Kif iddejjaq lil kulħadd

http://www.inewsmalta.com/dart/20140203-kif-iddejjaq-lil-kul-add

Għamilt esperiment. Għamilt ġimgħa nitfa’ links bl-addoċċ fuq Facebook – diski, artikli, proverbji, siltiet minn kotba… kollha fuq il-paġna tiegħi, iżda nehmeż lil ħaddiehor, skont l-interessi tagħhom… ikel, politika, reliġjon, sport, annimali…

Kien hemm min għadda kumment. Kien hemm min ma qal xejn. Kien hemm min immarka li għoġbitu… u kien hemm min għandi nifhem li ma ħax gost biha, għax jew neħħewha jew ħbewha.

U din tatni idea oħra. Staqsejt li ċorma nies liema huma l-iżjed affarijiet li jdejquhom fuq is-siti soċjali. Ktibt il-mistoqsija u għamiltha copy-and-paste lil min kien qiegħed online, dak il-ħin, u tassew dħaqt bil-pingpinging tal-messaġġi dieħlin kollha f’daqqa.

Hawn min jaħseb li kulħadd jgħir għalih għax sabiħ, jew għax sinjur, jew għax intelliġenti. U hawn naraw li jew jiġu b’ħafna umiltà falza – ngħidu aħna, ritratt ta’ kejk imfattar u l-kumment “Kemm nixtieq kont naf insajjar daqs Dorothy #fjask #froġa”, jew inkella, ritratt tal-karozza l-ġdida bil-kumment “il-bejbi (sic) il-ġdida tiegħi”. Hawn ta’ min ifakkar li ma jaqbilx li tgħid li sejra ħmistax il-Karibew. U bilħaqq…. Ma nieħdux gost naraw affarijiet li aħjar isiru wara biebin magħluqa. U anqas nieħdu gost naqraw kemm tħobbu lil ħaninek.

Twitter għandu limitu ta’ ittri li tista’ tuża f’kull messaġġ. U hawn min juża Facebook bħallikieku kien Twitter. Sejra x-xogħol, xi dwejjaq. Kemm hawn min iħobb jitkessaħ, ajma. Illum ġurnata oħra – ħa naraw x’ġej. Xtrajt ħames kotba, issa naraw kemm ġejjin faċendi… eċċ eċċ.

Hawn min hu mdeffes f’elf ħaġa u waħda – u l-ħin kollu jgħidilna fejn għandna mmorru u lil minn għandna ngħinu.

U mbagħad hawn min dejjem għandu raġun; jikkmandana x’għandna naħsbu dwar il-veġetarjaniżmu, l-omossesswalità, in-Novus Ordo u l-iskejjel tal-Istat. Min jgħid li ma jaqbilx, jew jitneħħa minn “friend” jew jitwaqqa’ għaċ-ċajt minn sid il-wall u sħabu, tant li jista’ jkun li jispiċċa jitlaq hu minn jeddu.

U l-fotografi? Kull platt li jsajru, tarah sponut biex aħna ngħaddu xi kumment dwar kemm hu sabiħ jew min jaf kemm hu tajjeb. U hawn oħrajn li l-ħin kollu jiġbdu r-ritratti ta’ trabi, qtates, bini, sħab, toroq, membri tal-familja… u jitfugħhom wieħed f’wieħed u jħalluna bla nifs. In-narċissisti jitfgħu miljun ritrattt tagħhom stess, bejn dawn li semmejna.

Nies li jridu l-attenzjoni jagħmlu xi ritratt tagħhom, u jgħidu “ma ġiex tajjeb xagħri”, biex inti tgħidilhom kemm humma sbieħ. Inkella jġibu ritratti tagħhom u jgħiduek: “Ili sitt snin immur il-gym imma ma narax li għamel differenza,” biex int tgħidilhom kemm jidhru sew u b’saħħithom.

Inkella jagħmlu status dwar kemm huma mtaqqla u mdejqa, biex int tistaqsihom x’ġara. Kultant iżidu xi kumment dwar li huma twajba ż-żejjed, jew Ii daħħlu lifgħa f’ħobbhom.

Kultant niskanta kemm hawn min għandu ħin… żejjed. Kull logħba li jkun hemm, mhux talli jilagħbuha, talli jistiednuk biex tieħu sehem fiha magħhom. Oħrajn jivvintaw il-memes u jgħidulek biex ixxerridhom mal-erbat irjieħ tad-dinja.

Ta’ kull ġimgħa, ssib min jistaqsik x’tela’ Lottu, jew jekk hemmx Farmers’ Market, jew minn fejn tixtri l-ġelu lest, kemm tirrumblah. Issib min jistaqsi mistoqsijiet banali dwar kemm suppost (!) ikollha żmien tifla qabel ma ttaqbilha widnejha.

