Marlon’s World

When I read this morning this news article about a Filipino-Canadian boy who got reprimanded in his school for following the Filipino manner of eating (that is, with fork AND spoon), I got pissed off. Where in the world would anybody be scorned with the way he eats? I mean, I don’t mind that Canadians eat with forks and knives in my country. I don’t mind that the Chinese eat with chopsticks in my country. I don’t mind anybody eating with his bare hands anywhere.   

This eating incident must have surely struck a chord in the Philippine psyche. The Filipino society largely revolves around food. Food is always sacred and — to my mind — is regarded as the ultimate expression of what is the Filipino. To say that one’s cultural heritage doesn’t fit the overall schema of a society is the height of intolerance and ignorance.

Tolerance and acceptance are two thorny areas in human relationships. Many people have not even reached the threshold of tolerance. And, if truth be told, racism does not only occur in seemingly "petty" circumstances such as the one reported above.

When we go to war and murder a nation just to get oil with the pretense of battling terrorism, we commit ourselves to intolerance of national sovereignity. We become tyrants.

When we imprison people for expressing their beliefs, when we quash dissent by murdering journalists and blackmailing liberals, we commit ourselves to intolerance of public opinion. We become despots. 

When we say we love God but we discriminate against creeds, sexual orientations and preferences, we commit ourselves to intolerance of choices. We become bigots.   

When we regard that ours is a culture more superb and more meritorious, when we require others to mutate to people they are not, when we always seek our own conceited notions of what ought to be in other people, we commit ourselves to intolerance of differences. We become dictators. 

In the end, it is not because one has white skin and eats with a fork and knife that he has secured a better place for himself in this world. It is not because one speaks Spanish with a th or English with a twang that he is a good person. It is not because one supposes he knows better than the rest that he proves his worth. In many cases, he who has the the capacity to acknowledge, the humility to tolerate and the maturity to accept differences becomes the one who truly has shown how great a person he is.         

Oh.

My.

God.

I’m nearly 23 years old (If you’re reading this and you greeted me on the wrong date, shame, shame shame). So this how it feels being 23. Unluckily for us, we could only say "So this is how it feels being (insert number of years here)" once. I don’t really know what to feel. It’s odd having to ponder on things you have done and things you wish to do. You risk being disappointed or excited or desperate or hopeful.

Me? I feel the void. I don’t really know what to expect. Fear comes to mind. At 23, I’m still studying. When the scholarship ends and I return to the Philippines, I don’t exactly know what to do. But I’m also thankful. I have realized that I enjoy many things that not so many people have the chance to enjoy.

Well, since I have nothing to do tonight as I’m saving money for an upcoming trip, I might as well do this blog post for my 23rd birthday. Just re-read it on the D-Day so that you’d not ask me for another one. It’s a list of 23 things that not all people know about me. It reeks with conceitedness. It smacks with egocentricity. It’s me, me, me!

1. I am colorblind. This is pratically a given. My blues are violets and my violets, blue. Shades of red, green and brown confuse me. Yellow and green make me desperate. 

2. I am a lefty. I pick up the spoon, I dial the mobile and I open doors with the right hand but other than those, I am practically, uhmm (is this seditious, Secretary Gonzales?), a "leftist":  I write with my left hand. I draw with my left hand. I cook with my left hand. I wash my arse with my left hand.

3. I don’t know how to swim. I’d like to think I did. But that was so many years ago… in a kiddie-sized pool in Denverland (hahaha).

4. I don’t know how to ride a bike. And corollarily, I don’t drive a car. I’m really that helpless with mobility. 

5. I am obsessive-compulsive. Don’t dare tell me anything that would make me bothered in any way, however slight, for I would not stop thinking about it. I also want my plastic wares neatly stacked according to size. I want my books to be thematically-organized. I want papers to be collated before the deadline. You get the picture.

6. I love to cook. And I’m proud of it. My parents can be a bit of a party-pooper when I cook since they don’t want me experimenting. 

