Saturday, July 21, 2012

To Write is To Sleep

There was this one time in elementary when I accidentally poured a glass of cola to my classmate's uniform. He was so mad he asked me for a fight. I told him that I was sorry and did not mean it. But he insisted for a fight. So, later that afternoon we agreed to meet in the middle of the school grounds (North City Elementary School) and he started to pick up a fight with me. But I told him that I did not want any trouble, that my mother could wash/clean his uniform so that his mom would not get mad at him. But he said that I was gay and told all of my classmates that I was a freaking coward.

I was taught by grandma and grandpa to be patient and that if I am at fault, I should apologize. That's the reason why I never hit him in the face. But he became too confident that I was a coward and started bullying me almost everyday. So I told him that starting the next day, if he calls me gay one more time, he would regret it.

And he did. A couple of miniseconds after he said that, he fell into the classroom floor, clamoring for help. In an instant, he became a crying baby. I hit him in the face, at his cheekbone specifically. As a kid, I always watched shaolin movies. One good thing I learned from those films is that there are vital parts of a man's physique that when hit, cause their body to become partially dysfunctional.

I grew up with that principle. Throughout the time, I have learned to abide with that. I learned to become patient when I am at fault, and turns into a war-freak when someones messes up with me. Somehow, I also find this kind of attitude not healthy at all. I am very particular with details that tiny hint of insults, I believe, should be acted upon.

But that is not my direct conclusion of someone else's misbehavior. As I grew older, I also learned to consider people and their acts. But not inside a workplace. That kind of environment is different. There is a need to write this entry so that once this is published, I can sleep well at night. I do not like apologizing to anyone who is at fault. It kills me. It consumes my being. I know when people want to mess up with me. I know what kind of sarcasm is good or bad. I know the difference between insult and criticism. I know when I am at fault or not. I know when to act or not. I know when to hit someone in the face and become wild. My cause is always right, always pure and fair, despite the negative impression I get from other people. I do not really care if I am always misunderstood, as long as my cause is right, I can live with that.

Now, why did I apologize? because I am old and learning that other people have issues with me without me knowing gives me wrinkles. I made that selfless thing (I hate that crap) because of my cause. My cause is betterment, fair, and democratic. My cause is for everyone to be disciplined, to act upon which is right inside a workplace, and leave their bad GMRC behind. Well, humans are humans. They will learn. That includes me.


  1. ag issue na pud nah about sa..................................... BAztah!

    Just learn how to control ur temper lang ;-)
    uie wa pako nimo gi-follow ry. hmp!

    1. Jela, sorry pero dili ko tig-follow jud ug blogger. Sila ray mu-follow nako. Haha. I mean, murag akoa rang batchmates akoang na-follow. Pag-post sige para e-follow tikaw. :)

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  3. I don't get the "cause" out there. Are you referring it to a "reason" or your point of view?

    Anyway, what you did is normal to a kid. It's the usual resort of the clashing ideas. Good thing I found out in you is that, you remain calm and patient despite people misinterpreting your behavior. That makes a real man after all.

    On my point of view, deviant people are the ones making us brave and strong, without their challenges, I guess I would say we live like a man of incompetence and sorrow.

    The best lesson I can relate to is that I have experienced like you did. But those were just sorts of my immaturity. Now that we are wholesomely knowledgeable, we now know how to act and react appropriately.


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