“It was in his second month with us that the answer to why some owners sleep next to their dogs came to me.”
I USED to hate dogs. I used to cringe every time I see one wandering on the streets under the open sky, near our house, or even inside my room. They’ll bark at you unceasingly if you’re a stranger to them. Some will bite you without any notice or voluntarily and confidently share their saliva by licking your feet, your hands or sometimes your toes.
I can still remember how I told myself that I will never touch a dog again. In my childhood, one afternoon, our family dog bit me on my right cheek while I was eating a crispy fried chicken leg. My mom immediately approached me and tried to disinfect the wound with soap and running water. Her grip of the nozzle is still vivid in my memory. I couldn’t understand the gravity of what happened and the possible consequences of being bitten by our dog then. I didn’t know that it has to be taken seriously.
After going through careful examinations in the hospital, my mom told me to be brave because I had to be injected with Rabies vaccine just to make sure. I took more than five shots. All the doctors were fond of saying the same thing every time they held my arms: “Be a man… It’s just like a bite of an ant.”
But one day that fear vanished inside. Everything changed when my younger brother bought an apple head Chihuahua in a pet store in the neighboring city. My family named him Chua and he greets me whenever I get home. He runs so fast that those sleeping in our living room have no choice but to be awakened. No, it’s not because of his short, loud cry but because he runs over them. He’s a consistent and amenable welcome committee member.
Wagging tail. Tiny paws. Hanging tongue.
I would play with him as he nuzzles my leg and my anxieties would temporarily exit my mind. My initial distaste for him transformed into delight. It was in his second month with us that the answer to why some owners sleep next to their dogs came to me.
With the right fit and timing, fun will show itself naturally. Give it some time.
“Fail. Stand up. Discover the creator, the artist in you even if sometimes it’s scary.”
IF YOU see yourself as a creative, do not give up. If you believe that you are an artist, embrace and nurture your craft. If you think that every cell of your body directs you to do more, to work on your passion, to reach the farthest limits of your imagination, try. And if an idea pops up in your head out nowhere, while you’re brushing your teeth, while taking a bath, while pouring tomato sauce on your plate to make your special dish, while walking, jogging, or sprinting, while waiting for the one that you love in a cafe, Japanese restaurant, or on a bench somewhere, while reading a book, or while riding a bicycle, a car, or a seesaw in a park, listen.
The world is filled with people who call themselves artists and poets and writers but do not know when to listen and be brave enough to spend their time to give their art its own form, life, and space. They do not want to feed themselves with new perspectives. Everyone is born a creator but not all of us are courageous enough to face its inexplicable faces, its inescapable enigma.
Fail. Stand up. Discover the creator, the artist in you even if sometimes it’s scary. I know because it frightened me to write this.
But we both know that there’s no other way.
“But if you’re running late, it can be considered a blessing from above for your wish to be heard. There’s sweat and blame and reasoning going on.”
YOU FELL in love with the thrill of reaching out to something, of being a triumphant being, of defeating time itself. But inside your head, you only have one wish: let the elevator be available for you not to be late again.
An available, working, and sometimes empty elevator doesn’t happen that often especially during rush hour. The building is full of people who use it on their way to the nearby mall or restaurant or just because they want to breathe in fresh air outside the confines of their office. But if you’re running late, it can be considered a blessing from above for your wish to be heard. There’s sweat and blame and reasoning going on. Images pop in your head every time: your boss reminding you of the Code of Ethics of the company for tardiness; the guard who doesn’t miss the chance to inquire what went wrong; and your conscience itself silently telling you that you’re better than this.
Shift: 9 A.M. – 6 P.M.
Ground floor: 8:55 A.M.
4th floor: 8:57 A.M.
9th floor: 8:59 A.M.
Time in: 8:59 A.M.
“This will never happen again” you would say. “I promise.”
And it’s a good thing that you work on the 9th floor. Can you imagine the struggle of those assigned on the 32nd floor?