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Here's a colorized photo of the old Immaculate Conception Cathedral, in Capiz (now Roxas City), Capiz before World War II. Photo from Philippines Magazine, Volume 1, no. 2 - February 1941.
The church, constructed in 1870s, was damaged by World War II and the Lady Caycay earthquake in 1948. Rebuilt in 1954.
Below is the photo in its original black-and-white.
My grandmother, Lilian Yncong Lopez Acevedo. Here's a colorized version of her photograph, originally taken in 1949, when she was 20. Had she been alive today, she could have been 94.
She told me a lot of stories when she was alive, remembering she would do so in the afternoons, after I woke up from the nap. She instilled in me the importance of taking the after-lunch lull.
"You will not grow up if you don't take a nap."
"Don't dare go out in the midday (udtong adlaw), it's the encanto's witching hour!"
"If you don't take a bath and wash your hair, lice will nest on your head. When there's a lot of them on your hair, they will carry you and hang you on the bamboo!"
Oh, so many stories! Some I remember, others I have to find time to remember again. But I admit I should write them or else I will forget them when my memory fades.
Anyway, Happy birthday in heaven, Lola. By Christian George Acevedo, November 6, 2023.
I woke up with an unexplainable sense of anxiety. My grandfather was terribly ill. Just two nights before that, he was discharged from the hospital after his health condition worsened following the detection of his cancer in August of 2013. He went home on the night of my grandmother's 84th birthday. Nothing was worth celebrating that day. But Lola, herself frail, was happy to see her husband come home after a week’s stint in the hospital.
We were all worried over my grandfather's condition. He would no longer walk without assistance. In a month's time, he could not even stand, and he lost his appetite. That day, not even the patotin that we asked Daging, our part-time helper, to cook would invite him to eat more. He had no energy to speak. He was irritable and just wanted to stay in bed. It was even difficult for him to get up and go to the toilet. I was not used to it. Not yet. The Lolo I was used to was energetic, one who would refuse to bow to physical challenges. Until a few days before he was hospitalized, he was still able to go to the market to buy what he wanted to eat. I find it totally strange.
On Nov. 6 of 2013, it had all changed. Little did I know that his deterioration would be quick and uneasy. For him and for all of us. On November 7, the weather bureau reported that a strong typhoon would hit Capiz, Roxas, and the coastal areas in particular. Its path would pass by Samar, Leyte, Cebu, and our area. At first, I was like Dedma. It's just another storm. I've seen innumerable storms cross Roxas before.
We’ve had Frank in 2008. They said the upcoming storm was Undang-like. I've always heard my grandmother tell me about how terrifying Undang was.
"Do you see that house?" She would point out the house next to our neighbor's.
"That's Amparing's house. Did you know that Undang plucked its entire roof?"
Now, when reports began to circulate that it would be the strongest in history—stronger than Frank—I felt cold sweat begin to bead on my forehead as I realized that we’re in for more than just any other typhoon. It’s the strongest typhoon in the history of the Philippines. I heaved a sigh of fear. Ours is an old house that hasn't seen any major repairs for so long.
I lived with two frail seniors. And my parents’ own house was also a wreck. It barely survived Frank in 2008, I knew it would no longer make it that time. The eve of Yolanda's arrival was the literal calm before the storm. There was an eerie silence in the neighborhood. It was a still, dark day. Work and class were suspended. Everyone was told to go home and prepare. I rushed to the grocery store and to the market to shop for supplies. Canned goods. Candle. Eggs. Anything that I could think of would last for days and sustain us in case the worst happened. I also had our water supply refilled.
That night, rain started pouring, but it wasn't that strong. I told my parents to move in from their house to my grandparents’ in the morning, before the typhoon hits our area. In the morning, the wind started to blow stronger. We let our helper and her family into the house. My father, sister, and her two-year-old also arrived.
"Where's mother?" I was frantic because the wind was already howling and the torrent got stronger. What if a strong wind suddenly hits our neighborhood and she gets trapped? She was busy packing her stuff. Oh, for the love of God. She wouldn't part with her stuff that easily!
