Use Bayfresh

He inches his way to the operator’s room, which is adjacent to the VP’s room. He’s a tortoise bearing all the body aches a septuagenarian puts up with. To top it all, he carries with him an obnoxious smell that goes with him wherever he goes. He loves to talk and he converses easily and fluently about many issues – from intelligent subjects to nonsensical sex talks – but it would be a challenge to talk to him at length. He must be a matinee-look-alike when he was younger – tall and mestizo but today, he is simply an old man trying to fit into the world of the ‘new’ generation.

His colleague (the VP) would instantly give instructions to the secretary after he leaves – “Bayfresh! Bayfresh!” – (indicating to spray profusely) to ward off the strong smell the pitiful old man had left. This colleague is of the same age. The only difference is he ‘dips himself into pools’ of lavish perfumes that lingers even after he had left the room.

Everybody holds his breath while talking to him, gasping once in a while to take in air only to find that the foul smell had invaded the surroundings. But nobody dares telling him the problem though it has become a well-known fact that he does not smell good so beware. Perhaps it must be the feeling of sympathy that nobody shows him or acts out that he smells really, really bad.

Such is the case of this young man who went on a half-day leave because of a complaint by a co-employe.

Then some questions popped up:

Would you cover your nose in front of somebody who has bad breath? Would you still cover your nose when he has body odor? Or when a fellow has psoriasis, would you stare mercilessly? Would you be mad and talk about it, angry that the sight and the smell really upsets you?

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Use Bayfresh

He inches his way to the operator’s room, which is adjacent to the VP’s room. He’s a tortoise bearing all the body aches a septuagenarian puts up with. To top it all, he carries with him an obnoxious smell that goes with him wherever he goes. He loves to talk and he converses easily and fluently about many issues – from intelligent subjects to nonsensical sex talks – but it would be a challenge to talk to him at length. He must be a matinee-look-alike when he was younger – tall and mestizo but today, he is simply an old man trying to fit into the world of the ‘new’ generation.

His colleague (the VP) would instantly give instructions to the secretary after he leaves – “Bayfresh! Bayfresh!” – (indicating to spray profusely) to ward off the strong smell the pitiful old man had left. This colleague is of the same age. The only difference is he ‘dips himself into pools’ of lavish perfumes that lingers even after he had left the room.

Everybody holds his breath while talking to him, gasping once in a while to take in air only to find that the foul smell had invaded the surroundings. But nobody dares telling him the problem though it has become a well-known fact that he does not smell good so beware. Perhaps it must be the feeling of sympathy that nobody shows him or acts out that he smells really, really bad.

Such is the case of this young man who went on a half-day leave because of a complaint by a co-employe.

Then some questions popped up:

Would you cover your nose in front of somebody who has bad breath? Would you still cover your nose when he has body odor? Or when a fellow has psoriasis, would you stare mercilessly? Would you be mad and talk about it, angry that the sight and the smell really upsets you?

The Filipino in Me

The small room provided space for only twenty (20) people and yet it was not fully occupied when the activity started. There were only 16 of us who took interest in the ads about migration to other countries with ‘pay later plan’ and ‘50% off’ beaming in capital letters.

I was a little jubilant receiving a text message that I am invited to attend the ‘free’ orientation. The whole idea inside my head was that I could possibly work in other countries, or migrate, with a pay later plan. I was at the time hopeful of the possibility of exploring a different stroke of life. I could always return to my homeland was my thought. But the confident desire vanished after a series of questions and answers that tell us it was only the agency fees which will be subject to those terms of payment. Silly me. Overall, the expenses would amount to more than a million pesos. Shades! Where would I get that big amount of money? What will happen to dear Kay and Daryl if I pursue the plan?

Mulling over these things, I am not really considering migrating to other countries. My homeland is my homeland and I believe that it is still much comfortable and sweeter to spend life in my land of birth. Don’t get me wrong with these, dear friends who had migrated to other countries. Like my children, the Filipino in us makes us want to believe that there is always hope for the country. But admittedly, there are times, I wonder if there is still hope.