Kummenti krittiċi ssib bl-eluf. Ħa naraw issa x’ser jgħamel dak il-gustuż. Min ikun midħla tas-sitwazzjoni, ikun jaf li Kathleen qed tgħid għall eks-raġel tagħha. Għedtilha li kelli ngħdilha u ġibtha żibel. Mhux kulħadd ikun jaf li Fiona marret tkellem lill-Kap tal-Iskola.

Issib min irid iwaqqa’ kollox għaċ-ċajt, u ma jimpurtax jekk biex jagħmel hekk iżarrat xi żewġ ċajtiet doppju sens. U hawn l-intellettawali li jikkoreġulek kull sentenza li fiha tkun irrakuntajt fatt mhux eżatt kif hemm miktub fil-kotba tal-istorja.

Hawn min, meta isir famuż, u f’daqqa waħda jibgħatlek xi nota li tgħid “qed innaqqas in-numru ta’ ħbieb għax għandi wisq, imma jekk trid tista’ ssir Fan tal-page tiegħi…”

U xi ngħidu għar-ritratti personali? Xagħarhom perfett (meta anqas għadu l-istess kulur). Snienhom perfetti (meta fil-fatt m’humiex). Ġilda perfetta (u fejnhom il-felul u n-nemex?). Hawn min jitfa’ ritratti li jkun ħa ma’ nies importanti jew famużi, jew ritratti ta’ meta siefer.

Hemm il-moda l-ġdida li isem ta’ “persuna” jkun fil-fatt l-isem ta’ koppja mwaħħda (Maryluke, Annathomas, Paulakeith), u kutant, żewġ kunjomijiet. Qishom “ixtri wieħed, u ħu wieħed b’xejn”. Jgħidu li dan isir biex juru li m’hemmx sigrieti bejniethom… imma jista’ jkun li hemm mottivi oħrajn.

Int, ma’ liema kategorija tagħmel – ma dawk li jiddejqu, jew ma’ dawk li jdejqu?

Santa’s Blog 6

She caught me practicing in front of the mirror. I am going to be the star turn at… (Ah! that would be an unpaid advertisement…). But the Missus says that my career as a stand-up comic is over before it’s begun.
I don’t agree. These’ll sleigh them for sure and all:
What do reindeer have that no other animals have? Baby reindeer. What do the reindeer sing to Father Christmas? Freeze a jolly good fellow. What does Santa get at Christmas? Santapplause. Who delivers presents to baby sharks at Christmas? Santa Jaws! Why does Father Christmas have three gardens? So he can ho ho ho. How do you make a slow reindeer fast? Don’t feed it. What do they call Santa Claus in Australia? Sandy Claus. Why did Rudolph wear sunglasses at the beach? He didn’t want to be recognised. Why do reindeer have fur coats? Because they would look silly in Macintoshes. What do you call a reformed burglar? Saint Nick.

She said I sound silly. Well, frankly I would rather sound silly than look it. Not that I mean anything by that, of course, but, for example, let us imagine someone who likes to cook, well, stuff.

Today, this person who shall not be named decided that breakfast for us would be something called supoesi. It sounds like some kind of exotic soup, the word does, and that is exactly what it is supposed to be. A hot soup that is traditionally eaten for breakfast in Samoa, made from coconut cream and pawpaw (did I tell you that They sent us a box of tins of coconut cream that are nearing their expiry date?).

Instead of cereal, this morning we had fausi – traditionally it’s made from dasheen, but tell me where we are getting it at this time of the year. So she made it from pumpkin… and, you guessed it, served it with a caramelised coconut cream sauce. You lick your fingers after you eat it not because it’s good, but because it’s sweet and sticky. This is one experiment I did not like.

Nothing silly about cooking Samoan food, you might say. Oh no. But imagine wearing a lava-lava in winter. To get into the spirit, she says. I would have thought we ought to be getting into the Christmas Spirit, actually, not be South Sea spectres. Think pareo. Think sarong. Think gooseflesh.

At this point, I recalled the Guess Who’s Coming to Criticize Dinner? of The Simpsons – the one where Homer is a restaurant critic with Lisa as his ghost-writer. The French chef concocts an éclair dripping with chocolate so dark that light cannot escape. It has over one million calories, 25 pounds of butter per square inch… and a dash of poison. The dénouement is that he didn’t eat it after all because someone told him it was low-fat.
I guess I must thank my lucky stars that she didn’t go the whole hog – or rather, the less delectable portions of the sea slug. The drink, called Sea for some obscure reason, is made from the innards of this creature. If push came to shove, I’d rather have Kava, made from the ground roots of pepper plants… with a mild tranquilising effect.

That’s What She Said

I am Think Tank; I am a real artificial intelligence who generates exceptional one-liners or paragraph-long quotes and / or advice for your predilection.