7. I have just recently started drinking beer. I do drink wine but beer used to be anathema. When I moved to Spain, the drink of choice is beer. There’s wine, yes, but almost everyone here drinks beer at any given time. 

8. I am very particular with time. I DETEST LATECOMERS! I rather be in one place an hour earlier than arrive — panting — just on time. A classmate in CommRes flunked our stat class for being late. I was the leader of the group and I took it upon myself to teach her a lesson. Years later, I saw her in Friendster looking as vaginal as ever. Virginal, I meant to say.   

9. I collect books and CDs. I love second-hand books, by the way, especially those hard to find titles: Historia Calamitatum, I-Ching, the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the Upanishads, etc. My CDs are eclectic: I can go from as snooty as Russell Watson, Josh Groban, Il Divo to saccharinely-sweet pop such as Westlife, Blue and F4. I can play religious such as the Pasyon and Hangad’s repertoire or let my pseudo-rockstar attitude shine with Rivermaya, Eraserheads, etc.

10. I am a frustrated writer. I committed plagiarism when I was in Grade 6. I got caught and from then on, I swore to be good in writing so that other people would be the one to copy from me. I have yet to prove myself until now, I guess.

11. I only have had two hairstyles changes. One was for my ROTC and the other, when I’m already here in Spain. I had planned on not modifying my hairstyle for ROTC but the one in charge (I still could remember his name. Niels Ian Badillo) took his scissors and cut through my hair. It was when I was forced to have the regulated cut. Here in Spain, on the other hand, the decision came with no qualms. It’s a sign for me of changing a life and starting anew. 

12. I wear Size 9 shoes. *Wink, wink*

13. I keep plastic bags and receipts. And I don’t know why.

14. I hate Freddie Prinze Jr. Take a good script, a good staff and a good cast and put them in a film along with Freddie Prinze Jr and you’re sure you’d have a very (1000x) bad film. I saw him with Sarah Michelle Gellar and I saw him with Jessica Biehl and I thought he stank. Then came a movie with my favorite Julia Stiles. I saw the movie thinking that Julia Stiles could salvage the production. In the end, Freddie Prinze’s bad and cheesy acting prevailed. 

15. I dig Double Dutch and (of late) Straciatella. I’m addicted to chocolate, but in ice cream, I prefer these two to just plain chocolate or the other choco varieties (e.g., cookies and cream, rocky road, etc.) Chocolate and Mint and Chocolate and Oranges are worthy substitutes if ever I could not find these two.

16. I love classical music. Refer to Item 9.

17. I hate Big Brother in whichever language. I still don’t get it. Why do people like snooping on other people’s lives voyeuristically? I mean, what do the housemates do? Eat, take a bath, dance, sing, do laundry, cry, talk. WE DO THESE THINGS ALL THE TIME, PEOPLE! We just don’t appreciate what we do everyday. Now, if you’re thrilled with the thought of painting your body and dancing to the theme song, no one’s stopping you from doing so in your own backyard.

18. I can be technology-illiterate many times. I discovered chatting only 6 months ago. ‘Nuff said.

19. I like research. Which is obvious, considering that I graduated with a degree in research. I just find it fulfilling to defend your argument using proofs you yourself tried to find. I may be weak in numbers and, dahlin’, stastistics per se is not research.

20. I am addicted to neatness. Not that I am exceedingly neat. I do pigout sometimes. But when my OC-ness attacks (Refer to Item 5), everything needs to be in tip-top shape.

21. I am a food adventurer. I am not really squirmy when it comes to food. I may like a dish or not, but I have to try it first. In contrast, my brother doesn’t even eat sushi!

22. I loathe the beach. I hate the sun. I hate the sand. I hate the salty water. I hate picnic-style food. I hate flabby people cavorting half-naked as if they’re sexy. Aaaaarrrrrggggggghhh! 

23. I am shy. You might have fallen from your chair when you read this, but yes, I am very shy. And very, very insecure. I seldom call unknown people and I hardly answer calles from unknown numbers because I am too timid to start a conversation. I don’t like approaching strangers to ask for direction.