lauren bacall, in her republished memoir, claims that good things happen to her only on tuesdays and wednesdays.
the superstitious mother lily of regal films back in manila never opens a film on tuesdays (or was it thursdays now?). apparently, there is something in those days that start with a t that is conducive to the failure of her films at the tills.
mine is mondays, early monday mornings. most of my break-ups, at least those i'm still smarting from, happened on early monday mornings. today, too, a fire broke out in the apartment directly below my unit in our pre-war building.
after being ungratefully kicked out from a party somewhere in tremont (sure, i'm 'a talk about it tomorrow), i walked up into my building choked in smoke. the other residents seemed not to mind this at all.
two things i did immediately upon reaching my unit: i called 911 and then groped around for my camera. after taking several shots of the now animated smoke, i then decided to wait outside my building until the firemen came.
growing up, there was only one major conflagaration in our island. the only gasoline station in our town owned by this chinese comprador blew up into one dirty orange tongue of fidgety flame one saturday afternoon and quickly thereafter razed down all the uninsured stalls in the nearby public market.
as my mother mobilized the entire household for our evacuation plan, i took out the framed picture of our dog sheik hanging by the wall in front of my bed. clutching the frame against my chest, i then waited outside the house, sat on top of our bundled clothes and mattresses and was clearly fascinated by the gaggle of our distraught neighbors.
the still controversial english naturalist charles darwin claimed that it's not the strongest or the most intelligent of the species that survives but rather it's the most adaptable to change that prevails.
ever since i was a kid, i've always thought of myself as being too set on my ways. i moved in to this apartment two years ago and yet up to now, i still have to get a renter's insurance. with the scent of burnt tv and electrical wires still wafting in the air, i still have not scampered to an insurance agent. instead, i find myself writing this fluff piece.
it's not recklessness, i believe, although that's what it looks like, even to me at times. early on, i think i just got it - that any thought, any action that presupposes an assured future for me is basically crapshoot.
so, i cling on to what is not a mad gamble for me. i latch on to what is true and beautiful and good for me.
shots of spirals of smoke that look like gaunt ghosts of brave revolutionary soldiers. the picture of my sheik, his sleek tan pelt iridescent under the island sun, his eyes looking straight at the camera signifying nothing else but undeserved friendship, loyalty not merited.
maybe, i'm just a damaged old soul thrust back again to this dispensation to make amends. but alas. still adamantine in my ways, still crazy, as paul simon croons, all these years.
and as they say, damaged people are dangerous. they know they can survive.