Superstitions on the New Year

"But let me say this. I am a superstitious man, a ridiculous failing but I must confess it here. And so if some unlucky accident should befall my youngest son, if some police officer would accidentally shoot him, if he should hang himself in a cell, if new witnesses appear to testify to his guilt, my superstition will make me feel that it was the result of the ill will still borne me by some people here. Let me go further. If my son is struck by a bolt of lightning I will blame some of the people here. If his plane should fall into the sea or his ship sink beneath the waves of the ocean, if he should catch a mortal fever, if his automobile be struck by a train, such is my superstition that I will blame the ill will felt by people here."


-Don Vito Corleone, on superstition

Superstition (Latin superstitio, literally "standing over" derived perhaps from standing in awe; used in Latin as an unreasonable or excessive belief in fear or magic, especially foreign or fantastical ideas, and thus came to mean a "cult" in the Roman empire) is a belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge. The word is often used to refer to supposedly irrational beliefs of others, and its precise meaning is therefore subjective. It is commonly applied to beliefs and practices surrounding luck, prophecy and spiritual beings, particularly the irrational belief that future events can be influenced or foretold by specific, unrelated behaviors or occurrences (wikipedia).

Absolutely no man in our family really believes in superstition. It is but a fool's excuse not to reason. It's worse than organized religion, as anyone could invent one or two themselves and start a craze. Sometimes, however, most people in my family do stuff which may appear to be superstitious.

Last New Year's Eve, one of my uncles (a retired police sergeant, now martello) and a small band of his crew, filled a hundred or so medium-sized grocery bags with groceries to be delivered that very night to the poor pesantes who lived in his neighborhood. These unmarked white bags were filled with about two (2) Kilos of rice, some canned goods, some noodles, and even several toiletries in sachets. As I was in the old neighborhood that day, I witnessed the scurrying about of my uncles' crew making sure each bag had the exact same contents. I said to my uncle: "What you're doing is really admirable, but I thought you do this sort of thing during the Holy Week?" "We used to, but the Church forbade it." He answered me right back. "It's an honorable thing, what you are doing." I replied, without telling an inkling of what I was truly thinking. Then I left them to go about their business.

First, I thought that the reason why the packages were unmarked is because my uncle didn't want the people to know initially where the stuff originated from. My uncle knew that while these peasants are mostly ignorant, they are seldom fools. After New Year's day have come and gone, they, by their own methods will eventually discover the source of these "gifts." And they will think that the act of concealing their origin is a great sign of humility of the benefactor. This is one of the many subtleties one must learn when dealing with the sensitive masses. They all like dole-outs and free shit and all, but charity must not be done at the expense of a poor man's dignity. These simple folk are bribed each time a local election comes but the the one who always win by bribery are not respected, much less feared, by these people. As a family, we have over the years worked carefully to gain the respect, if not fear, from the people surrounding us.

Second, I instantly recognized that the people he was using for this job are not his old-time crew who are his childhood buddies, but up-and-comers who are peasants themselves. Not young kids, but people who are also trying to win respect from their little neighborhoods, while not having the financial means and the insight to do this kind of shit themselves. By working for this uncle of mine, they are doing him a favor, for he is not paying them for this job, and as well as doing themselves a favor, for they have earned the friendship of my uncle.

Third, I had not asked but wondered about why and how exactly did the Catholic church forbade the giving of groceries during Holy Week. I dismissed this thought as a characteristic irrelevancy of my uncle. He thinks the Church to still have such power over men. When the priests in the pulpits are as crooked as the dirtiest of all politicians as they have ever been here in our insignificant Roman Catholic Archipelago. If my father, or godfather, wanted to give groceries on Holy Week, no Church can impose its will over them like they are their puppets on a string. The current Pope, after all, is no Rodrigo Borgia.

Finally, I pondered over the logic of this, "charity." It is no secret that this uncle of mine has aspirations to "public service", and my godfather the Don even offered to buy his political seat (which this uncle proudly refused to his bitter regret). Despite his recent loss, however, he managed not to go about shooting anyone. This uncle is not a rich man by any standard, but he is not poor either. Nevertheless, I know that he could hardly afford to keep his mistress and children to live the sort of extravagant lives they live, and then manage to do this, benevolent act. After all, what future favors can the family expect from these wretched families to whom he is doling-out these free shit?

As I was walking towards our own compound, the truth came flying over to my head. I remembered that since his cop days (when he was still doing this thing during the Holy Week), my uncle kept a list of well chosen "beneficiaries." They were all poorer than rats, but included in their ranks all sorts of cutthroats, stick-up boys, wranglers, informants and thieves which in the future, may or may not be of service to our family. A bag of cheap groceries every year is a ridiculously small investment for their potential usefulness and friendship. He's like an Arctic Explorer in days past, who left small packages of food behind along the way to the North Pole, thinking he might need them in case something goes bad. There is nothing superstitious about that.

