• War and (easy) peace

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    IT would be quite easy to pick a fight with anyone.

    How, for instance?

    Make sure you don’t know when your LPG-run stove is going to die on you, that’s how, for one.
    If that burner does conk out just when you need your caffeine fix, be ready, for example, for the wife of your neighbor-policeman to crane her neck over the concrete wall that separates your respective houses and cry that you are “disturbing” the peace of the place where you both live.

    But what exactly did you do?

    Well, since your mornings do not start until you have your cup of coffee, you fished out your unused but serviceable charcoal-fed “magic” kalan.

    You started a fire and smoke eventually billowed out of your supposedly environment-friendly stove, which “reputation” your neighbor’s wife immediately shredded to pieces by complaining that you were “killing” her husband who, according to her, has asthma (pretty stupid of you not to have an inkling of the travails of her beloved).

    If you have that respiratory condition, you also are bothered by paint, varnish, thinner and a million and one chemicals, and thus the not-so-friendly woman next door maybe had the right to go to town.

    Many in the entire residential village appeared to know that her husband is a policeman and so the better part of valor for you peace-loving guy is not to engage her in a shouting match or you’ll never hear the end of it from the husband whom you suspect carries a gun.

    Under such seemingly life-and-death predicament, your only choice is to keep the peace and be alive for it and be accepting of the fact that you cannot choose your neighbors, meaning you will just have to call the LPG dealer that your future and possibly that of your family are in danger… from lack of coffee unless he delivers an 11-kilogram cylinder of liquefied petroleum gas immediately.

    In other words, that woman could have died from boredom simply because you refused to, par-don the cliché, stoop down to her level.

    Unmake the poor policeman’s wife’s day and you would be the happier for it.

    Vice President Maria Leonor Robredo knows or should know that she also cannot choose the President of the Philippines by herself because she counts for only one vote.

    But she can choose to cheapen the Office of the Vice President by going to the United Nations and demand that President Rodrigo Duterte stop alleged summary executions of Filipinos.

    The subtext was that if Duterte refused to budge, Robredo would, like a crybaby, embark on an impossible mission to walk to the ends of the Earth to find the “truth” about the President’s dirtier pieces of linen (which are the country’s, too).

    The Vice President can start closer to home by first taking lessons from the policeman’s wife, who deals with clueless users of “magic” kalan with cold stares and the asthma card to be able to have it her way.
    The farce that Robredo has been presenting the past few days only proves that she would rather stay in the kitchen despite being ostensibly unable to stand the heat.

    The reason, perhaps, why she can’t leave the pots and pans is that she wants to try baking.

    Robredo had better not come up with half-truths in the half-baked pies that she probably would serve quarters whom the President had told to “mind [their]own business.”

    Duterte was minding his own because if he did not, his host in Myanmar would have found it easy to pick a fight with him if he as much as mentioned the Rohingya issue in Aung San Suu Kyi country.
    He is a lawyer and so is the Vice President.

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