My Brief Stint in Prison

I’ve done time. Jail time. Depending on which words you’d accept from Webster as its definition, I was an ex-convict. 

Here’s the story. I rear-ended a car driven by a German expat. In Saudi Arabia. Without a driver’s license. I was an innocent-looking handsome 23 years old. Driving without a license is not allowed in that country. Let alone getting caught in an accident. 

Immediately after the hit, the German driver walked over to me to ask if I was alright. I was shaking all over. Even my ears and nostrils were flapping wildly in fear. Other than that, “I’m ok,” I responded. To cut this short story shorter, I was whisked away by the Royal Army before I could say Gesundheit to the nearest jail.

There I was, fair-skinned, untattooed, clean shaven, looking very pretty inside the cell that was full of hardened criminals and jaywalkers. At least that’s how I saw them with my petrified eyes. The stories about abuses inside jails scared me like a kitten in the rain.

Around me were my inmates, a stinking, waterless toilet bowl and an old Arabic magazine. There was graffiti on the walls that looked like decor to me because I don’t read Arabic.  Without making unnecessary move that may provoke any wild beast, still like that rain-drenched kitten, crouched low on four, I slowly and steadily reached for the magazine and settled back to my lonely corner. I flipped through the magazine, looking only at the pictures. The text resembled the graffiti on the walls. In it, I saw an image of the Virgin Mary and the Child (Mother of Perpetual Help). That prompted me to pray. I prayed like there was no tomorrow. Actually, like there was no later.

But later came. People from my company negotiated for my unconditional pardon. I was released in an hour -not enough time for a tiny tattoo on the arm. The next day, tomorrow, came.

I’ve come to realize the hard way that prayers penetrate thru thick walls. I did jail time, baby, and survived it.

Cheers to freedom!

If you’ve been touched, amused, or entertained by this post, or it put a smile on your face, please favor me with a cup of coffee via GCash or PayPal. I will continue writing.

How do You Recover from an Embarrassing Moment in Your Life?

Life can play tricks on you. I’ve learned to be responsive rather than reactive.

When I was a freshman in High School where everyone except for a few former elementary school classmates was a stranger, I was called to a recitation. I had colds then and couldn’t quite control it. As I tried to recite the answer to a Science question, my nostrils blew off a decent-sized balloon of mucus that left everyone rofl-ing ’til the senior year. The answer I wanted to narrate was: “Mucus is a thinner form of phlegm secretions from the nose.” I didn’t make it past the first syllable of secretions.

Answer: I recovered from it by having another embarrassing moment.

When the laughter died down by the middle of the senior year during a basketball intramural game, I made a spectacular ankle-breaking spinmove-and-lay-up into the opponent’s basket. So by then, it wasn’t just the class rofl-ing. The entire school was. The old principal never looked at me the same way again.

Funny thing is, by college time during get-togethers with old high school friends, no one recalled those two demeaning episodes of my life. Not even my twin brother who was my classmate all throughout high school.

Along this life’s long road to the present, it’s paved with more embarrassments and frustrations than the biggest prime number you know. Me, I’ve learned to live with them, categorizing them under My Life’s Funny Lessons.  

I graduated with the fourth-highest honors in that batch. Mine was the last laugh.

Here’s to bouncing back from the grave. Cheers

Imperfect Beauty

I was waiting for an epiphany of sort to come to write about this morning. Inspirations usually come when I don’t expect them -like while running or doing the dishes, while driving alone, or when seated on the crappy throne.

But earlier, I was somewhat forcing it to happen while doing some chores -not that crappy one, though.

Then I saw my own reflections in this cup -so imperfect and poorly executed (oops! Sorry, Andre). What to appreciate? There’s gotta be something in this.

Then it came: wabi-sabi, -the Japanese idea of “taking pleasure in the imperfect.” What displeases the eyes may be pleasing the other senses.

And just like a warm fart in the night, I’m feeling good already, about this coffee. And about myself. I mean, who wouldn’t after a warm…I raise this cup to finding beauty in every facet of flaw, frailty and fracture!

Hello 2021

Disregarding the year when I was born, or the year I turned 7-and-a-half years old, or the year I first won in an election as the class Sgt-at-Arms, the year 2020 will be remembered as one of the most remarkable in recent memory.

It was the time when Rafael Nadal won his 20th Grand Slam title equaling Roger Federer’s 20 which many labeled as 20-20 in 2020. It was also the year that Tik-tok and K-Pop ruled the cyber space, and Burger King started grilling plant-based burgers. I’m sure many more happened I just couldn’t recall them now.

Forbidding the bad memories cloud the good ones, I will look at 2020 with fondness. History, after all deserves to be remembered. How you remember will be your measure of the mass of wisdom you gain from it. Makes sense to you?

I raise this cup to 2020. Here’s to happy memories.