Friday 30 January 2015

A watershed month

saf-40 January 2015 has been a watershed month.


France and the world was shocked by a brutal and vicious massacre of journalists at the offices of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo. This atrocity was perpetrated by Islamists with the specific aim of preventing criticism of their ideology. In the aftermath, unprecedented levels of public outrage and grief were displayed all over France.


Just this week, 44 men of the Philippines Special Action Force were murdered by Islamists in southern Mindanao. The officers had their throats cut. This barbarity was carried out by the Islamist group Abu Sayyaf, which has made a career out of the usual stock-in-trades of the Islamist – murder, kidnapping, torture and extortion. Here too, there has been a massive outpouring of public emotion.


Alongside these headlining acts of religiously-inspired terrorism were many others; hostage takings, murders, kidnappings, the background noise of Islamic violence that is now always present.


In France, Muslims represent a large minority of the population, perhaps as much as 10%. In the Philippines they are a small minority, only 1.5%. In both countries, the vast majority of Muslims are, apparently, well integrated and some in France even voiced outrage at the terror attack on Charlie Hebdo.


But herein lies the problem: even though the majority of Muslims are peaceful, within those the nice, peaceful shop-owners and businesspeople, doctors and lawyers, there is a small minority that is sworn to murder everyone else, in the name of Islam, and to totally destroy the cultures that they live in and benefit from.


The foul objectives of this minority within a minority are perhaps best revealed in the so-called Islamic State in the Levant, and in Saudi Arabia. In both these territories, which are fierce enemies vying for influence over global Islam, human rights abuses are on a level approached only by the great monsters of the 20th century. Women are abused in the most appalling manner. They are blinded with acid if they have the temerity to chow their faces. The may not drive cars, their voices are silenced. ‘Homosexual’ men are murdered and LGBT people of all varieties live in terror, persecuted. Religions other than Islam are not tolerated and even within Islam, different sects murder each other with apparent glee.


Richard Dawkins, blessed of a good classical education, pointed out that ‘islamophobia’ just means ‘fear of Islam’ and, in view of the activities of this minority of Muslims, the Islamists, everyone should indeed be islamophobic. It is neither a condemnation nor a pejorative to be named so, it is a demonstration of common sense. Within Islam there is a rabid minority which does not hesitate to kill, murder, torture and abuse anyone it disagrees with. Only a fool would not fear it, and a greater one would deny its existence – yet this is exactly what many people do.


How can anyone claim to be feminist and not fear Islam? How can anyone claim to support the LGBT community and not fear Islam? How can anyone who supports universal human rights not fear Islam? How can anyone who believes in the equality of all humans not fear Islam? How can anyone who believes in democracy and the sovereignty of the people not fear Islam?


We know what would happen were the Islamists to get their way – a living hell on Earth would be established in the name of a fictional god, and all those who resisted would be killed. This is, after all, what the Qu’ran instructs its readers to do, and it is what we can see in ISIL and Saudi Arabia. We don’t have to guess what happens when the majority are Muslim: we can see it in failed state after failed state, in appalling horrors that blight the world.


When Muslims are a minority, they provide succour and cover for those who would kill the rest of us. When they are a majority, they give the fanatics a free hand to kill or suppress the rest of us. This is not guesswork or hyperbole. We have the living examples, the laboratories where the experiment has been conducted. We can see where Islam leads. That is why we should fear it.


Yet we are faced with a conundrum: what about the majority of Muslims, at least in the West? Is it legitimate to fear them, because of the activities of the extremists? The answer must be ‘yes’, for without that majority, the minority simply would not exist. It feeds on the majority and is sheltered and succoured by it.


The cancer of Islamism uses the cover afforded by the well-meaning majority to kill and maim the innocent. Charlie Hebdo and the SAF massacre are just a repetition, another example in a long list. For decades, the Islamists have perpetrated atrocity after atrocity, and yet we still say, ‘It is wrong to be islamophobic’. It is not wrong, it is common sense.


In some countries, where rabies is either not present or very rare, no-one really fears dogs; yet where rabies is endemic, as here in the Philippines, sensible people fear all dogs and if they are bitten, immediately seek anti-rabies treatment. All dogs are feared because a minority are deadly.


