Poverty as an insult

ON FACEBOOK, I triggered the snowflakes of the Generation Z when I said that teenage smut writers, and their supporters, should be struck with Covid.

This has been a protracted battle since October last year:

Me, trying to rid 21st century Philippine literature of teenage-produced pornography on social media, and such uncontrolled/unsupervised platforms as Wattpad.

I understand now that my Covid curse was in a bad taste because of the timing, and the appalling management of the pandemic in the Philippines.

But I’ll say it again anytime.
Because that’s what I believe: People who encourage young people to pornography should just die. 

***

The butthurt snowflakes, the baby bra warriors, the arrogant youth of the Philippines attacked me for my post, of course.

I mean, I wouldn’t post it if I didn’t expect them to react.

Reaction is what I am after.

Because then, there’s discussion, there’s conversation.

But mostly me. Mostly by me.

There’s me controlling the conversation.

***

What cannot be controlled is when the angry, triggered people throw at me my Palanca Awards Hall of Fame.

I mean, I sometimes have to throw my Palanca honors at them to let them know, warn them, that I’m a great writer, and I know how to use my words very powerfully (so that my words can even win the judges over).

I want the young wannabe writers to know that when they blabber, I see through their words.

But they don’t care.

They think that Palanca Hall of Famers should behave like saints.  

***

Because I was poor growing up, I never used my money (because I have it now) as an argument in my verbal jostles with idiots.

But when my character is attacked (argumentum ad hominem), and when my awards are put into question, I am entitled to use whatever I have in my arsenal.

And I found out that poverty is the best insult.

Because for what did I get rich if I cannot slap ignorant fools with my money?

You see, (earned) money spells the difference between the successful (like me), and those who haven’t proven anything, and therefore, whose opinions maybe questionable (like the arrogant Filipino youth). 

***

I love the Filipino youth.

I care a lot about them.

That’s why I waste my time with them online.

My mission: if I can just save one lousy teenage writer from being lousy and pornographic, it would have been worth it.

I’ll say it again, “The Filipino youth is worth fighting for.”

Although, sometimes, it would seem that they’re only good to be fighting with.

***

Next to Shakespeare who said it, no one understands “brevity is the soul of wit” better than I do.

But when you are a comedian, and nobody laughs at your witty joke because it was so brief, you get into an existential crisis.

Brevity as the soul of wit also does not work when you are a teacher, and your audience just draw blank faces.

***

Except for some human anatomical part, I prefer things short.

That’s why I write short stories more than novels.

I prefer poems to autobiographies.

I’m most effective with short pieces—remember my three-line poems in this column?

But I hate modern abbreviations of the stupidest things.

For the longest time, I thought WTF means “Wants To F*ck”!

***

My brother (in Maryland), and my sister (in California) are crazy.

They go wild because their children are not eating.

Or not eating at the same time.

Or not eating at home.

Duh! My nephews and nieces are privileged Americans!

They eat whenever, whatever, wherever they want.

***

The Filipinos eat the basic three meals a day—breakfast, lunch, dinner, because that’s what they can afford.

And the meals are timed 6am (or 7, depending on school/work schedule), 12nn, and 7pm for some reason.

And families used to gather at the table to eat together because food was scarce.

If you are not there, there may not be enough portion to be left reserved for you.

***

So, my idea for Filipino families in the United States: dinner by reservation.

Say, you want to cook adobo for the family, ask how many exactly are eating so you don’t cook too much.

I know for a fact that my nephews and nieces don’t like food that are two days old.

And however special adobo and sinigang maybe, some of them would prefer just pizzas and fried chicken, or hamburger takeouts from the store.

***

I’m not worried about my nephews and nieces not eating.

I’m worried about their parents worrying.

If it were me, I’d just stock the pantry with eggs, cup noodles, milk and cereals; and if I’m being generous, litter some cash around the house for pizza or Chinese delivery./PN