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By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright August 2008

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

(*This article is based on the ideas presented in the book “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007 and further expanded upon in “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor, Book II,” Release Date: 2008. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

In the midst of heartbreak, many of my readers have asked me (repeatedly) how to cope with all their negative emotions. Almost all of them desperately wanted some quick way to stem the flow of bad feelings.

“I can’t stop feeling lousy and I cry at the drop of a hat. Isn’t there some kind of fast, simple “trick” to get me back to some semblance of normality?” They asked.

Even though all personal situations of break-up are different, and recovery from heartbreak can take months (if not years), I’ve found that there really is a simple way to begin healing.

I call it the “Thank You Trick.”

It moves you away from the victim mentality and puts you back in the driver’s seat of your mind (and your life). It replaces resentment with gratitude.

And it lays down a solid foundation for hope.

The following article briefly explains what it is, how to do it, and a few reasons why it works so effectively.

But first, the most common way of coping…

- Denial and Suppression -

The most common, but ultimately useless, method of coping with negative emotions associated with a break-up is Denial or Suppression.

Denial or Suppression of those bad feelings (i.e., confusion, sadness, anger, etc.) will only plant them deeper into your soul where they grow and eventually overtake all the good in your life.

Over the years, I’ve experienced and observed this first-hand many times.

Initially, many people enjoy temporary relief by burying their emotions from plain sight. Like the proverbial ostrich, they think the feelings will automatically go away if they just ignore them long enough.

You know what I mean?

You feel like you’ve finally gotten over it. The heartache monster has jumped off your chest, allowing you to breathe a little easier. In fact, you can actually take a few deep, long breaths again. You’re not “a stutter of a breath away” from sadness and tears anymore.

Then something triggers the flood gates to open – again.

It could be an old song, a familiar place, a food, a fragrance, or even one of the hundreds of “ex look-alikes” that seem to come out of the woodwork after your lover leaves your life. Then the growing, pent up emotions emerge, breaking down all your carefully built barriers like a raging tsunami.

It’s painful and torturous to live on the edge of such an emotional abyss. You need to find some way to gain control of these situations. Failure to do so leaves you at the mercy of everything and anyone that could trigger another session of sadness.

- Don’t try to Erase. Change or Replace -

In the case of your emotions and thoughts, if they don’t serve you in any positive way, they need to be modified or replaced.

Emotions, like thoughts, can’t be erased. They can only be changed (or replaced). Think of it this way: Your mind is similar to digital media. Nothing is ever erased, just edited or overwritten.

The “Thank You Trick” can do this.

But before I explain how to do it, we must discuss the nature of things…

- All Things Must “Be” -

To understand why the “Thank You Trick” works, you need to grasp the importance of “being” and why it’s absolutely vital for healing.

Your feelings, like everything else in life, need to “be,” before they can change and move on. Recognition, Acceptance, and Love are the only ways to let them “have their time” and flow back into the current of life to teach the next person.

You are blocking your own growth by clinging to the past.

The past is past.

Now is your only time.

Your present moment is where your power resides; the power to heal past hurts, and the power to lay the groundwork for a better tomorrow for you and your loved ones.

All living things must change (meaning: grow/evolve) or die.

That’s why it’s called Life.

You need to get to the point where the thoughts of your “ex” have changed/evolved so much that they can pass through your mind without stirring up negative emotions.

- Pain Redux -

There was a reason you attracted him or her; hence, he/she entered your life. Your “ex” manifested in your life to let you experience something and to teach you something important about yourself.

Without learning from this experience, your individual lesson of life, you are doomed to painfully repeat it over and over again.

Ultimately, you must find that lesson, embrace it, and learn from it. Then, and only then can you truly be free.

- The Light Switch Syndrome –

Too many things in life are erroneously categorized into separate, discreet entities; when in fact, they are just gradations of the same thing. Like a light switch, it seems easier to view the world as either on or off, this or that, black or white, etc.

But think of it. Dichotomies in Life are really illusions.

For the Intrepid Life Traveler, isn’t “success” and “failure” just two points on the achievement continuum?

Isn’t “hot” and “cold” just two ways to describe temperature? Aren’t the colors of the rainbow all part of the perceived spectrum of light? Aren’t “misery” and “joy” just two residents on the same plane called happiness?

Indeed, like Paolo Cuello wrote in his book “The Alchemist,”

*EVERYTHING IS ONE*

In fact, the only time anything appears to be separate from the whole, not just a mere individuation, is when someone tries vainly to stunt its growth (i.e., keep it from changing/evolving by stubbornly trying to hold it in place).

And trying to hold a moving, growing object in place takes enormous amounts of energy.

It (stasis) goes against the prime directive of Life: to change, grow, and evolve, etc., and severely taxes the body and soul in the process.

So, why waste your precious Life Energy on a futile activity?

Why stunt your personal growth trying to prevent the inevitable; especially when the only person you’re hurting is yourself?

- The “Thank You Trick” -

Okay, let’s finally discuss the “Thank You Trick.”

The following exercise may sound silly; but believe me, for many simple and complex reasons, it works. Try it for at least one week – but one day, one thought at a time.

Just one week and I bet you’ll feel better.

Here’s what to do the next time you begin feeling bad about your “ex”:

Instead of feeling bad or confused when you think of your “ex,” say this to yourself (preferably aloud),

“Thank You _______ (name of your “ex”). We had some good times and some bad times. I really learned a lot about myself from you. And it’s made me a better person. I completely forgive you and myself. And I sincerely hope you find your way.”

Just simply say Thank You.

That’s it, but I know it won’t be easy. Naturally, it will be hard at first and you’ll feel weird doing it. Don’t be surprised if a part of you actually resists the first few attempts. Don’t worry. It gets much easier with practice.

Think to yourself, “Just one instance at a time. Whenever I get those old bad feelings again, I will use my secret weapon: the Thank You Trick.”

Daily, at an accelerated rate, you will notice many things. The intensity of your hurt begins to diminish and you’ll find yourself employing the Thank You Trick less and less.

Before you know it, you’ll realize that you can think about your “ex” more as an observer and not be thrown into a past experience.

Remember, you can never really leave a situation unless you leave it through recognition, acceptance, and love.

And without going into deep spirituality, the bottom line is this: Saying thank You injects gratitude into the mix.

Gratitude keeps you connected to everything and is purely positive; hence, being more grateful will attract more positive things, events, and people into your life.

Gratitude is much more powerful than you think. It opens the door for love and forgiveness to rush in.

And it will heal you.

- Short list of Benefits -

The “Thank You Trick” does the following:

1. Puts you back in control; moving you away from the victim mentality.

2. Replaces (not suppresses) negative emotions.

3. Instills gratitude and attracts more positive things into your life.

4. Promotes forgiveness and love.

In short, the Thank-You Trick allows you to recognize, accept, and love all situations in your life – no matter how painful they may seem.

And having “run its due course” your pain and suffering will naturally move on.

Try the Thank-You Trick.

What have you got to lose?

I bet you’ll be delightfully surprised how much better you will feel.

Good life to you and yours…

“Until next time, be brave enough to take a Different Path.”

Your Friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

(Subtitle: “Can you really respect yourself in Thailand now?”)

 

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

 

(Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

 

During an afternoon with a fellow Farang (Thai: Foreigner) we talked about how our lives were going in the Land of Smiles. As usual, we talked about our girlfriends and the challenges of trying to understand them.

 

Somehow we got on the subject of “Love;” specifically, the absence of Love (in the Western sense) in Thailand. The discussion got me thinking. A lot. About a lot of “stuff.”

 

Many personal questions started to run around in my head. And the subject of our talk lingered in my mind long after I left his apartment…

 

- Still a Farang -

 

Although looking like a typical Thai man, I am a foreigner. American. I am not anywhere near fluent in Thai, but most of the time I can get by. Funny thing. Fluency tends to increase with alcohol, with me at least. I wonder if the lowering of inhibitions has the same linguistic effect on other Farangs?

 

Anyway, like several definitions and meanings between English and Thai, I’m sure that Western concepts of love will never fully translate into Thai.

 

And “vice”- versa.

 

To find Eros, Thanatos, and Agape (roughly translated: sexual love, friendship love, and unconditional love) in one person has been an exercise in futility for me here in the Thailand; like the search for the Holy Grail!