The same is true of Muslims. We have a duty to fear all Muslims, because some are deadly and have repeatedly proven just how much they are. Not to be islamophobic would be stupid.


Clearly this is hard on the majority of Muslims, just as the presence of rabies in their midst is hard on dogs. But whereas dogs cannot eradicate the affliction of rabies, the majority of Muslims could eradicate the extremist Islamists. They could expose them and reveal them to the authorities, prevent them from spreading their message of hatred in the mosques, prevent them receiving money and force them out of their communities.


But they do not.


It is not enough to wring hands, dissemble and cry crocodile tears in the wake of yet another – and there will be more and more – atrocity perpetrated in the name of Islam. Muslims must unite to rid their communities of Islamists.


The consequences of a failure to do so are predictable. Here in the Philippines, to be a Muslim right now must be frightening. Over 98.5 million people are appalled and angry at the actions of a tiny number of Islamists, members of a minority of 1.5 million. While people – who do not understand Islam – may say that Abu Sayyaf does not represent ‘true Islam’ their anger is intense and could spill over at any time. The generally peaceable nature of Filipinos should not be taken to mean they will not, if pushed too far, react.


In France and elsewhere in Europe, the reaction has already gained focus and traction. The political right may be xenophobic, misogynist, homophobic and racist but that does not necessarily mean it is wrong about everything. Misrepresenting Polish plumbers as scroungers is nasty and untrue; pointing out that as long as there exists a Muslim minority, a minority within it will exist that is dangerous and must be feared and destroyed, is simply a statement of fact.


It is a very uncomfortable paradox that Islamist extremists force fee-thinking liberals into bed with their most hated enemy, the political right. The clear and present danger of Islamism makes strange bedfellows. The consequences for the whole of Western society, and especially the Muslim minorities may be very bleak if the political right rises again; yet Islamic terrorism in our midst makes this much more likely


It is in the hands of the Muslim community to do something about this, to avoid the inevitable polarisation and possible violence against Muslims. They must fully accept the cultures that they have moved into as their own, embrace the values of free speech and association, the equal rights of women and LGBT people, the equality of all people regardless of skin colour and mush else, and they must deliver into the hands of the authorities all of the Islamist extremists. They must do this now, as a matter of urgency.


The world has seen many massacres and genocides because of religion. As long as humanity is subject to this scourge, these will happen again. For Muslims, this means that they must take action; they must clean their houses of Islamists.


For the rest of us, until they do, islamophobia is the only intelligent position to take.



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Wednesday 28 January 2015

Philippines Diary: Jeepneys

Jeepneys at Waterfun, Taguig. Pic Rod Fleming

Jeepneys at Waterfun, Taguig. Pic Rod Fleming



Most people have at least heard about jeepneys, the ubiquitous, colourful and incredibly noisy backbone of the Philippines public transport system. For those who have not, you’ll catch up.


The first jeepneys were in fact modified Willys Jeeps that the Americans left behind. The enterprising pinoys lengthened the chassis and fitted seats. Now they are custom built with stainless steel, all-enclosed bodywork and diesel engines.


Most jeepneys are 20-seaters; 18 in the back and 2 in the front, guv. This makes them unquestionably the friendliest form on transport on the planet, because actually there’s only enough room for 16 in the back and we are talking kitten-hipped pinoys here.


jeepney 2

pic: Rod Fleming



This ensures fairly intimate physical contact as you are wedged in between people on either side. The conductors will make sure you’re wedged in too, banging on the outside and telling the passengers to squeeze up.


(I have only once had a conductor look me in the eye and say ‘You’re too big.’ I laughed it off as a matter of principle. If you’re one of those colossal American things, best get a cab.)


The next thing to be aware of is that there is only about 1.5 metres of headroom, so if you’re much over six feet, you will bang your head off the roof even when seated. For everyone, the low height means entering and leaving the jeep in a crouched position, of which more later.


Once wedged in between your new friends-for-life…well, at least for the next few minutes of it anyway… comes the small matter of fares. If you board at a terminus, a conductor will either take the fare as you enter or he’ll come on board to collect it. (I have never seen a woman doing this job. Jeepneys do appear to be strictly male that way.)