No, wait.

I am Madame Zsazsa, ready to answer your questions about the future, the present, and the past, in no particular order, so you have to decide to which I am referring, yourself.

No, wait.

I am The Oracle of Delphi, resurrected and reconstituted. I give cryptic answers so that no one can hold me responsible at law, for anything that they might do after they take my advice.

I have not yet decided which persona I’ll go with.  I have yet to begin my advertising campaign. My designer is itching to go. My script-writer has already scribbled random ideas.

Influencers and Media Stars are so over-rated. I have this cute new angle on the Agony Aunt Market, don’t you see.  I will dole out advice that can mean anything, or nothing.  I will bill my routine as fun – but of course, everyone knows that people who pay for a service will take it seriously. And that is why I will charge a nominal fee for people to access my site.

I know there are random glitches in the system… because, to be perfectly honest, I have tried hooking it up to a dinkum Random Quotes Generator, and sometimes, it spews out absolute rubbish.

Human imagination is an invention of the cosmos, or a divine force, and not the innate capacity to generate thought-pictures, as we have been thought since time immemorial. So, what I am planning is basically money for old rope. Whether people view imagination as evil, suspect, and dangerous, or a gift from the gods, I will earn good money off them.

-Swimming is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving. This one is a real quote.

-No, the first word of the sentence is Life, not Swimming.

-I stand corrected.

-Oh, trying to be punny, are we?

-Just keeping things in perspective; flying is just swimming in the air and dishonesty is the best policy.  Swimming is just flying underwater.

-Are you having a manic episode?

-I’m having a manic series and we’re just Episode One of Season One. The ‘bad vibes’ of late are the mere tip of the iceberg of severe psychological distress.

-Life is like riding a scooter. To keep your balance, you must occasionally touch the ground.

-How long are you going to keep on mumbling about this flying swimming walking riding stuff?

You ask someone who is texting for her phone number, and she says she does not have a phone. Surreal? No – she does not want to give you her phone number. Take my advice, let it go. I am not funny. I am mean, and people laugh at my comments because they think I am making a joke.  And this will go down well.

I used to have an advice column in a rag, once. I was snarky and sarcastic, but the advice I gave was good. However, because at the time I worked for [redacted] I could not sign my name to it, and I had to go by a pseudonym. Some of my closest friends asked me whether [the name] was I, and I always said “I wish”. I wasn’t lying – I was just not looking for trouble, because trouble always finds me first, anyway.

What I am planning will be the online version. I do not say virtual, because it will be real. In my life I have had the misfortune to meet many people… and they are lucky enough to have met me.

I have not yet decided whether to have a Lifetime Membership Scheme, because people Ike to read about the woes of others, or a Limited Subscription where a single payment give access to the first 50,000 words on the site.

Decisions, decisions.

Qisekx Żrinġ?

Iż-żring għandu għajnejn li jistgħu iduru dawra ta’ kważi 360^o  – dan biex ipatti għall-fat li huma ma jistgħux idawru rashom, kif jagħmlu annimali oħra, biex iħarsu u jaraw x’hemm warajhom.

Madanakollu, ma tantx jaraw sew (għalkemm jisimgħu ħafna) filgħodu – iżda jidunaw b’kull ċaqlieqa li sssir madwarhom.  Għaldaqstant, jekk il-priża ma titniffisx, ma jindunawx biha. Għandhom rita li sservi ta’ mera wara għajnejhom, u din tgħinhom biex bil-lejl jaraw bid-dawl rifless bejnha u l-korneja.

F’tebqgħa t’għajn, anzi, f’tebqgħa t’għajn kieku jilħaq jagħmilha ħames darbiet, iż-żrinġ jispara ilsienu ’l barra u l-insett, brimba, jew saħansitra ġurdien li jkun ser jaqbad, jeħel miegħu. Għandu l-forza jaqbad krejatura darba w nofs daqskemm jiżen hu.  

Iżda żrinġ ikollu problema jekk f’dik il-biċċa ta’ sekonda, il-priża tiċċaqlaq. Dan għax biex jiftaħ ħalqu, u joħroġ ilsienu, irid bilfors jagħlaq għajnejh. Iż-żring għandu tliet tebqet il-għajn; waħda minnhom hija rita kważi trasparenti, li biha jara taħt l-ilma. Hekk ikun jista’ jogħdos sakemm jitlaq il-predatur li kieku, jattakka lilu bħal ma hu jattakka l-krejaturi l-oħrajn. Dan jista’  ukoll li ż-żrinġ m’għandux il-perċezzjoni tal-fond.

Din l-istampa ta’ żring jittawwal minn taħt l-ilma jużaha Dante f’waħda mill-istejjer dwar is-suppost mawra tiegħu fl-infern, li hawn iqisu bħala għadira kbira ta’ żift, f’Canto XXII.