The next day, New Year's Day, my godfather granted a wish. He gave me a bottle of a very expensive Blue Label Scotch, which I jokingly requested from him while we were having drinks last Christmas. Dons, after all, always keeps their word. Superstition or no Superstition.

Synchronocity

Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which are casually unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. In order to be synchronous, the events should be unlikely to occur together by random chance.


The concept does not question, or compete with, the notion of causality. Instead, it maintains that just as events may be grouped by cause, they may also be grouped by their meaning. Since meaning is a complex mental construction, subject to conscious and subconscious influence, not every correlation in the grouping of events by meaning needs to have an explanation in terms of cause and effect. (wikipedia)


Swiss master psychologist Carl Jung coined this now household friendly (well, at least in educated ones) word. To my humble mind, synchronicity is just "meaningful coincidence." Meaning, just two (2) or more things happening on or about the same time where in one's perception, all the events have a somewhat logical (or sometimes even fantastical) relationship.


MANGA TRIVIA: In 2002, manga author Itagaki Keisuke based one of the story arcs of "Baki The Search Of Our Strongest Hero" on the synchronicity theme, presenting a story in which five death row inmates escaped at the same time, in different countries, each after surviving his own execution. Each inmate went back to Japan at the same time to meet in the same place for the same objective. That is, of course, to find out "who is the strongest hero." To those who have read Baki, or watched the anime, you all know who's the strongest.

I call him "Andoy" like my great-grandfather

Three weeks ago today, at around 1:29 a.m., my son was born. I wept when I first saw him minutes after he came out of her mother's (my lovely wife's) womb. I think this is the second time in my life that I have shed tears for joy. The first time was when my ex-girlfriend walked down the aisle to meet me while I waited before the altar.

I named him (and my wife agreed) "Justis Andres." Justis, because when I was about 14 or 15 years young, I read in a MegadetH (80's-90's Bay Area Thrash Metal Band) cover sleeve that Dave Mustaine's (Megadeth Frontman/Guitarist extra-ordinaire) son is named Justis, and from that moment on, I have decided that I will name my future son "Justis". Andres, because my father's name is "Bonifacio." For those of you who might happen to read this who happen to be non-Filipino, or a non-fan of South-East Asian/Philippine Colonial History, "Andres Bonifacio" is a Filipino hero during the Filipino-Spanish war. Many consider him to be the bravest Filipino warrior-general during those times. Andres Bonifacio's like Leonidas, Geronimo, William Wallace, and maybe perhaps, Oliver Cromwell to some extent, except that he never gained true national power like Cromwell did. Like Leonidas, Bonifacio was betrayed by scum. Anyway.

I still get teary-eyed everytime I look at my son for more than a minute. He looks like a Million Bucks and more. Nevermind the things I do not have in life, which I thought I could not go on living without. My son is the proof that I have lived.

Don Justis Andres Garcia Y Rivera.

Looking through the eyes of Rufus Humphrey

To some, I may be born yesterday. Technically, I was born last week. That was the first time I watched sequential "Gossip girl" episodes. I survived life so far without ever seeing a single episode of "Grey's Anatomy" despite its infamy. But when by happenstance I came across Jessica Zafra's review of "Gossip girl," I knew I must get around seeing it sometime. Further, I had an educated hunch the show was going to be good since Ms. JZ in my book happens to be the Queen of all Cultural Snobs and she gave Gg (for brevity) a sort of a positive review in a major broadsheet. This last weekend, my lovely wife and my brother-in-law were watching a Gg DVD and I watched along. Unlike them, however, I still have to stop watching.

Now this peice is not going to be review on Gg--just watch the show and decide for yourselves as to whether or not the same is any good--but rather an in depth look into two of the peripheral characters in the persons of Rufus Humphrey and Lily Van der Woodsen.

Rufus is the father of Dan--who dated the lead, Serena Van der Woodsen--and Jenny, a.k.a. "Little J." Rufus is also the estranged husband of Alison, who is now living in Hudson, presumably getting fucked daily by his neighbor whom she met when she ran away from home under the pretense of moving out of the family environment in order to further cultivate her art as she is a painter. Finally, Rufus is the first great love of Lily Van der Woodsen, mother of Serena who had already married four times after she and Rufus broke up sometime in the early Eighties.

Rufus is a NYC small gallery owner by day and a songwriter/guitarist on the weekends. I have seen a fender Stratocaster, a Gibson Les Paul and a really cool, worn cherry Gibson ES135 which he actually played in gig in one of the episodes in season 1. He sends his son Dan and daughter Jenny to a geared-towards-Ivy League High School in Manhattan attended by kids coming from America's richest and most famous families, such as the Waldorfs, the Archibalds, the Richashell, the Whatelsehaveyous. How he does it? I don't know. He must sell a whole damn lot of those abstracts and hideous wrought-iron sculptures at his gallery. Well, you know the rich, they tend to actually buy all those stuff which ordinary people like you and me would just be satisfied by admiring them in museums and public art galleries. So the plot, while somewhat unlikely, is still plausible if you stretch your imagination a little bit.