If you board en route, however, things are slightly different, and the etiquette demands that you call out ‘Bayat po,’ to the driver before handing him the fare. This he will take while driving and sort out your change and return it, also while driving. It’s quite a feat. Unless you tell him otherwise he will assume you want to go to the terminus, so if you don’t tell him. This also means he’ll stop to let you off at the right place. Since otherwise you won’t have a clue when to get off, this amounts to Good Thinking.


jeepney03

Pic: Rod Fleming



Jeep fares range from a low of four pesos to a maximum of sixteen, at least on the routes I have travelled.


Now the observant among you will probably already have picked up on a problem: what happens if you are not sitting right behind the driver? You’re wedged in, right, and negotiating a forest of knees crouched into a hunch while rattling along in this, let’s be honest, fairly basic machine would be impractical anyway. (At least if you lose balance you won’t fall far.) Well, there is a system. You call out ‘Bayat po’ just as if you were sitting behind the driver and wave the fare in his direction. One of the other passengers will take it and pass it forward till it reaches the driver.


In exactly like manner, your change, if there is any, will be returned to you.


Naturally etiquette demands that you participate, so when someone thrusts money at you, pass it in the appropriate direction. It should be obvious enough.


Now all this is very well, but how do you decide which jeepney to get in the first place? Well, they all ply defined routes for which they are licensed by the relevant city authority. The route will be painted on the side of the jeep itself…so, not obvious at night or when one is coming towards you. However in the windscreen there will be a small destination board with the terminus the jeep is heading for on it. These are only about 20cm x 8cm, so you’ll need sharp eyes and at night, a sixth sense. Best to ask if unsure.


Hailing jeepneys is easy, just wave your arm at an approaching one. If it has vacant seats, the driver will stop, if it doesn’t, tough. There will be another along soon.


To get the driver to stop and let you off, the standard method is to tap one of the stainless steel overhead rails with a coin. There are no real jeepney stops, the driver will just pull up as quickly as he can.


Getting off a jeepney is almost as entertaining as getting squeezed into the seat, especially at a terminus where everyone gets off. Here, you will leave in crouched stance, following the crowd in single file. This means that your face will be around a foot away from the person in front’s bottom. Depending on your preference, choose to enter the line after a boy or a girl…


I told you it was a friendly form of transport.


[contact-form]



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Marriage is not as simple as they want you to think

mecrissy2013 Human pair-bonding can be one of the most satisfying and awe-inspiring experiences available to us. The feelings of love, closeness and complicity, strengthened by sexual desire and reward, combine the best of what it is to be human.


Together, in the context of the shared adventure of life’s journey, these emotions are even more deeply satisfying. In a good pair-bonded relationship, the couple are not only best friends but also lovers, enjoying the most satisfying fruits of both.


These powerful emotions combine to make a level of intimacy between two people possible that is spiritual in intensity and can indeed last for the lifetime of the partners. Yet the mechanism is much more complex than is often realised. In the first place, there is absolutely no imperative which says that the parties must be of different sex or even gender. Successful, lasting and loving relationships exist between two cis-men, two cis-women, transwomen and cis-men, transwomen and cis-women, transmen and cis-women, between two transgenders and other forms.*


In fact there is as much scope for variety in successful pair-bonding as there is in any other facet of human life. Furthermore, humans can develop sexualised pair-bonds that are lasting and profound, but not necessarily exclusive; this occurs in extant polyamorous cultures – which have survived despite centuries and more of oppression by the patriarchy – all over the world.


Thus it is quite possible for both women and men to have pair-bonds with several others at once, of any sex or gender. Over a lifetime this becomes even more complicated. Same-sex, same gender and multiple, concurrent sexualised bonding models are all completely viable and all, as seen where they continue to exist, provide for the birth and raising of children, and the successful management of society. In many cultures such models have endured for hundreds or even thousands of years and are probably as old as humanity.