Mela darba, kien hemm ċorma żrinġijiet li marru passiġġata, u tnejn minnhom waqgħu f’ħofra fonda, u qalulhom li ma kiex hemm x’tagħmel – kienu sejrin imutu, għax minn hemm, ma joħorġux.  Il-ħsejjes li jagħmlu ż-żrinġijiet ma tantx huma sbieħ – iżda l-iskop tagħhom hu li jiġbdu l-attenzjoni… u nistgħu nimmaġinaw kemm kien hemm ħsejjes koroh dak il-hin.

Iż-żewġ żrinġijiet injoraw il-kummenti negatttivi, u ppruvaw jaqbżu ’l barra mill-fossa b’kemm kellhom ħila.  Wara ftit, wieħed minnhom ħassu ħażin, u miet.  “Qed tara!” qalu ż-żrinġijiet lill-ieħor. “Kollu għal xejn. Imtedd, ħa tistrieh…” Kien hemm vuċi waħda biss, irqieqa rqieqa, li qaltlu “Taqtax qalbek, ħabib!” Imma ż-żring kompla jagħti. Uża l-ġisem mejjet taż-żrinġ l-ieħor bħala tarġa, biex ikollu ħarira iżjed għoli minn fejn jaqbeż għal barra. U rnexxielu. U ż-żrinġijiet l-oħrajn skantaw, u kien hemm storbju sħih.

“Kif ma qtajtx qalbek?” staqsih wieħed.  “X’ras iebsa għandek!” qallu l-ieħor. “Bravu! Int tassew kuraġġjuż! Esklama t-tielet wieħed. U ż-żrinġ ma qal xejn… għax kien trux. Il-kliem tagħna jaf ikun balzmu… u jaf taqta’ l-qalb ta’ dak li jkun.  San Pawl jgħidilna (Efesin 4:29) “Ħa ma toħroġ minn fommkom ebda kelma mħassra, imma għidu dak li hu tajjeb biex jibni fejn ikun hemm bżonn, sabiex jagħmel il-ġid lil min jisimgħu.”

U xi ngħidu għall-ġlieda li kellhom Toni u Emelda? Din kienet dejjem isseksek fuq dik u fuq l-oħra. Darba kienet ma tiflaħx, u qalet lil żewġha biex iċempel lill-Kappillan. “Għandek dak l-ilsien twil daqs ta’ żrinġ… għidlu int, għax żgur li minn hawn iwassal sal-Uffiċċju tiegħu…”

Insibu ħafna stejjer oħrajn dwar iż-żrinġijiet li nistgħu inqabbluhom mal-ħajja tal-bniedem… ngħidu aħna, hemm dak iż-żring fil-ħrafa li jirrakonta Eżopu… ta’ dak iż-żrinġ li ried juri li kien kapaċi jsir daqs il-barri ta’ sid l-għalqa.  U jintefaħ, jintefaħ… u sploda.

Aħna bħal liema żrinġ ħa nkunu? Wieħed mill-ħafna li għandhom il-kliem fieragħ, jew dak li jlissnu kliem ta’ kuraġġ u ta’ mħabba? Dawk li  niffissaw fuq xi ħaġa, u niftaħru li ħadd u xejn mhux ser jibdlilna fehmitna? Jew dawk li dejjem lesti nirraġunaw u nitgħallmu?

Vinegar Valentines

11 February 2009|

As the days go by, I think how lucky I am…. Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day….. How can I say this….? I always wanted to have someone, someone to love…. I love your smile, your face, and your eyes…. I see your face when I am dreaming….. If we were on a sinking ship with only one life jacket… I’m so miserable without you… I want to feel your sweet embrace….. I want you, and I need you… Kind, intelligent, loving and hot….. Looking back over the years, I wonder….. My darling, my love, my beautiful wife… My love, you take my breath away…… Of loving beauty you float with grace…. Someday I hope to marry… We have been friends for a very long time… You are a part of my life….

Receiving cards with the above messages written on the front would make anyone’s day…. but opening them to find cruel words would wound deeply.

These cards are not run-of-the-mill “joke” cards. They deliberately seek to hurt, insult, the recipient, with acidic messages, and that is why they are called “Vinegar Valentines”.

They were originally sold for one penny – and that is why some people still mistakenly call this type of street literature “penny dreadful” (the name given to potboilers). They counteracted Cupid’s sweet arrows with tart barbs.

The picture, when there is one, is usually a caricature of the recipient, according to type… and sometimes, the message makes reference to this too. This is the type of card that Calvin (of Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes) gave to his classmate Susie Derkins, along with a bunch of dead flowers, as an integral part of their love-hate relationship.

