Feelings
Between good and evil . . .
By Emmanuelle
is the deep blue sea. There, amidst its wonders, are fish and floaters that nip and snip and snap at fellow fish and fellow floaters. And bump ‘em and chomp ’em, as the food chain goes. Where what is shallow are its shores, and unfathomable is not what is beyond understanding but an abyss from where one comes back rarely if at all. Where sneaky refers to flesh-eaters disguised as jellies, weeds and rocks, seemingly harmless but so dreadfully deadly.
And when it is not deep and blue and sea, it is land. There, among its wonders, are man and floaters that nip and snip and snap at fellow man and fellow floaters. And bump ’em and chomp ’em, as the food chain goes. Where what is shallow are thoughts and intentions, and unfathomable is what is beyond understanding but which can almost be fathomable if thinking is done by the head and not by the hind. Where sneaky are the carnivore and the veggies-bored not even bothering to disguise themselves as jellies, weeds and rocks. These creatures are never harmless and are definitely dreadfully deadly.
How people can worship whistleblowers is beyond me. One or more connectors must have disconnected in their neurons, in their perceptions, or in their cerebrums to have reached such a state of conundrum.
To be classified whistleblower, one must have first and fore mostly whistled gainfully and colorfully with the rest of the merry bunch. Otherwise, one is just plain whistler. Or blower. Whatever.
One does not risk one’s clean slate of a name and reputation and a heavenly end for a clean plate. The plate must be worth it. Mounds and mounds on it.
And having gained fully, one is kapamilya, kapuso, kakulay, one for all and all for one, with the merry bunch. The absence of colors, so dreary white, is very far from their minds. What fills them with thrill is the stacking ’em high, those colorful piles in their minds. What fills them with thrill is the stacking ’em high, those colorful piles in their banks. Mounds and mounds in it.
To have been entrusted with such a mass of confidential knowledge and multi-tasks by a consortium of bosses who were hindi lang basta-basta matataas na tao, one must be so unquestionably trustworthy. Not just with a wispy reputation of being so, but a long proven history of being.
Or one is the most clever, most ingenious of all spies. A sleeper planted even before the birth of the thought of the word broadband. At a time when the computer was not what you top your lap with, but was a room or even three buildings of the broadest and most bored motherboard.
When a whistleblower points a forefinger, take a look at that one finger, then at his thumb pointing nowhere and everywhere, then at the other three fingers pointing back to his palm to himself. Look at the shape, the lift and the quirks of his lips. Then search his eyes disregarding the tears. All the time, asking questioning querying: what makes this man this man?
Between good and evil, where does he rank? How good – acceptably, good enough, suitably good, tolerable, passable, less lesser least good, some goodness left, tainted goods, my goodness me, oh my God. What kind of evil – just a bad boy needing a spanking, a bad egg, simply unpleasant, wicked, horrible, nasty, foul, vile, sinful, immoral, criminal, obnoxious, revolting, disgusting, nauseating.
And beyond good, there is better, best, heavenly, angelic, godly. And worse than evil is the devil himself. And while we’re at it, who said heaven is up there and hell is down below? Whoever priest said evil is named after Eve who listened to the apple and ate the snake? You, men. We, men. Too.
Who you to point out am not no more talking about the bossed and the bossing bosing. I was, was I not? You me?
(More next week.)
(Readers may reach columnist at jingmil@yahoo.com. For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/
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