Formalised marriage ceremonies are not necessarily a bad thing and the steps taken in more enlightened parts of the world to overturn the old patriarchal model and allow for so-called ‘same sex’ marriages has clearly made many, including me, very happy. As long as the rights of both individuals are equal and protected and it is possible for either party to end the arrangement without excessive cost or social opprobrium, the arrangement can work very well, especially by allowing the couples’ close friends and family to celebrate and support the partnership. In this case the pair-bond comes first and is always the most important factor; so if the couple, for whatever reason, falls out of love, then the marriage can end so that they may move on.


However, the patriarchal marriage – the one that we are used to and was exclusively the case until the last few years – is not a voluntary union between two equals, which exists out of the mutual love of the parties, but one in which a woman is possessed by a man. The patriarchal marriage prescribes exactly who is allowed to enter into a pair-bond and invariably reduces this to one man and one or more women. This is so pervasive that we need to make the point again: heterosexual and exclusive pair bonds are neither the only ones available nor are they intrinsically ‘better’ than any other. They just conform to the patriarchy’s model of social domination.


Essentially, the patriarchy has done the same to human pair-bonding as patriarchal religions have to our sense of wonder at the natural world. It has appropriated positive emotions and perverted them to its ends, such that only pair-bonding of the type it arbitrarily permits is sanctioned. It then goes further and attempts to eradicate all other forms of bonding, through violence, murder, patriarchal law and relentless peer pressure.


The patriarchy sets out not only to prescribe with whom we are allowed to fall in love, but how we are permitted to express that love. It makes certain expressions of intimacy taboo or illegal– for example, public sex, kissing and, in some cultures, even holding hands. It restricts how couples – even those it accepts as ‘legitimate’ – may have sex and has a long history of making laws proscribing anal and oral sex, even within the privacy of the bedroom.


It produces religious nonsense, bogus philosophy and pseudo-science to pretend that it has a case; yet none of it is true: there is no one ‘correct’ form of pair bond, and no form of consenting sex is any less ‘natural’ than any other.


By appropriating and perverting something so fundamentally human, so profoundly beautiful and so powerful to its own ends, the patriarchy uses the human pair bond to enforce its control over society. It is a telling example of the wickedness at the heart of the patriarchy.


The issues discussed here will be explored more fully in ‘Why Men Made God’, co-authored with Karis Burkowski, which is scheduled for publication on 1 May 2015


* The term cis refers to a person of particular birth sex who presents in a gender role usually thought to be conforming to that, or gender-normative. Thus a cis-woman is a person of female birth genitalia who is a woman. This differentiates her from a transwoman, a person of male birth genitalia who is a woman. The inverse applies to cis and trans men.



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Friday 9 January 2015

Roofs in France

France is divided, basically, into the north, where tuiles plats were traditional roof covering tiles, and the south, where tuiles romaines are found. France is divided, basically, into the north, where tuiles plats were traditional roof covering tiles, and the south, where tuiles romaines are found. There is a line just south of Chalon sur Saone where you can see this change quite clearly, and you know you have officially entered le sud, even though the Mediterranean is still hundreds of miles away. I always stop for a glass of wine in a café when I pass this point. Roofs in the north, with their flat tiles, tend to be steeply pitched, whereas in the south the pitch is much more gentle.


It is often said, by the way, that the characteristic curved shape of the tuile romaine was formed by a man wrapping the clay over his bare thigh. This may or may not be true, but it does describe the shape perfectly. Traditional tuiles plats are also, it should be noted, not flat but curved, though in the other direction. This is important as it means that if you mix them with modern flat tiles, which actually are flat, the result will not only look awful, it will leak.


There are many other types of traditional roof in France, these are just the most common. Slate, ardoise, is often found, especially in finer work or on small towers or dormers, and stone tiles called lauzes, or laves, are also common. The difference between lauzes and laves is that laves are made of basaltic, volcanic rock, while lauzes are made of limestone or other sedimentary rock; but everyone will know what you mean if you call them laves.


In some parts of France, thatched roofs are still seen, but these are well outside my ken.


As well as the traditional, hand-made tiles, it is common to see tuiles mecaniques, or factory-made, moulded tiles. These are especially common in the north. They are also frequently mixed with tuiles plats.


