Ode to the Condom

I am going to be on the booth distributing condoms tomorrow.

I am hoping that with that, I'll bring no sorrow.

The size, the color, the flavor will not matter,

The more I give, it would be for the better.

I'll give it to men and ladies, girls and laddies,

I'll donate to those having parties.

For it will not only prevent HIVs

It also prevents STIs and other nasties.

They may say that it's not like the real skin

When sleeping with someone through sweet love or sin

But then the measure of real men

Is being responsible before the act even begin

And though I know that this sound corny

Just a thought for the horny:

Be sure to have a condom always ready

And give something useful for the needy!

The Tale of the Big Toe

A couple of days ago, there was a commotion in the town clinic. A brazenly courageous individual went inside the laboratory and stole one mobile phone while the lab personnel was peeking through the microscope. Some kind of an Agatha Christie plot, and though I was on the verge of joining in the search for the usual suspects, I took a step back and concentrated on my medical supervision.

One of the logisticians (logs, in slang) suggested that it might because the lab personnel gave the “wrong result” hence the thievery. It was also at that point when a man came to the triage nurse complaining about pain on his “big toe”. The nurse, poor soul, was still flushed with the robbery, couldn't understand what the man wants: he is saying big toe, but he is pointing at his groin! So she probed further: "How about your other toes?"

"My toes in my feet are fine," he said.

"But you said you have a pain in your big toe. Do you want to see a doctor or shall I see you toe myself?" she offered.

The man who is in his 50's almost collapsed. In a very conservative place as Manipur, where churches and Christian values abound (sometimes much too much), it is "forbidden"to talk about the privates. Men do not go to clinics and be treated for sexually transmitted infections because of fear that a woman doctor would "touch" their penises. In this context (Christian teaching plus tradional beliefs) it is very difficult to talk about sex, discuss about it publicly and come to the clinic for consultation.

It has become a bit of a challenge to invite men to come to the clinic and avail of the free consultations and the medicines we have. In October of this year, we have but 2 cases of male sexually transmitted infections and about 200 times more listed as mere urinary tract infections.

Despite the huge economic boom in modern India and the modernization of what was deemed as rural, traditional beliefs and culture still exist in every nook and cranny.

Going back to the guy with the big toe, I happened to be in the records room and have overheard the commotion. I obviously do not speak Manipuri, but with the old man's gestures, it was obvious that he has either sexually or mental problems.

The great sleuth stepped in. I found it more pleasant to intervene in this than look for the cell phone. Anyways, I called one of the male doctors and have him talked with the old dude. Indeed, the guy has been having pain when he urinates! He has been having bloody urine for the past months and has been having discharge for a longer time. He was the examined and was given medicines by the doctor.

I was just outside of the main clinic, listening to the epic of the lost mobile phone when the Big Toe Guy came out and thanked me. As he was about to stepped of the clinic, I asked, if our doctor did a rectal exam ( makes sense because it could be also a prostatic problem). The man smiled, came back and asked our guard what I was asking.

The guard explained that I planned to have the doctor "examine" his anus. The old man, took three steps back and then started to run. The staff who were present just laughed like they never laughed before.

I am glad though, that we manage to solve his big toe problem.

I am just going to stop this for now, I may have to see what my big toe needs.

PS. We had no clue what happened to the phone.

Thoughts on World AIDS day

There are things in this world not worth having. I want to disprove this statement.

It’s like the dream you long for, worked hard for, and then you wake up one morning that you are not happy. It’s like the love you have been waiting for, invested so much emotions, so much time and then you realize that you can’t be together. Like having ice cream on a really hot day. You bought it with your last money, and after a few licks, the entire cone slips out of your hand. Like a fatalist who has had an epiphany and then a bus ran through his house striking him dead.

I actually know of this man who has been waiting for a long time to find a partner. He has prepared so well: a house, a car, and some money in the bank. One day he met this beautiful girl in the church and was immediately smitten. After sometime, they got married in the same church where they met. Eight months later, she died because of HIV/AIDS related complications.

I saw him sometime ago in the clinic. He was nice and friendly and just wanted to have someone to talk with. He knew I was not from Manipur. I guess talking to a complete stranger makes him realize how easy it is for feelings to come out. I was there to listen and certainly not to judge him.

He had become HIV positive. I did not know how to react to his story. I was actually a bit insensitive when I asked him if he met our counsellors. The guy just smiled and stood up.

I met him again a couple of days ago. He approached me and after the greetings, he said that he is moving to Delhi. I joked if he found himself a new girl friend.

“I have only one heart and this belongs to the woman I love,” he said. “After all I’ve been through, I could never love another.”

He hit the romantic fool in me. Straight through the heart.