Finally, she arrived. When Yolanda made her destructive sweep, I was inside our midcentury house. With me were Lolo and Lola, my parents, my sister and her infant son, and our helper's family. I trembled. Now that Yolanda was hitting us relentlessly, the wind she carried roared. We were all helpless, but I managed to say the rosary as Yolanda’s gust entered through the creaking glass jalousie. The flame of the candles on the altar danced in the wind's direction. I took a deeper breath whenever the wind grew stronger and blew harder, like it was trying to lift our roof. It also lasted for seconds, but it felt like hours already. And then again, it blew harder. An hour or less, but it was like forever. As heaven poured stronger rain, our roof showed signs of nearly breaking down. Water gushed from the different corners of the roof.
I checked on my grandparents room; luckily, it was the sturdiest part of the house. Lolo was deep in his sleep, but Lola was awake, sitting on her bed and also praying the rosary. It went on like that for a few more minutes. Time, though, seemed to have stretched. Around noontime, the tempest had passed and probably went on to wreak havoc in other towns. But for us, we were left wretched creatures as we were. A certain portion of the roof was damaged, and trees around us were felled. But, thank God, there was no major damage in the main house.
My parents’ house survived no more. It was built of coconut lumber and designed in the bungalow style. They became a homeless couple and were left with no choice but to move in with my Lolo and Lola. For days, we had limited water supply; drinking water was scarce because purifying stations did not operate. For a month, we did not have electricity.
I would also remember Yolanda as the start of a terrible year and a-half. In a month's time, my grandfather would be reduced to a vegetative state. In the middle of January 2014, he would die. His biggest consolation was that he died peacefully and was surrounded by his family. I can tell the story of how he died, but that's for another story. Six months later, my grandmother followed. She died of a broken heart, I would also tell people, two days after their 62nd wedding anniversary.
Before she breathed her last, she told Daging, her loyal attendant who was beside her when she died, "Paano na si Toto?" She left on a gloomy day. I was in Iloilo, attempting to chase a dream in the DFA. Fate would step in, as always. A different dream would come true.
Now what about you? What memories do you have of Typhoon Yolanda? By Christian George Acevedo, November 8, 2023
Our last stop for this year’s cemetery tour is the Masonic Cemetery. Our street is just beside this cemetery, so our place is more popularly known as Mason, rather than its official name of Sitio Carmel.
The cemetery was constructed in the 1920s for the brothers of the Masonic Lodge. The January 23, 1928 issue of The Cabletow, the official organ of the Grand Lodge of the Free and Accepted Masons of the Philippines, featured the cemetery on its cover page.
The article writes:
“Our Brethren of Makawiwili Lodge No. 55, of Capiz, on the island of Panay, believe in having a beautiful resting-place for their dead. Most Wor. Bro. Joseph H. Schmidt, our Grand Master, visited the Masonic cemetery at Capiz and was much impressed with it. As a souvenir of the occasion, the Capiz Brethren had a photograph taken of Most Wor. Bro. Schmidt at the entrance of the cemetery which we reproduce on our front page. The monumental gate, with the square and compass and the legend “Masonic Cemetery" gives an impression of strength, power, and dignity and the well-kept graves show that brotherly love does not stop with the breath of the body.
“Our Capiz Brethren are to be congratulated upon their cemetery and are sincerely hope that their example will be followed generally as our Lodges in the provinces grow and prosper.”
Just like Paco in Manila and Nagcarlan, Laguna, the town of Dumalag in Capiz boasts a rare Spanish-era cemetery designed and constructed in a circular form.
Called "Campo Santo" by the locals, the cemetery—like the nearby 19th century Catholic church— was constructed under the behest of Fr. Angel de Abasolo, an Agustinian priest who served the people of Dumalag from 1864 until 1879.
The wall is made of limestone, with its façade topped with a triangular pediment with a bas relief of a skull and crossbones at the center and flanked by two columns. Sadly the beauty of the limestone was now covered by a coat of cement.
Lining the inner side of the circular wall are niches where the bones of the departed are
deposited. A modern chapel stands at the center of the cemetery, while behind it, at the opposite end of the gate, is the ruins of the Spanish-era chapel. by Christian George F. Acevedo, November 31, 2023
The cemetery is a culture buff's park. Searching for dead people's mausoleum, niches, and burial grounds makes historical research fun.
I live a few steps away from the Banica Cemetery and the Masonic Cemetery, hence our area - Sitio Carmel - is more popularly known as Mason.
If you are a heritage buff, the Banica Cemetery offers a plethora of sites to stuff your eyes and fill your imagination. Many personalities, to include local and national leaders, businessmen, and so on, are buried here.