Because of the very steep pitch used for tuiles plats, which is in turn forced by their lengthwise curved shape, they have to be hung on tiling battens. They are either nailed on or more commonly hooked on by a moulded projection called an ergot. Note that you can’t easily drill the holes in these tiles; if there are holes they will be cast in from new. Thus the buyer of reclaimed tiles had better check that the ergots have not been knocked off, a very common result of careless stacking, otherwise a bargain may turn out not to be, as he will break at least half drilling them. Traditionally no sarking timber is placed under these, so the tiles can be accessed directly from below, which can be extremely useful.


Tuiles romaines are also placed on battens but are simply laid and then mortared in place, forming a rigid structure.


Slate roofs in France are not normally nailed but instead the tiles are hung on galvanised metal hooks. These can fail through corrosion but at least the tiles are easy to replace until they do.


Stone roofs are not for the amateur to take lightly, if you’ll forgive the pun. Professional help or considerable research will have to be done before repairs can be tackled safely. Working on roofs is always dangerous, but even more so when using stone because of the enormous weight, and scaffolding will be required for quite basic maintenance work. Furthermore while it is relatively simple for an amateur to nail tiling battens at the appropriate intervals and then hang tiles, stone roofs are much more complicated in their structure, involving the need to accurately size the stone and level each course with intermediary smaller stones called cales which prevent the main stones from actually touching. This promotes the circulation of air and prevents a capillary channel for moisture to creep in and rot the roof-timbers.


It really is essential to get professional help if you have a roof like this, but unfortunately the older generation of French tradesmen who had the skills needed to work on these roofs is dieing out and there are very few left. I hope that younger people coming into the industry will realise the value of being one of the few to possess such skills, so that these wonderful roofs can be preserved and maintained; but I am quite sure their services won’t come cheap.


Broken tuiles plats are easily replaced, as the old tile can usually be wiggled out and a new one put in place from inside the roof. If the roof is reasonably small, quite large areas of tile can be repaired using a proper roofer’s ladder, which hooks over the ridge. Note however, that this requires steely nerves at the best of times, and often the roof is so big and steep that it is really not appropriate. For example, the main roof on my home is ten metres from edge to ridge, pitched at 55 degrees from horizontal, and the lowest part is six metres above ground. That’s quite a sensation of altitude.


An important issue with these roofs is the state of the tiling battens, as the failure of these elements requires all the tiles to be removed for their replacement. Tile battens were often made from poplar, which must be like sweeties to woodworm beetles, and is only good for 30 years at most. New pressure-treated pine battens should last much longer. Again, replacing tile battens is a professional job; while the amateur can tackle a small shed or outhouse, the sheer size of most roofs means that professional equipment and skills are a pre-requisite. Unfortunately, as with so many things, the number of French tradesmen prepared or indeed able to work with the old tuiles plats is declining rapidly and many who can, will be very expensive. It will almost always be much cheaper to retile the whole roof with new flat tiles than to carefully remove, stack, and replace the old ones; but the result will look less beautiful.


Tuiles romaines suffer from the same problem in that if the underlying timber fails, replacement also means taking the roof off. Individual tiles are extremely difficult to replace because the structure of the roof means they are all locked together, but it can be done. However, the much less severe pitch on a roof like this is such that it is safe for a man supported by roofing boards to work on, so scaffold is not always required. While I would hesitate to suggest that this would allow the amateur to carry out major works, at least routine maintenance and minor repairs are possible, as long as you have researched the issue thoroughly and are sure you know what you’re doing.


Tuiles mecaniques are prone to breaking, especially if they have not been well laid. Because the tiles interlock and are also quite large, it is essential that adequate space is left at upstands for the tiles to expand and contract, otherwise they will surely crack. A tile has to deal with blazing summer sun when its surface can become hot enough to literally fry eggs, and midwinter nights with air temperatures of minus twenty Celsius or less; expansion and contraction will happen and must be allowed for. These tiles can be awkward to replace either from inside or outside, but at the price of a few choice curses the job can usually be done without the removal of too much skin. The tile you want to repair is always just above a rafter, and so you will need to remove several other tiles to get to it if working from inside, but patience and care are the key. The trouble starts if the roof was originally clad with tuiles plats and subsequently recovered with tuiles mecaniques using the same rafters. This is because the rafters for tuiles plats are closer together because of the much greater weight, and it can be impossible to wiggle the larger tuiles mecaniques up through the gaps from the inside. On moderately-sized roofs with this problem, repairs can be carried out using a proper roof ladder, but again, for larger roofs a professional will probably have to help.



