Skip to main content

Web log entry #113

PAST customary peck on neck—too high an aim for one who goes for peck, peck below—Estella, trader-entrepreneur from Seoul re-introduced me as her “long lost boyfriend.”

On top of such introduction, why, she usually prefers me atop her, she rues aloud that she can’t take me out on a date—uh, that’s short for accommodate and inundate hers.

Welcome my rules she has to—“take a number; fall in line; I’ll get to you after I’m done with the others or after they’re done with me, whatever comes first, but they usually come one after the other; wait to be sated.”

But there are no hard and fast rules when a gorgeous damsel like her wants it hard for a member of good standing…

She’d still pry why I turn up kim chi with local chillies—they pack a lot more conflagration and fiery flavor over jalapeños, habaneros or Cantonese capsicum. Cuisine ought to be arson in reins.

Nope, she didn’t query why I’d always lap up a raw meaty Korean yummy, something called bulbolgogi.

Pry on she would why I picked up the more brutal taekyon and hwarang-do over the more popular taekwondo… why, their techniques are a lot ruthlessly lethal and hews nearer to the spirit of kyokushinkai introduced by another Korean, a Kamikaze pilot who became known as Masutatsu Oyama.

Of quaint rites culled from the Land of the Morning Calm, I trudge off ashore and do obeisance to the sea at the dawn of each New Year… lots and lots of wetness, that’s my cup of cha-cha… so unlike a nodding Korean acquaintance who turn up every last few days of the year at a resort in Ilog Malino in Bolinao, Pangasinan to do a similar ritual of greeting the sun.

He wants it hot, I want it wet—to each his own preference of paying respects to Nature.

Such acquired idiosyncrasies struck a chord in her heartstrings… they still profess and practice kinship with Nature… that explains why I got one from the land of the morning come.

I shouldn’t be posting this entry in my Facebook account… (Name) “is in a relationship but it’s complicated.” Lousy worn out stock phrase that.

More to my liking would be a post pumped with innuendoes like this… “is in and out, in and out, in and out in what passes for a relationship, something so simple since complications can only arise in one suffering from a disease in its terminal phase, pwe-he-he-he!”

Estella tells them I’m good.

Modesty aside, I could be worse.


Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this:

"Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well."

Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass.

When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-destruct. T…


Viagra au naturel

IT LOOKED eerie—a blaze of fireflies pulsing like stars in the nippy air, throbbing with mating passions. That show of lights somehow eased the shadows of a Holy Thursday night on a dry river bed a few kilometers trudge up Mount Makiling.

It’s likely that no river has lain in sleep for months on that moss-grown, boulder-strewn bed—except my 20-year old kid Kukudyu and I. We were out to spend the night, do on-site learning sessions by the next day. Usual father-and-son bonding. As the late Benjamin Franklin once begged: "Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn."

Past noon from the foot of the mountain’s northern section, it took us four hours ploughing non-stop through prickly bushes and forest undergrowth to get to that site. We got there in one bruised piece. By then, dusk was falling; the sylvan air hummed with a trill of crickets, cicadas, critters nameless in choral orison. That incessant “sh-r-r-e-eemmm---“ layered with “k-kr-r-eeengg--” …