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TITLE (EDIT)
Jewels Of Joy - Life's Little Glories |
DESCRIPTION
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[468 words] |
AUTHOR
Abigail I Copuyoc |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
A woman in touch with herself in the now but searching for her past and future. Hailing from the Philippines, she has come to love these United States of America. She believes that the end of the world is not in oblivion, but is peeking through the manholes of our souls.
[March 2000] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Splashes Of Gray Paint On Dirty White Cloth (Poetry) Written while the author was staring at an old cloth covering old paraphernalia on dusty, wooden shelves. [54 words]
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Jewels Of Joy - Life's Little Glories
Abigail I Copuyoc
Jewels of Joy: life’s little glories
Abigail Copuyoc
It’s funny how it’s life’s tiny triumphs that give so much more sheer and pure elation than those big triumphs that we brag (or we’d like to brag) to everybody about. Getting through a conversation from a frown to a smile. Making your perpetually frowning mother smile a genuine smile. Sharing a joke with your father, the father that you used to diss and disrespect. Laughing maniacally for the power you realize you have over your little sister. And realizing that you are a family person more than a businessperson. That tiny surge of victory that you handled a situation in a different way. The cells in that tiny surge surprisingly, undergoes asexual reproduction, specifically binary fission, and it multiplies, enlarges, turns into a gargantuan blob of ecstatic glory. And then you think, I can do it. I am significant. I am powerful. I am not that tiny little nitwit that most people make me up to be. Or claim me to be. Or treat me as. I am a superhero. I will traverse through all the manmade lakes and search for an actual one. I will sail with the swans, ostriches and flamingos. But the chemical makeup of the atmosphere changes. You’ve sailed too high. You sail into the ionosphere. Poisonous gases, nitrites and nitrites infiltrate your nostrils, surge through your sinuses and turn into a little hot air balloon in your head. But humans don’t inhale helium. They inhale oxygen. The hot air balloon bursts and your eyes floating in warm bath water see your own brain specks scattered in the darkroom that you are developing photos in. But life is more than a series of photos. Life is more than a still life or a landscape painting. Life is about television and movies, moving pictures. People talking and laughing and arguing and dissing each other. It is about people laughing at other people. But there is more to a laugh than an eerie reverberating sound in the wilderness. A laugh is almost like a hypnosis, a spell that pushes you makes you more than the person that you are presently. It is like a hurricane blowing a feather buried deep in the Sand Dunes of Saudi Arabia. It is like a mother’s eerie yell saying austerely, “Why haven’t you cleaned up your room yet?” It is like a stepfather’s smirk when you’ve dropped something on the floor. It’s like a kid brother’s wink when you’ve told him emphatically, “You are my only rocket scientist. And that’s the truth.” It is like a kid sister saying, “But what are you going to do after that?” To get straight to the point, it is a push. But that is all that it is. A push. The rest is up to you.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Abigail I Copuyoc |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2161
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