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Thursday 1 January 2015

Happy New Year!

Crissy&me Happy New Year 2015! I try not to write about myself too much, but this seems a perfect excuse.


2014 got off to the worst start imaginable. I broke with my lovely girlfriend, Crissy José, in a stupid disagreement that was entirely my fault. (I mentioned this in an earlier post). I had very little money and I was totally depressed. My world shrank and I turned inwards. I was emotionally gutted and actually in a very vulnerable condition.


Two events saved me. Well, three, but more of that later. In the first, my neighbour, a lovely woman who has always been very kind to me and my family, asked me if I would put some of my house-restoration skills to work on her house. She has a traditional fermette, and like all of these, the original space for humans was tiny. She ha already converted another outbuilding and her a stable into a nice letting apartment, but the barn was very big and as she has got older, it was clearly getting more difficult for her to do these things herself.


I would not usually take work like that, but I needed something. That work not only made me fitter, leaner and stronger, it focussed me again. The project is still unfinished but it looks positive and several others have come into view.


The second event of huge importance was that I met, through a Facebook Group, a person who was to become central to my life. She is known as Karis Burkowski and half in jest I sent her a copy of French Onion Soup . She liked it and made very positive comments, so I asked if she would help with a writing project I was stuck with. I thought she might do some editing and maybe give me some direction.


However, what actually happened was remarkable. After a hesitant beginning, the whole arrangement just clicked into place, and Karis became so much part of the project that she is now the co-author. The book is called Why Men Made God and we are currently working through the last draft (of over 40). This is the best working relationship I have ever had with another professional and I will be forever in Karis’ debt. She has improved Why Men Made God by orders of magnitude, and we are planning future projects together. Not only is she co-author, but she has also become my business partner.


Between these two projects I was really busy, but at the same time rediscovered some of my energy. It’s funny how the more work I have, the stronger and more energetic I become. My daughter Charis came to visit for three weeks and that was lovely, as it always is. I tackled some of the work that needed to be done to my house, including some roof repairs and replacing a rotten lintol over the barn. My next Onion Soup project, while slow, also progressed.


I even managed to find time for romance. I met a few girls online and chatted with them. But each, after a few weeks, just faded. Then I met a girl through Facebook and it seemed more serious. She was very nice, and eventually we decided to meet. This prompted me to book an extended break in the Philippines, where I am now (and where Crissy lives, by the way.) This seemed like a decent plan in any case. I know a lot of people here now so I was pretty relaxed, and it gave me the time to really concentrate on finishing Why Men Made God.


So I rented an apartment in Taguig, Manila. I flew into NAIA (pronounced ‘na-eeyah’) on the 15th and within three days I had broken with the girl. It just was not right. Another Facebook friend contacted me, and I had a couple of dates with her. She is beautiful, charming and affectionate; but I knew it was all wrong, though I could not tell why. I met another and also knew, right away, that this was never going to work. I learned that knowing someone online is not like knowing that person ‘in real’.


I had almost given up when I went back on the site where I first met Crissy. It’s a dating site and I hadn’t used it for ages. She was still on it and was obviously active, since her photo popped up quickly. The funny thing was, I almost didn’t message her. But I did, not really expecting her to reply. That was on Christmas Day.


So I was pretty impressed when, the day after, she replied. She was a little critical but I know her very well, she had been wronged and was not letting me away with it easily. But still, she wanted to meet.


We met on the 30th, four days later. I offered to take her for dinner at the Market! Market! mall near here at 6:30. I wasn’t really apprehensive, though I did ask myself if this was really a good idea. (I’m sure she did too.) I took a jeepney to the mall and reloaded my pocket wi-fi, hit the ATM and then went to the agreed meeting place. Naturally, Crissy was late so I had time to get scared but I didn’t. I just thought it would be two good friends meeting after a long time apart.