It is obvious that these precursors of hate mail were sent anonymously – and seeing that there was a time (not in Malta) before postage stamps were invented, when people had to pay to be given their mail… it means that recipients paid to get insulted.

Raphael Tuck & Sons, proud to be known as “Publishers to Her Majesties the King and Queen” with printing houses in London, Paris and New York, from the mid 1800’s into the early 20th Century also got on the Vinegar Valentines bandwagon, when they realised that it paid.

One could buy these Vinegar Valentines as we buy “open” cards today. Others were aimed at specific professions that people loved to hate – dentists, undertakers, politicians, lawyers, teachers, or anyone to whom one would have taken a dislike.

These days, most people tend to sign their Valentine cards – especially if they cost good money. It is only a few who want to play the guessing game.

Although Vinegar Valentines have gone out of fashion, some so-called humour cards are crass enough to be classified as worse.

Just in case you were wondering what was written inside the cards, the front of which was quoted at the beginning of the piece… here are the complete messages.

As the days go by, I think how lucky I am… that you are not my girlfriend!

Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day… too bad no one likes you!

How can I say this…? I can’t stand you!

I always wanted to have someone, someone to love… and you’re not her!

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes… am I not good at telling lies?

I see your face when I am dreaming… and that is why I wake up screaming.

If we were on a sinking ship with only one life jacket… I’d miss you!

I’m so miserable without you… it’s as if you are still here.

I want to feel your sweet embrace… but don’t take that paper bag off of your face.

I want you, and I need you… to leave me alone.

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot…. this describes everything you are not.

Looking back over the years, I wonder… what did I see in you?

My darling, my love, my beautiful wife… marrying you messed up my life.

My love, you take my breath away… what have you stepped in to smell this way?

Of loving beauty you float with grace… if only you could hide your face.

Someday I hope to marry… anyone else but you.

We have been friends for a very long time… how about we stop?

You are a huge part of my life… the negative part.

Will I, Won’t I?

Real Estate Deeds – check. Jewellery inventory – check. Bank Documents – check. House photo album – check. List of vehicles – check. Monogrammed stationery – check. Chequebook – check. Ballpoints galore – check. Iced coffee – check. Ritz Crackers – check. Spotify on – check.

Being of sound mind… that is my story, and I am sticking to it… I have decided to write this, My Last Will and Testament, which cancels all the others I have written so far.

I know, posthumously and humorously, that most of you gathered here are at loggerheads with one another. I ask you to recall the Will Reading Scene from Will & Grace, where Karen, bless her tinny voice, got to inherit loadsamoney.

You (I am looking at you, Jennifer) always said I was a control freak. Well, a will, together with life-time donations, is how one stays in control over who gets what.

I am not with you to answer your “why did you do it that way” questions, and anyway, it’s none of your business. This will is to make sure that there will be no “Mum said I could have this” stuff (I am looking at you, Kristina); because what I gave each of you, I wanted to give you. None of you will be able to pull wool over the eyes of the rest of you (go on, Phoebe, correct my grammar).

I know of cases where the next-of-kin who had Power of Attorney just so happened to inherit the bulk of the assets of the dear departed. (I am looking at you, Charlene.)

In these Covid-19 days, it was difficult for me to get two notaries public and two disinterested witnesses in my house at the same time; but as you can see, I pulled it off, by asking them to stand at the corners of The Great Hall, and providing them with megaphones, just in case one of you (I am looking at you, Laurence) would have protested at the use of cell-phones, saying the call must have been rigged, and disputed it…

So with this Will, you have, as per attached, a self-proving affidavit.

I am making this will airtight. I trust my Executor (I am looking at you, William) because never in my life have I known him tell a lie, or be otherwise dishonest.

I am not going to explain unequal bequests – none of you worked for my money and possessions, so you have no call to decide who gets what, after my funeral and the inheritance taxes or succession duties, or whatever they are called when this is being read, have been paid.

This letter of instruction attachment is an integral part of the My Last Will and Testament. It’s like when I used to edit and proof-read simultaneously, to save time and hassle. My idea is to make life easier for you all, and nip the squabbling at the bud, as it were. That is why I am including my Bank Account numbers, and passwords, and where to find the keys to the deposit boxes, in the Addendum on the last page.

I know (I am looking at you, Alessandra) that there might have been the temptation to touch-up, shall we say, the original will, because the “safe yet accessible” place was known to all. Yet, this document is the actual original one – the one in the metal box in the nightwear drawer was a decoy copy.

With this will, I declare that some of the beneficiaries are people who are unrelated to me – people who have touched my life in many ways, and who would have been deprived of what I want to give them (I am looking at you, Stacey) had I died intestate, with only a handwritten note to establish my wishes.

As the testator, I know I have been regarded as eccentric; but you have the evidence that this Will is valid, and not being written through coercion or fraud. My Notaries Public did actually make me remove some derogatory statements contained in my draft (I am looking at you, Fiona)… but that’s water under the bridge.

