxsTUf8yZ7yYSwlK-0HaPXYVTAFmSGULSr0y8J5b57a0PPAHyG5FQQI1Kp9lNn_6I2Y8xREJDmscOwRXv07ZwcKCnMxu1uYiYwf9S1DWmQ0oPkcma2A-NgGQTTXZKaYueSnYDUpxumiSUzNhEpdE/s1945/USED.the%20gang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="1945" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSjxqbSr1EziQGwjNswjGKsS-ITGjS0h4eYOQzYEyxsTUf8yZ7yYSwlK-0HaPXYVTAFmSGULSr0y8J5b57a0PPAHyG5FQQI1Kp9lNn_6I2Y8xREJDmscOwRXv07ZwcKCnMxu1uYiYwf9S1DWmQ0oPkcma2A-NgGQTTXZKaYueSnYDUpxumiSUzNhEpdE/w400-h272/USED.the%20gang.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Cyd (a.k.a. Elle Cyd The Koolcat, who passed away of old age in my arms last year) never liked any other living thing but she was never adversarial or combative. She simply preferred to be left alone. No one dared to touch her but she slept on my bed, cuddled up. Cyd was indoor/outdoor cat. I met her here when she was young but not very young. We just evolved as friends. She simply cozied up to me though I don't really "pet" animals like how others do. I just feed them and yes I talk to them. Cyd never scratched me. Not once. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> We now have two cats and a dog. These two cats Ching and Fizz are sisters. We adopted them from Brother Wolf as little kittens. They have contrasting attitudes or demeanors. Ching is friendly with everyone and constantly flirts for a back/body rub. She plays a lot. Fizz prefers to be alone and simply watches activity in the house. Both cats are indoor or I wanted them to be indoor. These cats haven't had arguments with the dog/s or us though. They sleep in my bedroom. And when I take an afternoon nap, they come with me or they follow me wherever I go (like Cyd who "worked" with me in the yard and walked with the dogs and me). </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7paleoHlgzj3NSA4aUedLK-NY2OVNqq_Sr1sPPQ6gawv6V2nDRc4gAEwccOmRf9uvx8Wx6OZ8XNKqBaDt_YEx94WaDjA1sbj3RJqNILsKGewwJhbmElO3oHTESGS0jw7l-uPv0U_qgTWbG5rlXLdjodasTbRM-IX7bK8dlg-7a0zuj-__-TaQATT_F08/s1734/beddies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="1296" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7paleoHlgzj3NSA4aUedLK-NY2OVNqq_Sr1sPPQ6gawv6V2nDRc4gAEwccOmRf9uvx8Wx6OZ8XNKqBaDt_YEx94WaDjA1sbj3RJqNILsKGewwJhbmElO3oHTESGS0jw7l-uPv0U_qgTWbG5rlXLdjodasTbRM-IX7bK8dlg-7a0zuj-__-TaQATT_F08/s320/beddies.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I guess, these cats reflect me, my own sensitivity and sensibility. We just coexist. I also want to be left alone without saying it in a dramatic manner. I don't want to be forced to be "friendly," I just want friendship to evolve. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But cats are interesting creatures. Sometimes they can be mean and “harmful.” But, I guess, I have time and patience to "tame" cats. Like the little prince and the fox. LOL! Letting a cat go because he/she tends to be viciously unfriendly is sad. And it will also be sad for the cat as well. There were two other cats that I spent time with in the past, from two separate relationships. A week or so after we broke up and gone, for some reason they passed away. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Cats need love because we "taught" them human love though they are naturally feral or wanderers, alone. But we need to exert extra TLC or tender loving care to make them feel wanted or belonged. 🐈🥰🐕</span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-46645747508897257172023-09-23T09:57:00.000-07:002023-09-23T09:57:13.841-07:00My Morning Thoughts Compilation.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“Coolness” online: Drinking is fine if it is wine, not whiskey. Weed is awesome. Breaking rules means you are kickass. Christianity is the root of all evil. Unity in diversity if it conforms with my prejudice. I am rude because I am depressed. Blame China for consumerism. Blame Russia for high cost of gasoline. Blame Trump for the bad-hair day. Blame mom and dad for our failures. Blame the other political party for Mercury Retrograde. Agree with me or I will unfriend you. 