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My Olympics, Your Olympics

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Olympic Stadium

I love the Olympics and if I had my way, it would be held every year instead of every four years.

We watched the Olympics, enjoyed the events and couldn’t help but be at awe especially with Usain Bolt, the 100 meters record holder. I mean, this guy is a phenomenon. Who amongst us can say that we can run that fast. I certainly can’t. I take longer to put on my make up. I am trying to figure out what I can do in less then a minute. Do you have an idea? I certainly don’t!

We have to marvel, respect what these athletes do. I noticed during their interviews, regardless of what they did, sports they played, their gender, the countries they represented, that most of them at the some point talked about how much hard they had to work, how disciplined they had to be with their regiment, workouts, nutrition, sleep that without these elements, they could not achieve that level of performance or glory, they were incomplete.

Seriously, think about, all of us are athletes, Olympians in own rights. Let’s face it, like it or not, we are consistently competing in the Olympics of life. Who among us can positively say that we have never been through the university of life? It is one evolving game.

One can argue that what we do in our everyday lives, is a lot harder then what these athletes do in their everyday regiment. It is not easy to get through the loss of a loved one, an illness, live with terminal condition, bottle internal demons, deal with job lost, go through divorce and so on. To some individuals, not taking it away from the great athletes, it is harder to go through situations of life then it is to compete. Then again, who hasn’t? Think positive and it should be a breeze, right? At least we hope.

However, it isn’t so easy.

Just like they need a extraordinary discipline, strenuating and consistency with their work out; in order for us to attain the glory that we seek, the ecstasy, fulfillment, happiness which we will one day, we too will have to submit ourselves to a very rigorous regiment of life, get the needed nutrition, not calories or gym but turn sometimes to higher power, the Lord to give us the stability we seek. Some of us govern, exercise our lives, get the rewards and the glory we so deserve spiritually by turning to the Lord or just go by their merry way, hoping for the glory to come without being invited.

Those who attend the house of Lord, whatever your religion, are reminded of that overtime they hear the teaching in regards to life concerns.

It is through whatever your ideology that we are reminded that HE is the bread of life, the bread that gives us the combustive eternal glory we so desire but in order to attain that fuel, we need to allow ourselves to embraced HIS teachings.

Closing Ceremony

As humans, we often run into issues, get discouraged with the direction our lives are taking and believe our resources are just not enough to solve the headaches du’jour: our woes, struggles, weaknesses. Well, issues don’t dissipate, they don’t go away; maybe they will some day, if we are lucky, only after we are dead.

As long as we are alive, we are going to be challenged by something. Our problem is that none of us is going to escape the challenges and suffering that comes with being human. Granted, some will sometimes suffer and struggle more then the others but that only occurs when we over rely on our own strength, wisdom or vitality. However, the longer we live, the more we realize that our strength, smarts and energy are not enough to navigate the drills of life.

“I am done with this nonsense. Please, put me out of my misery”. Distraught words often spoken in times of complete misery but what we don’t realized is that often, we are never alone. The higher power is never far behind. HE is always with us. He never abandon us in our commitment, in our misery. He brings us his presence, understands us, our journey, our struggles, the glory, the nourishment that we seek. He is always available.

We earn our nourishment by appealing to higher power. Praying can be very subjective as some don’t see the use for it and others who do, asserts of it fulfilling their soul.

There are so many ways to pray. Some get the nourishment when they connect honestly to the Lord by sharing their joys, apprehensions, frustrations and doubts, as they believe it broads their horizons, revitalizes them, gives them a spark that they did not have previously. Others get their nourishment by sharing in community. This is how they appeal to higher power by offering their time for better causes.

Often living in the community does not come easy. It is a drag as we search for ways to accommodate, marry our personalities with those of others. We often find ourselves questioning the reasons for being, finding it alarming, crazy while in community of home and work. Yes, it can be but it is how we deal with it that makes us a whole.

We are at peace whenever we become aware that The Creator is driving the bus, he is present, working in the midst of whatever tension, challenges we maybe experiencing, joy we partake with one another, at home, at work, in general; we are fulfilled, stimulated by it.

We need to deepen our constant presence with those living around us. If we aware of what is going, we are able to energize ourselves and shake the craziness that surrounds our lives.