Funny how I succumb to a friend’s coaxing that it would be better living outside the Philippines and give that opportunity a try. Maybe yes, maybe no. The benefits that one would reap are really tempting, that is if one would really work hard. On the other hand, I don’t believe life would be perfect in other soil, that is, without flaws. There will always be challenges, no matter what, there will always be people and situation to deal with, there will be matters to consider, etc, etc. Except for the big amount of money (when you convert it to Philippine peso) one will earn, life would be the same – living and breathing as a human being, only that you have to do it in another land.

I would want to give it a try working abroad, but that is all what my heart desires. It is the Filipino in me that makes me want to stay and live until my last breath.

The Filipino in Me

The small room provided space for only twenty (20) people and yet it was not fully occupied when the activity started. There were only 16 of us who took interest in the ads about migration to other countries with ‘pay later plan’ and ‘50% off’ beaming in capital letters.

I was a little jubilant receiving a text message that I am invited to attend the ‘free’ orientation. The whole idea inside my head was that I could possibly work in other countries, or migrate, with a pay later plan. I was at the time hopeful of the possibility of exploring a different stroke of life. I could always return to my homeland was my thought. But the confident desire vanished after a series of questions and answers that tell us it was only the agency fees which will be subject to those terms of payment. Silly me. Overall, the expenses would amount to more than a million pesos. Shades! Where would I get that big amount of money? What will happen to dear Kay and Daryl if I pursue the plan?

Mulling over these things, I am not really considering migrating to other countries. My homeland is my homeland and I believe that it is still much comfortable and sweeter to spend life in my land of birth. Don’t get me wrong with these, dear friends who had migrated to other countries. Like my children, the Filipino in us makes us want to believe that there is always hope for the country. But admittedly, there are times, I wonder if there is still hope.

Funny how I succumb to a friend’s coaxing that it would be better living outside the Philippines and give that opportunity a try. Maybe yes, maybe no. The benefits that one would reap are really tempting, that is if one would really work hard. On the other hand, I don’t believe life would be perfect in other soil, that is, without flaws. There will always be challenges, no matter what, there will always be people and situation to deal with, there will be matters to consider, etc, etc. Except for the big amount of money (when you convert it to Philippine peso) one will earn, life would be the same – living and breathing as a human being, only that you have to do it in another land.

I would want to give it a try working abroad, but that is all what my heart desires. It is the Filipino in me that makes me want to stay and live until my last breath.

The Real Mutilation

(WARNING: This is a post with a sensitive issue.)

Watching the news one night on BBC made me and my daughter squirm in horror. The boob tube showed a little six-year-old girl being tied and restrained by several adult women. She was horrifyingly crying while the adult females were casually grinning in front of the camera. The girl was about to undergo the ritual of female circumcision and the news tells that more than 100 million in the world underwent or is undergoing such brutal practices.

Photo from here.

It made me remember an article from a 1999 Reader’s Digest issue (Desert Flower) which is about a supermodel whose name is Waris Dirie and her ordeal with female genitalia mutilation (FGM) or female circumcision when she was but a child.

Waris, from Somalia, was one of those little girls during her time who had to be mutilated because of a horrible belief that there is something bad in between a girl or a woman’s legs. At five, she was made to sit on a rock, excited about the time because of the lie her parents told her, made to bite only a root, with her mother straddling her body, and her arms around her mother’s thighs. She was sliced by a gypsy woman with a razor blade (still with dried blood on its jagged edge when she first saw it; and was made clean by the gypsy woman by spitting on it and wiping it on her dress). The little girl, needless to say, lost consciousness only to find when she came back to her senses that she is being sewed up with the aid of acacia thorns which were used to poke holes in her flesh. A miniscule hole was left for urination and menstruation. She fainted again of the indescribable pain from the whole process.

What a way to protect the little children. People say that male circumcision is mutilation but female circumcision is more excessively inhumane and a very true picture of mutilation. Of course, we have to respect each other’s culture but the brutal practice for me, that involves little innocent girls, is clear violation of human rights.

Are those people from Africa (those who practice this act) really think that the following is not brutal?