 

I’ve tried Thai women from different social strata, differing levels of education, and different ages. Results of my quest? No dice. No joy. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

 

In fact, the only time I thought I had a glimmer of hope was when a Thai woman began treating me as I treated her – with mutual respect.

 

Later, I found out that she had rummaged through my mail and discovered that I was/am a retired U.S. serviceman with a pension, not just another low class (on the Farang social scale) English teacher.

 

At least she never accused me of being kii nok (Thai: Bird sh*t, a grungy looking foreigner) or kii neeow (cheap, stingy; literally translated: “sticky sh*t, you can’t squeeze anything from it!).

 

Upon discovering her discovery and thinking about her seemingly miraculous attitudinal change, I told myself to “Run away, run away fast!”

 

Oh yes, initially, there can be a period of smooth sailing for a few months, pure dove-cooing bliss; but in the end the outcome is the same: In spite of my devotion, support, and sacrifices, I am never anywhere near the top of the list of importance in any Thai woman’s life.

 

Pecking order? Face? Pecking Order? Face?

 

Same Difference!

 

And being relegated to the bench as a second-string observer in the game of life is just not the way I want to spend my days.

 

Sorry. No quid pro quo means it’s time for me to go.

 

Western style generosity has only been met with shark-like exploitation.

It’s as if random acts of kindness are often seen as weakness, especially when a man gives, gives, and gives; while the woman keeps taking.

 

And if a Thai woman wants me to “show my love” via my wallet, she needs to look elsewhere.

 

- Blinded by love and obviously doomed ventures -

 

I shake my head when I witness so many Farangs invest their hard-earned money and precious years of their lives into blatantly lopsided arrangements. Pay for a house or land BUT never really own it? Start the business race from way behind all the locals gathered at the starting line? Support extended family to extravagance? Pay for the “privilege” of residing in the Kingdom WHILE contributing to the local economy AND paying Thai Government taxes?

 

Boy that really makes me feel loved and accepted here.

 

The closest I’ve come to “love” in the Western sense was with an Isaan woman who is a great friend and lover. She’s not a gold-digger. She is trustworthy (a BIG DEAL for me), a hard worker, and selflessly caring.

 

I should be satisfied.

 

But I know from my experiences with her that she will leave me at the drop of a hat if any family “pressures” her to acquiesce.

 

That fact really bothers me.

 

You see, to me, the only way someone can be “pressured” into something is when personal freedom, and oftentimes integrity, is sacrificed in the name of what? Face? I’m sorry. I don’t buy into such shallowness.

 

Why? Because I can.

 

Blindly accepting such customs and gratefully accepting “crumbs from the table” would make me feel like I was not respecting my true nature as an independent, thinking, and fair human being.

 

Again, foreign concepts.

 

Personally, it has to be win/win or no deal. I am neither a despot, nor a doormat. Ideally, I want to be a partner; sharing life’s adventures, challenges, and heartwarming moments.

 

I don’t think this is unrealistically romantic, nor irrational. Well, maybe in Thailand it is…

 

But again, I guess those are concepts (i.e., personal freedom, integrity, mutually beneficial setups, “playing nice” and “fighting fair,” agreeing to disagree, etc.) that will never fully translate/transliterate, nor be fully comprehended by Thais.

 

- Feeling “loved”? -

 

By no means are these foreign, conflicting attitudes confined to interpersonal relationships. They fully manifest in business and the workplace too. Pay in advance? Expect frustration and disappointment. Contracts? We don’t need no stinking contracts!

 

I “love” many things about Thailand (e.g., my girlfriend, new motorcycle, sunny days, Thai meals; time to read, write, reflect, and exercise, etc.). But I tolerate many things too. The list is too long and sounds like a broken record to all who’ve spent much time in Thailand. I fully accept the fact that I am and will always be a Farang.

 

Outsider in perpetuity. And it forces one to really look at one’s life and the role one desires to assume in it.

 

I’m sure that this will be one of the major factors why I will finally leave the Land of Smiles.

 

(It was different in other Asian countries. Japan, in particular. I lived there for over six years and was often embarrassed because I could not match the generosity extended to me by the locals – probably because the Yen was so strong against my military paycheck greenbacks.)

 

True sharing between Thais and Farangs? I’m not sure it’s possible.

 

Equitable arrangements? Fair play? PLEEEAAASE!

 

I guess the only way to make a Thai understand our weird Farang ways is to bring them out of their element (meaning: The hermetically sealed “bubble” known as Thai Culture); and let them experience things in a different setting. That is a huge step emotionally, financially, and psychologically.

 

It is a step I am not willing to make right now.

 

Seven weeks ago I was offered another year extension of a teaching contract at a prestigious government High School, four adult English classes at some language institutes, and quite a few private, one student, classes. Although the pay in all the above instances was well above the norm, I declined.

 

They [the Farang and Thai employers] asked why? I presented my case sans emotion and exaggeration.

 

They gave me “a deer in the headlights” look and again asked, “Why, Khun J.C.? The students, staff, and parents ‘love’ you.”

 

Hello? Anybody in there?

 

A few years ago I thought I had a good plan. I could enjoy retirement while I am still healthy, or at least take pleasure in semi-retirement while pursuing my dream of being a civilian teacher overseas.

 

I think Thailand has cured me of that affliction.

 

- Paths in Life -

 

But seriously, I think I might have retired much too early at age 39. If so inclined, I could easily do another full career. Fortunately, because I am healthy and my skills are not outdated, my choices of occupations are not at all limited. And at this point, the thought of another excitement filled, good paying career with second retirement in about 12 to 15 years seems rather attractive. Who knows, maybe the passing of the years might find me more receptive, tolerant, and satisfied?

 

One thing’s for sure. I can not feel “loved” among those who can not or will not find a common ground in the meaning of the word “Love.”

 

In my Thai apartment I pointed a finger at the man in the mirror and said, “After over two years ‘in country,’ can I really respect you now?”

 

Gravely thinking about relocating,

 

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Pantejo@ynvurcepublishing.com

 

Love, Crossroads, respect, Farang, Western, Thai, face, generosity, exploitation, losing ventures, relationships, life.

 

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.

*The following story is incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

“[Life] Amazing! Isn’t it?…”

- Medical Turf Wars -

“So, am I gon’na live?”

“Chief, I don’t know how you guys do it. I took a double-take on your birthday ‘cause your “biological” age and your “chronological” age just don’t match! What kind of veggies or vitamins are you taking? I haven’t seen a 28” waist since High School! I still lift (weights) regularly and am an amateur bodybuilder. What’s your bodyfat percentage?” He said.

Trying to get on his good side, I said, “I don’t know. Four months ago, the Aviation Medical Technician doing the prelims for one of my physical exams said it was ‘too low to be healthy’, I think. Whatever that means?”

He was the DMO (Diving Medical Officer), a lieutenant (Officer Grade 3 in the Navy), and in his mid-thirties (my age at the time). He was already beginning to bald, and slightly paunchy. He still had the big arms and barrel chest of a Navy Diver, but probably hadn’t seen a six-pack on his body for years.

“So, what’s your secret? My wife would go totally ga-ga if I could get my college body back.”

I didn’t want to tell him that the simple answer was to get rid of his wife. Single men tended to be more “hungry” and had less extraneous obligations.

And it took a very understanding spouse to put up with the lifestyle of “an athlete in uniform.” The hours of training were just too long for even the most loving wife.

I knew. I was on my second wife and the marriage’s prognosis looked very bleak.

Grinning at the doctor I said, “Amazing, isn’t it? I attribute my girlish figure to celibacy and pure thoughts.”

(In reality, I PT’d [physically trained] for at least 3 hours a day, ate like a pig all day, then drank beer and chased women at night.)

The rest of the time I wasted on frivolous things (like work).

We both laughed.

Then I asked, “Sir, when can I leave?”

“If it was up to me, I’d let you go now. But as you know, you need to be cleared by the ‘other guys’ too,” the DMO said.

“I can’t be medically disqualified right now. I got some important orders,” I desperately whined.

The truth was that I was to do some “exchange student” exercises with a few of my counterparts from foreign military units (e.g., Republic of Korea, British, Australian, and Thailand teams) in the next few weeks.

“Cobra Gold” was the official name of the annual joint military exercises held on and around the Pattaya Beach area of Thailand.

I looked forward to this yearly “Work Hard, Play Hard” event.