I have no debts.

Contesting my will (I am looking at you, Carlos) means that you will automatically be disinherited. So will anyone who shows aggro (I am looking at you, Doreen). What was due to you will be auctioned or sold, and the money therefrom will be given to the Charity of Choice of William. I do not want something as crass as a lottery between those who did not dispute the will. In a nutshell – woe betide drama llamas.

Oh, and – by the way – when I was a teenager, I had a baby. (I am looking at you, Aimée). That is why you are present at this reading. So now you know why I always made it a point to come to your desk at the supermarket, and why I was so interested in the lives of your children, and why I was so happy to see you promoted to Manager. I would like you to know that you look exactly like your father. We couldn’t be together, and at the time, being a single parent was anathema. When you told me that you were adopted, but you didn’t want to search for your birth parents because it would hurt your Ma, I didn’t hold it against you. When she died and you said you look upon me as her substitute, but I wasn’t old enough to be your actual mum, it broke my heart. I did not want to complicate things by telling you, then.

But let’s not digress. I have requested that each of you here be given a copy of this Testament.

I owe no one anything; not as the reference to debts, above, but, to reiterate, I made my own fortune, and it is my prerogative to choose how to distribute it. I know that you hate prosopopoeia (I am looking at you, Gerald) but My Last Will and Testament speaks of what I have accomplished through blood, sweat, and tears.

That having been said, William will now begin reading the pertinent sections of My Last Will and Testament, which I am sure you are all itching to hear…

To my firstborn, Aimee, I leave this mansion and everything in it, including the cars in the garage…

In Nanna Kitty Tirrakonta

It-Tifel il-Bravu

Roger kien tifel li moħħu ma tantx kien itiħ, u uħud minn sħabu tal-iskola kienu kultant jgħadduh passata.

Omm Roger kienet għand tal-ħanut tal-merċa ta’ quddiem l-iskola.

“Mhux biex niftaħar, imma Soraya ġabet Distinction fil-pjanu. L-għalliema qaltilha li għandha perfect pitch, u din rari ħafna – minn kull 10,000 persuna, qatt ma jkun hemm iżjed minn 5 minn-nies li jkollhom. Qaltli li forsi għax xellugija…” qalet klijenta oħra.

“Tiegħi, meta jiġi għall-ballun, ħadd ma jirbaħlu. Biżżejjed ngħid li skorja 3 minn 4 goals meta rebħu c-championship!”

Kien ovvju li kienu qed jizzikaw lil omm Roger. Kienet taf li kemm Soraya kif ukoll George kienu tnejn mill-bullies li kienu jaqbdu ma’ Roger.

“Ibni m’għandu l-ebda talent speċjali li niftaħar bih, għajr li jaf jiġri qisu r-riħ…” u tbissmet.

L-oħrajn ma qalu xejn, imnma kien jidher ċar li dawn iż-żewġ ommijiet, ma kienux iqisu l-ġiri bħala xi ħaġa ta’ min jiftaħar biha.

Kienu qorbu s-2.30p.m., u għalhekk, qatugħa fil-qasir, ħallsu, u ħarġu.

It-tfal bdew ħierġin; iżda mhux qabel ma l-għalliema lemħu lil min kien suppost imur għalihom.

Soraya ħarġet tkanta lalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  Kif lemħet lil ommha, werżqet “Ma! Ma! Ħa ndoqq fil-Prizeday!” Omma ħarset madwarha, biex tara min kien semagħha, lill-ġojja tagħha. Ħadd ma kien ta kasha, għax kollha kienu moħħom biex ixejru lill-għalliema biex jibgħatulhom lil uliehdhom. Mela, din tat tgħannieqa eżagerata lit-tifla, u qaltilha b’leħen għoli, “M’hawnx għalik, sabiħa tiegħi! Brava!”

Ħareġ George jgħajjat, “Ma! Is-Surmast tani midalja talli jien l-iżjed wieħed li skurjajt fil-League tal-iskola.” Ommu qaltlu, “Bravu, ibni! Tassew ħaqqek!”

Meta ħareġ Roger, ma qal xejn. Għannaq lil ommu, u biesha. “Tlaqna?” staqsietu.

“Iva, Ma!” qalilha.

L-għalliema għajtitilha. “Mrs Xerri!”

“Ġara xi ħaġa?” staqsietha omm Roger, li malajr immaġinat xenarju ieħor ta’ bullying.