Distinct Surgeries Made during Female Circumcision *

  • Clitoridectomy – removes all or part of the clitoris and the hood, or prepuce, which covers it. Sometimes called sunna circumcision.
  • Excision – includes clitoridectomy but also removes some or all of the labia minora; all or part of the labia majora might also be cut.
  • Infibulation – After removing the labia, the sides of the vulva are joined so that scar tissue forms over the vaginal opening, leaving a small gap for urination and menstruation.
  • Mild Sunna – this involves a symbolic pricking or slight nicking of the clitoris or prepuce.

Waris was able to do something for herself and rallied against the practice. She is happily married now after undergoing an operation for the restoration of her genitalia. I am happy for her but it is a sad fact that millions at present are victims still of this brutality.

*Female Circumcision in Africa, Microsoft Encarta Reference Library 2004

The Real Mutilation

(WARNING: This is a post with a sensitive issue.)

Watching the news one night on BBC made me and my daughter squirm in horror. The boob tube showed a little six-year-old girl being tied and restrained by several adult women. She was horrifyingly crying while the adult females were casually grinning in front of the camera. The girl was about to undergo the ritual of female circumcision and the news tells that more than 100 million in the world underwent or is undergoing such brutal practices.

Photo from here.

It made me remember an article from a 1999 Reader’s Digest issue (Desert Flower) which is about a supermodel whose name is Waris Dirie and her ordeal with female genitalia mutilation (FGM) or female circumcision when she was but a child.

Waris, from Somalia, was one of those little girls during her time who had to be mutilated because of a horrible belief that there is something bad in between a girl or a woman’s legs. At five, she was made to sit on a rock, excited about the time because of the lie her parents told her, made to bite only a root, with her mother straddling her body, and her arms around her mother’s thighs. She was sliced by a gypsy woman with a razor blade (still with dried blood on its jagged edge when she first saw it; and was made clean by the gypsy woman by spitting on it and wiping it on her dress). The little girl, needless to say, lost consciousness only to find when she came back to her senses that she is being sewed up with the aid of acacia thorns which were used to poke holes in her flesh. A miniscule hole was left for urination and menstruation. She fainted again of the indescribable pain from the whole process.

What a way to protect the little children. People say that male circumcision is mutilation but female circumcision is more excessively inhumane and a very true picture of mutilation. Of course, we have to respect each other’s culture but the brutal practice for me, that involves little innocent girls, is clear violation of human rights.

Are those people from Africa (those who practice this act) really think that the following is not brutal?

Distinct Surgeries Made during Female Circumcision *

  • Clitoridectomy – removes all or part of the clitoris and the hood, or prepuce, which covers it. Sometimes called sunna circumcision.
  • Excision – includes clitoridectomy but also removes some or all of the labia minora; all or part of the labia majora might also be cut.
  • Infibulation – After removing the labia, the sides of the vulva are joined so that scar tissue forms over the vaginal opening, leaving a small gap for urination and menstruation.
  • Mild Sunna – this involves a symbolic pricking or slight nicking of the clitoris or prepuce.

Waris was able to do something for herself and rallied against the practice. She is happily married now after undergoing an operation for the restoration of her genitalia. I am happy for her but it is a sad fact that millions at present are victims still of this brutality.

*Female Circumcision in Africa, Microsoft Encarta Reference Library 2004

Often What Seems Is Not What Is*

I mistook him as a snob when he is not. I don’t exactly know why. Maybe because of the writing style that conjured me into thinking that he is an elitist of a sort, or that he belongs to a group of intellects or ‘rich’ boys, or that he probably is standoffish (first impression).

But he is not. At least that’s what he sounds like to me. He sounded like a warm, young fellow who is as busy as a bee.

I got interested with his books for sale posted in one of his posts. Fortunately, nobody requested for the books I chose. After that we talked about how I will have the books. At first we planned to meet at SM North. The plan failed because of our busy schedules (or more like his busy schedules 😀 ). He voluntarily offered to bring it to me. And he did ( to make the story short :-D).

He delivered the books priced at a VERY GENEROUS amount. We are currently enjoying them. Wonder when we will finish these ten fantastic books. The one above I am currently devouring.

I am talking about Banzai Cat. Of The Grin Without a Cat.

Don’t you worry, dear blogger friend, your books found a home. They will be treated not with animosity or they will be going back to their master begging to be adopted again.  😀

*Yolen, Jane.  Sister Light, Sister Dark, p. 60.