Freshly-picked bits of bliss

It's freshly-picked. The vendor boasted as she sliced one of the pineapples for us to try. It was sweet, crunchy and juicy, as though summer made gold edible. Perhaps it was sweeter because we had another fantastic trip to the beach. Driving in the familiar routes, singing in the car, swimming on the same cove, harping on the same happiness that we can afford.

Maybe we even outdid ourselves. We brought sandwiches, apples, cherry tomatoes when we stopped by a nice deli. Chilled wine for us and fizzy orange juice for our children. I'm having fun, the little one says in a full sentence.

The sea and mountain air was hot, crisp, and fresh. It hugs you from everywhere. I breath it in. The sun and the moon were in one sky. Playing with the children, holding my wife's hand, it smells like deep, deep, bliss.

The world will one day run out of lies.

Our world may have its Trumps and Dutertes, but we also have Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Jacinda Ardern. And Neri Colmenares. And that eggboy.

 May we never run out of better stories to tell our children.

Scientific Sense of Humor

It's dress-up as a scientist day at his school. You were Newton! While you talked about gravity and physics, you asked for help in holding the microphone. The dressed-up as Stephen Hawking student stands up to help you. Scientists, like the gods, must have a sense of humor.

Our favorite was Fe del Mundo, because she was a Filipina scientist.

Over lunch, we talked about cool Marie Curie costumes. Radioactive and all.

Before dinner, you eagerly told me a joke you heard from Einstein. E = F flat.

All Joy is Meaningless, Unless

You've been too happy, haven't you? And so dangerously quiet, too. You haven't told me anything in a while. You've taken those bits of joy for granted, the ones you used to say you snatched. You have the love of your life, blessed with two beautiful children, family, friends who don't need you and you don't need. You even landed the job you figured out what you wanted, working from home, ridding yourself of that corporate toxicity (the residues of which continue to haunt you until now). You have time to squander on books, signed-up for Spotify Premium and Netflix.You have a folder that goes "Eiga Sai," as you haven't the opportunity to watch film festivals, you managed to bundle up everything in a folder and have your own festival. You've even travelled a little. You bike and run (never often enough) and that old treadmill still works.  Technically, you can have a drink any time of day.

It isn't much, you say, until your guts spoke up. You defecated and threw up so much the past couple of days that it felt like a catharsis. You were pained, but you were proud to have endured. After the physical and emotional clarity, you say, I'm happy now, and I should only be able to share this joy.

You've always thought this story will end soon. Endure, dear you, in case there's a long way to go.