Pounding The Keyboard

       He was a lawyer, and my first impression of him was he was snotty and cocky. But he was handsome, always dressed to kill, eloquent, and really great in his field. But then, due to maneuverings of some people, a husband and wife (actually, both lawyers, too, whom I really like, too) his reputation suddenly came crashing down.      And as he confronted the hustling husband and wife team, my impression of him changed. It was the first time he looked a bit shabby. And I realized he really wasn’t haughty and annoying, it was a sort of a cover for some shitty things happening to his personal life, to his relationship with his wife. And I started to like him and cheer him on. I thought he seemed a really great guy. Yes, he could be a hustler, too, but he hustled only because he really just wanted to help his firm.      And just when I started admiring him—BANG!      A bullet from a silenced gun went to his head.      I jerked in my seat as he collapsed to the floor—lifeless.

       Three years ago, he, a laborer,   was traversing a bridge (which was being rehabilitated)   with a forklift when he veered close to the edge, causing the fork lift to fall, subsequently crushing his right arm and his lower half body—which were then amputated. Yes, his arm and lower half body, from his waist down was cut off from his body so he only got his upper half body now.      Amazingly, his girlfriend didn’t leave him, and instead married him.      A magnificent display of the power of love, indeed.      But some people, instead of focusing on the girl’s profoundly deep feelings for the guy, wonder how they have sex.      “It’s a very disrespectful question,” the couple said. And rightly so.      Many people will not find it difficult to fall in love with a single parent with five kids or with someone who has gone through harrowing emotional experiences. And they will not find it difficult to fall in love with someone who only has one arm, or one leg, or one ey

  I wonder... …what would life be after six years. …if one doesn’t really get tired of stealing. …how much cocaine he can consume in one sitting. …if he knows how to pray.  ...if a pilot has gone mad while flying.  …how many times he tries to wash the blood off his hand.  …if he’s a skeleton now. …why giraffes don’t have Adam’s apple. …what dogs think when they stare gently at their owners.  …how many muscles it takes to open a Messenger message. …if she takes nude selfies. …how much one Haha! reaction pays. …when my computer will finally conk out. …how a man named Chukwu got to know me. …how many notifications Mark Zuckerberg get in a day. ...if Bill Gates knows all the keyboard shortcuts.  ...if Johnny really is what Amber tells he is. …why I wonder.

       It’s quite a stress browsing through Facebook these days, especially when you see people posting and commenting how fragile their mental health have become after the elections. There’s this young woman (a volunteer for a losing presidential candidate) who thinks she’d lose her sanity before the month ends and is asking for help.   The election results also distressed me but I believe I have quite a strong mental health; somebody with a weaker mind would have long been sent to a psychiatric ward with the few not-so-positive things I went through in this vicious thing called life, although I wouldn’t be too confident.   After many months, I had a bout of sleep paralysis last night, a strange nocturnal occurrence that I believe is caused by a tired and distressed mind.      Mentally unstable people behave differently. One will act like a helpless, hapless baby; others will be quite malicious. I’ve been with some people who have suffered mental breakdown. My mother, for one, die

       Min Green and Ed Slaterton are breaking up, so Min is writing Ed a letter and giving him a box. Inside the box is why they broke up. Two bottle caps, a movie ticket, a folded note, a box of matches, a protractor, books, a toy truck, a pair of ugly earrings, a comb from a motel room, and every other item collected over the course of a giddy, intimate, heartbreaking relationship. Item after item is illustrated and accounted for, and then the box, like a girlfriend, will be dumped.        Since my brain’s still a bit clouded and foggy and not fully functional and can’t do things that require much thinking nor write longer than a brief blog entry in the next few weeks (because my country has just elected a dead dictator’s son, who is obviously bad news, as president), I decide to just grab some books available in our house to read to relax my mind, and one that catches my eye is the novel Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler. I don’t know why we have this book (whose summary is