Climb every mountain

I'm not Catholic, but it makes sense why the "Board of Directors" of that church would want to prevent the Philippine poor from having unrestricted access to pregnancy prevention programs. If, and these are "ifs," if the middle class, well-to-do, and educated Catholics tend to switch religions, or (practice their faith in private and) avoid giving abuloy to Catholic churches (or require their services - kasal, mass, blessing, etc.), then that's revenue loss right there. Bad for business.

Another "if" - if the consistent abuloy revenue comes from the poor (who multiply like rabbits because they're economically barred from access to contraceptives), then it makes sense to oppose moves (like the RH bill) that would stop the poor population from ballooning. As long as there are poor Catholics, the revenue continues.

Corporations, we have to remind ourselves of this, have to protect their mind share. Faith in business. Business in faith.

I will be hated for articulating the above, but it has to be said.

I'm home

There's something nice and warm about donuts hiding deep down in a crumpled paper bag of love. Shove them down a plastic sando bag that survives the whims of an indifferent rain, and they won't be the same. Paper means risk - you could put the bag down on a damp table and the contents might drop through the tear. (If you soak us do we not go limp?) Hence the love. My wife bought us donuts last night - only two - there's only two of us. And I brought home the crumpled paper bag - I must have done most of the crumpling - and fixed us coffee while I wondered if the donuts got bored on the taxi ride home at 5 in the morning. The sun had not risen and our other cat (we have two) hadn't come yet when we divided the first donut - more of a cupcake, really - between us. What is it about the sound of crumpling paper bags that allure me? A gift that takes time to open up. The sound of something coming out - a surprise. The possibility that the donuts smashed against each other, with only me to blame, on the way home. Coffee, donuts, all that crumpling, and the hmm of this goes so well with coffee. Makes me feel loved, hugs me in a way that makes me say.... (read the title.)

basics

"I never thought I'd be so happy as a cat."

- Mao, contract killer trapped in the body of a cat, to Hei, another contract killer, from Season 1 of "Darker Than Black."

undrying the spell

You can't deny there are dry spells, droughts in a writer's life. I'm countering that. Here's something I'm working on.


Tangerine

I had to clench my eyes shut, like a fist, out of annoyance, close it long enough to see small white dots, disbelieving the film rolling from my right, and spreading around. I had to have been in a film. Or a dream. Unless streets could empty out rush hour crowds and turn pavements and buildings orange in a blink. A deep orange. I managed a small squint, a peek. Still orange. Still an empty street. Horns blowing and people elbowing to get ahead of you, the scent of car-jeep-bus-and-truck exhausts, the scene of after-work exhaustion, all suddenly not here.

I have an eye problem. That's one hypothesis among many. That explains why all is orange. Or I'm in another locale, swiftly removed from Ayala avenue on a six pm of a Friday night, and shot here, where there are no people, and, pinching my self, jumping up and down, to work up a sweat, slapping my cheek and offering the other, I don't seem to be waking up. I don't do drugs, I don't remember being drugged, maybe I am drugged.

I am hallucinating. Wide-eyed wonder! A traffic cop is adjusting his trousers to the sway of his belly, from across this street, grunting. Finally I hear sounds other than my breath, grunts, and foot falls. He hands me a ticket.

"Why?" His moustache moves. I've been standing still too long, everyone else had moved on, he said.

"Where's everyone else?" I ask, loudly, but I don't get an echo.

That's just it, he says. They've all moved on. And I shouldn't be here.

"Where's here?"

Where do you think?

"You trying to be funny, sir?"

No, 'where' do you think? That's where you are. And it's not right to stay there. I'm sorry but I'm going to have to take you for processing.

I pull away and run.