I especially loved the beautiful women. They’re always amazed that: 1) I am American, not Thai (I’m a mix of everything Asian) and 2) in spite of being “gaa” (Thai: old), like a Tantric Sex Master, I can go on for hours in the bedroom.

Similar to Jack LaLane on his birthday (who?), I added more “degrees of difficulty” (meaning, participants) to my personal exploits every year.

“Chill out. I’m sure you’ll be discharged in time to go to Cobra Gold. Jeez! I love that place! Anyway, I’ve arranged for my most responsible Corpsman to keep you company. Just don’t corrupt her too much” he said, smiling like the devil.

These “Medical Turf Wars” were a hassle for people like me.

Instead of periodic physical examinations by one doctor, I had to be cleared by several different doctors (e.g., Med/Specwar guy, Diving Doc, Flight Surgeon, PTSD Psychiatrist, etc.).

This meant having at least three, instead of one, rectal exam every year!

I never got used to that.

One year, after getting past the point of being pissed off, I invited all the nurses to witness my rectal exams.

Since all Military Hospitals double as learning institutions, there was never a shortage of an audience (mostly interns, new Corpsman, and fresh Nursing school graduates).

Laying prone on the examination table and my bare ass in the air, I proclaimed to the giggling group of students, “Have your way with me. My ass is your ass!”

The responses (and phone numbers afterwards) were well worth it.

But when I saw who was going to be my companion during her Duty Day, I didn’t mind that I’d be here (on a Submarine Tender Medical Ward) overnight.

“Thanks Doc!” I shouted as the DMO bade his farewell.

- Those Medical Slackers -

Looking down at the cute Filipina Corpsman at the foot of my bed, I asked, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve read about it, but I’ve never met anyone who has actually experienced it,” she said, momentarily breaking her gaze away from my powerful erection to smile a little, naughty smile.

Did she just lick her lips?

Then, silently, she stood up, walked to the “wrong” side of the patient bed, reached across my body, and checked the I.V. bag and drip chamber hanging on a metal hook on the other side of the bed.

“Accidentally” smothering me with her chest, she whispered, “Oops. Sorry.”

 

“No problem, no problem at all, HN (Hospitalman, E-3 paygrade) Marisol.”

During my short stay in her Sickbay/Ward, we had already established a close, informal rapport. I teased her by addressing her by the appropriate military title “HN,” but then finished it with the totally inappropriate, overly friendly use of her first name (Marisol) instead of her last name.

I could usually tell when to cross the line or not.

Medical personnel (officer and enlisted alike) were notorious for employing lax military standards and sloppy decorum.

Line Officers called them “Slackers, referring to their apparent lack of military bearing. I couldn’t blame them (the medical personnel). In fact, initially, when I first joined the service, I was just like them.

You see, most military medical personnel were just biding their time, simply repaying the military back for their medical training. After one hitch (tour of duty), they usually left active duty to pursue a more lucrative, civilian medical career. This applied to the majority of doctors, nurses, and Corpsmen within all branches of the U.S. Military Services (Army, Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps).

The U.S. Marine Corps had no indigenous medical personnel. That was why I, a Navy Independent Duty Corpsman, was technically a sailor, but, for all practical purposes, was a Marine at heart. Except for my mandatory stints at Navy Hospitals and “Tin Cans” (small ships), I spent the bulk of my career deployed with Marines (specifically, the Diver/Jumper types).

I spent equal time honing my technical skills AND my Marine (grunt) skills. Consequently, I had little time to gather dust. If I wasn’t doing the required CME (Continuous Medical Education – emergency medical training), I was busy diving, jumping, or shooting.

Since I love those activities, the years zoomed by. Before I knew it, over two decades had past and it was time to retire. Mainstreaming into regular, civilian life was hard for me. (But that’s another story).

Back to this story.

Almost sadistically, I prayed for missions because they had an immediate and direct focus (no trivial, unrealistic training and classes by some civilian geek or hospital administrator with no clue about real life operations).

Ninety-percent of any mission was spent on prep time (warning orders, mission briefs, physical examinations, immunizations, equipment checks, etc), travel time (ship, submarine, or airplane); and, once the mission was completely executed, aborted while in progress, or cancelled before going operational, there was the required extensive de-brief time and after action reports.

- My Angel of Mercy Revisited -

Turning my attention back to the sexy Corpsman, I said, “Hell, I’m just glad to have company!”

I had a big sh*t-eating grin on my face; mainly because I was not talking directly to her face, but to the uniform-bursting breasts that were currently dancing in front of my nose.

She blushed again.

With a half-smile, she resumed her position at the end of my bed –fixing her eyes on my blatant hard-on and continued her “Watch.”

“Imagine That…”

Marisol propped her elbows at the foot of my bed and held her face in her hands. The posture instantly conjured up “peek-a-boo, hide-n-sneek” breast fantasies in my head (both of them)!

In any other situation I would have initiated “full-body, hand-to-butt/bust CQB (close quarters combat),” but held back to examine my angel of mercy, visually savoring her youthful beauty and tight, yet buxom, body.

After looking at her full lips and angel face, I wondered if she liked big popsickles?

Then I continued my story about the first time I suffered from “Priapism,” an uncontrolled erection that often becomes a medical emergency…

…Okay, there I was, wildly falling through the air. My main parachute had malfunctioned and all my attempts to correct it proved futile. I was losing altitude by the second and now it was time to use the last resort: the reserve parachute.

The reserve chute was considered the last resort for a couple of reasons. First, it was much smaller than the main chute; and secondly, the reserve chute for this particular Army Infantry configuration was worn on the stomach. It was called “the belly pack,” because the rest of the soldier’s gear was worn below the main parachute pack on the soldier’s back. Located at the small of the back and extending down past the buttocks, this additional gear worn under the main chute was called the “butt pack.”

In this way, supposedly, the soldier was somewhat balanced in the weight distribution of his gear. Nevertheless, especially with a deployed (opened) butt pack (and its accompanied, lanyard connected, extracted gear), the normal, preferred vertical posture was almost impossible to maintain.

I had to jettison the main chute via its harness clips (specialized buckles with a two-step process for separating the shoulder harness straps from the main parachute risers).

The real trick was timing. Ideally, both buckles are to be opened simultaneously.

Bad news for me.

I couldn’t open both buckles together because I was wildly oscillating through the air. The parachute canopy above me looked like a bag of worms, while I felt like the main attraction at a public hanging, dangling by one riser.

This meant that I could only reach one buckle. The other riser was far above the first, tangled amongst shroud lines and the beginning of the canopy skirt.

The furthest buckle had to be opened first. If I opened the nearest buckle, I would have had to wrestle with a taught riser and a buckle buried under tight material. (It would be like trying to get to a coin embedded in a fist full of tight shoelace knots.)

Doing a pull-up and climbing past the exposed buckle, I cut away a mass of shroud-lines with my hooked shroud-line cutter, found the buried buckle, and released. Immediately my body assumed an awkward “hanging by one arm” position. The jolt of repositioning was felt all along the left side of my body. Not much pain (probably due to adrenaline). My left hand, arm, and shoulder felt numb and clumsy. I tried to re-stow my hooked shroud-line cutter, but…but, it was gone! I must have lost my grip on it when the opening shock jolted my body.

“Imagine That…”

Oh well, if I survive this, I guess I’ll have to bribe another Survival Equipment person for another cutter. (I wasn’t the best at sanitizing my actions. I lost or forgot gear often – a bad habit that would severely impact my life later on. Yet again, another story for later consumption).

Bribing a lower ranked Marine in the Survival Equipment shop was much easier than filling out the mountain of paperwork required when reporting missing gear for replacement.

Then I released the second (last) buckle, dramatically accelerated downward, and saw the tangled mess of the main parachute assembly, shroud-lines, and canopy material fly away from me like a bird of prey releasing a mouse that was too small to eat.

I put one arm out and rolled to my back (facing the sky) and assumed a “reverse free-fall position,” that is, instead of the normal free-fall position (face toward the Earth and spread eagle), I now looked more like a dead cockroach.

Ironically, through all this, I smiled while I rolled.

I always loved maneuvering during free-fall. It is intoxicating and called “relative work.” It really feels like you’re swimming through the air. It’s like doing gymnastics in a loud, raging river. For example, if you do a stiff-legged, double leg lift, your body is put into a reverse somersault. If you stick one arm or one leg further away from the body, you rotate in that direction. One birthday I did an ungodly amount of jumps and went to sleep that night exhausted, happy, and dreaming of being Superman.

