Today marks the 11th year since I met Emily on that fateful night of 1995.

I just want to let you know that I love you, dear… and will always do… no matter how ugly you become in the coming years…

I just learned from Emily last night, that my 14 year old niece got very depressed lately due to some social problems at school. Apparently, one of my boy-cousin, who’s of the same age as her, has been calling her ‘Chicken rice’ inside the schoolbus and she’s mad about it. And because she’s so mad about it, every other student got even more excited and now it sort of became her permanent callsign in and out of the schoolbus.

I was like “Mannnnn, Chicken Rice… what a creative name!”. Strangely enough, my niece’s name was nothing of that sort or of that may suggest anything pertaining chicken or rice. I guess some of you people are right, that when somebody wanted to aggravate you, they’ll be able to somehow pick a name to vex you off. But still, what a creative name.

This ’social problems at school’ thingy sort of triggered a string of memory burst of my good old carefree days where I played an important part in upholding the equilibrium of good versus evil. Which side I was in, you make your guess. At the age of 12, I was the epitome of all negative influences at school. A problem child. A miscreant. And if there’s anything bad that ever happens inside the class, I’d be the first to be blamed. Like, if it’s not Michael the menace, who else could it be? It’ll be so much more convenient to close the case by blaming the only meanie.

Hell yeah, how can I forget those days. I was consistently made the framing target, and that only fueled my diabolical ways even further. Unlike my niece, I wasn’t particularly anal about myself being able to socialize around. That’s because I couldn’t get along even with my own sister, and I sort of inured to the ‘hardships’ of being alone. That’s why, I never really had a good friend (I mean, a REAL good friend) in my primary schooling years, except for PukeMachine. But he’s a bit of a not-very-bright kind of person, hence I’d say he’s just plain unlucky to have met me (he could have met a four legged animal anytime, it’ll be his best friend too… no shit)

But then, I’m glad that I got along just fine in life. No I didn’t end up in jail. In fact, I did quite well compared to the majority of those teachers’ pets, and outdone many of them in life. (though I’m a bit of an antisocial and racist sometimes… especially behind the steering wheel). My colorful childhood.

Now back to my niece’s case. Upon hearing about her problems, I began to cackle like a hyena… “HAHAHHH! CHICKEN RICE! I’m so gonna use this name the next time I scold her!”. My irrational reaction triggered a series of disapproval from Emily - that I should be helping her (my niece) instead of rubbing salt into her ailing wound. She’s now completely flipped out, and according to my dimwitted sister, she might send her to see a psychiatrist if she ever starts to mutilate household animals (so I learned that not only my mom that needed the treatment…)

I guess it’s inherent in me to see people get pissed over nothing, but ‘chicken rice’ sure is a good one. Anyway, as a former school ruffian myself, I can understand that it would only intensify the excitement of her adversaries if my niece were to get riled over the remarks/name-callings. The more she gets annoyed, the more orgasmic it would be for them. So, the only way to get out of this, is laugh over it, and eventually, they’ll lose the thrill and move on to another target (or another name). And so the advice was conveyed… may my niece feel smarter already.

Having that advice given off as a trial, I think I’m ready to become somebody’s father. *pssshhh*

*****
The legendary insult I complimented (many years ago) to a fellow school bus fat-girl-student whose legs are full of mosquito bite scars:
“Hey damn fatty girl! Your legs are so full of 5 cents and 10 cents coins, that if you were to collect them together, you’re gonna get a few hundred bucks out of it!”

I think that remark scarred her deeper than the nastiest mosquito bite she has ever experienced. (and god knows how many more souls I’ve scarred in my juvenile years…)

The management on paper says,
In order to be an excellent employee, one will have to be able to lead by example, be able to challenge at opportunities with facts and achieve your goals with integrity, adhering all code of conducts and corporate policy.

The management in reality says,
You must be a “yes-guy” to be successful… and will be more favourable by the boss if you’d be a less pain-in-the-ass by shutting the hell up whenever you have an opinion.

I have always been an excellent employee, and achieved all my given goals hands down… therefore, I wasn’t successful. The successful ones were better at their golf and public relation skills, nevermind failing their goals.

Now, that prompted me to ask myself, do I actually want to be a successful jerk? Or a good person that loses?

I don’t really know. I’ll need some time to think over this…

The old man ended his suffering today. He’s not ill anymore.

I’ll be back in a few days.

I entered the ward that I’ve been looking for, saw him perched on his bed looking at a box full of medicine. I went up to him and said a “hey”. He looked at me as if I’m a stranger and squared it off with a smile.

“You are?” he asked. Yep, he forgot who I am, again.

“I am your daughter Karen’s son, Michael”

“You’re Karen’s son ? Oohhh… my bad memory. Sorry about that” he said with a sheepish smile. I told him that it was ok, you know, like…I can’t be expecting a 90 year old guy to remember every single of his 20 over grandkids’ name, right? It’s not his obligation anyway… Then I went ahead to ask him some stupid ass questions that supposedly be able to allay my own guilt of being a motherfucking ignorant jerk…

“How are you feeling grandpa?” (like, who could be feeling great inside a fucking hospital ward ?? *smacks own head)

“Not so good, the nurses here aren’t really that good…”

Hell, I know what his definition of “good” was. The old man hasn’t lost his touch when it comes to handling the opposite attraction, I’d be fretting at ugly nurses too when I’m old. But that wasn’t the thing that bothered the old man (and me, and us). It was something else…

You see, he has been very ill. The tough old dude discovered he had been coughing some dark rotten blood off his mouth, and said that something was dead in him that bled off this mess. If you were to put it in some way of describing it, it’s like he was menstruating off his mouth. He tried to complain to his own children, but they would dismiss him off as feigning a possum to gain sympathy and attention … as he always do.

But this time, it was for real. After being ignored, he went to the doctor himself and they found some ominous looking darkspots inside his lungs. After a few rounds of body checkup later, the doctor told everyone a very bad news - the old man has terminal stage lung cancer. There is nothing that anybody can possibly do to save him… as he is already too old to go through those treatment shits. So, his children conspired to make him believe that he just had a minor lung infection & put him into this geriatric care ward to nurse off his finals days - which was where I stood in front of him.

“It’s damn boring in here… have to look at the walls day and night. I think I won’t make it long… I lived too old. It’s not fun living this old when you have all these illnesses and pain on your joints”

It was an ugly truth that both of us mutually knew, and I didn’t even attempt to pacify the old man with another lie. I just gave him a smile.

But everyone knew it could have been better than this. Grandpa has always been such a pain guy to handle and has had shitloads of conflicts with his children. Nobody wanted to live with him and he had been living alone ever since my grandma was gone. If only he was a bit nicer to his children, he would not have to be in this sorry state right now. He could have lived off his final days with ANY one of his 8 children … and die off a happy and accomplished man.

Well, sadly, things don’t usually happen the way they should. Life is always a bitch everyone has to put up with. The circumstances in the past had paved for what is happening today and who am I to rant what the old man think is right for himself?

Whatever, I did the best I could on that particular moment - we shared a few blank talks about some inane stuffs, gave him some attention to his old day stories (which I must have heard a few hundred times) and lent him the company he needed to forget about boredom. That’s the least I could do then…