This morning, I embarked once more on a tour of the cemetery and photographed mausoleums, vaults and niches that interest me. Sadly, the oldest parts of the cemetery, which included the campo santo, Spanish walls, arches, and even the niches and mausoleums of old families, have significantly deteriorated.
... And my cemetery visit this year continues at Panay Catholic Cemetery in the town of Panay, Capiz. This is another circular cemetery, with diameters of 70 cm and made of coral stones. Entering the arch, you will read this Spanish inscription, common among Spanish-era cemeteries, that reads:
"Remember, man, that you are dust and on Earth you have to return, then as you are I was, and as I am you have to be."
Standing opposite the arch is the ruins of the capilla, covered with makeshift roofing, for the sake, maybe, of the cemetery-goers. Compared to that of Roxas City's old campo santo, Panay's capilla is not overly crowded with niches. A human-size cross hangs on the wall and on the ground, the faithful place the candles that they lit for their dearly departed.
It was customary among Filipino families in the 19th and 20th centuries to capture images of the deceased. The photograph is called Recuerdo de Patay, or memento mori. This could be creepy but these heirloom shots of the dead family member is the last memory one could have with the dearly departed before he or she is finally laid to rest.
In a blog post, Pinoy Kolektor explained that the "goal was to present the subject as if they were simply resting, with a peaceful and lifelike appearance." Looking at these photographs may not be comfortable, sometimes, it could be even scary, but these memorabilia are important as cultural and historical pieces. These also hold sentimental values to members of the family.
Here's my family's very own recuerdo de patay, taken at the funeral of my father's youngest sister, who died at the age of 2, some time in 1966.
Family lore says that Baby was bewitched (gin-aswang) by an old lady. My grandmother used to own a store along San Roque Street, and Baby would always be the apple of every passersby's eyes when they stop by at Lola's tiange to buy something. Mestiza and cute, they would adore her. One day, an old lady passed by and, just like everyone else, was enchanted by her cuteness. She patted Baby on her head and pinched her rosy cheeks and left.
That night, Baby got a fever and had convulsion and died in no time. According to my grandmother, she never looked dead even while in her coffin. She seemed like she was just deep in her slumber.
After the funeral, my grandparents could not move on. They consulted a cerujano (medicine man), who told my grandfather that Baby was not really dead. Her soul was just spirited away by the witch, trapped in her house, so they better go to her hut in the middle of the kanipaan (nipa swampland). They had to do this before Baby's remains are stolen and exchanged for a banana stalk. Alas, they were too late.
When they arrived at the kanipaan, the witch was not in her hut anymore. They hurried to the cemetery, unearthed the cadaver and found the body pale and lifeless. The witch had taken Baby away.
Creepy, right? So you may ask where is this photograph kept today? There, in the baol. Or else I'll scare off anyone who sees it hanging on the wall.
What about you? Do you still have heirloom photographs of your dead relatives? Share them in the comment box, together with their interesting story. by Christian George Acevedo, November 2, 2023
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"Are you sure you can manage all these?" I asked him when he showed me his schedule at the start of last semester. He is also an officer in the Student Council and is active in extra curricular activities.
I know how it feels, running after to get good grades, joining the student org, editing the college paper, competing is extra curriculars, while earning my keep as a student assistant. Been there,done that. But he is an Engineering student! I have friends who cheered when their professors gave them 3.00 for a grade, but this boy, he gets 1.75, no less.
"Show me your grades at the end of the semester. If you manage to maintain your grades, I will keep you at work. If not, I don't want this work to get in between you and your dreams."
He nodded. Probably he took my challenge. Just the other day, he went to my office.
"Sir, here's my grade!" He sounded proud.
"Why do you have to show me your grades?" I was deep in my writing for a report, so I totally forgot about what I told him a few months ago. I seem to have a bout with short term memory loss lately!
"You asked me to show you my grades, right? So, here they are." He handed me a print out of his grades. Impressive! He got 1.25 for the highest grade, 1.75 for the lowest. Again, this is an Engineering student.
"Oh, my. Your college should award you with Latin honors when you graduate." I told him. I am very proud at how my past student assistants have become, by the way.
But it turned out he could not be because he has a grade of 2.0. In a minor subject! He doesn't sound disappointed, though. He was proud he got straight 1's in all major subjects.