Pondering upon what he said, I realized that there are some things worth having. You know that in the end you may not win, but knowing that you have tried is best the adrenaline rush. Before the heartbreak, was indeed the heart full of love. So what if he ended up loosing her and gained death? It may not have been the best of endings, tragic to an extent, but isn’t finding our love the most important thing of all? So what, in deed?

Many of us swoon on the fantasy of love and being in love. How many of us actually found the one we love? The true one? In this world we question intention after intentions. We tend to believe that whatever we don’t have will never make us happy. In a selfish and egotistical manner, we want that which is convenient and forever at our disposal. In the process, we become cynics. We loose the romanticism.

This man has taught me a lesson. Not just on love but on living.

There are some things not worth having. Love is just not one of them.

Cinemaniac: A List

All right now. I know that for some of you who (realllllyyyyy) know me, you will probably say that it’s very un-normal that since I started on this blog, I haven’t talked about movies. I am a movie addict. I confess, but this is something I am proud of. It took me years to master this craft, and more years to hone the art of critique-ing. I am as voracious in films as I am with books. I watch anything – everything! I am as curious as a mouse smelling cheese. I watch Filipino movies whenever I am home, Bollywood, Thai movies in Thailand, Myanmar movies, Ugandan and Nigerian films, movies from South Africa, Ethiopia and even Botswana. Chinese, Japanese and Korean movies appeal me, especially the horror bits. I have a regular dose of German, Dutch, English and American movies from my expatriate colleagues. Truth is, I have watch about 3 films last night, plus a short documentary of the life and death of Linda Lovelace, of the Deep Throat fame.

So why haven’t I written about movies? I don’t know. Now I feel like I am doing you guys some injustice!

Anyways, just an information and for you to note while you are heading down your favorite video store, these are some of the interesting, thought-provoking, gut-wrenching, tear-drawing and vividly stimulating products of cinema – that I have seen the past two weeks. In no particular order, of course.

1. Ichi, the Killer by Takashi Miike. 5 minutes into the film and you would see blood and guts (yes, my dear, intestines) everywhere. It is the most gruesomely beautiful Japanese film I have seen to date. The story is about a 30 plus old simpleton who was bullied as a boy and has witnessed a rape. Instead of helping or calling for help, he got aroused. A weird (his role was not really explained in the film) “cleaner” provokes him into a killing spree and the rest is a visual masterpiece of gore and violence: The targets are the members of the Yakuza. I love Kakihara (blond Yakuza leader) with his homo-masochistic role and the funny ways he inflicts pain on people. In general the movie is mordantly funny as they are pungent (you must love the eviscerations!) and Ichi and Kakihara really grows on you.

2. The Isle by Kim Ki-Duk. Korean. This morbid story of a woman who runs a bait and fishing ‘islands” (which often serves as a motel for philandering husbands). She rented one of her fishing islands to a “silent” guy who was running from the authorities. This man killed his wife and is hiding, pretending to have a fishing holiday. Story is simple. The grotesque part is when the woman (whose name escapes me for now) inserted several fish hooks (I think there is more than 5!) into her vagina and pulled them out! Now I never flinch or flicker when I see gross things, but this one did me!

3. Across the Universe. Now I am not much for love stories but this one got me hooked. Beatles. Musicals. Bono (as Dr. Robert) singing I am the Walrus. What more do you want?

4. Vacas. This is a Spanish movie done in the early 1990’s. I wasn’t so sold on the first 10 minutes (bad dubbing voices, off shots) but the movie grew on me. Yes, it is bloody. Yes it shows penises and breasts. It also shows incest and adultery. This movie created a stir back then – I certainly doubt that it would should it be shown now. Something to while you idle time.

5. Pulp Fiction by Quentin Tarantino. I have actually watch this film 5 times, excluding the bits and pieces (meaning my favorite scenes). I don’t think I need to delve on this: Uma Thurman, John Travolta, Bruce Willis and Samuel Jackson – all did mighty fine. I just can’t seem to get enough of the dance and the killing sprees.

So-so, huhommm movies ( I actually cat napped in some of them): Mongol, Sex and The City Movie (really bad, this one), Quantum of Solace (what has happened to Bond?), City of Men (poor follow up to City of God), Onion the movie (yes, dear and they might make a movie on garlic and thyme, too) and of course the real sleeper: The Good Night. The latter had Gwyneth Paltrow and Penelope Cruz in it and was directed by Gwyneth’s brother. Apt.

There. I have done it. Now could you please let me go back to my movies? I have Old Boy and Lady Vengeance (Korean), Volver (Spanish) and the unedited editions of The Shining and The Exorcist.

Where can I get siopao and coke?