Supine, I pretended to be a badminton birdy.

And within seconds, my free-fall was controlled.

Reaching to my belly pack (reserve parachute), I found the pull ring, and prepared to pull. In one, symmetrical motion I pulled the ring with one hand and abducted my arm (moved the arm away from my body) while simultaneously mimicking the same motion with the other arm.

It looked like I was doing the top half of a ballet dancer’s pirouette. The reason for this was aerodynamic symmetry. If I didn’t copy the motion of the pulling arm, there was a chance that I may rotate onto my stomach again – not a good thing with a “belly pack” reserve setup.

Experiencing “temporal distortion,” I saw the flaps of the reserve shoot open in s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. A small drogue chute peeked out of the pack and began to extract the rest of the material. It all seemed surrealistic, like I was sliding face down on a giant synthetic “silk” slide in the sky.

(My mind flashed to the briefing before this jump. Almost as a premonition, I asked the PR [Parachute Rigger] what were the procedures for a malfunctioned reserve chute.

With an evil grin, he said, “Do a Michael Jackson.”

“A what?” I asked.

“Beat it! Beat it! Beat it!” he chuckled.

“Imagine That…”)

 

Then the wall of moving silk disappeared and all of a sudden shroud-lines pulled taught and slapped me in the face.

In spite of being a smaller chute, the combination of my relatively light Asian frame and no additional weight from Infantry Gear made the reserve parachute’s opening shock turn me into the helpless victim of a T.V. Wrestler. I was getting the infamous “back breaker” maneuver.

Great.

Earlier, the first opening shock of the now defunct main chute made me feel like I was being split in half (from the crotch up); and now the God’s were trying to bend me in half backwards – like I was some chemlight stick that needed to be activated!

Oh well, at least my day was getting a little better.

I was now under a full reserve parachute, swaying like an airlifted cargo crate.

- Pondering my PLF -

The next challenge on my checklist was the task of doing a decent PLF (Parachute Landing Fall). The purpose of the PLF was to distribute the impact of landing across the whole body, therefore; theoretically reducing the chances of injury.

But my experiences over the years showed me that even the most perfect PLF’s can result in sprained ankles, broken legs, shattered clavicles (collar bones), fractured hips, dislocated shoulders, etc.

The Landing Procedures and textbook PLF is as follows:

1. Maneuver (steer) into the wind, so the chute falls behind you. This is easily done during training jumps. One only has to orient himself into the opposite direction of the wind as indicated by a windsock (on land) or a boat’s flag (over water). Just think “stab yourself with the windsock or flag” and you’re going into the wind. But during real missions, one had to use other clues (e.g., whitecaps on waves, swaying branches of trees, etc.).

2. Keep your eyes on the horizon – don’t look down. Looking down makes the jumper incorrectly anticipate ground impact because of the illusion of “ground rush.” It also compromises the vertical posture needed to perform a good PLF.

3. Raise hands over your head, grasp, and hold onto the parachute risers throughout the PLF. This minimizes injuries to the shoulders, arms, and hands by preventing the chance of “flail” injuries – if you’ve ever stubbed your toe, replace your toe with an arm and you know what I mean.

4. Point toes downward and slightly bend the knees.

5. Tuck in the head (chin to chest).

6. Upon impact, immediately allow the body to roll laterally to whichever side that momentum, wind, and terrain moves your body.

7. Spread your impact force over the following parts of the body: balls of feet, calf, side of thigh, buttock, side of back, rear shoulder.

When performed correctly, the body should naturally fall and roll; ending up in a sitting position and opposite your parachute.

But instead of vertical, I was laying backward at a 45-degree angle. The reserve chute attached to my stomach and absence of butt pack weight forced me to keep as upright as possible by continually pulling on my risers.

I felt like I was stuck at “half-rep” on a Lat-Pull Down machine in the gym set with a full stack of weight.

Oh well, the horizon was in full view. I’d just have to make do.

- Ouch, that’s got’ta hurt! -

If you saw the way I landed, you’d probably wince with empathy.

Like fans at an American football game who witness a particularly nasty hit (tackle), you’d probably say that familiar American cliché: “Ouch, that’s got’ta hurt!”

Instead of balls of feet, calves, quads, glutes, lats, delts, and roll; my heels hit first.

Then came the vicious ground impact on my coccyx (butt bone).

The next assault was to the back of my head (Thank God, my Protech helmet didn’t shatter).

I tried to stand, but only made it to my knees. Everything was a spinning, blur. I wasn’t sure if my chute was in front of me or behind me.

My question was promptly answered. It was in front of me.

How did I know?

It re-inflated and began dragging me, head first, along the dirt, grass, and rocks of the drop zone!

Whack! One lens of my goggles breaks. Now one-half of my limited vision looked like a muddy spider web. Afraid of plastic chards going into my eye, I shut both eyes and ripped the goggles off my face.

Whack-whack-whack! The side of my helmet kept bouncing off the uneven ground.

(Another gust of wind.)

I tried to lift my head.

Bad idea.

The wind shifted into second gear and the chute began dragging me faster.

Shroud-lines that had wrapped themselves around my helmet and neck forced my head back down into the rock-strewn earth.

Great, now I’m digging a trench with my face.

“Imagine That…”

 

(Continued in “Imagine That…[4]”)

Your friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Pantejo@ynvurcepublishing.com

Cobra Gold, Thailand, Sexy, Filipina, PT, physical training, Corpsman, Medical, Turf, tantric sex, parachute, reserve chute, PLF.

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.

*The following story is incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

“[Life] Amazing! Isn’t it?…”

- Volunteering for Extra Pay -

I was always pretty “open-minded” about extra pay. What the Hell, I got’ta work anyway, right? Why not get a little extra, for just a little extra misery.

One time I volunteered for Experimental Pay that involved me doing a cold-weather mission “while wearing a core body temperature data collection device.”

The data was needed to engineer better anti-exposure gear for missions where hypothermia was a real danger; and also to design nutritionally sound, cold-weather MRE’s (meals, ready to eat) individualized to the size and activity of each operator.

In reality, the “…while wearing a core body temperature data collection device” was the official way of saying that I and my whole team were doing our jobs in a very cold region WITH RECTAL THERMOMETERS FIRMLY LODGED UP OUR BUTTS AND ANCHORED THERE BY AN INFLATABLE BULB AT THE END OF EACH PROBE!

Needless to say, it was a hassle to take a dump – and rather painful if you forgot to deflate the bulb!

Another time, when the military was designing new ejection seat trainers for their jet pilots, I volunteered for ejection seat training duty. In the old days, the trainers used live charges instead of pneumatic propulsion and hydraulic breaks. I “shrunk” a centimeter or two (because of spinal disc compression), but later regained my full, manly height of 5’ 5” a few months later.

One more Extra-Pay Duty story?

O.K.

A study was ordered to measure the effects of full body armor (Kevlar) in the event of emergency egress from a downed helicopter. I got first dibs on this assignment because…well, mainly because no one else volunteered!

That should’ve been a sign.

Anyway, I strapped into the 9D5 NAWSTP (Naval Aviation Water Survival Training Program) helicopter emergency multi-egress/crash simulator.

The simulator resembles a giant oil drum. The inside “cabin” is about the size of the cabin of a troop transport helo. It is suspended above a small, training tank (pool) by thick, steel cables. When the operator/engineer is prompted, he releases tension on the supporting cables and the device slams into the water (just like a real helo would during an emergency crash landing into the ocean). Then, as all top-heavy helicopters do, the device begins to turn upside down.

I knew/taught all the correct egress procedures.

I remained strapped into the seat. I took a nice, long breath before the water level reached my mouth and nose. I kept a little internal air pressure in my nose to keep the water from filling up my sinuses.

(It’s always amusing to me how a huge Marine can morph into a panicky, little baby when confronted with an underwater emergency – simulated or not. The disorientation and water up the nose causes many rough and tumble, macho, overly muscled Marines to panic, unbuckle too early, and get trapped in the trainer.

I think the only other thing that produces more sheer terror in these finely tuned, mindless killing machines [translated: first-wave, canon fodder] is the sight of an immunization needle.

I sh*t you not! I’ve had many a monster Marine pass out when I waved a needle and syringe in front of him!

It’s hilarious and not really a problem.