"Never mind," I told him. " just top the board exam!"
"That's the goal!" He replied.
My student assistant's case is just one of the many I've heard about deserving students who missed the chance to get the recognition. And then there are those who got the top honors but with dubious claim to fame.
Three years ago, I wrote this essay and I think it is worth sharing because I think this relates to this Sunday's story and I know you will also relate...
JUST MY OPINION...
I always have my second thoughts when I come across a "Search for Outstanding..." In this field and that. More often than not, it is a search for documents in the drawer or the file folder. Or search for someone else's certificate to be PhotoShopped so it bears someone else's so the other gets the points to score the award.
I don't generalize, i'm just stating my opinion.
I'd like to look at it in a bigger perspective. Then there is also this instance: When you know someone is looking at you, of course, you will do your best. And then, you slack back to your old, usual self when the jury has gone and the plaque has been handed over.
For me, though, more outstanding are those who keep doing what is right and keep giving their best even if no one is looking at them.
I hope we have this mindset. We do things because it is right, because it benefits many and it is towards the common good. We help not even if no medal of Valor awaits us, because we feel the inner joy in doing random acts of kindness.
For every student who won't ever be a cum laude because he got a grade of 2.0 in one subject, dont worry...
For every quiet employee who discreetly toils, don't worry...
For every individual who helps others in need without ever making their identity known, don't worry...
For every wind beneath some else's wings, don't worry...
For every secret Santa or Fairy Godparent who lurks at the background or hides in the shadow while quietly helping someone reach for his or her dream, don't worry...
It is good to be feted by others, but if you know you are doing the right thing - and you're doing it right, BTW - you won't ever have to depend on anyone for confirmation or affirmation because you know you have done a good job.
That's not outstanding.
That's not even excellent.
That's larger than life!
***
Sunday Thoughts is my weekend series where I write about my thoughts for the week that was and what transpired in life. Read more about my Sunday Thoughts via #ChristiansSundayThoughts or visit my blog http://ChristianGeorgeAcevedo.blogspot.com for more stories.
On February 22, my grandfather would have been 91, of course, had he lived long enough to reach this milestone. He died when he was 81, just a few weeks shy of his 82nd birthday. He had lived a relatively robust and healthy life, surviving the horrors of World War II, as well as accidents, and health scares. He lost his appendix and a kidney, nearly receiving an invasive procedure because of undigested cow’s innards. He fell off a cliff many times in the name of duty as a heavy equipment operator. The worst forms of death simply eluded him because he was to die in the peace of his home.
Every time I hear the song The Leader of the Band sung by Dan Fogelberg, I remember my grandfather, not because it was his favorite song. “The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old…” that line simply reminds me of him. Mat Monroe and Nat King Cole, by the way, were his favorite singers; Mona Lisa by the latter, his favorite song. That is why at a young age, I already memorized a number of 50s and 60s classics, not because they’re my favourites, but because they were repetitively played almost every day, more frequently when he, my father, and uncle were on drinking binge, which I hated a lot.
My grandfather taught me to hate drinking at a young age (more about that in next stories), not because he was a teetotaller, but because he would drink his problems – and joys – away. And the quarrels and small accidents that would happen afterwards would always terrify me. My father beat him at that; he is a serial drinker. I am their total opposite. For that, I thank both of them for setting the examples.
Lolo told me the most wonderful stories from his childhood adventures and misadventures. He loved to drive and my love for road trips to faraway places I attribute to him. When he retired he bought a Pinoy Owner-type jeep and he would take me to the beach, to the countryside, and elsewhere. Compared to my grandmother who had the difficulty of parting with her pesos, my grandfather was reasonably generous. When he thought I deserved a reward after getting a prize at school, he would buy me a book or a toy. I have to credit him for nurturing my interest for reading and books.
He lived a full life. I admire his boldness and courage to pursue what catches his attention. He was an artisan. Bored with retirement, he bought a welding machine and metal rods. He made bed frames, plant stands, knives, and everything that his imagination told him. There was a time when he was crazy about raising marcotted fruiting plants, too.
