Much two much
By Emmanuelle

Dee is maybe ten, tall and lanky, mostly all elbows and legs, pig-tails flying, round eyes whirling know-it-all. Her brother Dexter is maybe three years younger. When on tip-toes, his round plump figure reaches up only to Dee’s waist.

He is sort of a whiz science genius; Dee cannot forgive him for that.

What’s that? Dee points her index finger at Dexter’s chest. Seeing her eyes alarmingly wide, her nose fearfully quivering, Dexter looks quickly down to where her finger points. The moment he bent his head low, Dee slashes her stiff pointing finger upwards. The finger slices through his loose lips, pokes through a hole of his button nose. The finger tops the act with an arrogant shove on his forehead. Gotcha! she says.

Napikon, Dexter’s hands reach angrily for his sister wherever. Dee opens her eyes wider. She points to his chest again. What’s that? she shouts. Dexter looks down. Dee’s finger cuts through his face for the second time, naughtier and haughtier, as if to say bobo ka pala talaga. Dexter blubbers wildly. He jumps up and down, his fingers clawing Dee’s shirt, neck, face.

Dee‘s eyes bulge out. What’s that? she screams, pointing at Dexter’s face now. Dexter’s voice comes out muffled. Oh, no! I’m not going to fall for that again! he says.

This time, though, a really big black bug sits on his face. The bug is as big as his face.

Sometimes, it’s one or the other. Once is not enough. Or once is too much. One can rise out of the ruins of one’s life. Or one never learns at all. Often, we are as blind as the bats. Sometimes though, we can have too much radar.

The People’s Initiative was actually Pangasinense Initiated. One is proud of the fact; or one is shamed. And the Con-Ass rests where it started in the first place; you know where. We thought these were mere attempts to amend the constitution; actually, they were trying to change the whole thing. When you think they have given up trying, you have another think coming.

Some people are so makulit as the boil between one’s singit.

So makulit, like, it takes so much longer for some people to say goodbye than to visit. Like, they just happened to be conveniently nearby, and then suddenly they are in your home to stay. Like, forever. Like, you rolled their banig noisily as parinig, threw away their shredded over-used sheets, aired the room and locked the door and the front gate. Then they are in through the back-gate. They have gathered the banig, made latag on the living room floor.

Tediously and hideously so makulit that sometimes, you never really know where the administration team is coming from and where the opposition team is going. Like fielding two teams at the same time, then betting on both. The bettor never losses; the captive/captured audience never wins.

Team Unity comes from jumbled backgrounds yet they are bound by an obviously unified cause, one this writer can afford to dissect only superficially at this point in time. Journalists keep disappearing at a most ordered disorder nowadays.

In the issuing confusion, the joker jokes grimly while a rich veggie grins superior. Three senators give a new definition to the word loyal. Once, there were these two idealistic young ones; now they are gone. Then, there is an actor; one other married one. There is the one with a most beloved surname; but there is more to name than a name, di ba? There, too, is the one who threw the first stone, sinless or not. Where is the Muslim representation? We thought there was one.

And GO, the shadow. As if there exists a people’s choice between a genuine and a not so genuine opposition.

Noted: Am dizzy. Am ditzy even.

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/)

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