My only concern is that the big boy doesn’t hurt himself with his fall to the ground, slump into the chair, or the instant, involuntary prone position on the gurney. After a nice chuckle, I just inject the passed out Marine with the originally prescribed medication, break an ammonium nitrate ampule under his nose, and tell the now awake killer that the brain surgery/castration/rectal exam is over and done with – no problem.)

Back to the helo crash simulation.

Inverted, I waited for all violent motion to stop. I took a handhold of the seat beside me and reached for my buckle. It was stuck/jammed. No worries. I’d taught this to my survival students and done this procedure thousands of times. I hit the locking mechanism with my fist, making sure it was fully locked down; then tried to open the buckle again. It opened. Cool.

But the normal smooth, underwater weightlessness I’d experienced in the past was replaced with a vicious surge to the surface. Like a bug on a car’s windshield, I was plastered on the upside down deck of the simulator.

“Imagine That.” Kevlar floats!

The body armor was so buoyant that I was stuck, upside down on the deck of the 9D5. Even worse, the rest of the gear I had on was getting snagged on everything in my egress path. Cargo hooks, helo frame, and seats proved to be just one more thing to disentangle myself from before I could leave the simulator.

I’m not sure how long I’d been holding my breath. Activity and emotional state can severely cut your breath holding time.

Outside the trainer, the safety diver, a buddy of mine, motioned the “need assistance” signal.

I smiled and waived him off.

Finally, I said “f*ck it,” grabbed my HEEDs (helicopter emergency egress device – a small SCUBA bottle the size of a large café-latte at Starbucks), purged the mini-regulator of water, and took a breath of compressed air.

This was always a last resort because ascent to the surface and breathing had to be controlled afterwards. On a breath hold, one could rule out the dangers of DCS (decompression sickness) and AGE (arterial gas embolism – the more serious condition when a bubble travels through the blood vessels and lodges in some rather inconvenient places; namely the heart or brain).

Oh well, it was going to be a longer day than I expected.

Without the immediate need for air, I methodically doffed the Kevlar vest, and hooked it around my arm. I looked at my buddy and waived my middle finger at the Kevlar vest.

My buddy took out his regulator, smiled, and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Then he simulated poking himself in the ass with it. The meaning was obvious: F*ck me! I’m never wearing Kevlar in a helicopter flying over the water!

And neither will I.

- A Bad Day at work -

Back to the situation at hand: “Big Army Parachute, Not-So-Big Man.”

I knew it was going to be a bad day when the archaic body harness of the big parachute and opening shock made me feel like I was being split in half – from the crotch up!

After beating on my numbed legs, I immediately checked my canopy and saw the next hint of my bad day.

Reflexively, I said out loud, “Imagine That” (my personal “bleeding down” catch-phrase).

For those of you who haven’t been indoctrinated into the wonderful world of hazardous duty, let me cue you in. Almost all operators have a “bleeding down or releasing pressure,” personal catch-phrase they say to themselves to instantly calm down.

These catch-phrases serve a vital purpose. They put you into a mindset that’s conducive to survival, especially when you’re “having a bad day at work.”

Catch-phrases will:

1. Delete damaging/time-consuming emotions from your current scenario.

2. Help you mentally step out of a hazardous/time-sensitive situation to facilitate quick – often life-saving – decisions objectively (as an observer, not a participant).

3. Relax you (even make you laugh) as you marvel at the absurdity of life!

Again, I said, “Imagine That.”

Above my head, instead of a heavenly full, round canopy, I saw what resembled a huge, used condom! Either a line-over or static electricity was preventing air from inflating my chute.

I was oscillating wildly.

All my attempts to inflate the main chute proved unsuccessful. I spread the main shoulder risers – nothing. I did a pull-up and climbed up on one riser and let go – hoping that the popping, spring action of my bodyweight would let some air enter the canopy. No joy. I looked for the usual 4-line release system (a way of controlling/steering a parachute by releasing four lines at the rear of the canopy), but then remembered that this was an old army chute with no such capabilities.

I pondered whether I should try and find the possible line-over and start cutting lines (one by one) with my hooked shroud line cutter.

By experience, I could “feel” that I had not regained terminal velocity (about 147 mph)…yet. It was probably because of the minor friction caused by the “Used Rubber” flailing above me. Physicists will tell you that one square yard will decrease your free-fall momentum by up to 20 per cent.

But a quick glance at the on-rushing ground (perception of ground color begins around the 10,000 to 12,000 foot ceiling) and verification with my wrist altimeter told me that I really didn’t have much time for playing Sherlock Holmes/Brain Surgeon with any offending shroud lines.

Damn, I hate it when this happens…

[Continued in “Imagine That…(3) - Medical Turf Wars and Angels of Mercy Revisited.”]

Your friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Pantejo@ynvurcepublishing.com

Hazardous Duty Incentive Pay, Kevlar, hypothermia, experimental, hashish, line-over.

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.

*The following story is incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

**Note from the Author:

When asked about my military career, I simply tell people that I was “Dumb, Stubborn, and Lucky (Dumb enough to volunteer, Stubborn enough to stay, and Lucky enough to survive).”

The “Imagine That…” series chronicles some of the more amusing experiences (that I can still remember) from over two decades of U.S. military service; most of which was in the Asian theater.

But, please keep in mind the following conversation:

Curious Man: “What did you learn from your years in the military?”

Me: “The first and last thing they teach you is to forget.”

Curious Man: “Who are they and what were you supposed to forget?”

Me: “I don’t know. I forgot.”

Curious Man: “I see. You must have been a good student.”

Me: “I’d like to think so.”

The above conversation gives a clue why some things will neither be mentioned, nor explained in some of the stories of this series.

Simply put, I forgot.

Nevertheless, I am certain you will enjoy these stories, my friend.

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

“[Life] Amazing! Isn’t it?”

- Asian Angel of Mercy -

Assuming that I’d not heard her the first time, she repeated, “Chief, is there anything else I can do for you?”

She was a 19 year old Fil-Am (Filipina-American) who had recently graduated from Basic U.S. Navy Corpsman School. She was doing her mandatory clinical phase/rounds aboard this Navy Submarine Tender (a ship equipped with hyperbaric chamber facilities), the ship I’d been flown to almost 20 hours ago for hyperbaric treatment. I had just finished a Table VI (or V?) treatment in the “squeeze chamber” and was on the ship’s tiny medical sickbay cum ward.

The cute Corpsman had assumed correctly.

(And what a sweet ass-sumption it was! But I stray from the story. Many tangents will follow.)

I hadn’t heard a word of what she said since reporting to her ward. I was too enamored with her brown skin, almond eyes, and oh-so-slim and sexy body. Most other bodily functions were put on hold – except of course, you know what.

Us men are like that.

When I arrived at the Tender yesterday night, via emergency MEDEVAC (medical evacuation) helicopter, I was semi-conscious and clad in only my dive shorts (the Navy issued “UDT”, khaki-colored shorts worn by all U.S. military divers, Special Warfare, and Explosive Ordnance Disposal Teams) and wrapped in a couple of black wool blankets to combat the coldness of shock.

The helo crew and medical attendants were more than happy to release/dump me on the Diving doctor at the Tender. Apparently, and later verified by the official medical reports, I was so disoriented and obstinate that I tried to free myself from the gurney straps and jump out of the MEDEVAC helo… not once, but three times!

Luckily the attendants were consummate professionals; and although they couldn’t sedate me (sedation masked symptomatic alterations of consciousness and rendered further neurological checks useless), they nonetheless; “motivated” me to behave.

They did this by menacingly waving a large urethral catheter in front of my face while simultaneously snapping the bases of their surgical gloves! The meaning was instantly understood: “Chief, play nice or we’ll have to shove this rubber tube up your crank; AND/OR perform a sphincter muscle control check. BOTH WITHOUT LUBRICATION!”

Prudently, I acquiesced to these kind and caring medical professionals.

Most divers “free-balled” it.

We didn’t wear anything under our dive shorts. It was much more comfortable and practical. At least that’s what we’d rationalized as we pissed and crapped in our shorts during long dives, or scratched sand from our balls while on the beach.

Of course, we were more disciplined during cold water dives that required a wet or dry suit be worn over our dive shorts.

Fantasizing about the Filipina Corpsman, I was pitching a rather obvious tent under the bed sheets.

The Corpsman blushed as she took my vital signs.

