Chicken by the kitchen door

I was having cereal breakfast this morning, cool breeze blowing from the river disturbing the otherwise quiet leaves and branches of the trees adjacent the see-through fence of the staff house which has become my temporary home since I arrived here, when I noticed a fat chicken picking food on the ground outside the kitchen door.

An interesting thought crossed my mind. I thought how simple, bare and primitive a chicken’s life is. It is satisfied with eating crumbs, worms, seeds and anything edible it finds on the ground, grass, plants and even pools of water. A chicken sleeps on tree branches or any nook and cranny of an existing structure, the more dilapidated, the more secure for them.

Humans just let them be. After all, chickens are harmless and quite delicious when cooked.

What if chickens have the capacity to think? Would they ever exchange places with us humans? They probably would. After all, when they get to be human; they don’t get butchered, cooked, chewed and swallowed.

If chickens were human, ah they would probably explore the same kind of curious thought I am having right now.

What a thought.

The question finally caught up with me

Friday evening as I was setting my alarm for a 7:30 A.M. appointment the following day, Saturday, I received a call. Curious. What could have inspired this person to call me up hmmm?

After the usual greeting, the first line goes: “Belinda, do you speak Ilonggo?”
That finally hit me. Why is it that after so many years in the city, I have not learned to speak Ilonggo? Hmmm. Most of my colleagues at work were Ilonggos and almost everyone else can speak Ilonggo but I can only understand a handful of words. Tsk…tsk. My loss.

But let’s look at the bright side. We can always minimize our losses and focus on our strengths, can’t we?

So this weekend, I will start my Ilonggo crash course. I have got to speak the language man! It’s a must.

Ilonggo (Hiligaynon), here I come.

The best of both worlds

Back to my early morning routine starting today, November 3. It feels good to wake up early. I can now return to my regular sleep pattern. Nice.
The reason: school break is over; regular school days are back.
I can enjoy the cool early morning breeze; admire Mt. Matutum’s splendor; listen to Christmas music on CD and write. Ah write, write. Like I told my friends, I will write until I turn old and gray.
The cool breeze is softly blowing. It makes me shiver. Hmmm it’s really Christmas very soon. It’s the chilly air that gives it away.

The rice field is green. Green is really delightful. I wonder why God chose green for most plants. There must be a reason. Aesthetic? Therapeutic? Scientific? Hmmm. All of the above?
Well, the sky is mostly blue, land is mostly brown; it must be to contrast the beauty and significance of all His creation.
Whatever the motivation, I’m benefited. I see the green rice field every single day (minus the days and months I’m not home naturally) of my life for the past fifteen years.

Well, this beautiful scenery is perfect setting for a writer. Every day, you look at the wide expanse and appreciate what you have for a milieu. You have the best of both worlds. You live in the city but in a rustic setting. What more could you ask for?