Saccharine Irony

This site is a compilation of fluid thoughts, a collection of poetry, random glimpses of humor and tragedy, spontaneous notions of an extremely sensitive mind.

Rumor has it November 22, 2007

Filed under: Strange Men — Aimee @ 3:03 am
Tags: , ,

That Wentworth Miller is gay. Gawd. And it has taken me all this time to write about it. Of course I did not readily believe the reports months before; could not bring myself to make sense of it all. I literally drooled over his Michael Scofield in that highly preposterous suspense-drama series on television, and watched his love scenes in The Human Stain with a thousand “damnits”. I’m no schoolgirl anymore but what the heck, nobody coud have stopped me even if I filled my bedroom walls with cheap reproductions of his smoldering gazes, or watched schmaltzy Mariah Carey music videos ad nauseum because he appeared in two of them for all of thirty seconds.

That’s how pathetic I get whenever I’m smitten.

But rumor has it he’s gay. And that he’d been openly dating. Openly. Oh well.

And to think that I’ve been seriously planning on buying a black, fitted baby t-shirt and have it emblazoned with “Mrs. Scofield” on the front in red, bold letters. Imagine that. My sister would have rolled on her belly, and laughed maniacally like Bella Flores… :p


Cryonics – Death as an option November 16, 2007

Filed under: Mortality stuff — Aimee @ 1:34 pm

This is creepy news, but in the western world there are people who do not bury their dead, but preserve them in chemicals within minutes from the onset of death, so that they can resuscitate them in the future, when nanotechnology and molecular biology are already possible. Or simply put, when science finally allows us to grow back body parts we have lost through disease, or death. This process/scientific breakthrough/futuristic fiction stuff of rising from the dead is called cryonics.

But is cryonics really a viable scientific breakthrough? Can death (clinical, legal, brain, information-theoretic) really be reversed? According to the people at Alcor Life Extension Foundation, death is actually a process, not an event. Members of this foundation or cryonicists (people who are strong advocates of cryonics, or the low temperature preservation of humans and other animals that can no longer be sustained by contemporary medicine until resuscitation may be possible in the future) actually allow clinically dead bodies of their loved ones to be shipped to the Life Extension facility for cryopreservation, wherein the whole body or parts of the body specifically the brain are preserved by cooling it in liquid nitrogen, or vitrification, and treated with cryoprotectants to prevent freezing.

Creepy. creepy. creepy.

If death is actually a process, then when does a person actually die? Advocates of cryonics argue that when a physician declares a patient to be dead, the patient is actually not yet dead, but that the brain has just ran out of oxygen. Which then translates to the premise that a “dead” brain can still be resuscitated through timely and proper intervention, and thus be preserved, until such time that a reversal technology is widely possible.

So is this argument just short of calling our present doctors murderers or advocates of euthanasia? Are there really people who wish to be revived at a later time (no one knows when), knowing that the world they once lived in will not be the same decades or centuries after? Is death just a disease, like cancer or diabetes and one day can be cured permanently? Does cryonics really translate to immortality, or does it merely seek to cure one human body one disease at a time and that eventually, no amount of resuscitation or cell regeneration can obstruct the human body’s death?

Meanwhile, the present day tells us another story. People die of cancer or heart disease everyday. People smoke and drink to excesses everyday, people crave for the fast life, for fast food, for an unhealthy existence. Our waters have become more contaminated, our air have become impure and rarefied. When there are people who deliberately want to kill themselves, then will cryonics be a lost case in the end? If at this point, our earth is slowly deteriorating, where shall these future immortals tread on? And do we really want to live perpetually, to be resurrected a hundred times over? For all we know, cryonics may just be another hype of our times, a scientifically structured ambition to be gods of a lesser heaven.

But then again, it may as well be the future order of things. Science has never failed to astound us, after all. If Hitler were alive today, he’d be above rejoicing.


