Of course, of curses!

By Emmanuelle

How would you react when a Cherry Gil look-alike throws red wine on your thousands-worth of straightened hair, make-over and white gown; and, adding insult to injury, she contemptuously proceeds to spray laway on your shocked face with the famous line: you are nothing but a second rate, trying hard copy (spraylaway) cat (spraylaway)? 

Don’t call me. Call the anger management experts. The temperbusters.

Though, if my father were alive today, he would have said this about anger management: there is no such a thing.  He would have also thrown in free, without consultation fee, this unsolicited advice on what to do with movies, literature or seminars that preach anger management: shove these down the ground and top with camote.  He would stop short telling to shove somewhere any higher up your feet.   

Too, he would say this out loud, tossing the lesson to the four winds, that like vomit or phlegm and all things sordid, either you spit out your anger or you wallow in it. Meaning, there is no lump-in the-throat choking in-between. When you swallow the fire of your anger, you swim in it, you just postpone spitting it out. Kapag napuno na ang baga, ay! ang banga pala, you must have to spit it out. Or you’ll simply BURST!

Who are the fire-spitters? You are, if you are characteristically one or all of the following: spontaneous, rashly or brashly impulsive, emotionally animated, uncompromisingly and loudly assertive, aggressively combatant, and daringly unafraid. Yes, dear, we’ll pause while you look in the dictionary.

You are a fire-spitter if you were reared by guardians who truly encouraged freedom of self-expression as the best policy towards developing a child’s healthy, well-rounded personality – aside from honesty and not bowing before any other god, of course. Thank your modern oldies!  Although they had to stand aside helplessly   as you brought the house down with your shrieks, your curses and your flailing fists and kicks in one too   many healthy fits of anger. You spoiled rotten brat. 

The  fire-spitters let their anger go todo-todo with all the fireworks display imaginable. Todo-bigay kulay from shocked pink to breathless blue, madworld-black, high-blood arterial-red. Todo-bira sights from eyes bulging out then stretching wide to engulf   skull  to flaring swelling nostrils, breasts heaving hugely, also huge cavernous breaths prior to hyperventilating, clenching unclenching hands preparatory to martial showdown. Breakdance – break this, break that. Todo-ingay from bituka-curling snarls to unintelligent, unintelligible pagmumura. Of curses, of course. Without the graphic curse, no away is worth its juicy while. From the harmlessly bad maldita, supladita ka etc to worse specters of demonyo, impakto ka etc   to the worst of the cuss words ____ina mo etc no child of a bitch or a whore would take calmly sitting down. 

You are a fire-wallower if, by force of habit or whatever your personal choice of disabling mechanism is, you bite off the natural rush of temper and words, choke the resulting lump down your throat, and allow it to untangle itself bit by diminishing bit. When your jaws are a little less locked, you swallow the lot. For you, there is no letting go, you cool dumb dude. You are a bomb waiting to explode.

What to do when hell’s fury is ice compared to yours? For one thing, don’t call me care of Sunday Punch. Though sometimes, Kuya Ermin or Joy tip off my cell phone number to the most bravely insistent.

What to do when hell’s fury is ice compared to mine? I will cast the Cherry Gil look-alike with the most withering look, so desert-dry and intensely acidic as to melt metal, to shrivel flesh, to fracture all bones, to rip open all organs. I will look straight to her eyes, SAY, not whisper, you are not worth a frown on my face, nor a strand off my hair. Then I walk out, head held high, hips saucily swaying.

It would be more satisfying, though, to throw-up todo-todo unto her hair, face and gown. Todo-iyak niya ciguro.  

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

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