She went about her business as professionally as possible (temperature, pulse, and blood pressure checks, I.V. drip check, neurological/circulation checks, level of consciousness checks, etc.) while still managing to steal glances, and sometimes longer looks, at my erection.

Probably projecting my wishes upon her, I could swear she looked hungry.

- Too much of a “Good Thing” -

She asked me if I was experiencing “priapism,” a medical condition characterized by an uncontrollable erection and can be caused by trauma to the spinal cord, various drugs, neurological disorders, and vascular diseases.

Prolonged priapism can be a medical emergency because the human penis was not meant to be perpetually engorged. The specialized, sensitive tissues can be permanently damaged or necrose (die). The condition is considered hazardous after three hours, critical after four hours, and a medical emergency after five or six hours (depending on the patient’s age and physical condition).

The treatment for priapism begins with mild, over-the-counter medication (e.g., pseudoephedrine). If that doesn’t work, treatment becomes more aggressive.

To make your erection go away, blood is aspirated from the corpus cavernosum (a reservoir for blood and pressure). Layman’s translation: The doctor sticks a needle in your dick and tries to deflate it by relieving the build-up of pressure. Sound fun?

Finally to the final of all options, if all else fails – AMPUTATION OF THE PENIS IS NECESSARY. Yikes!

That’s why the abuse of erectile dysfunction drugs (e.g., Viagra, Cialis, Levitra, etc.) can literally cost a man his own manhood!

“Unlike the mind, a penis stretched by new stimuli MUST return to its original size.”

I had only experienced priapism once in my life. It happened a few years ago after a rather nasty PLF (Parachute Landing Fall)…

…I couldn’t “John Wayne” it in (meaning: a trotting, stand-up landing) because we, my Jump Team on the stick, were jumping with old Army “Set 10” parachutes. These chutes were big, awkward to steer, and were made for average, “American-sized” men carrying full Army Infantry gear.

Everyone on my team was Asian or Hispanic and much smaller than the average American soldier. To make matters worse, we weren’t wearing any Infantry gear. That meant we were using parachutes designed for much bigger men and much heavier loads.

Why?

Although I wasn’t paid to ask why (I was paid to Do), I figured that someone, probably a Department of Defense scientist/geek working on his thesis and/or government contract, needed the data. And of course, we volunteered for the two weeks of “basket leave (free vacation)” and additional “Experimental/Hazardous Duty Incentive Pay” upon mission completion.

Besides, what could happen?

We were all well-versed in jumping. We all wore the gaudy, golden “Jump Wings” on our uniforms. The Jump Wings and shiny, silver “Dive Bubble” (the Navy SCUBA Diver pin worn above the wings) proclaimed to all that we were loony enough to be free-fall qualified and macho/horny enough to be Navy Diver certified.

And of course, in our minds, we (my team mates, fellow connoisseurs of beer, PT – physical training, women, and out-of-the ordinary adventures) were all crazy, little f*ckers – a batch of brown escapees from the local Mental Ward.

In short, multiple incarnations of Superman.

Oftentimes, hushed words were spoken from onlookers when one of us was seen in our uniforms.

I never got used to all the attention. In fact, all the hoo-hah about divers, jumpers, and shooters usually made me feel uncomfortable. When someone asked too many probing questions, I would find an excuse to quickly leave.

Perfectly happy doing my job out of the limelight, I performed my duties as professionally and quietly as possible. Yup, being “invisible” was just fine with me.

It’s always the shiny, “special” things (or people) that become targets first.

To my knowledge, there is only one photo of me in my “work clothes and green/brown make-up” in existence. It (with other documents and computer files) is in the custody of a very trusted friend; safely tucked away in an old wooden desk, in an old Asian village home, in an old and remote Asian Province. And there it will stay until enough time has passed and I don’t need “insurance” anymore.

All smart people have insurance.

‘Nuff said about that.

- Wannabes and Groupies -

Most of the other “normal, honorable, respectable” soldiers envied the lifestyle I and my men lived everyday.

To them, we were all Desperados.

It was a well-known fact that we enjoyed more p*ssy, more money, and more excitement than the usual serviceman. On top of that, we wore our uniforms less frequently and enjoyed more individual freedom on the job.

Those men who “look, want, but can’t” are affectionately called “Wannabes.”

And the women, oh the women.

There were two types of “Groupie Women.” The first type, the Thrill Seekers, got off by having sex with us “dangerous, young studs.” The other type, the Gold Digger, was looking for security (meaning, the money and security left by a deceased serviceman spouse).

If a woman thought “we were what we were,” the usual response followed: Instant Flirting. Her pupils would enlarge, she’d heave whatever chest she had, she’d fiddle with her hair, smile, and lick her lips. You could almost read her mind. She wanted to sample the athletic, wiry, six-packed, muscular bodies we all possessed.

Our hardbodies coupled with our permanent, devilish, sh*t-eating grins that seemed to make all of us look half our ages were most irresistible to the overtly (and covertly) available members of the opposite sex.

Gold Diggers are available around the globe and the U.S. was no exception. Everyone knew of the SGLI (the soldier’s life insurance) and Death Gratuity Benefits extended to the dead soldier’s family/beneficiaries.

Since people like me and my men tended to die from mysterious “Training Injuries” much more often than the normal guy riding a desk job, we were all that more attractive to the “long-range minded women.”

It’s “The Golden Rule.”

Same-same around the world, I guess. Those with the Gold/Money (or the promise of it) rule!

“Don’t mess with THEM. They’d rather kill than f*ck!,” one young sailor said to another while I was standing in line at the Base’s Mini-Mart.

On the very few occasions that I went shopping in my uniform, when I would walk toward a crowd of shoppers, the reaction was like the parting of the Red Sea.

It was weird.

If you saw me in person and in civilian clothes, you’d probably think I was someone’s meek, Asian driver or cook. But put a uniform on me, replete with those two “itty-bitty” pins, and I’m magically transformed into some mysterious, dark-hearted assassin?

Assassin?

The word assassin brings a wry smile to my face. You see, its root comes from the word “Hassassin” – meaning, followers/users of hashish.

Neat story.

Well, actually, many stories revolve around the word “assassin.”

Some references reinforce the etymology of “assassin” from “hassassin;” while others refute it, saying that:

1. The Koran and the creator of the Hassassins group staunchly opposed all intoxicating chemicals (e.g., alcohol, hashish, etc.).

2. Trained killers require disciplined training, and therefore; could not have been drug addicts.

3. Hashish in the form of a “potion” (that is, liquid form) and mentioned below in the famous “Marco Polo” accounts of the assassins and their leader is not the normal form of ingestion.

But let me include two other stories.

And they both involve killers and hashish.

The first story, popularized by Marco Polo, tells of the “Old Man of the mountain” (believed to be Hasan-i-Sabbah, leader of the Nizari Ismaili militant group) using a “potion” of hashish as a recruiting tool.

Supposedly, he drugged prospective recruits and brought them to a “Paradise” that he’d setup in a secret, secluded compound. Once there, the recruits were provided anything and everything they desired (wine, women, song, etc.). Soon after, they were drugged again and brought back before the Leader.

He [the Leader] promised them a trip to Paradise again if they served him (or died in his service). Either way, if they completed their service, they (or their souls) were guaranteed a return to Paradise.

The second story involves enemies of the Crusaders.

During the Crusades, a group of small, but deadly armies meandered through the lands to defend the populace from the Christian Marauders (Crusaders).

Their ruthlessness and efficiency with which they dealt out death became legendary. After each successful defense (killing fest), these men would then perform their routine, celebratory ritual – a party and trance induced by heavy hashish use.

They soon became known as “Hassassins.” Over time, the word changed into “assassin.”

When I was in Laos, I often wondered if the cute purveyors (and tourists/ buyers) of those innocent looking, little, dark-brown-to-black cubes knew the hashish-“assassin” word connection?

Probably not.

[Continued in “Imagine That…(2) - Hazardous Duty Incentive Pay (HDIP): Anything for a Buck?”]

Your friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Pantejo@ynvurcepublishing.com

Imagine That, Filipina, Asian, Angel, hyperbaric, Gold Jump Wings, Silver Dive Bubble, Hassassin, assassin.

 “It was a weird dream.

I am in bed with Nueng. Her face is nestled into my shoulder and her arm is draped over my chest.

She looks like a sleeping angel – mine, my special, lovely angel.

