May 13 will be a toast by political winners as lucky charm day for them, like the kind that gives humming nature a new coating of the collar, and it’s as if the stages of the candidates’ existence have been reopened again with entirely new scenery and decoration.
For those who lost, it may be seen as portent of things to come, for the writings on the wall have spoken but fell short of being heeded, or misread.
Be that it may, it’s consolation for those who haven’t made it that though they fell short, they at least gave way to the unspoken passion in the cabinet of their chests of wanting to become a politician.
On the other hand, to all who participated in the election process in Cordillera Administrative Region and Region 1 – which by indications was peaceful – should give themselves a pat on the back for “all’s well that ends well” in the election month of May.
So, c’mon, gents and ladies, back to normal work life, all of us, as life, indeed, is not so much of a battle, rather more of how we take the battle out of life.
Think ye, about it. Month of May, may find you with opportunities blossoming your way, so busy, will you be, every day.
T’was this feeling felt by Rio Saltre, 56, Cordilleran, who had listened diligently to various campaign sorties of candidates for the past weeks and made him feel that all the candidates, indeed, can do the impossible, and prompted him to ask Ah Kong last Monday, “Sir, do all fairy tales begin with Once upon a time. . .?”
Ah scratched his head, bit his fingernails to scrounge up an answer and said, “No, my pren Rio, many fairy tales in the month of May begin with, if I am elected. . .?
Reason goes to bed and feelings wake up. Whether you won or not in your votes, all things look mellower and seem to lose their bumpy points, and you feel like you want to readily forgive somebody. It’s back to normal.
Like normal means listening to women folk in the household start quarrel with the husbands, blaming husbands for the loss of their choices because the husbands didn’t vote for the wives’ choices – quarrels which are pleasant sounds to the ears.
Normal means matrimony is the friendship that marriage affords and gives the wife license to henpeck a man until he becomes hen-pecked husband for a wrong political choice.
For, as Diko Badewes, 63, a lowlander and henpecked, explained also last Monday to Ah Kong, also henpecked, “Without a wife, Ah Kong, it’s not for a man to be happy. I would rather be henpecked for bad political choice than join ranks of bachelors who constantly pray, Good Lord, give me a wife who can nag me to death and raises my spirits in rapture. . .”
Very well said by Diko in the frolicsome month of May.
Also that Monday, being holiday, Ah decided to visit another acquaintance, Loy Bekkes, 64, residing along Marcos National Highway and found him in his woodcarving shop.
Exchanging pleasantries, Ah asked, “Did you go vote?” “Yup,” Loy answered. Busy with his woodcarving while talking, Monad then into a song which made Ah’s snarling face slip in a smile.
For Loy re-invented a song, singing, “When I was small, and still I am very small/ we used to pout while other were in glee. . .?”
The song was supposed to start, “When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall/we used to love while lovers used to play. . .? The song is titled “First of May,” and popularly known by Cordillerans and lowlanders.
With the rain not letting up, Ah bid Loy adieu and started towards Baguio. Loy stood up and gave a parting shot. He said, “Ger-dung it! Come to think of it. May the month of May bring you enemies – to become your true friends, politicians or non-politicians, you, the unlucky bastard of a fine fellow, my pal, Ah Kong.”
Merry words mouthed by a true friend in the laughing eyes of May. For true friendship is listening to the foolish words of a friend, and asking to hear some more foolishness, indeed!
But beware, cordial readers of Herald Express! (Readers of Herald Express are cordial, never quarrelsome.) Speckles of May can also beguile.
About to reach his home at past 9 o’clock, Ah heard someone say in the neighborhood, “Pssssst, Ah, umay ka biit ditoy.”
Ah turned and saw Burcio Landok, a neighbor. Ah went over to Burcio and asked, “O, Burcio, adda ba problema? Apay adda ka ditoy ruwar ti balay yuk ket nasepngeten?”
“Wen,” Burcio replied and continued, “Kadeng-deng-ngeg ni baket idiay radio nga didiay inbagak nga ibotos na ket naabak. Tuloy nag-muryot isuna. Su adda ak pa la ditoy ruwar ta lumami-is ulo na.
As both talked, Burcio, who got married in the month of May, said that what different creature’s women are before marriage, to what they are after marriage.
“Why?” Ah asked. Burcio revealed, “My wife before marriage was as sweet as first flowers of May. “But as soon as the sunlight of matrimony shone on her, she became as changeable, thorny as a rose, sour as a vinegar and stinging as a bee.”
“Perhaps, many men are mortals whom Mother Nature, in her merry way, have sent as rewards for women to constantly nag and scold. Husbands must have polite ears when the wives go a-nagging,” Ah patiently told Burcio.
“We must all be ears when the stream of wisdom flow continually from the lips of the wives,” Ah added.
Leaving Burcio, Ah reached his house, but debating with himself whether morning, noon, afternoon and evening are the most conducive for wives to perpetually nag the husbands.
Take example, men who go to their daily labor early morning and arrive home late. So what time will the wife nag? Before husband goes to work or after he has come home?
Husband, there are, who, dressing hurriedly to rush to work, are compelled to be quiet and just listen.
In marriage, as is in war, it’s permitted to take advantage of the enemy: thus, the wife, knowing her husband is pressed for time, takes advantage in classic style, nagging until it’s nearly 8 o’clock A.M. and husband gets late.
Or the wives will choose the night to hoot at the husbands. That being the case, it’s apparent there are wives who love transforming themselves into owls – hooting only in the night.
Have you ever considered, my smiling readers, that every month of May is the time wives declare they have the right to nag their husbands black and blue? Their reason is that darned, pesky, mischievous little ring – which is the world’s smallest handcuff.
It’s a tiny hoop that during marriage ceremony, is placed in the third finger of the woman. Although very tiny, it may well encircle the necks of husbands. Many call it the wedding ring. Ah has yet to discover a name for it and is still researching in the dictionary.
Manifold are the uses of the wedding ring. Men as wild as hell have been known tamed by that thing called the wedding ring. But we stick to one topic for now: the license to nag.
Ah got to remembering, too, of Pelos Langoyab, Cordilleran, a friend he haven’t seen for sooooooo long. The encountered each other last year.
” How are you my gud pren, are you now married? Do you have a wife?” Ah asked Pelos.
In the course of their conversation, Pelos told Ah of the time he lent money to his neighbor. Pelos, by the way, was making good in vegetable farming.
When the wife of Pelos learned about it, it was opportunity for wife of Pelos to nag him. And what does Pelos think about the nagging?
“Oh, it’s alright, “he stressed, adding, “My wife’s got a tongue alright. Well, I know so it’s a tongue. It hangs on a swing and wagging at both ends. We also have at home a talking parrot, that imitates whatever my wife says, thus adding to the effect what my wifey says.”
“My wife’s tongue is a morning tongue, a 12 o’clock tongue, a siesta time tongue, a late afternoon tongue and a night tongue,” Pelos continued his story.
On day Pelos decided to get away from that tongue he was describing and went home instead to their mother/father-in-laws house nearby.
But he couldn’t sleep a wink there. While in bed, he missed the nagging wisdom of his wife.
The ghost of the tongue of his wife talked to him whenever he turned in bed, the ghost tongue so loud, commanding, remonstrating, that he got up, bid his parents-in-law goodbye and headed home.
Trudging for home, he looked at the sky and saw the moon beaming down on him like that merry old soul of May.