In memoriam

i thought of you today

but i cant remember your face

a distant thought of by gone days

a bitter sweet refrain from a foolish phase.

i thought of you

like a flash - it struck me deep,

what ever we had we couldn't keep

the promises, the fire have gone to sleep.

i thought of you

i tried remembering your face

your smile, your laugh and funny ways

you have become a passing fad, a short-lived craze

i thought of you today

blurry

fast fading

haze.

"Angang Pokpah"

I have had a fruitful afternoon.

This afternoon, I did a lecture on the birthing process to the medical and non-medical staff. Child birth in Manipuri is “angang pokpah” which literally means, “child coming out”. I specifically chose this topic because of a lot of reasons. I want the nurses and the midwives to understand that the practices they are doing is outdated and harmful. I also want to teach the staff (mothers and mothers-to-be) to handle babies as soon as they are brought forth into this polluted world. I want the fathers to be aware of their responsibilities when their wives (or girl friends) go into labor. These reasons - plus the fact that some of the staff either just gossip or play karambola in the afternoon when there are no patients in the clinic.

The topic was controversial. I wanted to do some adverts a day before in the local tongue, but I ended up mis-pronouncing "birth" and was heard as "bird". So I made some posters saying : "Uchek: a new experience" ( I learned later that "uchek" means bird - It's like, what the hell is there to experience with a bird?). After the miscommunication, I posted adverts on the office and clinic walls so everyone is aware. I had the health educators simulate a birthing process – never omitting anything the midwives and nurses are doing: from the patient examination to the caring of the newborn baby. I asked one of the male health educators to act as the pregnant woman and the other guy as the midwife. The guys really played their parts marvelously! The minute that they came out – wig, apron and all, the crowd was rolling with laughter. We had a doll strapped to his belly and had a red scarf as the placenta, so they could properly act out and have props as well!

My guys were very natural.

After the skit, we discussed the common practices that are are harmful to both the mother and baby. It was a bit of a discussion, because we did not only identify three or five problems but eleven! The discussion should have been for only 30 minutes but because of the questions we had it running for an hour.

Just to give you an idea of the common practices here: discarding the colustrom and not giving it to the new born, cleaning the fresh umbilicus with the mother's saliva and or salt, pushing the uterus till the baby comes out. The latter is also a common practice in some culture (fundal pressure) and oftentimes, it does more harm than help. We identified the issues, talked about consequences and clarified a lot of things.

At the end of the lecture, I was mobbed by some staff asking more questions. This time not as an-obstetrician-wannabe, but as a pediatrician. I am glad to have done this lecture. I am glad to be here.

I love my life.

My Favorite Photos

I have posted here some of the pictures I have taken during the past three years I have worked with an international medical NGO. Most of them moved me and concretized my reasons in staying and continue doing the work I am doing. Most of all it re-affirmed my convictions why I became a doctor.

Children pics constitute most of these as they were the

ones who are easy to capture. They are also the ones who tell most stories. They were the ones who moved me to tears. Every smile, every laughter brings hope. Every action brings a new experience. Bawkett, the three year old orphan boy from Ethiopia who died from AIDS related diseases, Nur Ali, the boy from Myanmar, Asefa, the malnourished kid who everyone thought would die, but bounced back after 2 weeks in our care. These and more.

I know that I am not a professional photographer, being that is not part of my career plans. But I do hope that I will share with you all these beautiful pictures of places and people. And I certainly wish that you will be with me next time I take another shot.

