Personal Jesus

I can’t sleep. It’s 3:20 am. I have already told Penguin almost 2 hours  ago that I will sleep but can’t. I tried watching March of the Penguins but it’s too interesting, it wouldn’t put me to sleep.

I can’t sing myself to sleep either as it would disturb the whole house. Street, even, as I am a very, very bad singer.

I am a frustrated singer. I want to sing, you know? But my voice fails me. I think I am tone deaf as well, I fall flat all the time and it sucks. I know that even if I learn things technically, the barangay version of The Voice would still not accept me, because… something’s just not there.

My brother can sing. All of my cousins can sing. All of them have, or in my brother’s case – has had – a band. Hell, I even have a cousin on Broadway – you know that person who everybody looks for and asks about when that annual family reunion happens? That’s her. We are not close though. I had to Google “Filipina actor Broadway South Pacific” because I forgot her name, but I know she exists because of those “How is (thank you, Google) Emily doing?” questions.

So anyway, yeah. I Googled her out of memory loss issues and learned that she’s married and… cute. First thought was: Holy smokes, how did Uncle Jesus have a daughter like her? SERIOUSLY?!

Don’t get me wrong, I love my Uncle Jesus. He is cool. He works at the control tower of the world’s tiniest airport. I used to hangout there in the control tower and when there were no trips in the airport, I played with the runway lights because he’d let me. He also has five binoculars to check planes or whatever but we’d use them to watch people on the other building. Perks!

Jesus is a jolly man with a beer belly. Like a true singer, he has karaoke in his office. And a portable sauna. And an entertainment system. When I get bored pretending to be the control tower guy, I go down to his office and watch a movie from his DVD collection and make a sandwich as he also had a mini-kitchen/bar.

I remember one afternoon, I was there, nibbling on a cheese sandwich when he turned on his karaoke. He wanted to sing so he did. I tried to escape by telling him I needed to buy bottled water from the cafeteria but, no. He told me I should sing first. Shit. Crap. Fuck.

That was the day he knew that their genes weren’t strong enough. For the love of God, it was terrible. No planes crashed, thank you.

In spite of my negativity and self flagellation, he smiles. Even if we both knew it was horrible, he supported my singing. Even if it was painful, he wanted me to finish the song (finish what you started!). He is patient.  And he takes things in a stride. So there I was, wailing what seems to be a song, and he laughs his head off saying, “Ha, you can’t be copied! That’s the most original style of singing I’ve ever heard in my entire life – take note I’m old!”

I know it’s sarcastic but man, it’s funny as hell when he delivers it. I just laughed as well and rode on the wave of his positivity. How he perceives my “fault” as a gift, as a quirk. That’s when he said that he has one rule in his office: Have Fun.

I think it’s the weirdest yet best office in the world. Ever.

And that’s the most fun I had in the karaoke as a sober person. And I think it’s one of the best lessons in life too: Have fun. Even if it’s an office, you can have a sauna too. When you think you’re ugly, just think you’re unique – because you are! Chill, relax. Don’t worry. Be happy.

I don’t know what lessons in life Uncle Jesus has had to learn those stuff, but I’m glad I met him and had that experience. Because sometimes when I find myself lost, I go back to the airport tower in my mind, and control my thoughts, Jesus-style.

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Personal Jesus

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