When Lemon Grass Makes your Day

Somebody uttered with conviction that if he has the power, he will remove Algebra, Trigonometry, and Calculus…then replace it with Business Math…with just the 1, 2, 3, 4…so on and so forth. Maybe arithmetic? Anyway, I thought of mathematics…of numbers and then 32…

January 26, 2016 has been a hectic day. So hectic that I only managed to gobble 4 slices of wheat bread for lunch which I made legit with a cup of coffee. A few minutes and I was off to my REM class for an hour and a half then straight to an orientation with JFINEX officers and volunteers. The latter is set to have their Financial Literacy to the folks of Barangay Lapasan on the next day. In the course of the orientation, the spell of the wheat bread gradually wore off and soon I could feel my hand trembling…my internal organs can no longer be distracted from the inevitable hunger. Imagine that…and suddenly an explosion of the smell of lemon grass, that unmistakable aroma of a roasted suckling pig…my internal organs screamed lechon and in quick cadence my upper limbs trembled to the nth level…

I always knew a scheme was about to unfold. Key officers were visibly not yet around and others were pacing in and out of a classroom, coordinating something or to someone…

Then I closed the orientation and immediately thereafter, the key officers and volunteers broke into the greeting song. Two of the male officers followed carrying what appears to be a neatly wrapped lechon. But there was something odd with the way they carry the thing. It appeared so light. Naturally, I said to myself, here goes the dud.

Oh well, hope springs eternal. Who would not? The wheat bread lost its magic, right?

They place the lechon in two arm chairs, right in front of me. And the lemon grass had me and my innards go ballistic. The unwrapping began and there unfold in its full splendor – the lemon grass!

No lechon. Nada. Oh, boy.

...and the class went into an uproar. 

Well, it’s only once in a year that they get to pay me back for the “torture” in the class. Red velvet, the balloon and the crown. Ah, the Pia Wurtzbach effect and I, the “unfortunate” victim.

I think of 32…

I think of that scheme…

I think of the Red Ribbon chocolate cake and the balloons courtesy of my sole REM class…

I think of the make-shift crown made up of 3-in-1 classic Nescafe… (Man, Nestle must owe me big time for this free advertisement.)

I think of the greetings over Facebook. Somebody once said that Facebook and the rest of social media is too public, less personal, suggesting that some greetings over the media are sometimes laced with insincerity. I disagree. In the deluge of these greetings, I choose to see a genuine act of remembrance, of friendship from former classmates and students, of my colleagues and past teachers, from here and beyond…

I think of all these…

I think of 32…

I think of a happy number

A happy number is a number defined by the following process: Starting with any positive integer, replace the number by the sum of the squares of its digits, and repeat the process until the number either equals 1 (where it will stay), or it loops endlessly in a cycle which does not include 1. Those numbers for which this process ends in 1 are happy numbers, while those that do not end in 1 are unhappy numbers (or sad numbers).[1]

32 is a happy number.

What else can it be?

When the lemon grass made it so?

When the ties of friendship beyond the media made it so?

Indeed. Indeed. Gumapta!

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  1. “Sad Number”. Wolfram Research, Inc. Retrieved 2009-09-16.

 

Wonders and Heartbeat

 

A bunch of thoughts, while I take a pause

From a stack of yellow papers

Where thoughts are inked in funny and insightful scribbles, alike

And the thoughts, in a river-flow-like excitement go…

Will you fancy becoming a scientist as I did once when I met Einstein? I wonder…

Will you tread the world of debits and credits and pour all your heart upon it like there’s no other,

Only to discover later that there’s a lot of bigger and exciting worlds beyond? I wonder…

Will you argue on things that are dear to your heart as much as I do? I wonder…

Will you find Michiel or Michiela music to your ears even when Mom would not? I wonder…

Will you take after my voice? That’ll be fine, but will you be fine being off-limits to singing? I wonder…

Will you take after your Mom’s voice and sing melodies while she’s on the piano? I wonder…

Will you take after my manliness against your Mom’s consternation? I wonder…

Will you take Grandma’s curls which to me are cute but your Mom protests? I wonder…

(I’m fine if you’ll take after your mom, that’ll be pleasant view all the time.)

Will you dot the archipelago with your grandiose buildings? I wonder…

Will books always be apple to your eyes and devour them like there’s no tomorrow? I wonder…

Will you write as much as I do? I wonder…

Will audit appeal to you as it does to me? I wonder…

Will you be as funny as I am or even better? I wonder…

Will Park Shin Hye’s acting suit you? I wonder…

Will you find Lee Byung-hun powerful? I wonder…

Will Jumong be epic for you? I wonder…

Will Yi Sun Sin be a big deal for you? I wonder…

Will you find good-old Abe Lincoln a sage? I wonder…

Will To Kill A Mocking Bird haunt you? I wonder…

Will history tickle you all the time? I wonder…

Will economics send you ecstatic?

Will the market updates interest you? I wonder…

Will you find yourself a CPA by profession but finance by affection? I wonder…

Will you see Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao as a nation and work to preserve it? I wonder…

Will you see the Han River in the Cagayan de Oro River as I do? I wonder…

Will Andres, Jose and Heneral Luna bring twinkle in your eyes? I wonder…

For all of these musings and the many more that’ll come,

There’s a time for everything and sure, you’ll be as He wills.

That, I do not wonder.

One request though, if you can manage…

For the rest of the 9-month ride, may you not trouble Mom that much, if you can manage…

Or I fear I could kiss goodbye to all of my precious hairs…

But really, this inevitable soon-to-be old man wishes…

My Dear Child, let me hear your heartbeat by December 16, 2015.