Now I don't really care too much about the main corny-ass teenybopper story, as I find it a cross between 90210 and Sex in the City, but strange as it may be, I have a long standing fascination in the City of New York and through the years, have developed a certain propensity of watching movies and TV shows set in the Big Apple. To me, NYC is the City of all Cities, and someday, I hope to visit and it and be a part of the audience for the Late Show if David Letterman is still alive or haven't retired. BTW, how old is DL today? A hundred and twelve? Anyway, The Humphreys live in Brooklyn while Van der Woodsens and the Waldorfs are from Uptown Manhattan. They are all, however "Upper Eastsiders."

While not actually portrayed or acted out in the series, Rufus in his youth got to know young Lily an fell in love like star crossed lovers not unlike Romeo and whatsherface. Nevertheles, fate is always never that kind. It is not clear on exactly how they broke up but it is pristine that the root was the immense gap between their families' fortunes vis-a-vis the lack thereof. Rufus is from a working class family, and Lily, is a Van der Woodsen--the kind of family whose children never have to manually toil to earn their daily bread, as their ancestors had secured their futures a long time ago. To my eyes, their relationship could have worked though, if only Rufus had more balls and Lily wasn't too much of a damsel. Perhps due to the shortcomings of their youth, what love they had failed to hold together their relationship.

Peculiar, however, is that even after more than seventeen (17) years, it is apparent that they still have some feeliings for each other. Is it true that a person's first great love never really dies? Who knows these things anyway? It's like asking why is sea water salty. In one episode, right after Rufus finally broke up with her slut of a wife Alison on Christmas day, no less, he called Lily while standing outside the courtyard of the Hotel(!) where the latter lived (while the snow was falling hard and the former was without a jacket) just to tell her he misses her. Unfortunately, Bart Bass (father of Chuck Bass, and major a-hole) on that exact moment was unvieling an engagement ring that makes that given by Jay-Z to Mariah look like a cheap wal-mart deal. A few days after that, Lily, having found out that Rufus and Alison had gone their separate ways (finally, for the love of God) agreed to run away with Rufus over the weekend and see what would happen if they try to rekindle what they had. But as sure as the taxi cabs in NYC are yellow and not red like in HK, that plan failed to push through. As Lily was packing, her daughter Serena caught her shining with an uncharacteristic glow in her face, and the former confessed to her daughter in not so many words that she's going away with Rufus. Serena pleaded cryingly to her mother that Dan (Humphrey) is the most important thing in her life and that she would rater have Chuck Bass as his step-brother than Dan, begging her mother not to do it (whatever it is) to her. There, Lily's decision was made. Lily arrived the place where they were supposed to meet but not as Lily but as the rich Mrs. Van der Woodsen who saw Rufus as poor Mr. Humphrey from the Bronx. When Rufus left, Lily stood there lone at the corner of 86th and 9th contemplating whether or not she made the same big mistake twice in her lifetime.

Rufus still loves Lily and vice-versa. Perhaps they have chosen not to be together so what they had can never be spoiled and ruined by the mundane realities of life. Maybe they have chosen to be friends because they are truly soul-mates and they know deep inside their hearts that nothing can take away their love for each other no matter how many marriages one goes through or how many neighbors will fuck their spouses. In one bizaare episode, Rufus was taken along Lily's wedding gown shopping trip. When the latter oppened the fitting room curtain, the star-crossed couples' eyes revealed what I have just written. Towards the close of the first season, it is revealed that Rufus and Lily made love the night before her wedding, prompting her to have to make a decision between him and Chuck's father. Rufus surprises Lily in the brides chamber and offers to call off the wedding. Lily tells Rufus she loves him and then walks down the aisle to marry Bart Ass, I mean, Bass.

You have just got to see Gg to believe it.

x o x o,

The Rainmaker

Expect nothing from nobody

"Pinocchio"

(original art by Enrico Mazzanti)

Every single person is a liar. Show me a man or a woman who hasn't lied to anybody he or she know and I'll show you a donkey with three (3) heads. So expect nothing from nobody. Expectations are the cause of disappointment which in turn, leads to hate. Try to keep your promises, but never believe in anyone else's. Belief is the path to ruin--in belief, there is lie.

Even the kindest man I know lies occassionaly. That's because lying is all too natural and the truth is rarer than diamonds. If you don't believe me, try going to Sierra Leone. Words are but a spit in the wind. It is the actions which define a man. Don Juan (de Marco) promised the moon to every lady he slept with, yet in the morning, even before the sun comes up, he's usually nowhere to be found. Promises are for fools. Sometimes, however, we are all fools. Perhaps the trick in life is not to be a fool all the time.