There are quite a lot of things that I share in common with my father. Aside from saltwater fishing and love for cars, we have this penchant for paintings featuring fishermen or the sea (or any body of water where we could fish). I actually realized this only when I saw that he has about 10 of this.
Sampu! Wow. Medyo OC ata.
I think I inherited that OC gene.
Anyway, one time for about 50 minutes, I just might be able to stare at it on a lazy day, my back caught by a soft mattress, lost in the scene on the canvass and imagining myself sitting on that small bamboo bridge, legs dangling on the edge, staring at the moonlit water while swatting pesky mosquitoes away from my face.
The artwork, by the way, is by an artist from Pampanga surnamed Nocom.
* * *
This morning my special girl and I dropped by the Asian Hospital to check on my dad who was scheduled to have a minor day surgery. On our way out of the building, walking on the upper ground floor, she pointed to me a little sign hanged on the doorknob of a tiny office beside the chapel.
It was the chaplain's office. And the chaplain has a nun who works as his assistant.
Well, at least, that's how I look at their tandem.
The sign on the knob is made of laminated paper and enumerates the places in the hospital where the occupants of the office may be found. There's a tiny magnet that helps pinpoint the whereabouts. It's really very ingenious the way it was made.
SHE: Baby, look o!
ME: Yeah, I know.
SHE: Ang galing, no.
ME: Yep. It'll tell you where he is.
SHE: He?
ME: Where he's at right now.
SHE: He? Nun?
ME: That's the office of the priest.
SHE: Office din yun ng madre. Nakita ko sya dati, dun sya nakaupo.
ME: So what. That's still the office of the priest.
SHE: Hindi nga eh! Sa kanilang dalawa yun!
Pauses.
ME: Nobody cares to know where the nun is.
SHE: Ano?! Ano?! Ikaw ha! Ang sama mo.
At this point she says something about the importance or worth of women...or it may be something else that's meant to tell me how politically incorrect or mentally jurassic I may be at times.
I think my ears folded at that particular moment.
.....
Alright. If it pleases to let you know, I dropped my head in embarassment. Lower than her head, as a matter of fact.
.....
Come on.
I just thought that sick people would rather set an appointment with or rush to have the presence of the priest for, I dunno, something like last rites or exorcising demons.
Something like that.
And the nun is left in the office to answer the phone or to send the priest sms for updates on God's calls.
Tsk. I feel the hole is getting deeper. I'd better just s.t.o.p. explaining.
* * *
kids should know that...
Political correctness (often abbreviated to PC) is a term used to describe language or behavior which is intended, or said to be intended, to provide a minimum of offense, particularly to racial, cultural, or other identity groups. A text that conforms to the alleged ideals of political correctness is said to be politically correct. The term itself and its usage, however, is hotly contested. Some commentators, usually on the political left, have argued that the term "political correctness" is a straw man invented by the New Right to discredit what they consider progressive social change, especially around issues of race and gender. (wikipedia)
No comments:
Post a Comment