Alas, he was never good at handling his finances. He invested the retirement lump sum on motorcycles, which, he rented out to tricycle drivers for a daily arkela. He also bought a passenger jeepney for the same reason. For the next three or so years, we were financially OK. But the upkeep and annual dues, taxes, etc., coupled with daily household expenses him and my grandmother. The motorcycle failed one by one, you get reckless drivers who did not care about the vehicle. Some would even run away without paying the rent. He died without any savings. The only financial incentive my grandmother ever received was the burial benefit that the government paid her as his survivor.
He was 81 when he deteriorated. It was quick. CA of the liver. His lifelong affair with the booze had finally caught up with him. He was diagnosed in August of 2013. There were days when he felt weak and it worried me; on days when he felt his old, usual self, those were moments when I sighed with relief. In late October he finally weakened. By December he could no longer walk and was bedridden until he finally passed on in January 2014.
The morning after my grandmother died six months later, I awoke after a dream. We were inside the church, they were walking together towards the huge door, the light coming through was so bright it hurt my eyes. I was standing in the middle of the church, while they kept walking slowly, together, towards the door, towards the light. When I woke up, that’s how I knew that they were finally together.
January 7, 2023 - I hope people realize that there is no point freaking out on petty issues. Example, losing on student competition and ranting about it on social media. Or trying to rebut the rant just to make sense out of the nonsense.
There is really no point of raising a sword just to slap a fly.
In years to come, you will realize there's no point on ranting at all. You just wasted your energy and time (or worst you lowered your energy level) over nonsensical issues.
You just wasted your breath, hence, shortening your life for what? For a trophy thay you can't bring the grave? For pride? For unmet expectations that you could easily move forward from.
A calm Sunday, friends.
January 15, 2023 - The best beauty queens for me are those who have had their advocacies way before they joined a beauty pageant. I think Miss USA (who happens to claim Filipino ancestry, too, if i am not mistaken) nailed it because of her long running advocacy and she can confidently speak about it.
You know too well about their advocacies when you hear them relate their answers during the Q&A to the groundwork that they've done and build over time, and the impact that they have contributed. Be it gender equality, mental health, environmental activism, so on and so forth, every advocacy that brings good to the life of others, every beauty title holder aspirant should make herself an example of what a responsible human being is. After all, beauty should have a purpose.
This is also a note to students who aspire to join any school-based beauty search... diba, mga Mr. & Miss CAPSU?
And I, thank you!
Some people asked me if i have a degree in language or literature and i would politely reply, No i dont. Interestingly i am a Science teaching education graduate but i havent taught any science subject since 2015 and i dont intend to. I took English as a second major right after finishing college (while waiting for my board exam results), but what i learned about writing came from my experience as a writer.
I joined the college paper when i was a freshman student and our school paper adviser - the same school paper adviser who honed Tito Ralph Gerard Marcelo Cadiz to be an award winning student editor - was the one who nurtured my knowledge in writing and editing.
Then, in graduate school, for my first master's degree (i have two, by the way), my thesis writing adviser and our graduate school dean were instrumental in sharpening my analytical and critical skills and applying it into research and translating this into the written words.
In 2016, i volunteered to write the notes for a museum exhibit. There were some researches to do and drafts to prepare. We have an 80-something-year-old consultant who was a published author abroad. After reading and butchering my work, she told me, "You know what, you write good. But could do better. It's always good to aim for the moon. Even if you fall, you'll land upon the stars." I was goose-bumped that moment and that quote has stuck on my mind ever since.
My work as a librarian has trained me the nitty gritty of searching books, finding resources and networking with other librarians, historians, and people who could be excellent sources of knowledge.
While these experiences were priceless, i also have to thank my daily habit of reading that seriously enriched my vocabulary. I read novels and non-fiction books. In college, i even read Precious Hearts and Harlequin romances and Barbara Cartland books. If you want to flex your imagination, try romance pocket books!
I try to study the writing styles of authors whose works I have devoured. My personal favourites in the fiction realm are Debbie Macomber, Danielle Steel, Mitch Albom and Cecilia Brainard . In terms of nonfiction, I like the way Felice Prudente Sta. Maria and Janet Wallach write. Their talent for research are also worth noting.
Yes, look up to someone. I may have not yet achieved the same level of successes that they do, but I know one day i will.
A lot of people tell me why do i keep working as a librarian when I could be a faculty member. I could even be a university professor one day, someone said! I just smile when i hear them convince me. I dont want to be a university professor. I want to be a librarian first and a best-selling author most importantly. At least on Amazon. I am now very clear about myself about what i want to be. And i no longer want to be something or someone because people told me so. I want to be someone because that's what i want. When i finally realized that, i felt at peace about myself.