Soultrip

I was on my Ben Harper mode today. I woke up with late, having watch three movies until 2 am, went down to the kitchen and discovered coffee made and French toast on the plate. Nice.
Several things have been lined up and though quite a lot of it requires sitting down and facing the computer, it will nevertheless, be a slow day. Hence Ben Harper.
He was introduced to me by someone special when I was in Vanuatu. She brought loads of underground music and most of them suited my different moods. Cake, when I feel like listening to funny and familiar not-so-mainstream songs (You should listen to their version of Guitar Man and I Will Survive); Van Halen, when I feel uppity; Queen, when I felt I did something good (It’s a Kind of Magic, Under Pressure and We are the Champion); Macy Gray for the cool and romantic in me; Manu Chao and Amadou & Mariam for the humanitarian chap in me; Tenacious D for the wild and hilarious side of me; and of course Ben Harper.
I particularly liked Excuse Me, Mister, Oppression, One Road for Freedom and Another Lonely Day. I have had several albums but I liked Fight for your Mind, the best. I don’t think it is romantic. I can’t really place it if its rock or alternative. It does sound hippie and fresh, though. I liked the guitar and the cool voice (not the best I have heard, sometimes it does sound hissy, but it is certainly nice). Like Janis Joplin gets to you on a nice cold day, or maybe even Joan Baez on a cold rainy day.
I really don’t have any favorites when it comes to moooosic. And though I am a self confessed child of the 80’s (no, I was born in the 70’s), I never really got the hang of Michael Jackson’s falsetto. I admit that there are really good stuff in that decade though. There were hang-on’s from the 70’s (Beatles, Eagles) which formed an integral part in who I am and how I ran my life.
I remember that in one party in Maungdaw, Northern Rakhine State, Myanmar, I was playing Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie, when someone hissed at the repertoire. I was a bit embarrassed and shied my iPod away from their discerning and discriminating ears. So feeling hurt and maligned, I headed for the bar. I could have swallowed the whole beer bottle coz I heard Boney M floating in the air (Brown girl in the rain, falalalala…). Indeed, music is an acquired taste.
Music is also personal. Some may identify certain facets and events of their lives through the songs that they hear and love. Some actually pattern their lives through a song. Music is more than an expression. It is a personal companion, a lover, a friend who never complaints when you change, when you are late or even when you love something or someone else. Life is ineffectual, void and ennui without it.
So when someone asks me what my favorite music – group, genre – is, it usually takes me time to answer. Truth is, all depends on my mood. The other week, I was singing “Big Butts” and yesterday, I was singing the advert song for an efficacent oil (efficacent oil maaasahan….). How is that for versatility?
I still need to listen to a lot of new ones. There are, I know, good Filipino singers and bands out there, but I just need to sort them out and let them pass through my sieve. So much has change in the Philippine music scene these past years. I wouldn’t venture listening to Mystica or April Boy, tough. In the meantime, I’d rather continue with Ben. For now, that is.
Puke. Corny. Music. Life.

Biblioprostitution

I have just finished reading “Best of Best Women’s Erotica”. Now before you jump off your seats and say where the hell did I get this book, I found it in the airport bookstore of (where else, but) Amsterdam. It is a fairly legitimate book, a compilation of “sexy novelettes” by some of today’s famous women authors. Stories by Isabel Allende, Cecilia Tan, Isabelle Caruthers and Elspeth Potter, etal are entertaining, romantic, lustful and imaginative. So I dished out 12 euros for this promising book which I thought I would save for the cold, lonely season in Manipur.

After being here for over three months, I realized that I have been a voracious reader. In fact, I was able to finish Jeffrey Archer’s A Prisoner of Birth in 4 ½ hours! I completed any (I mean any) of Agatha Christie’s novels in two to three hours before sleeping. So when reading materials ran low in our library, I decided to open my treasure trove (yes I do keep somethings saved for rainy days: chocolates, whisky in my bottom drawer, underwear for special occasions) and took out the Erotica book.

The stories were not bad. Sure there are sexy bits, but not in the genre of Anais Nin or Lady Chatterly’s. Among the 30 stories, there were three which stood out for me. One is Infidelities by G.L. Morrison, second is Mail Order Bride by Saira Ramasastry and Thought So by Cecilia Tan.

Infidelities talk about a woman’s insecurity because she thinks that her husband is having an affair. So she visits this woman, got to know her and (hold your seat, Aiai) develop an affair with her! She managed to tap her homo-erotic tendencies and began to love it! I liked this story because it is different from the many love stories I have read. It sounded fresh and vivid.

Mail Order Bride is of course about getting someone from a third world country, through the wonders of the internet, chat and take all the chances that it might be the love of the lifetime. One thing that comes to mind is that despite the closing in of our space due to the internet, there are a whole lot of lonely and desperate people out there. Anyway, the story gives you a different light on internet dating, finding someone and accepting realities.

Thought So is about a pick up, starting as a successful look then a conversation in a bookshop. Then after a brief moment of “getting to know each other”, with loads of sexual language on the side, it ended up sour and unrequisited.

Lovely. I think this is a book Norie will like. Not because of the juicy bits, but because I think it is hilarious and silly in some; and downright vulgar in most. My kind of literature. The book really gives you a different views of the modern woman and her struggle to keep both sensual and sexual in a society ran by norms, career, family and expectations.

Well, to sum this up, I share with you a quote from my one of my favorite authors, Haruki Murakami from the story: "Family Affair" a short story from the book "The Elephant Vanishes." He said: " Women are like salmon: In the end, they all swim back to the same place."

Something for you to think over, although I wonder which same place he means....

Mid Life Attacks 6: Raving At Religion

It is Sunday in Manipur, India. And while half of the world is either sleeping or partying, here I am reluctantly trying to drag my sagging butt to the toilet. I need to have a quick shower - a task worthy of the "Believe -it-or-not"docu, because the water is freezing. Honestly, you just need to open the tap to thaw whatever hot desires you have.