I’m heartbroken because November 14, 2007

Filed under: Mortality stuff — Aimee @ 5:58 am

Lola Cuning finally left. Just a day after we were kidding around by her sickbed. Jimmy, the vermin, did not even drop by with the roses. And I can’t even see her for the last time because I’m away for work. I’m just consoled by the fact that she’s now with Papa, and all her siblings. May the angels give her wings, and may the stars lead her home.

And I hope she’d tell Papa I said hello.


no “jingle bells”

Filed under: Uncategorized — Aimee @ 3:53 am

We have not even put up the Christmas tree yet. And to think that it’s almost the third week of November. As of this time last year, the tree had already been adorned and lighted, the mistletoes hung on the door, the belen set up on the console, and the curtains and throw pillows dressed in whimsical holiday themes. This year, however, those huge storage boxes do not seem too inviting at all. The lethargy around the house is awfully thick these days, and no one has taken any enterprise in outfitting the house in time for Santa Claus’ holiday stopover.

Are we playing it cool, or are we just plain lazy? Or is dressing the house up just some kind of annual, perfunctory act predestined to peter out in time?

(Sigh.) Guess we are just being lazy.


Tragic Comedy

Filed under: Mortality stuff — Aimee @ 1:48 am

-This account may seem heartrending, but read on. It’s a perfect example of how Pinoys always make a joke out of an otherwise sore situation. Or maybe, my family is just one demented bunch.-

Last weekend, my family went to visit a very ailing Lola Cuning, bedridden from the complications of diabetes. Her feeble condition has made her unable to utter coherent sentences or to even make out our faces. When she woke up from her sleep, and realizing that we, her apos were already inside her house, she called my mother’s name, and promptly, my sister and I followed her into the bedroom. Lola was a heartbreaking sight to behold. Her body had shrunk to almost half her normal size. She had always been fond of taking trips to the hairdressers, but now her tresses looked as flimsy as paper and cropped too short like a little boy’s. Keeping the authority of a grade-school teacher even after her retirement many years ago, she was a steely character all her life, and always had very loud opinions on everything. But there was nothing loud about her that afternoon. She could not even speak a simple hello.

Much as she hated scenes, mother started to weep like a child. Seeing her aunt swathed in diapers and shrunken like a raisin, perhaps, tore at her insides. And the fact that the old woman was twisting around the bed and staring at walls did not help at all. Whether she was in pain, or that she wanted to say something but was powerless to do so, her discomfort was palpable. Mother wept and wept, talking to her like a child, while Lola tried to stare at her with bulging, gray eyes, and then closing them again, as if in agony or lament.

I was never much for scenes too, but my eyes soon began to water when the sick woman also failed to recognize me. How I hated it when she kept glaring at me for a full three seconds, as if her very eyes wanted to grow tongues, only to close them in complete resignation, perchance telling herself the effort was to no use. My sister, the spineless one, stayed outside the bedroom, not even wanting to smell the antiseptics, occupying herself with the cats and the old wall pictures.

Mother stopped crying eventually, and after a while she went out to talk with my other titas. Two cousins came, including Ton-ton, the favorite apo. For some reason, five cousins including my spineless sister and myself, found ourselves together around Lola’s deathbed. As we all were  trying to make light of the situation, bantering with one another and trying to talk about anything except our grandmother’s impending death, Lola Cuning suddenly made an audible sound. This prompted Ton-ton, who slept beside her on her sickbed every night, to make a joke on the situation.

“Who’s going to bet with me that if I mention Jimmy’s name, Lola Cuning will open her eyes?” he addressed all of us suddenly.

Jimmy was the only boyfriend Lola ever had, at least as far as we all know. They have one lovechild, Ton-ton’s father. I am not certain who left who but they had never been a married couple. I think it was Jimmy who left Lola Cuning when she was already with child.

True enough, the favorite apo executed his dare.

Lola, Jimmy is here. Shall we open the door for him? He has some red roses too, Jimmy. Uuuuuyyy.”