So now, dear friends, if you want to find a sense of happiness, be very clear about what you want to be. And strive hard and smart to hit that mark.
Happy weekend!
(Written February 12, 2022)
February 12, 2023 - Yesterday, I was able to travel outside Panay Island to join a learning visit in Bacolod. This is the first time since 2019 that I left my home-island (Boracay, which I have visited thrice since the onset of the pandemic, is, after all, part of Aklan, which is part of Panay Island). While crossing the open sea, thoughts of my former, pre-pandemic life came back to my memory.
I was a serial traveler back then. Almost every weekend I would leave home to climb a mountain, cross a river or a sea, or simply be a stranger is a strange place. A trip usually took me 3-4 hours, not less than that. I once went on a 12-hour bus ride and a 24-hour plane trip (layover included), physically exhausting, but spiritually nourishng.
Yesterday, As the vessel traversed the Guimaras Strait, the cerulean water reflected some thoughts about yesteryears... Suddenly, it is travel time and I felt once more the giddy sense of arriving to a new place for the first time. What excitement lies ahead every time I find my way, never mind if I get lost, I know I'll always find my way.
But times have changed. The pandemic completely turned me into a semi-anti-social. I became more concerned about my father's alcoholic tendencies (but I made up my mind that I will arrangements comes the time when i have to travel for days... Again). My workload has gone more... Well... Loaded.
I know deep in my heart that I will take the roads less traveled again. But as I stay put in one place for now, i always remind myself that where I am is where I am meant to be. Still, it's a good life.
***
Sunday Thoughts is my weekend series where I write about my thoughts for the week that was and what transpired in life. Read more about my Sunday Thoughts via #ChristiansSundayThoughts or visit my blog http://ChristianGeorgeAcevedo.blogspot.com for more stories.
February 19, 2023 - It was half past 10 o'clock in the evening already and I am preparing to sleep, but I cannot put off my phone because my interest still wouldn't let go of the online article that I was reading. Suddenly a Message popped out on my screen.
"Sorry for the late notice... Are you still awake? can you write me a blah blah blah for this blah blah blah. We badly need this ASAP."
In my mind, I said, "No, you aren't sorry. No, you don't badly need it. And no, it isn't ASAP." The one who sent me the message was just panicky, I know.
But just to make it clear, I am a writer, not a content mill.
I had the habit of setting my Messenger alarm off, especially at night and on the weekends, but for this instance, I forgot about, so the message opened itself to me.
People always think that because I can write, I can write anything. I love to write, it Is a form of self expression for me. Also, I have to love, or at least show interest, to what I write about if I am to produce a neat piece. But a lot of people just don't understand that. Just because I know how to combine words together doesn't mean I can produce a story instantly. In fact there are days when I don't write at all. not even for myself because I don't feel like. And I dread it the most when I am asked to write when all I want is to stare blankly... or work on my garden... Or sleep... Or do something else but write.
While there are writers who would tell aspiring ones to just keep writing until the story is done, there are also those who would suggest to stop writing after long days of work and let their work or the idea simmer. Get back to it after a few days or weeks, that is, after the mind is refreshed and the perspectives reset.
In short, there is no single best way in writing. It is always up to the writer. And for me, for now, I write when there is a strong inner push, or when the desire overflows that my mind can't contain it anymore. Or there a sudden burst of inspiration comes by. Just like now, I felt writing this piece while I am in the middle of mopping the floor.
***
Sunday Thoughts is my weekend series where I write about my thoughts for the week that was and what transpired in life. Read more about my Sunday Thoughts via #ChristiansSundayThoughts or visit my blog http://ChristianGeorgeAcevedo.blogspot.com for more stories.
I hope people realize that there is no point freaking out on petty issues. Example, losing on student competition and ranting about it on social media. Or trying to rebut the rant just to make sense out of the nonsense.
There is really no point of raising a sword just to slap a fly.
In years to come, you will realize there's no point on ranting at all. You just wasted your energy and time (or worst you lowered your energy level) over nonsensical issues.
You just wasted your breath, hence, shortening your life for what? For a trophy thay you can't bring the grave? For pride? For unmet expectations that you could easily move forward from.
A calm week ahead, friends.