🙂🤨😒</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueMcNkbhDP-wAjeD59MB5Q3DRzWZdB-6oI4FWUOpIbkdLoQMayYqxNHiNWVZkuTcksKvoSKFKJeRJKfyLrV17QrAJpMsZv-sH-BVMUL_bh1o1BcEKu8r4uIrIP9MJ8OtwmdQClE2NGNCexWmdsm42Oq9I7RzPTBM2UJQhTOEjr_isQGnI7LsYBe2KMiQ/s2825/1.1.cooldude%203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2825" data-original-width="1521" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueMcNkbhDP-wAjeD59MB5Q3DRzWZdB-6oI4FWUOpIbkdLoQMayYqxNHiNWVZkuTcksKvoSKFKJeRJKfyLrV17QrAJpMsZv-sH-BVMUL_bh1o1BcEKu8r4uIrIP9MJ8OtwmdQClE2NGNCexWmdsm42Oq9I7RzPTBM2UJQhTOEjr_isQGnI7LsYBe2KMiQ/w215-h400/1.1.cooldude%203.JPG" width="215" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">News: “This 8-Year-Old Boy Became the Youngest Person to Ascend El Capitan.” Are we obsessed with (world) records! NBA: First to record a triple-double by a non-American before he reaches age of 20 who is single and a Catholic. Cinema: First woman of color who wins an Oscar who is not from the U.S. before she reaches age of (alcohol) drinking. My record: First Asian man who wore double-layer pairs of socks from age 7 to 109. Makes us feel good, I guess. 🧐🤓😎</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A smiley “How are you?” from a stranger is a sweet American culture. Back home in the Philippines, it is inappropriate to greet anyone, lest a woman, that you are not formally introduced to. Here, humanity is so friendly. Or maybe social media is different? I seldom greet “friends” via IM anymore because I usually get ignored. I don’t know why. Honestly, I just want to say hello to someone that I knew then but haven’t seen in years. Will never try again, sorry. LOL! 🙂🤨😒</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I think some people are getting mentally disturbed because of Trump. Because of their hatred for Trump. All they see is Trump. They parallel anything that they dislike with Trump. All they post are Trump. One day there will be a psychological disorder named after Trump and meds named after Trump. Of course, Trump will charge royalty for use of his name and likelihood. A pill that is shaped like Trump's face or hairdo. I don't think Big Pharma will mind. It's profit. 😒😏💊</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A huge contradiction in life these days: Many are so unrealistically “careful” not to hurt feelings. And so when voices are raised in a workplace setting or sports team huddle, or an “inappropriate” term emerges on your FB post or a known person said a harsh word—they are cancelled outright, lose their job, and shamed no end in Social Media. Yet the “ordinary” language that are said here are cuss words and rude remarks. We police words but not attitudes. 🗣👥🤨</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Some of the awesome dog/cat Facebook “Reels” are not showing on my Page as frequent as they used to. No problem, I can find them. But I also get nostalgic cool “Groups” from my native Philippines. “Baul ni Juan” is about old movies. Fun titles like “Kumander Mameng,” “Hayok,” and “Kulog at Kidlat.” Basketball of the 1960s to 1980s. And “Kusinela,” cooking videos, old-school on firewood and outdoors. How I wish I’d be transported back in time. 👍🤝👍</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Notice some of the movies/TV series these days have annoying dark or dim lighting? They say it is a “lighting technique,” a metaphor. Example: Woman brushes teeth, family dines, man buys cigarettes in a corner store on daytime, board meeting etcetera. Underexposed scenes make us miss important stuff. “Shot on green screen and rear projection,” whatever. Some say dark lighting has become a bit of a lost art. “Lost art,” they say? That’s “artistic masturbation” to me. 