Manipur,especially here in Churchandpur district, is about 90% Christian. Judging from its name "Church-and-poor", has had a commonality with a lot of missions. Hence Sunday, became a day of obligation. The first thing they asked me when I arrived, was my religion. Now, if I was being honest to myself, I would have said a non-practicing-Catholic-but-can-memorize-all-the-passages-of-the mass. But then, the nice guy in me said: Catholic. Rather proudly, I think.

And so it was that on every God given day, my staff has been asking me to go to the church with any of them. And I have been successful so far. I have said on different occasions that I had a cough, on one occasion that I had a head ache, on another occasion that I had diarrhea and recently, I said I had a testicular pain. I am running out of reasons and this poor guy came to me last Friday during clinic and asked me in a loud voice, that half of the population would hear: "How is your pain on your testicle?"I did not say anything but moved my head in an unconvincing manner -- meaning okay. "So you can go to church with me on Sunday, then?"

I smiled and said : "Why the hell not?"

Lesson number 1: Thou shalt not lie. If you lie, be consistent about it.

This morning, I have had to search for an illness deep within my medical crevices but just couldn't come up with a likely condition. Well, I said yes and so I have to suffer the morning cold!

Lesson number 2: Thou shalt not commit to anybody anything you don't want to do. If you do, have alternative plans and have an escape route.

The water in the toilet, as I have said is freaking cold and as I washed my hair and you know whats, I shouted God's name in vain! Not once but several times -- and I also involved all the members of His family! Not a very way to start when you are meeting your maker in this small building within the next 30 minutes.

As I was putting on warm clothes (after the shower of course), my phone rang (yes, Norie, we do have networks here). It was my staff member. He wanted to know if it's okay for me to meet his cousin. I smiled, because I saw her before as she brought him lunch to the clinic - and she was the younger and fuller version of Ina Raymundo (remember her, Chito?).

And while I splashed myself with liters of Clinique Happy, I thought that God, must be indeed on my side.

Lesson number 3: Thou shalt not be afraid to take risks. Who knows, it might just be your day. And with God present in His house, anything is possible.

And with that, I am off to church.

The Father Of All Styles

Today I went shopping.


I don’t know why, but I recently developed a fascination for jackets. It’s not that Manipur has a lot of malls and department stores. This small town in an obscure but quaint part of India is actually the “second-hand-clothes-capital-of-the-world” (I bet you don’t know that, do you?) And so to go on a shopping spree for jackets with names like Dolce and Gabbana, Polo, Ralph Lauren, head, etc., is like effing unbelievable! And tribes people don’t know who the heck Hillfiger is! Hillfiggeritout!


To my advantage, I searched store after store for the jacket which would help me survive winter here in Manipur. My staff was pushing into my arms fugly (yes fucking ugly!) color combination fleece jackets and bizarre patterns which would make Pinocchio look tame in his ensemble. One of the memorable ones were the DKNY tiger pattern wool coat and striped untagged hooded wind breaker twice my size. They, of course laughed when I said I don’t want to look like a zebra when I walk down the streets. And although I have the image of a fashionista here, I can’t be caught wearing that – even if it’s a costume party.


So I found this yellow Hilfiger jacket (yellow is good) with a little hole on the back. It was invisible to the discerning eye, but my staff was saying “NO”. (You know how the Indians would rock there head from side to side when they mean yes and a bit faster movement than that when they mean no.) So I tried to explain that it is okay if it has a hole because nobody can see it anyway.


Much to my chagrin, he thrusted into my arms this back fleece coat, which, on a good day I would consider. But since I was in an uppity mood, I wanted to have a brighter and more fun color. After all, the weather in Manipur has become cold and depressing of late.


“Black and blue for boys. Bright colors for girls” he said.


“Why?” I asked. “I have yellow, red and even pink shirts.”


“Not good.”


He had that look like he was God trying to punish me because he caught me masturbating.


“It is not nice here” he added.


I was about to relent when he bent over to pick up another coat. Then POW! I saw his underwear peaking through his trousers! He was wearing a neon orange under wear! Not the Bench-type-orange, but the Hari-Krishna-orange! I love orange (I think I look nice in orange) but this guy got me going on a sexist-color-thing. The bloody bugger bashed me on his color gender biases and he, himself, is wearing a shocking orange!


“You hypocrite! I saw you are wearing a bright colored under wear! And you dare tell me not to wear anything bright?”


He gave me a smile and said, “Color is good for your willy. Good production of sperm. Very auspicious for the genitals.”


I swear I stood there with my mouth agape for 10 minutes. I knew I couldn't give a witty retort to that!


