I banged the office table with my pen-clutched, stronger, left fist. My 5-year old Lancel watch was tossed to
the floor, breaking the fixture where the replaceable leather band is attached. I screamed at her face while speaking my views over an administrative issue that was forcibly snapped back at me as a personal insult. She rattled incessantly; I tried to explain while demanding her listening ears. Now I had 2 reasons to flare up regardless if one is a woman or a transvestite: first, insults are not synonymous with complaining professionally, and second, if somebody won’t listen, I might as well scream to further irk her until we reach a certain emotional plateau where our rage echoes forth and we hear it. She screamed in return, fortunately in a language I don’t understand because it was Hangeul. Mutual riddance. I marshaled my argument minus the cussing. Then somebody pitched in to referee and pacified what he thought was a gendered attack on my part. I disagreed but conceded to the slightly violent behavior I showcased. It was a scare-piranha, me on my defensive mood, and perhaps some of the funnelled frustrations over the years. I love diversity but some Kim Sam Soons, much like the President, could stretch and stress you out you sometimes forget you are living in your own country that’s soon to be ruled by the next-in-line Muslim Bangsamoro. We ended up mutually apologizing.
How did I calm down? I organized the not-so-tidy Filipinos, showed them their mess during the medical mission that day, and orchestrated to stoop to the strewn trash in chorus. It was sort of gathering my scattered energy. Then blogged on grilling Galilean fish.
Looks like a good time to apologize to people I hurt in the past. I’M SORRY. This desert piranha is still learning the way of peace, and hopefully will learn it more if not over-governed in the future by the gun-toting Moro Islamic Liberation Front and this Government.