Gnothi Seauton

How to Use Your Enemies
Baltasar Garcian
Penguin Little Black Classics
54 pages PHP 70 

AGREED.

That was my glaring, two-syllable feedback to most of what was written in this little book. It's number 12 of the Penguin Little Black Classics: those nice, pamphlet-like ones with a perfect fit for the hand and pocket (literally for this size and metaphorically for seventy PHP). I always find a reason to go back to physical books and give the e-reader a break. My intentions weren't to utilize this knowledge against my enemies, because in the first place I didn't think I had any. Besides, there were no gory details on how to mangle enemies into pieces.

On the contrary, I thought this was a rather gentlemanly way of dealing with your enemies. Baltasar Garcia wasn't just a Spanish writer, he's also a Jesuit priest from the 17th century. It was a time when they already succeeded with the counter-reformation. It didn't sound as if he was strategically devising a new body of knowledge to crush the spirits of his enemies, but was really just giving out useful points that comes from the wisdom of the ages and sheer strength of character. Sometimes that's even better than logic.

A few favorites:

Quit while fortune is smiling, as all good gamblers do.
A graceful retreat is as important as a brave assault.
A greater exit is more important than a wildly applauded entrance.
Know how to be evasive. This is the escape route of sensible people.
Get used to the bad temperaments of those who you deal with, like getting used to ugly faces.
The fool is someone who does something foolish, but someone who, once this is done, does not know how to hide it. 

Not bad for a priest. It completely re-affirmed many of the decisions I made in my life and in my career choices.

To both my astonishment and disappointment, the reviews I saw from goodreads.com saw it differently. While I don't find the site trustworthy, I've got to examine the thoughts of other once in a while.

These quotes below are from this link.

"Its tells us how to exploit friends and enemies alike to thrive in a world of deception and illusion. " 

"I call it “How to be a conniving ass and manipulate people” by Baltasar Gracian. Does it sound like something you’d want to read? This was just so damn cold. I’d sooner listen to advice from my cat than this snake."

"I am not a huge fan of Machiavelli, his views seemed skewed to me, but at least he was trying to understand politics. This guy is an evil version of Machiavelli." 

"I feel like all newly sorted Slytherins should receive a copy of this." 

After reading five reviews, it dawned to me - I must be the fish. I take what most people describe as manipulation, deception and exploitation as a given. Not even just a given, I describe it as the wisdom of the age and genuinely thought of it as strength of character.

Forgive me for bragging but it would be necessary to say that to my self-knowledge, I've demonstrated compassion at several opportunities. I don't consciously take advantage of others. I treat people as my equals, and I've perceived that Capitalism not only brings the perils of greed and injustice, it is a system that enables the greedy to get to be greedier and it is the true root cause for poverty and injustice.

People tell me I'm a good guy. Now I have to re-assess if I've just manipulated them. But I won't have the answer. We really just try to keep discovering ourselves. I've started playing a little poker online recently. I realized I still fold just so I can avoid showing my opponents the bad cards, or if have no reasonable chance of taking the pot.

Let them celebrate those small wins.

Dazzling Anew

We were on the car en route to school, trying to outsmart the traffic with navigation apps, but we do so with more efficacy through our stories and conversation about Solar Powered Super Heroes.

Digital Art by I.

Where would you like to go on vacation? I asked him as a segue to one of the stories we were telling. His face turned serious, squinting eyes and deeper voice, trying to mimic a superhero's with a karate-chop gesture on his hand he responded: "Rebirth of the Golden Phoenix." Golden Phoenix was the name of the hotel we stayed at two months ago to celebrate New Year's.

Earlier today, he was spoke with a pseudo British accent while he drew dinosaurs with a C3PO pencil topper. It's just like that Scottish guy, he says, referring to the host of a BBC documentary on How to Grow a Planet. We played our maps game, and he was first to find Libya. He knew the countries and continents like the back of his hand. The sponge-like mind of a five year old beats me.

He has developed a fondness for David Bowie, and says he gets relaxed by piano music. In the next couple of days we'll listen to more Chet Baker. This summer, we'll start uploading videos on his YouTube channel, named after a pre-colonial burial jar (his preference). I'll also take him to another round of swimming lessons.

Except for when he does his digital drawings, D. and I really just wish he'd spend less time with the Ipad. He's also underweight and below the average height of his age.

Most parents think that their children are geniuses. In no way do we put this pressure on him, or expect him to be the next Aaron Swartz or Jose Mujica. While he never cases to amaze, we tried not to mold his mind into thinking that he is smarter than others. But I did proactively warn him about the dangers of corporate greed. Most of the villains in the games we role-play are from evil corporations.

Now is the only time when we can still go hand-in-hand in expanding his consciousness and getting acquainted with this world. Very soon, he'll be ignoring us an he'll want to be on his own.

There are some things I will never be able to tell you when you're a teenager or when you're a grown man. So there's never a better time to say it: let's never grow apart, anak. I imagine myself in the future, with this in mind, without breaking the silence. Fathers are like that.

Love takes on different shapes and sizes, but it's certainly infinite.

V.'s coming along really soon. We all get to do it in a brand new playing field. V., beloved V. Lovingly all over again.

Ravishing Afternoons with The Bad Girl

For weeks now, my main occupation is to drive I. to school, then take him home everyday. Perhaps my ambitions were less mediocre when I was younger, but for many reasons achieving this one is just as rewarding. Those reasons belong to a lengthier, fuzzier, web of reasons and stories. I'll introduce the the first one. It happens between the hours of driving him to school and driving us home.

