I am sure if one can handle the truth, one can handle anything. Yes, even handling a pang from a hot handle would be as handy as handling panhandlers if one has to handle panhandlers. I certainly know one who can handle Enida’s truth. A pang-handler that one is. But I also know a few panhandles now who can’t stand the pangs. Oh well!
After all, cynicism to the truth is what spiciness is to a sambal. One can scoop a good scoop of it, heaping one’s bed of rice with the bright red chili paste on top. But if it brings no heat to the tongue… one might as well just dump a can of sweetened condensed milk on one’s pancakes like what someone did in that little cafe in Yuzhno.
It’s not easy to ignore that I see more and more empty cans now walking around. Oh yeah, these cans can grow legs too! Neither it is easy for me to admit that I was one helluvanemptycan myself when I was, uh…circa 23. But then again I have come to accept the spiciness in my sambal, that some people do grow up… the rest just grow old.
Questa è Enida 