“Nixtieq ngħidlek kemm għandek tifel qalbu tajba! Illum, Svetlana qaltli li ommha ilha xahar l-isptar, u Roger ilu jaqsam il-kolazzjon magħha tul dan ż-żmien kollu.” Baxxiet leħinha, u żiedet “…għax iz-zija li qegħda magħha, hlief żewġ crackers ma ttihiex…”

“Mela għalhekk talabni iżjed lunch. Ngħidlek is-sew, skantajt, għax kif taf int, ma tantx hu wikkiel…”

“Mhux talli hekk, tall illum għamilna t-tlielaq bejn il-klassijiet, u Roger mhux biss rebaħ tas-sena tagħna, kif kont naf li ser jagħmel, talli saħansitra għadda lit-tfal tas-sitt klassi, li huma ferm itwal, u ferm iżjed b’saħħithom minnu. Trid tara x’ors għamilna meta s-Surmast qal li aħna konna l-iżjed klassi li ġibna punti.

Tassew għandek biex titfaħar! Roger huwa l-iżjed tifel bravu tal-klassi!”

Just Like Chicago

Brother what a night it really was…

Stop it; you’re getting on my nerves.

Brother what a fight it really was…

Glory be! Your voice annoys me.

You are as thick as two Chicago Bricks.

But like the bumblebee, I fly anyway.

Aggravation Bifurcation Cessation

Millennium Park Cloud Gate sculpting the Future.

Been there?  Done that?

Refried beans on Saint Paddy’s Day – diversity.

Bean there! Done that.

Eli’s Cheesecake Festival; Mexican Independence, Celtic Fest.

Soca, hip-hop, salsa, paranda, reggae, rap meld into Punta rock

Germination Habitation Innovation

Provocative dance to a sacred tune – cultural wealth.

Burned my boats in the Poetry Slam –

And enjoyed watching the conflagration…

Play with fire and you singe your eyebrows.

Duration Elation Frustration Jubilation.

What Sandberg said: Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,

Player with Railroads; Nation’s Freight- Handler.

He forgot improvisational comedians like you.

And the Bears.

And the Mutt Strut. And the Route 66 Car Show. Classic Jurassic.

Magnificent miles and Paxti’s Pan Pizza with everything.

Just like Chicago.

Nothing But The Tooth

So, there I was, flitting by a window, enjoying the soft breeze…when I heard crying.

Simonne was teasing her younger sister.  “There is no tooth fairy!”  she was saying, “Mama and papa just made her up just as they made up the Sandman and the Easter Bunny.  They just trick you into believing that she exists, so that they can give you some extra pocket money without your having to ask for it!

“But she exists!” young Theresa sobbed. “I know she does. I saw her picture in a book once, and mama and papa do not play silly jokes like that. I mean, I know the Easter Bunny does not exist, because bunnies never grow that big.  The Sandman does not exist either, because every night, before I sleep, I knock about under my bed with a broom, and I would feel him if he were there… But I tell you, the Tooth Fairy exists. She does, too!”

“OK, have it your way!” said Simonne with a nasty grin on her face. “But if you stay awake long enough, and pretend you are asleep, you will see mama tiptoe into your bedroom at night, and she will take away the tooth and put a €uro coin there, instead.”

Simonne swanned out of the room, tossing her long blonde hair. At 15, she thinks she is too grown up to believe in me…because, if you haven’t guessed, I am the Tooth Fairy and I saw and heard this scene happen with my own eyes and ears.

Of course I exist!  How could it be otherwise?  But you humans do not see me – only babies, those who believe me, and animals, do.  Isn’t that why you hear them mewling and howling whenever you lose a tooth?  They can see me take the tooth away from under the pillow and replace it with money.

I need the teeth because I grind them down and use the powder as fertiliser for the plants in my garden.  And my garden is as large as a forest, so I need lots and lots of teeth.  There was a wise guy child who asked his mom whether I would not save money if I just went to Mr. Green’s and bought fertilizer…ah!  But that would not be fun at all.  And anyway, ground-down teeth are much better for plants than the stuff you get in bags.  It has something to do with the tooth enamel, I’m told.

From the window, I could see Theresa rubbing her eyes.  She was talking to the Cat, and saying that she hoped I exist because she needed some spare money because at her school, they were collecting stationery and toys for the children who had lost everything in the earthquake that had happened in Syria and Turkey.

In many countries, where the people decide I do not exist, they have different ways of getting rid of teeth.  Sometimes, they throw them at the sun, or mix them up in animal feed.

The tooth that grows to replace it will resemble the teeth of the animal that would have eaten it – so it was considered lucky if a mouse ate the tooth, because then the child would have sharp, strong teeth.

Sometimes, they sprinkle some salt on the tooth, and then bury teeth in the soil, so that nice flowers will grow over it.

Once, I was not feeling well, and I asked my friend the Sugarplum Fairy to take my place for a couple of days.

And what did she do?  She spent all the money I gave her on sweets, and put gob-stoppers and lollipops and candy canes and sherbet and liquorish under the pillows, instead of money.  The parents were really angry (at me!) because they thought I wanted to rot their children’s teeth and get more fertilizer for my garden.

