SOBRIETY, root word sober. Sober, while it means being clearheaded is more often used to describing the state of not being drunk. Thus, in common terms, when leaders and even us call for sobriety, we are actually telling the people, do not get drunk.
So… let’s stretch the meaning toward… not being drunk with anger. Never mind if there is that strong urge to grab a bottle of wine and just drink the night away.
Love is the central message in the Bible. Do unto others as you want them to do unto you; love your enemies; hate what is evil, cling to what is good; love does no harm to a neighbor; where love is far greater than faith and hope; love each other because love covers over a multitude of sin… love… love… love…
And yet, the country that takes pride in being the biggest Roman Catholic nation, and the people who make it a point to complete the nine days of Misa de Gallo, squeeze themselves among the millions trying to have their face towels wiped on the Black Nazarene at the risk of being trampled by the crowd, the devotees who whip themselves or have themselves nailed to the cross every Holy Week to repent for their sins are the first ones to pounce on a people on whose city terrorists have exploded a bomb that have killed near-score and wounded dozens more, heckling with glee.
My first reaction was to bristle with anger. But then I remember that the very essence of our being human is about forgiving; 70 times seven, we are told. While I have long renounced the practices, I have not renounced my belief in the Holy Books (yes, plural, because each book fortifies the other and makes for a more harmonious whole), and there is sense in counting 70 time seven, because the anger has to dissipate lest we the enemy more power through our anger.
It is said that the most hateful, terrorists among them, feed on our anger to grow stronger. That is how the universe works. Some may say I’m going bonkers but I’d rather not contribute a single iota of power into any of these low-lifers, I will not be induced to anger. There must be some truth to this though, we can see how regular folks, friends even, become trolls the moment angry words are exchanged. The trolls, then, never forget and grow more rabid. I will not give them that chance to evolve into something I may not be able to handle.
One good thing about of high-tech social life, however, is we can unfollow or block. I just discovered one such blocked me soon after I unfollowed him. I heard he is still his bitter, self-righteous, self-centered views, but I wouldn’t ever know. I’m happy.
A friend derisively said, “It’s the trash taking itself out.” I wholly agree.
After re-acquainting myself with the “unfollow” button, life has returned to the regular stress level. Yes, there is stress at work, especially when you have finally turned off your mobile and ended all your updates for the bombing at near 5 a.m. and you are back in the office, alive and awake, by 10 a.m.
With no distractions that can send your blood boiling, made even easier to boil by the high pressure of the job on hand, work goes on smoothly.
At 9:50 p.m. of September 2, 2016, a still unknown kind of bomb ripped through people at the street massage area of the Roxas Avenue night market killing ten on the spot.
After that, the trolls who have evolved into their ugliest since the President won started cackling, laughing, taunting. Along with this were the repeated reports of one media network about the Abu Sayyaf claiming responsibility and further taunting the president. As the day wore on, the thin line between terrorists and trolls has virtually disappeared.
With barely enough food, sleep, and coffee in me, I sit in a quiet corner, gather my thoughts, and then… click on the virtual “unfollow” button.
You are not important to my existence. I was not privy to your thoughts before Facebook. I choose not to be privy to your thoughts, with or without Facebook. You are not important to my existence… What follows is bliss. I’m full.
saestremera@yahoo.com