I bought both, by the way, just to appease my vanity and be culturally sensitive.
I haven’t started wearing neon-orange under wear though.

Mid Life Attacks 5: Sexual Closure

It was a long Saturday afternoon and the sun had been painfully hot. All of us were sitting in the balcony where every now and then, a breeze would come. I was reading Haruki Murakami's Wild Sheep Chase with a beer in one hand. The rest were just lounging around, wasting time.

"I decided I am going to be celibate while I am here," she said.

This is my friend from Ethiopia making a conclusion. She was having a hard time adjusting to her new surroundings - the desert and the endless sky, plus the hot whiff of air in the afternoons. Of course, the donkeys are not helping either.

"For me to survive in a desperate setting like this, I would have to concentrate on work," she continued. "Maybe I'll have to take up a new hobby"

"That's a good idea. I have some poster paints and paper, if you are interested in painting..." I volunteered.

"I have some knick knacks if you want to make bracelets and necklaces. " said the nurse from the other project who came for a visit.

"Let's go shopping," said another.

"Thanks, but I decided I will try gardening..." she retorted.

"That is very good. You not only entertain yourself but you give something back to the earth." I said. "I find gardening to be very rewarding." I know because I have several pots of herbs growing outside of my window, several pots of flowers and cacti on the balcony - an effort I started a couple of months ago.

"What sort of plants will you be planting?" Asked someone.

"Oh, you know... those long things. Eggplants, cucumbers, gourds. Long things."

Oh, oh... Freudian slip.

We fell silent. I started to bury my head into the book I was reading, secretly hoping that dinner would not be eggplant.

Beam me up, Scottie.

Mid Life Attacks 4: Guiltless Sex

And so it was that the topics during dinner, wander not far from the usual talks of sex and relationships. I could have sworn that the chillis and the pepper in the Manipuri food could have caused the super hot discussions. Of course it does not dwell on sex per se, but hovers around it. Funny, because since we started on talking about basically anything with relation to sex, I kind of looked forward to dinner!

I remember one particular conversation with a friend, whilst I was in Ethiopia. She's young and smart and just so happened that, she finished a relationship before coming for a mission.

“It’s not just about sex, you know,” my friend started. “It’s about having an intimate contact with someone you care for, someone you love.”

Uh-hm. I tried to swallow my food hard and fast coz this was the first time I have heard her talk about sex....

“Of course, it’s inevitable that sometimes you meet someone hot and zing! Morals aside, you find yourself in bed with this guy you don’t even know who,” she continued.

“What do you mean inevitable?” Asked someone from the far end.

“You know, hot guy + alcohol, or not so-hot guy + alcohol and more alcohol, equals sex. Guiltless sex”

“And this happens every time?”

“Not really…Like once a week when I’m in Europe.”

It was here that I interjected. In between munching the chicken and saying a point, I waved my hand like I wanted the teacher to notice me.

“If it’s not about sex and it’s about having an intimate contact with the one you love, then what is this about alcohol and hot guy thing, coz you have, definitely --- lost me there!” I said.

Quiet.

“If you truly care for your partner, then just the mere act of kissing someone would give you a bazonka of guilt trip!” I added.

And then she said: “Shut up you fucking moron. I am trying to think here…”

I continued: “Did your brain descend between your loins now?”

Dagger looks.

The chicken was really chewy.

Mid Life Attacks 3: The Sexual Agenda

So we were having dinner, and the topic was “getting it”.

The person sitting opposite me said: “I don’t know why I don’t get laid. I have big boobs and men like big boobs, don’t they?”

“I mean, I am smart, pretty and have big boobs”

“Maybe you just meet the right guys at the wrong time or the wrong guys at the right time,” I said.

“Well, meeting the wrong guys at the right time means you get fucked – without strings attached,” she retorted.

Nervous laughter at the table.

The conversation flowed like water on an endless stream with everyone giving his/her thoughts on modern day relationships. It elicited more nervous laughter.

And then the multi-million dollar questions: What is it with sex these days? Why is it so difficult for a single successful woman to get one good sex?

And though this particular dinner talk happened some days ago, the questions stuck into my naivete mind like acne on your prom.

Let us dissect it. What is it with sex these days? Let us look at my theories.

1. Men have evolved into higher beings. They don’t need sex to survive anymore. An intellectual pursuit is more important than hormonal ejaculations.

2. There is a shift in the sexual paradigm. Men are not interested in women these days. They become more interested in career, because it gives them the adrenaline boost they truly deserve. Sure, they suffer from wet dreams but it is nothing that a sheet can wipe. Career can be everlasting.