It begins with the Bad Girl. Between the hours of 1pm - 3pm in coffee shops around the Timog Scout area. The bad girl soaks up the ravishing beauty of the afternoon. I consume it like an after-lunch love affair. I give it a loyal following the way maids, housewives, househusbands and seniors follow their afternoon soap operas. It was most delicious in the afternoon, when lust boils at its best and the surging heat fires up your life.

Llosa's book take us to Miraflores, Paris, London, Tokyo and Madrid. He drops heavy names: Lacan, Derrida, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, and Neruda in a story where so much cunnilingus happens. It sets pivotal events on the background - political, sexual and intellectual revolutions amidst this romance. With a detached main character who's an imbecile for love, I fell for it like a millennial getting free tickets to a music festival.

The critics will say that the novel has its low-points in terms of technicality. The reviews describe it's lack of psychological depth or dub it a second-rate Madame Bovary. I won't challenge the reviews, as my reading is often more emotive instead of technical. Perhaps I read it at the right time, at the cusp of positive developments in my life. It's 1pm and I'm in a coffee shop reading a book, liberated from so many worries. I truly felt alive. I read it in coffee shops, but the pervasive feeling was that the beach must be a stone's throw away and that drinks by the beach is in order late this afternoon until evening.

Except that I didn't even need to go the beach.

Love Does Not Remain The Same

During wedding anniversaries, we are obliged with online displays of affection. In our 7-year honeymoon, I reveled with what I thought a husband should be: to perceive what my wife desires, to earn her respect and trust everyday, to lavish her with affection. I am fortunate to be at the receiving end of this love from your incorruptible heart.

As we speak of marriage, I am using my freedom to stand for marriage equality. I stand with everyone in the LGBT community in their legal and human right to marry who they choose as partners. Love does that, my D. says, it breaks walls, and it transforms us into becoming the best version of ourselves.

I love you, my D. Thank you for making me deserve your love.

Breaking Up with Whisky

I drink it alone. At first, because, D. has a child in her womb, and second, because I usually would prefer drinking by myself. It rekindles the familiar aloneness. I toast to being solitary knowing that when I will wake up in bed with the family I love.

Drinking alone also means I get to read or watch my programs, instead of obliging uninteresting conversations where I end up blabbering something stupid. So I read at least two JM Coetzee short novels so far this year, and enjoyed them both in evenings with whisky.

I enjoy whisky better than wine because while they both speak the truth, whisky says so straightforwardly and powerfully. You taste the aged malt, the barley and their dozen years of imponderable waiting in oak barrels. The flavor cracks itself open against solid, clinking ice. It's an appreciation of history and craftsmanship and you feel it in your face, instantly and slightly contorting, hitting that nerve that needs hitting. Gold gushes down your throat and you exhale with effusive satisfaction, like you don't need anything else. Except maybe for a bag of savory hot peanuts.

After two or thee quick double shots, my limbs soften and my get a bit too misty for reading. The bottle plays me with its coquetry, I'm tempted to maybe have another one until I let myself be caressed into sleep. It fills the empty spot just enough, enough to make sure there'll be another one for a different night.

So before the nights become too many and too often, I decide it's time for a temporary break-up. You've flirted with me too often, and too often have I fallen. Tonight, and at least 99 other nights, I will not have any of you.

In my heart, and upon my liver, I swear we will spend these nights again.

Due to My Late Musical Blooming

For someone who claims to understand Schopenhauer's line - music is the highest form of aesthetic contemplation, I am ashamed to confess this innocence. While it is my fortune to live in a generation not too far apart, I only discovered and appreciated Led Zeppelin in my early-to-mid thirties, about the same time I hatched a fascination for Freddie Mercury and David Bowie. This evening, I'm reading a back issue of Rolling Stone (a magazine I'm reading only for the first time in my life) and am especially embarrassed that I didn't have a clue who Pete Seeger was. Not that it was bad, but perhaps I did listen to too much chillout, grunge, alternative, jazz. The award for most-played song in our iTunes goes to Humpty Dumpty (546 times) succeeded by the second placer Incy Wincy Spider (489 times).

I've had the pleasure of listening to the up and coming local indie bands, but I don't widen my circles enough to be in music festivals with overpriced tickets or frequent local clubs with overpriced beer.

But why should I be so glum? Music is a wand that brings both magic and meaning to our lives without the aid of logic or explanation. The time and place when you open that portal of discovery is less relevant. Music, no matter where or when, elevates us anyway.

Music is an experience that tends to lift us to higher planes. In line with that, we are launching the kids off to an early start. 546 repeats of Humpty Dumpty should suffice, so a few days ago, I got little I. to sing the chorus of Bowie's Starman. Let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie, yeah! When he was younger, I considered it a parental accomplishment that he can sing lines from Yellow Submarine.

It is also through music that we had one of our most tender moments so far, V. You must have been hearing all the music in the house, but we found time to take the wireless speakers and set it close to your mother's tummy. While your mother carries you and feeds life into you, I love you the way I know how. I made you a playlist. Here are the first songs you've ever listened to:

Spiegel Im Spiegel, Arvo Part
Piano Concerto in F Minor, JS Bach
Nuvole Bianche, Ludovico Einaudi

I'll be honest and I'll say that this world of ours can be often terrible - there's capitalism, apartheid, to name a few terrible things. But I also can't wait for you to come hear this world. In your first years, I'll rock and dance with you to Explosions in the Sky, Yo-Yo Ma, the classics. We'll take care of the apartheid and capitalism later on. 

For now I can boast that I am the first man to make you a playlist, and I will be the first man to dance with you. Beat that, future boyfriends.