Skip to main content

Kontrayuma


NAIPAKILALA sa mga paslit na sinanay kamakailan ang isang malapad na latag ng ikmo (ch’ing chu, Piper betle) sa lilim ng punong mangga. Nabanggit na mga matanda lang ang gumagamit sa naturang dahon… itinatapal sa mga sumasakit na kasu-kasuan o sikmura, ampat sa kirot ng kabag at rayuma…

Nalimutan pa nga ang pangalan ng halaman na kontra-diabetes din pala ang katas ng dahon… konting pananaliksik pa’t mabubungkal din ang iba pang bisa laban sa sakit ng ligaw na baging na katuwang ng apog ang dahon sa mga kakanin ng Thailand.

Opo, nagtataglay ng anti-oxidants ang ikmo, panlaban pa sa tadyak ng alkohol sa utak, at mas mabagsik kaysa streptomycin ang bisa kontra mikrobyo… kaya mas mainam lantakan—may banayad na lasa ng paminta’t sili-- kaysa iceberg or romaine lettuce.

Pwedeng lapatan ng sinumang paslit ng iba pang pangalan, halimbawa, kontrayuma… baka nga kontra sa gayuma—parang alkohol din kasi ang sipa ng pagnanasa sa utak… ‘kakahilo, ‘kakalasing, ‘kakabaliw.

So I was shaking my head seeing a smitten ‘tweener eye with fond fascination a comely girl yet to step into her teen years… “too young to really be in love— mahal ko si Toyang ‘pagkat siya’y simple lamang, kahit (pa may problema) basta’t kami ay magkasama…”

I’ve got to give it to Sesame Street’s The Count—“how do I love thee, let me count the ways, mwa-ha-ha-haw!”

Uh, if you ask me, they’re too young to be struck with cardiac unrest…

And I remember growling at a kid in near-tears tackling a physically exacting field challenge, “Forget your body… set your mind to it!” (And went through she did after a few painful attempts.)

Then I remember that romance is mostly in the mind, mostly chemical… a section of the brain spurts dopamine, more intoxicating than a jolt of vodka or whiskey that gives a giddy feel of pleasure… and another brain section is roused for a stronger jolt and begs for more of the same… male get awash in vasopressin (which makes him protective of his mate and turf) and testosterone that triggers aggression… female is soaked in estrogen which makes her feminine and tender… both are awash in oxytocin hormone that induces a feeling of bliss and well-being.

It’s a third section of the brain that binds the lover to the beloved—the caudate nucleus… the area that commits to long-term memory the look, feel, and identity of the person provoking, oops, providing the pleasure.

The kids who roared with laughter with the silly jokes I plied them on the way home won’t know better… they were getting themselves doused in oxytocin, nudging a bevy of caudate nuclei to remember… me… as my grandchildren do in moments magical when I go through antics as childish and silly.


Gayuma… a grizzled guy never needed that arcane magic when he can stoke tender conflagration in the caudate nucleus…

“What you give you get, ten times over.”

Comments

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…

KASI NANLABAN

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--” …