Wednesday, April 30, 2008

VIRAL INFECTION


(Make me leave. Make me.)
The following is just about the most annoying pop-up I've ever received in my life:


"Privacy Violation Alert! Some program is secretly sending your private data to
untrusted internet host."


Untutored in these things as I am, I allowed my annoyance to turn into panic, as I proceeded to follow directions (mostly "click ok") that will allow me to get rid of the "71 threats" to my system. Then I was prompted to pay $75 in extermination costs. That did it. I clicked "continue unprotected" and braced myself for the worst.


Of course, my colleague, a walking anti-virus machine who took pity on my hapless plight, zapped the threats with an inocuous CD. So that's that. But this momentous event in my life as a blogging newbie set me to thinking: if only the other viruses and threats in my life were just as easy to annihilate. I'm not terminally ill or anything, but I know have some bugs in my system that eat away at my sanity and productivity, and if I don't "click ok", some malicious host or other might succeed in corrupting me one of these days.


Take for instance, my growing dislike for the house I grew up in for 36 years. For the past couple of years, I haven't felt that "home sweet home" feeling. Not that our house, a bungalow with spacious, faded bedrooms, 1-car + motorcycle garage, and pastel lavender gate was decrepit or in need of major repairs. My brother, and my daddy, when he was still alive, were always prompt in keeping the ceilings painted, the gate hinges oiled, and everything else that falls under "maintenance." With my daddy's death benefit, mama had our sofa and armchairs reupholstered. Me? I have always been Glade-spray happy, commissioned to keep tabletops polished and smelling all lemony. That was then. Now, I have lost my housekeeping edge.

I have also come to despise the neighbors. In this, I know I am justified. What decent, concerned neighbor would allow his dog to shit on our driveway? How about indiscriminately sending volleyballs, basketballs, shuttlecocks and frisbees into our front yard? Then they have the gall to ring the doorbell so one of us inside the house will pick up their stray bullets. Later on, when we stubbornly refused to answer the bell, one of them will even reach into our gate handle so he can get the offending item himself. When we very nicely called their attention to these "inconveniences", they would act as though they were the offended party, as though trespassing and disturbing the peace was their right and privelege. It's pitiful that I wasn't keen on going home because the neighbors were out on the street, spiking a volleyball.

It's a dreadful, counter-productive feeling, one I didn't want to entertain in the first place. It has festered in me so badly, that I am willing to relocate tomorrow, no, right now, to a more private enclave where I can walk the streets without being torpedoed by a volleyball. I took a tripping via internet, and was able to download some model homes further south in Daang Hari, Muntinlupa. If I could rob a bank tomorrow, I'll have a brand new house for sure.

But the truth remains that I'm still here as I've always been in almost four decades. You know how some viruses are so miniscule, so insignificant, that you can just cough it out, or delete it, hoping it'll be better the next day? I hope this is all there is, for I do feel guilty for treating my parents' house, their 1970's dream home, this way. I sincerely hope that this crippling, wanton virus will go away. Or I will.




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