Space

If you live in a country with 7,107 islands, 88,706,300 people, and a total land area of 300,000 km², when do you sit back and say you have enough space to inhabit, till and stow as your own? Would one distinguish whether the craving for space is all about the simple joy of ownership or whether its something more noble like stewardship? What if one cannot separate the ideals behind every act of ownership yet has the money to buy land? Who says no, you've got enough.

If anyone can give answers to these questions then it will be of great help to many Filipinos who need a reminder or two of what is enough and what amount of property would sustain a single Filipino life. That way there would be answers to this insatiability I see around me. That way those whose only property claim is a pot of soil planted with "sili" or "kamatis" can likewise begin laying claim to their rightful space. That way, everyone knows when enough is enough!

Tell me.

USOG

A Monday in June. Have you ever felt like your whole digestive system wants to get out of your body while your head is throbbing like mad as you go through bouts of hiccups as if your whole body is one inflated balloon? Today, I just did.

Since it’s a Monday morning and work is waiting for me, I got out my first aid kit: the menthol stick from Binondo which Cha and I have named “the works,” a mug of hot water, and Franco’s 15-count pressure application on that skin between my point finger and my thumb. It didn’t work. I was frantic because the hiccups were coming out every single-minute and I was getting dizzy, too!
I was getting ready to rush to the hospital because I knew I shouldn’t be feeling anything close to what I call a “blah” moment. Agom and I had some body conditioning over the weekend by treating ourselves to a visit to a spa for great sauna time and a wonderful massage, we had a nice salad and fish meal last night and had a good night’s sleep.

So why this? Perhaps this unexplained occurrence calls for a mysterious explanation. I looked for S who’s known to inflict (for lack of any correct word) "usog" or "bales" on anyone she lays eyes on or greets just when she’s coming from outdoors or when she’s hungry or tired. Tough luck, S went through the ceremony of pinching my earlobes and groping through my hair but she concluded she’s not “guilty” this time. She said she can minimize whatever frenzy was going on with my body but can’t cure me since the “usog” did not come from her. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry but surely the hiccups and stomach pain were preventing from engaging in any other emotion. Indeed, after her “ceremony” the hiccups died down a little bit but my stomach was still churning and there’s this throbbing along my forehead.

My lunchmates suggested I approach other “usog carriers” at the office. Sadly, L, one of those mentioned and whom I recalled I met while on my way to get a mug of water when I arrived at work, was not taking me seriously. He wouldn’t believe in such mysterious deductions of a problem which may otherwise be clinically categorized as migraine. So, beg while writhing in pain I did. Thankfully, L, out of pity perhaps, went through yet another earlobe pinching ceremony. I was half-waiting that he’ll get saliva and apply it on my tummy, which I knew was part of the “usog castaway” done among kids, but thank God he didn’t. After all, the frenzy was slowly leaving my body! After the “ceremony,” I took a nap. I got tired after all those cast-away ceremonies. Twenty-minutes later, I woke up and was up and about like I ought to be on any Monday.