Ranting On Christmas 12.25.17
Just Ranting On Christmas 12.25.17
Where does it say in the Bible to keep Christmas, anyway? I read lately Christmas was banned in Boston, banned in Massachusetts from the time of the early colonies. It only came into acceptance in the 1900’s. I can’t find keeping Easter in the Bible either.
Last night the local village idiot was exploding fireworks from noon until Midnight-30. Can you imagine? People who struggle for enough money to eat have to do that? For what? To keep grouchy old men and terrified cats awake, I suppose. My feral cats around the apartment compound come for free handouts. So do the kids!
I’m a marked man. Among the Filipino’s I’m the old man white foreigner with blue eyes and physically fit which makes me a double stand out. Everyone looks. Every time I go shopping girls grin at me. I joke to a neighbor, “They don’t want what’s in my pants. They want what they think must be in my wallet.” Well…. There’s not much of that green stuff either.
But the little ones come and beg and sing and I ignore them because I know they’ll use the money at the Internet Café to rot their brains with computer online games.
<<<Some of them really need help. The pictures tell the story better than I can.
So, this property I’m on must be 4-acres and I’m guessing a 200-foot front. Just over the fence line is a big gray house with a ramshackle roof. In the “garage” are piled up sacks of rice and a “rice dealer’s” license is posted. Across the street, the same guy has a little “Sari-Sari store.” They’re all rather sorry affairs, selling a little of this and that and making less than anyone could actually live on…. And the upper floors of that big gray house is the man’s residence and rented rooms to Guest Relations Officers (also referred to by my former Filipina wife as “Girls for rent overnight.)
I like to find other titles for them. I like Bedroom Exercise Coach, Players for Pay, Pay Playmates, Bedroom Entertainment & Exercise Therapist, Exercise and Entertainment players. I pass the place when I do my walk and run to a memorial park. It’s a safe route away from traffic. I jog to the entry, then walk through, then jog and finally run uphill on their mostly untended grassy mountain foothills, then across the length of it, still climbing, and finally now winded with very tired legs, I walk down a well worn path to the park again and along it’s sidewalk past manicured lawns and memorial plaques, burning candles and temporary tent shelters, and out with a “Merry Christmas’ to the guard.
Now I’ll pass that gray house as I return home. I don’t see well anymore, as I approach my 67th birthday. Some slim figure calls with a young feminine voice, “Hey There” and I look up. She’s waving. A boy behind her has both hands in the air waving madly, We want to sell something to you!!! and I’m not buying, so I give a casual wave and continue walking.
This morning three young girls walk up. Who are they, where are they from? I don’t know. I’m guessing they’re daughters of the working women next door. Bedroom Coaches get pregnant sometimes too, you know?
But I’m a marked man and everyone knows I inhabit one of the two nicer apartments on the property. So just as I come out of my door to hang a hand towel in the sun these three teens run up and just stand there looking at me like begging cats.
“Are you here for money?”
“Hang on a second.” They’re already giggling. They didn’t have to sing an off-key note. I’m again at the screen door coming out.
“So, what do you do for this money? Do you sing or just look cute or what?”
I press a P10 piece into the middle one’s palm. She grips her blouse at the chest with fingertips and shakes it. “I buy a t-shirt”
I tell her “OK” and “Merry Christmas” and they go away giggling. It was too easy. The horrid old white guy didn’t even ask us to go to bed with him! He just handed us money! Tooooo easy! Looking to the sky with rockling laughter. Hahahahaha.
Tomorrow they’ll go to the Good Will store and get shirts for P20 each with stuff printed on them from New York City. Always. If it’s printed in NewYauk, it will eventually wind up here.
And this is the hell of it. >>>
This entire holiday is a bow to the god Mammon, the god of material wealth and comfort. What does Jesus the Christ have to do with any of it anyway? Nothing. I’m telling you, Jesus has NOTHING to do with this. I just paid these cute kitties to go away and so they went without anything more than a “thank you” and I’m lucky to have received that! I just sinned. I participated in this ridiculous façade claiming to be a holy day.
The world just moved billions of pesos and dollars, franks, rubbles, Yuan and Yen to wish one another a happy Saturnalia Day and bow to the material comforts of the world.
The world believes God is a myth. But IF God is real thanks to The Pope’s latest pontification, they’ll all be saved. Therefore, there’s nothing to worry over so just go beg and grow up to be a bedroom athletics exercise therapist and enjoy your life! Why not? It’s better than digging in the farm fields!
<<< It’s enough to bring me to tears, really.
I really have no upset about thanking God for what we have and begging forgiveness for sins on a Monday which happens to be Christmas Day. You can pray every day of the year and that’s perfect. Just be sure about to whom you’re praying and why.
Because chasing after material goods, or cash to use in the Internet Café is doing nothing good for anyone. And buying gifts when the world is starving, diseased and drowning in floods is just unholy, hollow minded, and inconsiderate on a grand scale.
And that’s the hellofit. sn
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