"Give the man a fish and he will live for a day,
but teach the man how to fish and he will live for a lifetime."
In all walks of this extraordinary randomly spiced existence, a lot will definitely agree that in this particular point of the year when everyone goes splashing in the waters even without the need of dorsal fins, goes publicly flaunting with “friends” for the populace to see what was saved on the previous months of academic and anabolic spending, or goes incessantly attempting of making a full day out of the night, I am living on a perpetual summer stagnation.
Though there are some interesting inserts that took place such as the 67th College Editors Guild of the Philippines Press Convention, some simple once-in-a-year celebrations, and the various shots of submitting written works to competitions and publishing opportunities, these could just sum up to a measly ball of crumpled paper, compared to the gloom as huge as a hot air balloon. Aside from this account that I have done less instead of doing more the pesky idea of doubt of capability creeps over me, takes precedence on me.
And there it goes: the last line of that paragraph just gives the hint of what’s more to come in this sad and humdrum account. Consider that as a normal everyday hurdle of acknowledging mistakes and failures but the trouble with me is that I make it a great deal. Pardon for the word but… shit! No matter how I suppress such trait from all people, it will eventually come out as a sugar-coated, self-pitying, needy-for-compliment ramble of thoughts.
Of all these years when I have thought the word bullfrog is the most faultless uncanny identity I (together with the help of my Grade 4 classmate) had mustered and proclaimed to myself 9 years ago, I just recently found out that I am one discreet fisherman, or so somebody thought.
You know what a fisherman does? Of course he fishes; with a net, hooks, baits, and all, or if you want something primitive, with a spear or even with bare hands. I do not recognize yet which kind of utilization I got my interest on, but one thing’s for sure; I am one unique kind of fisherman. If statistics shows the ratio: I am one of the 2 out of 10 fishermen who fishes for the different thing, not going for those slippery scaly swimmers under the sea.
I fish for compliment.*
Admiration, apology, countless congratulations, honor, nobility, pity, praise, reputation, respect, sorry, title—these are some of the many precious catch my fishing aptitude rewards me whenever the need requires me to handle.
How do I do this fishing spree, if you may ask? Let us set this in a systematic way:
1) Create a topic to discuss with. Tip: Much better if the discussion involves only two people.
2) Continue talking—come what may—until a melodramatic turn of events occurs.
3) Anchor all concentration on that gravest repertoire of stories in your life.
4) Stop talking when the other person is about to speak.
5) If the person talks, listen intently.
6) Sob more, if tears are necessary.
7) If not, be very very sad. Exhume it all through dismal expressions.
8) Allow a minute of silence.
9) Let the other person talk first for in this part comes the moment of your achievement as a fisherman.
10) Accept what the person have said that should uplift your spirits. And congratulations, you have just a caught a big tuna! Salmons can be good too.
That’s it! It’s that easy. If you want to learn more in this Art of Fishing Compliments, call you local operator, connect to the most prestigious university in town, and demand to have this learning as soon as possible—if it’s available.
Truthfully, it’s not actually good to fish like this at all time. For me, I consider the practice as mundanely stupid and trash-worthy. It never, ever, came into my mind of the slightest touch, that I am a fisherman of such kind. It unmistakably pains to hear, from the most unexpected source who you just knew lately, that I am like one.
Candidly saying that the source has no right of divulging such statements, well, it is also like I have been denying, all the time, what I actually haven’t noticed. I believe that other people outside the comfort zone of your tightly-knit philosophy that their words might spell right. The more it would be very logical if you are compared to someone who got the unanimous reputation of skill on that field.
For it could be, deep within the dark recesses of myself, I am a fisherman at spirit, mind, and deed. Though the looks may deceive, I could be one.
And I beg anyone who successfully comes into this part (of which I shall commend you); I don’t need your compliments this time.
Pardon me.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
Though there are some interesting inserts that took place such as the 67th College Editors Guild of the Philippines Press Convention, some simple once-in-a-year celebrations, and the various shots of submitting written works to competitions and publishing opportunities, these could just sum up to a measly ball of crumpled paper, compared to the gloom as huge as a hot air balloon. Aside from this account that I have done less instead of doing more the pesky idea of doubt of capability creeps over me, takes precedence on me.
And there it goes: the last line of that paragraph just gives the hint of what’s more to come in this sad and humdrum account. Consider that as a normal everyday hurdle of acknowledging mistakes and failures but the trouble with me is that I make it a great deal. Pardon for the word but… shit! No matter how I suppress such trait from all people, it will eventually come out as a sugar-coated, self-pitying, needy-for-compliment ramble of thoughts.
Of all these years when I have thought the word bullfrog is the most faultless uncanny identity I (together with the help of my Grade 4 classmate) had mustered and proclaimed to myself 9 years ago, I just recently found out that I am one discreet fisherman, or so somebody thought.
You know what a fisherman does? Of course he fishes; with a net, hooks, baits, and all, or if you want something primitive, with a spear or even with bare hands. I do not recognize yet which kind of utilization I got my interest on, but one thing’s for sure; I am one unique kind of fisherman. If statistics shows the ratio: I am one of the 2 out of 10 fishermen who fishes for the different thing, not going for those slippery scaly swimmers under the sea.
I fish for compliment.*
Admiration, apology, countless congratulations, honor, nobility, pity, praise, reputation, respect, sorry, title—these are some of the many precious catch my fishing aptitude rewards me whenever the need requires me to handle.
How do I do this fishing spree, if you may ask? Let us set this in a systematic way:
1) Create a topic to discuss with. Tip: Much better if the discussion involves only two people.
2) Continue talking—come what may—until a melodramatic turn of events occurs.
3) Anchor all concentration on that gravest repertoire of stories in your life.
4) Stop talking when the other person is about to speak.
5) If the person talks, listen intently.
6) Sob more, if tears are necessary.
7) If not, be very very sad. Exhume it all through dismal expressions.
8) Allow a minute of silence.
9) Let the other person talk first for in this part comes the moment of your achievement as a fisherman.
10) Accept what the person have said that should uplift your spirits. And congratulations, you have just a caught a big tuna! Salmons can be good too.
That’s it! It’s that easy. If you want to learn more in this Art of Fishing Compliments, call you local operator, connect to the most prestigious university in town, and demand to have this learning as soon as possible—if it’s available.
Truthfully, it’s not actually good to fish like this at all time. For me, I consider the practice as mundanely stupid and trash-worthy. It never, ever, came into my mind of the slightest touch, that I am a fisherman of such kind. It unmistakably pains to hear, from the most unexpected source who you just knew lately, that I am like one.
Candidly saying that the source has no right of divulging such statements, well, it is also like I have been denying, all the time, what I actually haven’t noticed. I believe that other people outside the comfort zone of your tightly-knit philosophy that their words might spell right. The more it would be very logical if you are compared to someone who got the unanimous reputation of skill on that field.
For it could be, deep within the dark recesses of myself, I am a fisherman at spirit, mind, and deed. Though the looks may deceive, I could be one.
And I beg anyone who successfully comes into this part (of which I shall commend you); I don’t need your compliments this time.
Pardon me.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
[plop]
_______________________________________________________
