19 August 2009

One of the dangerous machines introduced in the late 20th century is the one attached to a microphone and supported by big loudspeakers and carries a pre-loaded music that one can sing along and goes by a whimsical name: karaoke.

I mean, for SingingOutBarkingOutLoud, even my dogs (yeah, that is Sweepy on the left with the microphone BOL!) would love to use this device just to create hell in heaven! Forget the singing plants and the non-stop tweeting birds, everybody, and I mean practically EVERYBODY in my country, from the shy ice cream vendor, to the conservative banker, SINGS! It does not take much effort to invite people to sing "just a few lines" which of course will end up with the guest practically grabbing the microphone for NON-STOP singing until somebody will politely escort the "shy-turned-singing-superstar" to give chance for other undiscovered singers. Sigh. It can get rowdy especially if the one holding the microphone is drunk, mad, and singing Frank Sinatra's My Way. Murders were committed in the name of karaoke singing.

Well, I have my torture moments when neighbors turn on their karaokes during special events: be it a birthday party, a wedding reception, despedidas (farewell parties) including funeral wakes (well, even Cory's funeral was not spared from death-defying pop music posing as tribute lullabies) . . . even to just the whimsical daily vocalizations of neighbors which is pure torture especially for someone like me who does work in the house. I have to contend with tone-deaf diva-wannabes singing to boy band melodies while doing a feasibility study.

I tried to tolerate these irritants but when the 'singing' festivals go past midnight, off I go and report the offending singers to the barangay police (village security) who sends a patrol team immediately. When you talk to supposed decent people and ask them for consideration, which is the essence of ethics, and they kept repeating it over and over, and you kept reporting them over and over, you have no choice but declare war with your neighbors and possibly sue them for being a nuisance.

But I did not do such a thing. Legal work is expensive. It eats up your meager savings, demands all of your waking hours, and justice takes too long that every effort will give you stress that may lead to cancer. I am, of course, exaggerating, just like my dog. But you know how it is. So what's one to do in such a drastic situation? I prayed.

Yes. I prayed that my neighbors will realize the trouble they are willfully creating and learn from it. Amen. The following day, the house beside our "singing neighbor" got sold and rented out to guess what: a new singing neighbors whose noise and singing does not seem to bother us (we are just two houses away) but practically drove our 'singing neighbor' enough to run to us for help! Imagine. Call it karma. My dogs call it poetic justice. I call it the answer to my prayers. So simple yet so effective . . .

Btw, karma is not negative. What you do returns to you three-fold. When you give kindness, you get kindness several times over. If you do bad things to other people, that act will return to you triple worst, much like all of the villains in those action movies out to haunt you!

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