😠🎥😡</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vUZaDH-UEpEcJ3l_BdIRUVKjbqUBy1dxd00a-b5rwCTsF1NAwPt8ME3ArpeiIP53xs9l2KQZiGczft8dlQs67WrlrgNWoQwNwPllGBubCHwkTCsTKte26DAgKq_E3jiA6ld5QEpkdFsAhPoVnjWBn4mMiVbzescBbqjYBD7h3FPH_k_kYEIHPUGYyeQ/s1255/1.1.anti%20virus%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="1255" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vUZaDH-UEpEcJ3l_BdIRUVKjbqUBy1dxd00a-b5rwCTsF1NAwPt8ME3ArpeiIP53xs9l2KQZiGczft8dlQs67WrlrgNWoQwNwPllGBubCHwkTCsTKte26DAgKq_E3jiA6ld5QEpkdFsAhPoVnjWBn4mMiVbzescBbqjYBD7h3FPH_k_kYEIHPUGYyeQ/s320/1.1.anti%20virus%204.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Social Media has popularized and glamourized invectives—cussing and cursing—that even those people (old as me) who didn’t spit out bad words unless intensely provoked, toss `em here like “f#@!k!” is obligatory in their daily language. A young person here even snarled at me: “How’d you know a word is a cuss word or not?!?” Many don’t know anymore, I guess. It’s just how they talk. Most likely, they'd ask a barista: "Can I have a fu##!!ing latte, dude?” I reckon. 🤨🗣👥</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My accent gets me in awkward situations, or trouble. While living in Las Vegas, I was asked “Where you goin’, man?” / “I am going to look for a cheap slot and play!” (I didn’t mean “slut,” uh huh). In Los Angeles, “What do you think about Southern California?” / “I like the beaches…” (It sure came out as “bitches,” I guess). I once had a German friend in New York City named Gunter. For sure, I never yelled at him “Gunt!” after that weird incident on a crowded E train. 😅😂🤣</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Our idiosyncrasies. Or a mode of peculiar behavior. Traits that can be weird or crazy without meaning to be part of the fringes or unordinary, because those seem “cool,” uh huh. Few of my “unnaturals,” aside from my OCD fix: I recycle my coffee. I brew a pot that I consume for a week, microwaving a cup each wake-up time. I wear two layers of socks, 24/7. I meticulously draft/file or organize my Facebook posts before I post them. Seldom I post on impulse. 🧐🤓😎</span></span></p>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-41542864645748533452023-09-18T17:27:00.001-07:002023-09-18T17:27:31.538-07:00All These Words, After All These Years.<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: large;">FOR some deeply personal reasons, I left almost all of my work back home in the Philippines when I flew to New York City on my 38th birthday in 1998. Poems, fiction, essays, newspaper/magazine articles and reviews/criticism and column pieces, TV scripts and sequence treatments, stage plays, grant project drafts, screenplays and storyboards, drawings and illustrations, ad copies and thoughts, art photography, </span><span style="font-size: medium;">paintings (acrylic and mixed media), publications that I edited/published, organizational brainstorms, comics and graphic novel sketchbooks, political platform germs, songs and lyrics, letters and correspondences, community program proposals designed for legislation, book ideas etc. Boxes and folders of manuscripts, notebooks, wads of bond papers. Mostly written in English although some of my literary output were in Filipino/Tagalog language (a few in Spanish and Ilocano provincial dialect). </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2f6ZXvP9EQuFrNtwwB4IVyPMUoE_JXKMldYJGxeucgyqKjnhfEnuJpKqyDJmGY6AlnUJNGJVvTTnotiYjBdRaSEyyd1bfByKMeO4VIvsSRL1x8doJZRJdtF8GfhN9YlesySlY2fUFhT5ao3P97iVOzCdyfhF_tjXlTapfJ4DNVfwnHruk0NKr8Hhvh4/s960/COVER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="960" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2f6ZXvP9EQuFrNtwwB4IVyPMUoE_JXKMldYJGxeucgyqKjnhfEnuJpKqyDJmGY6AlnUJNGJVvTTnotiYjBdRaSEyyd1bfByKMeO4VIvsSRL1x8doJZRJdtF8GfhN9YlesySlY2fUFhT5ao3P97iVOzCdyfhF_tjXlTapfJ4DNVfwnHruk0NKr8Hhvh4/w400-h149/COVER.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I started writing by the time I stepped in First Grade and professionally writing as newspaper reporter at age 14. Then, it was non-stop. When I eventually decided to settle here in the US when I “discovered” Asheville (North Carolina) few years later, I never made an effort to retrieve my past work—I simply continued churning out more words and (creative) work.