I inhale deeply, smile, and silently thank God for all the joy she has brought into my life. I smell her hair and the sweet fragrance makes me feel loved, safe, and secure.

Like an experienced ground fighter, Nueng has strategically wrapped a leg behind and around one of mine. (Even in her sleep, she’s afraid of me leaving her.)

Then I hear it.

It sounds like…like…no, it can’t be!

It sounds like the voice of my ex-girlfriend! She’s coming up the stairs, calling out to me, AND I REALIZE THAT THIS IS NOT A DREAM!”

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

(Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

*Below is the twenty-fourth installment in a series of real life events experienced by the author. The only deviations from the truth may be the names of people and places. These stories are also incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

- Dramas -

Upstairs, in my bedroom and half asleep, I hear someone slip a key into the front door. The door creaks open (I always seem to forget to oil the hinges of that thing). I assume the person I hear entering my townhouse is my sister coming home from the open market where she sells clothes and second-hand items.

But then the sound of a voice puts me on instant alert.

It’s the unmistakable, girlish voice of my Ex-girlfriend (Kai)!

“J.C.! J.C., tee rak (darling)! J.C? Tee rak, kid tueng yu khun maak maak (Darling, I missed you so much)!”

I close my eyes again and listen more intently, hoping that this was not happening, maybe just a bad dream.

But the footsteps on the stairs confirm the worst. They are definitely the awkward, “stutter-steps” of Kai. (She was never the most graceful of women).

To prevent constant stumbling, she basically stomped her way through life. It was always an amusing sight to see her walk in her favorite high-heeled shoes (kind of like watching a spinning top wobbling as it begins to slow down).

- Locked Doors, Open Doors -

I had forgotten about the spare house key I kept amongst the shoes in a shoe rack outside the front door. The Ex didn’t. She had used it to “quietly” enter my townhouse and “surprise” me with her return.

By this time, Nueng was awake and knew what was going on. She put a finger to my lips and whispered “Shhhh…Reo, reo (fast, quickly)!”

Nueng wanted me to exit the bedroom before Kai reached the top of the stairs and “accidentally” lock the door behind me. Even under the most extreme circumstances, Nueng was always level-headed.

Damn! Why didn’t I move out of this townhouse when I decided to cut all ties with the Ex?

 

I had permanently written Kai out of my life over six months ago.

Nueng and I should’ve found another place, a secret place no one knew of (meaning her ex-husband and my ex-girlfriends), to genuinely start anew.

- Who Cares? -

Nueng, my sweet and strong Nueng.

She was the most honest and caring woman I’ve met in Thailand. I remember when the running water had stopped in our townhouse and we were tired and grimy from spending the day outside.

Without a fuss, Nueng grabbed some empty, six-liter drinking water containers, hopped on my motorcycle, and sped off to fill them up at the drinking water machine.

Upon returning, she then dumped the water into the large, black rubbish bin we used to store water.

When I offered to help, she just sniff-kissed my neck and told me to “Abp narm, tee-rak (bathe now, darling),” then sped off to get more water.

In short, she cares. She REALLY cares.

And I knew that it was my laziness (and stupidity) that has put us in this current situation.

- Same, Same? -

I kissed Nueng, whispered “Rak khun kon deos (I love you, only you), and quickly pulled on some shorts. Exiting the bedroom, I entered the upstairs hallway; locking the bedroom door behind me.

Double-timing it to the top of the stairs, I saw Kai.

I intercepted her on the small landing half-way up the stairs. As I looked at her, I didn’t really know how to feel.

Definitely, I was in shock.

It was as though all the feelings of rage, confusion, and despair I’d experienced during my discovery of her lies and infidelity were being painfully resurrected again.

The acidic emotions were beginning to reach my stomach (via my throat and heart).

It was like the reflexive shock, gasp, and searing pain you get when you accidentally gulp down some burning, hot coffee.

Apparently, Kai didn’t notice any hints of my inner turmoil. I guess she assumed that my expressionless, lukewarm demeanor was another one of those mysterious (translated: stupid) “Farang (foreinger) Things.”

She smiles her trademark, dazzling smile and hands me a belated Christmas gift (a small stuffed toy).

Wrapping her arms around me, she kisses me; then buries her head into my shoulder and says, “Me-lee Klees-mah (her attempt at saying Merry Christmas in English), tee rak. Chan rak khun (I love you).”

Uncomfortably, I accepted her gift and returned her embrace – ALL THE WHILE THINKING OF NUENG HIDING IN MY BEDROOM!”

As I held Kai, my only thoughts were:

“Wow. I don’t remember Kai being this small before. She feels so fragile! Nueng is so different, better. No matter how hard I hug Nueng, she can always hug me back harder.”

Then situational awareness returned and I led Kai by the hand back down the stairs, saying that we need to talk outside.

My plan was to take her out on the front porch, sit down, and ask her why she returned.

Of course, I pretty much knew already. In my mind, the scenario had been firmly formed:

1. Her “suicidal” boyfriend probably ran out of money.

2. Profoundly wise to her “money management habits,” I knew that she most surely was broke too.

3. Her more convenient cash cows were now unavailable or unwilling to be scammed again.

4. She probably thought she could easily convince me to take her back (until she could find something/someone better – again).

It’s always the same with her. It’s always about the money!

- She Knows! -

We finally reached the first floor. But to my surprise, Kai ignored all my requests to go outside, picked up her suitcase and charged back up the stairs!

It was then that “I knew that she knew.”

I attempted to stop her at the landing, she shrugged me off. She was furious. Her eyes were on fire, shooting flaming daggers as she looked at me, the bedroom door, and the plastic bags packed with all her belongings through the open door of the spare bedroom!

I had never, ever, ever seen her so fierce.

Additionally, I have never physically fought with a woman (civilian woman, that is) in my life and I was not about to start now.

Resigned to my fate, I slumped down and squatted on the landing and watched the scenes unfold.

The next thing I hear is Kai’s suitcase dropped on the hallway floor, then bedroom doorknob being jiggled several times, and finally the sound of Kai trying to open the door (unsuccessfully) with every key on the spare ring of keys.

(I knew that there was no spare bedroom key on that ring.)

Then the real show began.

Arrghh! Whack! Mah hee-ah (very bad Thai word)!! Thump! Krai (Who)! Whack-whack-whack!

Kai was screaming, kicking, and hitting the bedroom door. I thought she was going to break the door down!

- Poor, Little Girl? -

But then suddenly it was quiet, a deafening kind of silence.

I walked up the remaining stair to find Kai in a fetal position by my bedroom door, sobbing. Her whole world was shattering and she looked like such a poor, sad, little orphan girl. I felt like the world’s greatest heel.

Gently, I scooped her up in my arms and started down the stairs again.

Carrying her, I remembered the many times I’d found her asleep in front of the T.V. and carried her to bed. But now, she felt so light, so little, and so vulnerable.

What am I doing? What am I thinking? This woman in my arms used me. She used me like she used all the other men. She put me through hell!

I need to maintain. Stay focused.

For all I know, this is just another one of her tricks.

Besides, I have not forgotten Nueng. Nueng has never lied to me. Nueng has never squeezed me for money. Nueng has never abandoned me. Nueng deserves a man that will do likewise. Nueng loves me and I love her.

Half way down the stairs, at the landing, Kai reached out for the wooden railing and held a firm grip on it. She wanted down and out of my arms. And she wanted down now!

I put her on her feet and tried to wipe the tears away from her eyes, but she turned away. It was obvious that she didn’t want me to touch her anymore.

I saw ultimate hate in her eyes as she took off the gold ring and silver school ring I’d given her last year and flung them onto the floor of the landing. They sounded like coins being dropped into a beggar’s cup.

Bless her heart. She didn’t pawn them. Later on, I found out why. She didn’t need to. She had pawned my expensive cell phone instead.

Then she reached into her purse, extracted her ATM cards – the ATM cards that used to have access to two of my bank accounts, but deactivated by now – and threw them down too.

 

Plunk, plunk. They landed like thick, kindergarten playing cards beside the rings.

Through all of this, I was actually starting to feel sorry for her. I tried to, but didn’t have the heart to look at her. I just kept my head and eyes down, staring at the rings and ATM cards.

They look so lonely down there.

To regain my composure (and resolve) I briefly shut my eyes and took in a deep breath.

- Round Two -

The next thing I felt is Kai’s face on my chest. She has me in a bear hug. She is weeping like an unloved, neglected baby. I feel her tears running down my stomach. With each crying convulsion she squeezes me tighter and tighter.