Just like the olympic athletes, all of us are also looking for that glory, and just like they need to prepare themselves to a strict discipline, we need to also do the same that our return will be even far greater. Even if you don’t believe in religion you must admit that the higher power, the Creator,  will bestow that glory upon us but we have to work at it. Just because we are confronted with one hurdle of life, it does not mean we have to kill ourselves over it. The storm shall pass. Look at it from the point of view of a book page. Turn it, next!

Then again, one can also argue that yes they are athletes, they are olympians but not super humans who are immune from the facts of life. They too go through the same. Perhaps, a double punch! Personally, I hit the gym when I experiencing headaches. So, does it make me an olympian?

Mosquitoes!

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“I am going to smack the cricket out of this mosquito. It couldn’t find any place else to bite because I am all covered up, but my face?! Grhhh…” That was my posting a few weeks ago on Facebook.

I honestly would like to know who made mosquitoes, yes mosquitoes? Scientifically, I know the drill, the egg and the larva thing, the adult female laying an egg in standing or near the water’s edge or aquatic plant, yada, yada but who created the adult female? That’s a pertinent question which I am not about to dissect but would like to know in lamens terms, how they came to be?!

Agree with me or not, obviously, the man up there had something to do with it. He created the universe but how mosquitoes came to be members of the animal kingdom, Erckel has yet to tell me! Perhaps, they were invented in a laboratory by a magician, or crafted in the kitchen counter by a master chef or an fuselage of a plane, whatever it was, it makes no sense. They are nuisances and should not have been allowed to coexist.

Just as people have been asking this of the Kardashians, I am going to ask the same of the mosquitoes. What in the heck they do and what possess them to booze up on blood of the living anyway? What are their use and purpose in this earth? What are their prize possessions? What are their stories? Many questions and no answers.

It is not like they are useful?! They have no talent, they serve no purpose other then jumping from body to body making a sandwich out of humans. I guess it is a job they should be proud of?!

Their bites sting. They itch, leave a red bump, small blood blisters, swelling, scar…all great ingredients for one good salad that we never asked for. They are just one mean lean irritating thing we call insect and if anyone believes otherwise, please smack me in the head. I am a turtle!

I mean, it is not like you can leave a minuscule dead, oops standing water parked outside of your dominion without feeling their zing. They make it their own. They make it home. They decorate it, fence it, plant their green and claim it theirs.

They design their own city, buy their own merchandise and make room for more possessions.

They make music, craft a unique obnoxious sound that has yet to be duplicated. They wire you, plant the sound in your brain, forcing you to hear the obscure dreadful irk pitch like the last episode of The Wired and hope you jam to it, an insult to my iPod.

They dance to their own unchoreographed tune, jumping here and there indiscriminately, bouncing like yo yo balls, pretending they are exercising. No kidding, this coming from a thing with a name that derived from the Spanish and Portuguese, word, mosca, it is a little fly. I should have known a thing or two about this but most flies don’t bite and this one does.  Grhhhh…

Clemency has never been their mantra nor courtesy.

They come unannounced, disturbing your peace, leaving you defenseless and unable to reciprocate but run faster then the rat next door at any attempt you make to squash them. Try to kill or take a picture of one of these pesky critters to see what happens. It becomes a story, a playbook but if you are successful, you will be blessed by humans and your good graces plastered in the wall of fame for your good deed.

The exercise is one swift animated motion picture. The most frustrating adventure in the world. You are on edge, on stand by, patiently waiting, pacing, stalking a watchful insect that in actuality, is also stalking you.

It is a movie with different plots, orchestrated by an invisible director that only appears once you hear its sound or have been bitten. There is nothing you or me can do but watch it, content with the fact that you are in it, and you better play the part by squashing wherever, hoping it lands on the target before it gets you and then breath.

They perform transfusions not with the intention of researching a disease but transmitting one. They pass it around like a ping pong ball, going back, back and forth like Aaliyah’s song or the best apple pie at a Thanksgiving dinner. They serve it as menu on a platter and no one can remove it from their plates because it tastes that good.

They suck it out of you with tentacles of an octopus and betray you when you most need it, at your death bed. The deed is mostly done by the female who needs to obtain nutrients so she can produce eggs. So, she can do what?! Ai caramba, I have nowhere to run.