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> My past bodies of work (before I "crashlanded" in America) were distributed among friends and ex-relationships, family house closets, file cabinets of organizations that I belonged, media offices, friends in the countryside, even random people that I met while working as journalist, community organizer, concert producer, traveling cultural worker/researcher and artist/musician. Those were the “unplugged/unwired” years. There were IBM computers, floppy discs and tape recorders and 16mm and 35mm movie cameras—but saving or stocking up work in several devices wasn't a general psyche. It's all hard copies and master tapes. Also, I wasn't very conscious about filing up my work or my mind was so busy creating more work and heeding 3 or 4 “day jobs” and loads of community and/or activism commitments so that a consistent, sustained file system didn't have room in my busy, erratic, gungho, cramped up head... 😉✍🙃</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0GsbxqdNX98egeCxerJKDwJrNwVcElHwsNs8K2IcBoEj9FHZQmhX2T-rFCGD9o1pi5RPrpRg2huliYa_SoG_TtA_nX8pBY8aSpOGMnr1uN8ZbzNNNQogPF4PDMjbvoM2YwWOgiqBMhHJ42LkapollYTRz2zm3L-AXQBBx84voh5hLm4jDOjPFM3Msec/s1493/USED.writebooks3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1493" data-original-width="1491" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM0GsbxqdNX98egeCxerJKDwJrNwVcElHwsNs8K2IcBoEj9FHZQmhX2T-rFCGD9o1pi5RPrpRg2huliYa_SoG_TtA_nX8pBY8aSpOGMnr1uN8ZbzNNNQogPF4PDMjbvoM2YwWOgiqBMhHJ42LkapollYTRz2zm3L-AXQBBx84voh5hLm4jDOjPFM3Msec/w200-h200/USED.writebooks3.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A GOOD friend from my theater days in Manila, Joey B., mentioned that he kept a copy of my one-act play, “Maputla ang Ulap sa Laot” (“Clouds are Pale Out in the Sea”). I am sure it was about life in tiny fishing villages where I spent time as writer/researcher and grassroots communications teacher when I was in my early 20s or late-teens. A French friend maintains that I left in her care a crate of writings—handwritten and typed (on typewriter) or printed via those “ancient” noisy IBM machines. She reminded me that she has a copy of a collection of poems, “The Rainbow is Bleeding," plus an anthology of essays with an intriguing title, “Not Valid for Public Consumption, and other words that I shouldn't have said or written.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Some friends (and ex'es), who are scattered all over the globe, also informed me that I left them notebooks of doodles and/or verses, sheaves of handwritten words on loose bond papers and musty notebooks, prose on personalized cards, lead sheets on music pads, paintings (acrylic and ink), cassette tapes of demos, words and words on fancy scrapbooks etc etcetera. I also had this practice of writing a few words (poetry, prose) on whatever piece of paper that I could grab and then handing it to whoever was around for keepsake, like a gift. I am glad that some of those beautiful people kept some of those little yarns... I write everyday like it's breathing—I produce work like it's all I do, if I don't do it, I die. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> So from NYC/summer of 1998 to this very moment, you could imagine the volume of hard copies and megabytes of computer space juices and dirt that I already produced or accumulated—out of my crazy, crazy mind. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I am a poor fellow at age 55 with five grown-up kids treading their own paths. I am not sure if I'd be able to leave my kids something on the line of inheritance or trust, in the form of bank accounts and properties/assets—although I am still trying. Maybe a grandfather actually left me a cattle farm somewhere in the Pacific, LOL! Anyhow, all I got are my work. Work that hopefully will amount to many books, movies, projects, stuff and whatever they could be used for. 