The Sunshine Post #20

Hello dears!

I am rethinking the wisdom of this No-Yoga-For-A-Month plan, and with good cause. Yoga is really one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself, even though it takes up a lot of time and money. I think it makes you a better person, if not for the belief in karma, then the biological effect of having your circulatory system become more effective in pumping blood throughout your organs, making you feel happier.

I never thought how effective these meditative exercises could be; it was so easy to poke fun at the people going “Ohm” before. But I guess you become less receptive to environmental distractions because your mind is so focused and spiritually content. It’s why yoga studios target people who lead extremely stressful lives. In a way, you are blessed with such a great sense of self-possession and internal harmony that you become immune to things like crowds, noise, gossip and the like. I am trapped in my own little universe, and I think I like it this way.

Well I guess the disadvantage of living in LaLa Land is I am numb to stimuli that should not be ignored. This week, I was riding a cab (that looked like it had seen better days) to go to the bank. For a long while, I slowly became aware of this ticklish feeling of something crawling, but paid no attention. Until, hmm, wait a second, it feels like it’s on my shoulder and huh, it’s been there for awhile. Ok, let us snap out of this reverie and check out reality, why don’t we? Landing on Planet Earth in 3… 2… 1!

I glanced down and saw a huge cockroach that was about two inches long, staring at me and looking like it was about to jump on my face. It’s antennae were already tickling my cheek, and the nagging creepy feeling was concretized right there, perched on my shoulder and looking like it was ready to attack.

And so for that one horrific moment, all illusions of poise and ladylike refinement went out the window and I just lost it.

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!” I screeched from the backseat.

The driver yelped. “What?! What’s wrong?!”

“There’s a cockroach near my face!” I cried. (Filipino Word of the Day for you guys: “IPIS!”)

So there I was, squealing and thrashing around in the backseat, alternating between high-pitched hysteria (I kept looking for the cockroach, which, in its terror at some howling girl, was nowhere to be found) and cautionary pragmatism (I was yelling at the cab driver to watch the damn road because he kept looking back at me, helpless and bewildered and clearly on Panic Mode.).

Minutes later, I was so exasperated and tried to regain my dignity. “Will you PLEASE clean your cab?” I sputtered.

“I do!” he protested.

At the end of the ride, I asked, “Hey, don’t I get a discount? That was the most traumatic cab ride of my life.”

“Uh, no.” He muttered something about how never in his years of cab driving had he encountered a passenger like me.

I trudged miserably to the bank, where three armed guards awaited me. I stared at one of them for three seconds and bluntly asked, “Can you please check if there’s a cockroach in my hair?” (I don’t know where that cockroach ended up. I distinctly remember flinging it in the general direction of my open bag, so it could actually be inside and I might have brought it home with me for all I know.)

Inside, the bank teller asked me what was the matter, because I was clearly distraught and not behaving normally. She gave me some hand sanitizer and led me to the ladies’ room. As I slowly regained my senses, I was soon aware of the entire establishment staring at me; they all heard what went on and were clearly amused. I managed a weak smile and locked myself in the bathroom for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and weighing the pros and cons of emptying the contents of my bag to see if the cursed insect was hiding inside.

Upon leaving, I was getting into another cab, when I caught the bank guards grinning at me and waving. I gamely waved back. I think I need to change banks, you guys. I just made myself an urban legend.

You know how the power of suggestion is, well, powerful? How the mere hint of something can lead people to let their imagination run away with them? In my case, every single brush of hair on my face, each trickle of sweat down my leg, the constant touch of fabric on my body, and every synapse of my nerve endings make me shudder at a possible replay of this horrible encounter; I keep scratching myself. I wanted to cut boxing class and do yoga instead. I cannot do this month-long abstinence, man; I might have a heart attack.

I don’t understand how I can guillotine rats so calmly, bounce up and down when using deadly weapons, and eagerly swing through the air so high above ground doing extreme sports, but I scream at the sight of a bug. Welcome to my world.

The saddest thing is that random incidents like this happen to me a lot. My biography is chockfull of these embarrassing moments that I have come to embrace, which explains why I cannot ever take myself way too seriously anymore. You hear that, world?! I am resigned to having my life as a big fat joke! Bring it on, yo!

Dear God, I think I just aged ten years and lost the effects of two years of yoga that day. Dignity is innate, isn’t it? You cannot take it away, right? Right? But I think I was close to losing it there.


Lots of love,
Cathy