3. Men are now interested in men. With the advent of male beauty products, men see themselves as God’s beautiful creatures. Quoting Robbie Williams from his song Supreme: " and all the best women are married, all the handsome men are gay..."

4. Men have learned auto-eroticism.

5. Women are more successful than men in most field that this disintegrates the two things men value: self-esteem and erection.

6. There is a sexual hole (like the black hole – not the one you're thinking of, but the one in outer space), that women warp into and once they are there, they can’t get out.

And so should we have this talk again at dinner and sex comes up as an appetizer, I will put forth my theories. I'll get dagger-looks. You know, the kind of looks from people when Einstein presented the theory of relativity. Or maybe not.

Maybe I’ll present my findings on the next world psychiatric forum.

Slips of the Tongues of Fire

One of our (project) drivers was caught intoxicated while driving. He reeks of alcohol and can not walk straight when he came back from one of our peripheral clinics. Now, strictly speaking, he would have been fired right there and then. But the softie in me called him and asked if he had been drinking; just to give him the chance to explain, you know. I have been entertaining thoughts that this guy (who is in his mid 20’s) might have family or personal problems. The (now former) driver walked up to me and looked me in the eye and said: “Is it wrong? I have been doing it for a long time now. The previous PC’s (project coordinator) don’t mind…” He was sacked immediately.

A very good friend gave another good friend an advice: “ Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa pinanggalingan as higit pa sa malansang isda” (Those who don’t look back where they came from are worse than rotten fish.) Nicely said if you suffer from verbal dyslexia, or you tend to mix several sentences for others to get your message.

And of course, there was this story about our counselor who was mean with everybody who abuses his car. He was given a warning last year for punching a guard who put wild boar’s meat inside his car (and of course it smelled), and was again given one this year for kicking a child who wanted to climb on his car’s hood. So during the interview portion, we asked him if he is aware that he should not inflict harm on anyone as he is a representative of our organization. He said yes. We asked him if he really did hit the boy. He said yes. He also added: “I also slapped him until he fell down.” Opps.

I love listening to and collecting anecdotes like these. I got a bit of notoriety from my classmates because I really would laugh at the bad grammar, bad sentence construction and just plain lack of common sense. I have been labeled a snob, because I speak polished English (with accent if you please), and have had fights because of this (bad) behavior. I am sorry. It is just my coping mechanism. I can’t beat anyone at sports, so I have to be good at something --- making fun. I do feel rotten afterwards.

And don’t deny the fact that you have also laughed at the misery and stupidity of some people!
A German friend did a lecture on malnutrition and he wanted emphasize the nutritional value of “nuts”. A local farmer stood up and said: “thank you for letting us know. But we are farmers, so how can we use our “nets” in the field?”

Of course, Miss University of ______! This girl was the ultimate crowd favorite. She was beautiful and walked like a model. She had long black hair that seemed to shine forever and complemented her sexy figure. Question and answer came. She was asked: “If you get pregnant at this age (she was 17 years old), what would you do?” The girl, without batting an eyelash said: “Well, I will burn mababy! I thank you!” She was awarded fourth runner up.

Later on, I saw her on television as she had become a junior newscaster in our local network. She was reporting about a fire ablazing on one of the squatter’s area. She said: “The fire can not be burned. It is so strong that the firemen’s hostess can penetrate through.”

Yeah. I was wondering what was with her and fires, anyway.

Melanie Marquez, Erap. You think you’re original?

I love being Pinoy. Our humour is so unique it can tickle me dead.

My Favorite Retort (AKA Attack of Mr. Universe)

Obama won! Obetchabygollywow. I felt like getting my balalaika and sing the Winds of Change. ("Follow the Moskva and down to Gorky Park...")

I was so glad that I declared a moment of silence to remember Nonoy. Not that Nonoy is dead. He is just a person who you don’t want to be. Okay, let’s be kind --- a living dead. Bong will not agree with me coz Nonoy has always been his client. He would always come to Nonoy’s defense whenever we (or is it just me??) would make fun of lil’ Chuckie. I am sorry but I do have my wicked side. I don’t discriminate Nonoy – he is an entirely unique being, and despite the fact that I don’t really like him, I am (was) always civil with him. He has potentials and talents, but despite the advance (or advancing) age, he needs to be guided and taught the essentials of right and wrong.

I am going to be defensive now – but what exists as a playful banter is not meant to hurt him. He is not perfect like the rest of us, afterall.

Anyways, back to the Obaman-of-the-year, I would so like to go back to a guy I met some months ago in Myanmar, so he can kiss Obama’s black ass. This guy is in his 50’s and is the most insipid, hateful and rude red necked bigot I have ever met in my life. He had been working for a “respectable” NGO for the past 10 years now and had had the opportunity to travel and meet different people. I won’t tell you of his nationality, but who ever can guess it right, wins a dinner at my favorite Thai resto in Manila.