Crissy just appeared beside me without a word. She was obviously nervous. She made no display of greeting, just led me towards Giligan’s, a popular restaurant. But it was full, and I suggested another; this was too bright, said she. So we settled on Gerry’s Grill at her suggestion.


Crissy can often be insecure and I have to be gentle with her, and respect her need for space. I am sure meeting me had been stressing for her. Seated, and with the table between us, she was in a space she could control so she relaxed and I saw her for the first time.


She was more beautiful than before, perhaps a little slimmer. She seemed more self-assured and confident in herself, and actually more mature. She had changed, and as far as I could see, in good ways. Still I was not expecting anything. I had broken with her and counted it an honour and a privilege that she had even agreed to meet. This was just friends.


But slowly, as the evening progressed, that changed. Because the music was deafening, I moved to sit behind her, and very soon had my arm round her. She didn’t flinch or move away and even when I asked she just shook her head and said it was fine. But I knew that she knew what was happening, and felt it too. ‘I never expected this,’ she said, several times, without any reproach, just wonder.


Around about then, the door opened, or the lid came off. The lid on the Pandora’s Box that I had locked Crissy into. The door on all my lies and self-deception. The window that showed the truth. I am completely in love with this most beautiful person, and had been all along. Denying it was just stupid and futile. This feeling is just too strong.


The situation I was in became crystal clear. The other girls I dated never had any chance at all. I could chat online, but as soon as they were before me, real, my entire emotional system rejected them the way that white cells reject a virus. There was just no room in my heart for any of them, because Crissy – or at least the ghost of Crissy – was in there already, and that ghost was allowing no competition.


After dinner she wanted to buy a cake, for New Year, so we found a bakery. It was like old times, arm in arm, close, touching. It was absolutely exhilarating and her perfume was actually making me dizzy. I bought the cake, and then we found her a taxi. She had to get it home, she explained, it was an ice-cream cake, and it would melt. Manila in December is not like Paris. I asked for a kiss and she willingly gave one, just a nice friendly kiss.


Then something happened; I opened the taxi door and as she got in I leaned close to her ear and the truth finally came out: ‘I love you’ I breathed. I hadn’t meant to say that, but I was no longer in control. My heart, which had successfully and so loyally defended Crissy’s right to be there, was back in control and it was not about to put up with any more of my crass self-deception.


I was in shock. I came home to the apartment in a jeep – and collapsed on the bed. I don’t know what was worst – the shame at how I had wronged someone so profoundly decent, and whom I love so much, the stupidity of having lied to myself for so long, or the way I had – without meaning to, hurt others during a year of total untruth. Every wrong I had committed against my love I reviewed and every time I felt the agony of recrimination. It was a difficult night and I slept very little.


lizard.wee


On the evening, just over two years ago, when Crissy and I fell in love, we were in the Red Coconut Bar in Station Two on Boracay. At one point I looked up and saw a bright green lizard on the wall. I had never seen one like it before, and have not since. Not till that night, after I got back from meeting Crissy, anyway. I went to brush my teeth, and there in front of me was a little bright green lizard on the wall. By the time I got my camera, it had gone. I am pretty hard-boiled, but that shook me; I was wide open to the Universe by then and strange things that only shamans understand happen at times like that.


crissyme15nov2012.wee.


I didn’t and don’t know what will happen. Crissy and I need to talk, seriously, about us and the future. I don’t know if she will ever trust me as she did before. But what I do know is that I will never, ever, deceive myself as I have again. That is why I am writing this, so that I never forget this lesson.


Never, ever, take anyone for granted. And if you love someone, never, ever, deny it. Make them the centre of your life and meet all challenges together. Love will cure anything. But you have to let it. Remember that you don’t often get second chances. Don’t waste them. Especially in something so important as love. These are the things 2014 taught me.


For 2015 I have very high hopes. I hope that Why Men Made God is as well-received as it deserves to be. I hope my kids do well and are safe and healthy and enjoy their lives. And I hope that I can repair the damage I did and that the most wonderful person in my world will regain her trust and faith in me, and that we can go into the future together.


And I wish anyone reading this all the very best for 2015 and that their dreams come true. Happy New Year!



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