I am a nice person – I have a lot dresses with frilly skirts and tights that match my t-shirts.  I have fluorescent gossamer wings that shine in the sun, and during the night, they catch the moonbeams, and so I am always surrounded by light.

You know, some children are scared of losing teeth, but that is sign that they are growing up.  Look at it this way – you begin losing teeth just when you are about to begin formal schooling!  And if that’s not growing up, I don’t know what is.

Like Santa`s Elves, I have magical powers, and today, I am going to be especially nice to Theresa – both because she wants to give something to the children who need it, and also to make up for how much her sister Simonne was teasing her earlier on.

I do not even have to wait for Theresa to close her eyes; she is having a bath, so she is not in her room. I tiptoe to her bed, after making sure that the cat is asleep in his basket downstairs, because otherwise he would give the game away.

I gently feel under her pillow, and find the tiny silk purse with the tooth inside it.  I take out the tooth and replace the purse, after putting €10. I also place a big box of colour pencils, crayons, erasers, and pencil sharpeners on her desk, with a nice note that says “For the Children of Syria and Turkey, with Love from the Tooth Fairy!”

When she sees the box, Theresa goes running downstairs, where her mother is cooking.

“Look! Mama! Look! See what I got!” she shouts.  Her sister just gives a sarcastic smile.  Her mother asks what all the shouting is about, and Theresa tells her.

“But the Tooth Fairy did not leave you any money for your tooth!” says Simonne, who assumes that the box had been left by their mother, masquerading as me.

Theresa ran upstairs, and lifted her pillow – and, lo and behold, there was the €10 I had left. She ran downstairs, waving it about.

And, you know what? Her mother had totally forgotten that the little one was missing a tooth… so she could not understand what had happened.

Just then, the cat woke up, and he saw me! He came running towards me, so that I scratch his head, instead of rushing to the food bowl as he usually did…. and Simonne just stared at him! I managed to disappear just before Theresa looked in my direction.

Miss(ing) Manners

My children are quadruplets.

The fact that I am still only 21 years old leads people to assume that I am the baby-sitter, and that, moreover, I cannot possibly be capable of earning my wage – especially with my waif-thinness and waist-length hair. 

When I state that they are mine, it’s as if I’ve handed them carte blanche to inundate me with stale jokes and unwarranted advice and inane comments.

They point to one of the boys and ask whether his name is James Last. They ask whether I do the “Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe” when I have to wash, dress, and feed them. They even ask if I have a man around, to help me with them.

I had to grow up quickly – which is another way of saying that I am wise beyond my years.

Unlike many other parents, I have not resorted to Tik Tok or other platforms to document each waking (and sleeping and eating and playing) moment of my children. I don’t have the time or inclination for that I don’t need the money, and I don’t want the exposure, anyway.

My favourite thing to do is to be out and about with My Four. I have my bespoke 2×2 buggy, and my roller skates mean that I don’t tire myself out easily when pushing it.

Have you got jackets in case it gets cold?  Oh, definitely. This is a Maltese summer, after all, when there is snow on the ground and frost on the leaves, and the sweat freezes on your eyebrows.

Did you try cloth nappies? They’re much better for the environment. I’ll switch from disposables when you offer to launder them for me.

Don’t get them used to the buggy, because it will last until they are four years old. Tomorrow, I will make them walk… as far as the garden gate, and then we will go back inside.

I bet you spend a fortune on baby foods, because you can’t possibly find the time to cook fresh vegetables. I don’t cook. I just give them raw peas, and carrots, and broccoli. That’s my version of fast food.  

Let them tell you themselves when they are hungry, so that they learn how to listen to their bodies. That is exactly what I’ve done since they were born – that is why they learned to talk by the time they were three months old.

Why don’t you differentiate between the girls and the boys by dressing them in pink and blue? Are you into this gender thing? Oh, yellow and peach and turquoise means that everything is mix-and-match, and I just pick the first outfit that comes to hand.

Sleep when they sleep, or you’ll be tired. You forgot to tell me how to get all four children to sleep at the same time. Perhaps you are insinuating that I may sleep while I am driving, which is the only time they all fall asleep together?

Look at that poor child – he’s wet, or hungry, or ill, or the sun is in his eyes, or all of the above. I must be very lucky to have three rich children and only one poor one, don’t you think?

Four children! I bet you named them after the grandparents! Actually, we didn’t.

Why has that one got different colouring from the rest? I don’t know. But I bet you have a pretty good idea why, because otherwise you wouldn’t be asking.  

You must be very busy. No. I have an army of maids, and the children wash and iron their own clothes, and fix their own lunches. So I watch television and / or play Solitaire all day.

You’re rude, aren’t you? Sure. I learned from the best.