😉✍🙃</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">MEANTIME, I just want to keep on writing and writing and writing--whether these get published or not. Years ago, I used to pursue most of these while sharing ideas with colleagues, friends and strangers—in small inner city cafes and barrio farm fields or oceansides, or workers picketlines, commuter bus, terminals. My writing process was always part of my steady, sustained interaction with people. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Sadly, I don't have that “luxury” anymore, around my circumstances and situation in the US. We are inside this little gizmo called computers and fiddling around in social media circles. I wish it is easy these days to just sit down and discuss a screenplay's progression or a poem's birthing from a coffeecup without sounding rude, condescending, politically-incorrect, provocateur, or just talky and boring. Every word that comes out of our mouths is a target for a kind of in-depth scrutiny for its sense or sensitivity, although this reflex and response happen at a quicksilver pace. Confused. Attached yet detached; connected yet disconnected. 😉✍🙃</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKYODj_gmcc8VOyI9naUUctN6HRyo9BwU6SGKlxYqDOuxAAVMwCgv6QunBlsvjhNWuZYnk6jDO52axTzQ2PR3K0re9qmUkxQ3OTsWwyrewv7gr7PB3PXtWj4-KFSxPrLuj9UtufK7saK4LjX--pztv-QwUUWLbYACVLJQ_o7zSJ3r2vF8hx4RGS90nho/s2825/1.1.cooldude%203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2825" data-original-width="1521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKYODj_gmcc8VOyI9naUUctN6HRyo9BwU6SGKlxYqDOuxAAVMwCgv6QunBlsvjhNWuZYnk6jDO52axTzQ2PR3K0re9qmUkxQ3OTsWwyrewv7gr7PB3PXtWj4-KFSxPrLuj9UtufK7saK4LjX--pztv-QwUUWLbYACVLJQ_o7zSJ3r2vF8hx4RGS90nho/s320/1.1.cooldude%203.JPG" width="172" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I ALWAYS say that it was easier to write and create before because it was easier to be human and alive in those days, almost instinctive—no matter how physically unpleasing or mentally/emotionally harsh the times when I produced volumes of work. More importantly, it was easier to be recognized or validated and confirmed with whatever I wrote—the work is right there on their hands. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> These days, I can write 15 poems in 3 days, but once I saved that on my hard drive, it's almost forgotten since more words are going to inhabit and crowd my hard drive and thumb drives, anyway, in the next 12 hours--all funneled in the internet well. One post is a blink because I will be posting more in the next minute. But then many years ago, as I loosely and nonchalantly handed out my work to people, or left them somewhere, they kept and treasured them. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Hence, my soul is saved, my spirit exists. No Apple app or the most expensive computer gadget could ever do that. The surest depository or undying bank of human thoughts is the human heart. It never forgets. That is the only way how to live forever as a writer--or as a human being. 😉✍🙃</span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-74773652712668804692011-05-14T13:28:00.000-07:002011-05-14T13:28:37.104-07:00<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknzC8VFVfjOJWlsLmVs05RKwQK2DpQ8aY9NNWlz8GEKhWGsW0_8xuU2YLjh0MH0y0HqM1Eb-WA2BiiWiRy3PjKlOH_lk9Vc0S88t-7KCo-nnI9LqaXQbIrO3n8FvVl963By8YtLTSVec/s1600/11IMG_0849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknzC8VFVfjOJWlsLmVs05RKwQK2DpQ8aY9NNWlz8GEKhWGsW0_8xuU2YLjh0MH0y0HqM1Eb-WA2BiiWiRy3PjKlOH_lk9Vc0S88t-7KCo-nnI9LqaXQbIrO3n8FvVl963By8YtLTSVec/s320/11IMG_0849.JPG" width="206px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span style="color: red;">SOMETIMES,</span></strong> we need rituals to intercede, mediate, or simply act as pesky little go-betweens when life suddenly becomes a wee bit too functional for occasional intangibles to penetrate the security locks of our convenient lives.