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‘At last! Something juicy.’ Really?

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MY CHAIR ROCKS

‘At last! Something juicy.’ Really?

My friend, a TV buff, complains about local daytime television. “I find nothing but hearings,” she whines.

So what else is new?

But I guess it’s a good thing, right? At least someone is looking into alleged anomalies. The public needs to know.

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There are so many questions. Was it a rubout or an honest-to-goodness gun battle? Who gave the green light for the green lane? And how about the tobacco funds? Was it just a misunderstanding, a joke? I heard laughter when they adjourned.

Now a wife blows the whistle on her husband, a public official who, she claims, is hiding ill-gotten wealth.

Last week I watched a congressional hearing, “in aid of legislation,” on the enormous smuggling caper at the Bureau of Customs. It involved over P6 billion worth of shabu.

Serious stuff. But the scene was ridiculous. Picture this: Congressmen on their phones, chatting, snickering and eating while pompously administering oaths “to tell the truth and nothing but.” The ladies took out their compacts and powdered their noses. The general demeanor trivialized the gravity of the issues at hand.

Question. Must they have a meal right there? Can’t they take a lunch break, away from the cameras? I won’t comment on “table manners.” Suffice it to say that they weren’t the best.

There were some tension-filled moments when voices were raised and threats were not too veiled.

I sat up to pay attention. Then it dawned on me. The cameras were on. It was par for the course; just another “public servant” grandstanding, taking advantage of his five minutes of fame.

Juicy news?

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Now all media have their sights and spotlights trained on the latest marital/financial/ political intrigue hogging the headlines.

Someone actually tweeted: “At last! Something juicy.”
Never mind the staggering numbers on the bankbooks. Forget about the SALN. “Alta sociedad” is breathlessly waiting for the down and dirty details.

I am no stranger to marital discord. And because I am painfully familiar with the anguish it provokes, I refuse to be drawn into an argument of who did what to whom or which spouse strayed. In the final resolution of this case, if ever there is one, the bottom line will be all about the money, whose it is, and where it came from.

My wise friend sees it as a well-planned political ploy involving big players; that the marital woes are just a convenient entry point.

He says, “I’m not taking any bets on which side wins. There may be a settlement. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. Everyone involved is too well-connected. No one really cares about the truth.”

It made me sad.

All I know is that no matter what happens, four innocent people are sure to lose. The children always do, big time. And don’t let anyone call them collateral damage. They are the victims, unwitting and unwilling casualties of a war that is never fair, and where no one ever wins.

And while the public salivates and speculates over yet another shameful scandal, let us detach for a moment and consider our priorities. The monsters of insatiable greed and ambition run amok in our land. There will be a day of reckoning. Are we ready?

Glamping in Africa

Okay, I had to look it up. Here’s what I found through Google.

“Glamping, also known as luxury camping or glamorous camping, is that escape you’ve been meaning to take. It’s that little break from the hustle and bustle. It’s your chance to be adventurous be secluded, be daring, be free.

“Glamping is a one-of-a-kind experience where you get to choose an extremely unique accommodation, pick up an amazing backdrop and get ready for the experience of a lifetime, without sacrificing even an ounce of comfort.”

I guess my eldest son and his wife bought into the hype, because “glamp” they did, on safari to Zambia, Botswana and South Africa.

Let me share with you that although my daughter-in-law is adventurous, my son is Mr. Comfort. He likes his space familiar, comfortable, predictable. His bathroom has to be just so, meals served hot and don’t mess around with his bed. Also, unless the plane has at least two solid jet engines, he stays on the ground.

But wonder of wonders, he did it. Today he is on his knees grateful that he allowed himself to be almost “shamed” into going on this African safari.

We were enthralled by their stories and marveled at each photograph of what they described as “the splendor of God’s creation.” They saw multiple rainbows over waterfalls; held their breath as wild animals roamed close to their tent, followed a lion into the bush, witnessed the sun rise and, after it set, watched the moon come up; and spent one night in the desert under a canopy of stars that seemed close enough to pluck out of the sky.

I was mesmerized. Envious.

On our way home someone asked if I would add this once-in-a-lifetime adventure to my “bucket list.” Would I if I could? I thought about it.

I really think my glamping days are over. I know they are.

But for a brief moment there, I paused, and wished there was a second bucket.

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