Monthly Archives: July 2007
It seems to me that Deannie Bocobo assumes, all too easily, that the appropriate response to the barbaric beheadings in Basilan is to stop talking peace with the MILF. For reasons I explain in Inquirer Current, I have to disagree.
Let’s agree on one thing. Indulging our fully justified sense of outrage, and calling on the government to stop the peace talks with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front because of last Tuesday’s barbaric ambush in Basilan, is the easier option. The harder (indeed, for some, almost impossible) choice is to keep one’s head.
After, um, an unexpected interregnum (ah, Blas Ople, how we miss you), I’ve started writing again for Inquirer Current. Last Tuesday, I dug up something Billy Esposo had written several weeks ago.
I thought Esposo did the honorable thing: Unlike any other mainstream media political commentator I know, he asked his readers to judge his political prognostications. But a close look at his column, and at other columns he had written (easily accessible here), tells us that Esposo undermined his own experiment, by choosing to write about only those predictions that had, willy-nilly, come true.
In other words, Esposo inserted a new mono-bloc into journalism’s musical chairs game —- and then promptly wrecked it.
Much as I enjoy reading Willy’s charming anecdotes about his children, or thrill to Nick’s unmistakable pride in his children, I have refrained from writing about my own family. In large part, this enforced restraint is due to the experience of a very good friend, who grew up, in a rather public way, and without her consent, as a COC —- that is, as a Child of Columnist.
But today I would like to make an exception.
Early this morning, at a little past three in the morning, we woke up to find our three-year-old son Jake running a high fever. We started to wake him up to give him medicine, but it took some time. It was, after all, a little past three in the morning. Finally, he was awake enough to say No to the medicine. "I’m so sleepy," he said, again and again. "My body is so sleepy."
We tried again. "I’m so sleepy," he said again, and then added: "I"m so sleepy as highest clouds." It took us some time to realize that he meant his sleepiness was "as high as" clouds. But you have to take your medicine, we said. It’ll be over quickly, and then you can go back to sleep. "But I’m so sleepy," he said again. "Highest," he started to say, and we gently corrected him: "As high as?" Yes, he said. "I’m so sleepy, as high as … the planets."
Ah. Cosmic pleasures are the best.