</span> These are the moments when cash registers forget to calculate, greenbacks turn pale yellow, traffic lights turn blue… moments when a child’s angelic grin melts icebergs, a two-line poetry outwits volumes of mathematical theories, a warm kiss dissolves a hundred world wars, and the mere presence of a Muse changes the tone of day. Always believe in the workings of a heart that beats with a spirit with no shape or color… </span><span style="color: orange; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>[--Scribbled on a Greyhound ticket, on my way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, from New York City. Winter 1999]</strong></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4642083669812641842.post-51472756993253266272011-05-10T22:01:00.000-07:002011-05-10T22:01:14.460-07:00<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16HWWKXm1Q7PsW5wxjRxtyRmw7EIrYZ6d0cmkYzMfo0o_LtILXFrStacTnCO1jVFot09WrR30VfHHvZp2Qh6v9peqQ-XSVL8DCjN-IEp2Eh8imNtgFwhhRQvrw74CxBC-NATLlElD6Aw/s1600/IMG_9985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh16HWWKXm1Q7PsW5wxjRxtyRmw7EIrYZ6d0cmkYzMfo0o_LtILXFrStacTnCO1jVFot09WrR30VfHHvZp2Qh6v9peqQ-XSVL8DCjN-IEp2Eh8imNtgFwhhRQvrw74CxBC-NATLlElD6Aw/s320/IMG_9985.JPG" width="238px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><strong>IN THE PAST,</strong></span> the only purpose for my writing was to communicate within a specific ideological discourse. I didn’t care whether my work appeals or not to a particular cultural belief or political spectrum. I kept my well-guarded bias tucked in my sleeves and sneered at contrary thinking... I admit, most of what I stood for when I was in my 20s are pretty much still beating in my system—but I’ve learned to also see beyond and appreciate the human depth of things that I didn’t believe in. These days, I’d like humanity to read me—whether they agree or disagree. In that way, I belong. I will only belong in life’s community if my spirit is read beyond my covers. We are so different from each other but it doesn’t mean we can’t coexist… </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: orange;"><strong>I ALWAYS</strong></span> hear most say that Asians are not “high on emotion.” Seldom they scream elation or openly weep in public—or say hello, thank you, I’m sorry, or good luck—as frequently as the way we’re accustomed to do in the Western world. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Asians are seemingly distant, remote, unaffected. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not true… </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are a people who travel far, toil in deserts and war fields and jungles, and leave families behind for years—and come home for a month each year to share the fruits of their labor like it’s all that matters. A people who bury their dead in thousands, and witness their shanties blown away by typhoons and floods each year. People who mourn 5 months, and celebrate 7 months a year—to their hearts’ content, because life is a gift from God, not a privilege from society. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We can take misery anytime—bare bones and raw spirit… as we savor blessings like happiness comes only once a year.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are a people who could fall in love almost instantly, after a warm evening of intimacy, and believe in it as a human truth—and will hang on to that promise of togetherness till the day we die. A people who forged formidable friendships, life through death, after a shared dinner or rice wine on a rainy day...</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>[--<em><span style="color: purple;">PPascua</span></em>, from “Waiting for Winter,” a working novel]</strong></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>PASCKIE PASCUAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05312716892828923035noreply@blogger.com0