Startlingly, the ailing grandma opened her eyes, raised her hand as if to say hush, and moved her head sideward as if to say no. She was also suppressing a smile, and if we just imagined it, I am in doubt.

Our group roared with laughter. She knew we were just joking, and in her labored-breathing condition, she gamely played along.

La, do you want some lipstick?” I playfully suggested. “I know you love red lipstick.”

“If she could speak, she’d tell you to shut up.” My spineless sister replied. Then imitating our grandmother’s curt voice, she said, “You animal, I didn’t ask for your suggestion right?”

The group doubled over with amusement. Then addressing my sister I said, “Well, if she could speak, she’d tell you how much you’ve gained weight since the last time.”

And faking Lola’s brusque, straightforward manner of speech, I said. “Hoy bruha, how did you become so fat all of a sudden? What ever happened to you? Dios mio! Have you been left too long in the kitchen?”

Everybody laughed. My sister laughed too, but stared at me with dagger eyes.

Suddenly, Lola Cuning raised both of her hands to caress the favorite apo’s face. It was an emotional, tender moment, but it lasted all of five seconds. My sister, apparently in need of vendetta, abruptly cut the drama.

Hoy Ton-ton, don’t think that she’s trying to do drama with you. If she could speak, she would have told you to please have your hair cut, because it’s beginning to resemble a thick weed bush!!!”

And then continuing in a doting grandma’s mushy tone, “My dear apo, please, cut you hair na, ha? It’s so thick na. You’re gwapo pa naman. Sayang.”

We all could have died laughing.


Food for the Soul November 2, 2007

Filed under: Events,Food — Aimee @ 7:06 am

I did bake the perfect lasagna on my birthday. Layers of beef and mushroom in tomato sauce, firm whole-wheat lasagna pasta, and heavenly, butter-fragrant béchamel sauce. If my day wasn’t as spectacular as I had initially hoped it would be, the lasagna saved me from my depressive habit of staying in bed all day, hidden under the covers. Chopping the onions and the garlic was therapeutic, grating the cheese and slicing the whole mushrooms was curative. I found myself staring at the raw lasagna pasta for several minutes, admiring their classical, wavy edges. And when I started sautéing the spices in melted butter, my mood abruptly skyrocketed to Valhalla, and I didn’t mind that I was in fact standing for two straight hours- simultaneously checking the pasta, tasting the sauce, and adding the dried herbs.

Due to financial constraints, I chose not to throw a party for my friends; and since my birthday is sandwiched between three non-working holidays, I surmised my lovely friends to be out of town, happily taking advantage of the long, indolent days of Halloween. A number of thoughtful people greeted me, and a few forgot to do so, although those who forgot greeted me after a day or two, plus some lengthy apologies on their temporary bout of amnesia. No, I did not get drunk that night, the only stuff I drank were water and cola, and judging by the way the cosmos has been joking with me lately, getting drunk would sound too depressing. But I can’t help thinking that my birthday this year has been relatively absurd; the night before I was too happy to even sleep (the reason of which I never understood), and the following day, I had to alternate between being happy, shocked, disappointed, indifferent, depressed, upset, and then ultimately at peace. But the fact that I lost no sleep over the twisted turn of events on my birthday is something else. Perhaps I have become less captive to the futile anxieties that have always made up a huge part of my existence, and well, that is something else.

So as I have mentioned, the lasagna was a blast. Mom ate her plateful without saying much, except, “We should have this on the Christmas menu”. Chad kept nudging me for the recipe, and as a reply I’d keep silent, hoping to prolong his impatience. My brother wanted me to cook another layer for the Halloween, to which I declined because honestly, standing for two hours over some pasta dish is not something I’d want to do again anytime soon. Everybody went to bed happy and full, even when the lights temporarily went out in the course of dinner, and even when I didn’t blow any candles on the creamy mango cake my sister brought later in the evening. Of course, there shall be more blackouts in the future, but there will also be many candles to be lighted and many more to be put out on many birthday nights to come. And in the meantime, I’m so looking forward to them. 🙂