They are a disgrace, oops, never mind, they are insects.

They carry themselves with such clout that they believe they are kings of the world but wait, I thought that moniker belonged to the almighty lion. Perhaps, the lions lost their thunder by letting a pesky insect infringe in their turf but, me?! I would have obliterate them, squash them like a cucumber and make a zucchini out of them. Maybe mosquitoes are princes since lions are still the kings. Not! Anyone who can take a chunk out of a lion, has my respect but I wished it would entertain itself with just that, the lion and not me because, let’s face it, who wants to be made a meal?

I would love to live in peace without the congregation of the hunters and in harmony with the non hunted. I hope to live in perfect harmony without the sprays, the fans, the repellants, the buzzers… I wish it would load itself on a balloon, pop the air and hit the road so that I would live free of the horrendous sounds, the bites, without the itch, swelling, scar…. oof! Where are the animal rights individuals when I really need them? Lord, I am exhausted just thinking about them.

Yes, I am allergic to mosquitoes and yes, this is what my life has become. A life surrounded by mosquitoes. A whimsical melody trying to squash as many insects as possible. A place where unleashed repellants don’t do justice, are pointless and pest control are a must. The price of living in paradise in the raining season. A life of a mosquito prisoner.

They love me and I hate them.

They bite me and I can’t bite them.

Can’t we all get along?!

When the pigs fly…

Oh no, don’t get me started on the pigs!

Lessons 101, Modesty

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I came home to my voicemail light blinking. I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter and checked for my messages. There were two. One, just a telemarketer doing its thing and the other, worthy of my attention.

I wrote down the particulars on a corner of a white envelope I found on a pile of the day’s mail and dialed the number a few seconds later.

“Welcome to Bugs Bunny, can I help you?”, that was a woman’s voice at the end of the line.

“Hello, how are you? Someone called me from your office but I can’t remember who it was. I think…”.

I was taken off guard. I thought I was dialing a direct number and not a switchboard. I hoped to reach “the person” and not the receptionist. I immediately sensed that something was completely amiss as soon as she said…

“Do you have a name?”

“No. Perhaps Melanie?” I replied!

“There is no such person as Melanie here. Do you have another name?”. By now, I realized that I did not have the person’s name, I had not written it down.

“I don’t but I know it was a lady. I can’t remember her name. Is there anyway you can find out who the person was, please?”

“No, I can’t. I am sorry but the person you indicated, doesn’t work here. I can’t help you!”.

Why did I get the impression that I was being rushed?!

“Oh ok, thank you.” I said.

I put down the phone and accessed the voicemail again, crossing my fingers, hoping I had not deleted the data but it was not to be.

I “screamed” for a “dislike” button right about now as soon as I realized that in a bit of luck, I was living a nightmare. I had indeed deleted the message and there was nothing I could do about it.

Devastated but not dissuaded, call it for what it was worth, desperate, I called her back, hoping I could persuade her to assist me. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind to read up the names of the ladies who work there aloud to see if any would jolt my memory but she refused.

“Mam, I know I called you before but I really need your help. Can you do me a favor please, can you read out the names of the ladies who work there to see if I could recognize the name?”, I asked!

“No, I can’t. I WORK ON THE SWITCH BOARD!”.

And?… I thought to myself. What does it have anything to do with helping someone? Can someone please explain it to me?

“Can you please try?”, I attempted again. She was probably a little annoyed with me by now but I had nothing to lose, so I tried.

“No, I can’t because I am too busy! Listen, there are 30 people who work here, and…”

“Mme, can you do me a favor, please? Can you please don’t say “I am too busy” to anybody specially when the person is just trying to obtain an information? No one is ever  “busy” for another.”

One should always create time, being that a second or millisecond, especially if you work in customer service. I must confess, I was a little peeved right about now but decided to remain calm.

“Ok mam…”, her voice unruffled now, “I understand. I can take your name and number, and pass it around. Perhaps, someone will recall calling you.”

“Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t take much…”,

“Mme, can I have your name and phone number please?”. I hastily gave her the coordinates but call me cynic, that will never happen. Remember, a little modesty can take you long ways.

“Thank you for your help!”, I said and hung up the phone.