So we were there, one rainy night in the UNHCR bar, having a round of vodka and tonic, when someone asks Mr. Universe where he had been prior to coming to Myanmar. Mr. U said that he had been to Kenya and that: “they are the worst criminals in this world”. Nobody made a comment.

He continued to talk about the Indians: “ They’re effing dirty”. Nobody said anything.

The Malawians: “They are sick because they are stupid”

The Americans: “Stupid and Rude”.

Brazilians: “Promiscuous”.

Australians: “Boring copycats”

Chinese: “Communist bastards”.

And so after we listened to his ranting about the worst members of the United Nations and still not one from among the 10 people in the bar commenting, he arrived at the Philippines (Mabuhay!).

He said: “Filipinos will do anything for a dollar. They leave their children so they’ll earn dollars. I have no respect for those kinds of people”.

Now there I was, (hold my hand please) sitting in one corner happily drinking my vodka-tonic, attempting to not react at the ravings of this lunatic. But I couldn’t. I just had to.

So in my shivering Sean Penn voice, I spoke to Mr. Universe and said: “That is true. Filipinos will do anything to earn a dollar. They will wipe somebody’s ass for a dollar. This is so we can send this money to our family and our family will have a better life; our children will have a better education. This is sacrifice. But of course, you can’t understand sacrifice, because you have never sacrificed a thing in your life. Your ancestors invaded, colonized and stole other nation’s riches so (you) are now living the life that you are enjoying. Who are you to judge other people, when you, right here, right now, smell like a skunk?”

Oh my god. I had a standing ovation.

The guy kept quiet and as he was about to leave, the barman (who was Burmese/Myanmar), “accidentally” dropped his glass on his lap. Talk about karma.

So now that Obama has won, I just wished I would meet Mr. Universe again and give him the bleating and the beating that he deserves. And of course, he has to kiss all the asses that he maligned.

Of course I could arrange to have Nonoy live with him. Imagine. Wouldn’t that be a better world? Or would you call that reclusion penal?

I would call that justice – just where it is due.

Hunger's Worth

It has been three days since I have looked and posted here. I was away with two donors visiting the field. I have had so much new things to write these past three days but I can't seem to get down to it.
For instance, having past the 200 mark on my visitors since I started this blog 2 Saturdays ago.
Or I could write about the ironic beauty of Manipur in India - where there are majestic mountains bordering Myanmar - but houses terrors brought by the underground insurgency groups.
Or I could write about my work here.
Or the daily angst in an unequal society.
And then, just as I was wrapping things and closing my laptop, I saw a picture taken by my friend Tim (who is by the way, touring the world on his bike) - of me cleaning the wound of a boy from Bihar, India, when we did the medical explo some weeks ago.
The boy (D.P.'s the name), was staying in the roadside camp with his father. His mother drowned in the August 18 flood when the mighty Koshi River overflowed and destroyed most of the districts in Bihar.
So DP was living in this make shift tent by the road, living on day to day existence. One day, a truck passed by their tent throwing bags of 2-kilos rice. DP wanted to catch some of the "blessings" - along with hundreds of other people - and did not notice another car behind. He was hit and his right foot was ran over by the following vehicle.
He was given 500 rupees (11 USD) for his foot.
Three days later while we were passing on that road, our car was stopped by the father begging us to see his son. He said that something is wrong because the wound is still bleeding and has a very bad smell. This was, despite having brought the boy to a private clinic and the wound treated.
So despite our agenda, we went and saw the boy. The foot, although stitched/sutured was reeking of dead flesh. There were bone fragments sticking out of the wound and pus was everywhere. The toes and the ankle were necrotic. This is not a good sign.
I cleaned the wound and had the boy referred to the district hospital an hour and a half away.
I explained to the doctor on duty what transpired. We both opened the dressing and both agreed that DP's foot needed to be amputated.
This is just one of the many sob stories I gathered from the victims of the Bihari-Koshi flood. It seemed pointless to enumerate them all because all of the stories tell of desperation and human suffering.
A few months ago, I published an article about my experience in Ethiopia where we had the hunger gap/malnutrition intervention. I questioned about our priorities - us living in a decent, well-provided world against the world where people feel pain and hunger and suffering brought about by war, famine and calamities. And no matter how much I try to equate the situations that we have, we still stood out to be very lucky. That is the sad truth.
DP may have caught a bag of rice for the price of his foot. He may not go hungry for a day, but he can not run as he used to, or play like any child his age.
And so many times I have ask friends and families, the worth of the little caprices that we have.
Is it worth a foot?
Is it worth anything that we value?