Jeez! This little girl’s stronger than she looks!

Releasing her hug on me, Kai reaches up and holds my face in her hands. I open my eyes to see Kai’s teary, red swollen eyes, runny nose, and trembling lips.

She was hysterical (shaking uncontrollably) and hyperventilating.

Struggling through quick, short inhales, she whimpered, “J.C. mai rak Kai (J.C. no love Kai)? [sob, sob] Tamai (Why)? [sob, sob] Tamai, tee rak (Why, darling)? Chan rak khun (I love you). [sob, sob] Kai love J.C! Chan rak khun. Chan rak khun! (I love you. I love you!).”

Coughing and sniffling, she leans into my body and hugs me tight again…

 

(Continued in “Experiences from The Flow [25]: The Ex Returns! Part 3.”)

Your Friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Thailand, heartbreak, return, ex-girlfriend, cry, love, same-same, money, girlfriend, surprise, lie, infidelity, tricks.

 By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright May 2008

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

(*This article is based on the ideas presented in the book “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. This article is also incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Release Date: 2008.)

Note: Throughout this article The Original Substance is the name used for: GOD, The One, Gaya, Infinite Intelligence, The Universe, etc. Please substitute this name with the name/word you feel comfortable with.

It’s 3:00 AM.

True to form, since I went to bed last night too early, here I am awake at zero-dark, thirty. I’m alone. For the first time (in a long time), I don’t have a wife, live-in partner, or a date sleeping next to me.

It’s been that way for awhile now.

I’m relaxed.

And since I quit teaching High School English recently, I have nothing urgent to do for tomorrow/today.

Another first.

I can’t remember the last time I WASN’T preparing for some kind of military mission, business meeting, college class, teacher’s activity, or family obligation.

And it’s okay, REALLY okay. I’m actually happy with it.

Then it struck me.

At 45 years old, I’d finally found the place where happiness resides…

- Many Accomplishments, No Happiness. -

Like the rest of the world, I expected to automatically bring happiness into my life by getting and doing certain “things,” things that everyone agreed were universally “good” and would make me “happy.”

I got an education. My college degrees (A.A., B.S., and MBA) provided a sense of accomplishment and other benefits, but they didn’t make me happy.

I got married (and divorced several times). While being married, I enjoyed some companionship and love, but it didn’t make me happy.

I became a father (twice). I felt pride and protectiveness, but parenthood didn’t make me happy.

I served a full career in the U.S. Military, doing things that most people can only dream of. It [the career] gave me many adventures, challenges; let me see the world, and a lifetime pension; but it didn’t make me happy.

Partying is fun, but it doesn’t make me happy.

Sex is fun, but it doesn’t make me happy.

- Temporary Delight vs. Happiness –

There is a big difference between temporary delight and true happiness. Many people confuse the two. Both produce positive feelings and smiles. Both produce “good feeling, almost narcotic” chemical changes in the brain and body.

But there are some big differences between them.

1) The first, obvious difference is the duration of the good feelings. For example, buying a nice, new gadget or toy, clothes, or a one-time experience can give you temporary delight. But knowing that you can be happy without these baubles provides a deeper and longer lasting good feeling.

2) Temporary delight requires external events, people, and things to manifest.

In other words, temporary delight from “taxi-meter pleasures” can only provide, at best; fleeting feelings of what most people confuse as happiness, and are totally dependent on something external (outside of oneself).

True happiness comes from within. It is not contingent on anything external.

True happiness, when fully understood and mastered, can last a lifetime.

(More on this later.)

- Other People are Happy -

During my global travels, I’ve seen thousands of happy people around the world:

• Happy people without college degrees.

• Happy people without spouses.

• Happy people without children.

• Happy people without careers.

• Happy skinny people.

• Happy fat people.

• Happy rich people.

• Happy poor people.

• Happy healthy people.

• Happy people without a limb(s) or in wheelchairs.

• Happy people who didn’t drink alcohol.

• And happy people who were celibate.

After years of observing people from every corner of the world (and all walks of life), I’ve come to finally realize this:

Many things in life can provide temporary delight, BUT they don’t (and can’t) make you truly happy. People can be (and many are) perfectly happy without them.

The problem with most people is that they don’t know the difference between temporary delight and true happiness. They spend their lives seeking happiness by collecting things, experiences, and sometimes even other people.

All of these things are external; therefore, can only produce temporary delight, not true happiness.

With each new “thingy,” they think they are happy, but eventually find out that the good feelings eventually fade. Consequently, most people spend their lives desperately looking for happiness in external things, but only end up with another temporary delight “fix”.

- Blaming Others -

After decades of searching, many people realize that in spite of collecting and achieving many things, they are not happy. At this point, they start blaming their unhappiness on external things.

According to them, the cause of their unhappiness is:

- The wife/significant other

- The job

- Heredity

- Lack of education

- Too much education (over-qualified)

- Age

- Physical limitations

- Poverty with no opportunities

- Affluence with no challenges

- The government

- The economy

- World Events

The people who blame others for their lot in life are subconsciously (or consciously) playing the victim card.

They refuse to take full responsibility for their own lives. They have given away their greatest gift in life: Free-Will, the powerful ability to choose what to think about, how to view their own experiences; and most importantly, how to feel about themselves.

- Invisible to Most, Obvious to only a Few -

Here’s The Secret. It’s a secret that many people don’t know. Among the few that do know it, even fewer accept its truth.

What is this secret?

“Happiness (or unhappiness) is solely an internal, individual, enterprise. They [Happiness and Unhappiness] are not caused by anything external. Both are under total control of the individual. It’s truly a personal choice. And until one embraces this Life Truth, there can be only one result: a life of wandering and collecting SANS TRUE HAPPINESS. ”

(Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, August 2007)

- It’s Not Their Job -

*It’s no one else’s job to make you happy.

In reality, they can’t.

And it’s unfair to lay that kind of burden on anyone.

Of course, it’s nice when people are kind, but remember that they don’t have to be. So when it does happen, you should be grateful and acknowledge any act of kindness.

- It’s Not Your Job -

*It’s not your job to make other people happy (you can’t).

And it’s foolish to think you can.

I’m not advocating callousness or ruthlessness. Always be kind. It will attract more kindness into your life.

- Your Real Job -

*Only you can make yourself happy.

- Their Real Job -

*Only other people can make themselves happy. Period.

- Lasting Happiness -

*Only two things are eternal: the Original Substance and You (your soul).

All else is temporary.

The people you love will die. Your girlfriend or spouse may leave you. Your children will grow up and get lives of their own. Your new toy (e.g., motorcycle, car, computer, cell phone, camera, TV, etc.) will eventually get old and break. Even your own body will be no more someday.

But you and the Original Substance will always “Be.”

Am I advising you to be a pessimist? Absolutely not!

What I’m proposing is this: Once you realize the temporary nature of things, you can enjoy them wholeheartedly while they’re in your life and not mourn the day when you must leave them behind.

Everything has a finite time for enjoyment. And the wise man does not lament their passing.

Basing your happiness on external things is an exercise in futility – those “thingys” are temporary, providing only temporary delight.

- The Right Place -

“And the end of all our exploring. Will be to arrive where we started. And know the place for the first time.”

(T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding)

So, where did I finally find True Happiness?

In the one place I hadn’t looked all these years.

In me.

Where are you looking for Happiness, my friend?

“Until next time, be brave enough to take a Different Path.”

Your friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Happiness, temporary, delight, free will, choice, blaming, The Secret, Right Place, prosperity.

“After taking months to recover from a brutal heartbreak, out of nowhere, the Ex returns. She hands me a belated Christmas gift (a small stuffed toy), wraps her arms around me, buries her head into my shoulder and says, ‘I love you.’

Uncomfortably, I accepted her gift and returned her embrace – ALL THE WHILE THINKING OF THE OTHER WOMAN HIDING IN MY BEDROOM!”

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright April 2008

(Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

*Below is the twenty-third installment in a series of real life events experienced by the author. The only deviations from the truth may be the names of people and places. These stories are also incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

- Happy New Year? -

It was December 28, 2007, just three days before New Year’s Eve. I was in my bedroom with Nueng, my live-in lover and the only Thai woman proven trustworthy during my two year stay in Thailand.

Recently, my life had made a positive 360 degree turn. After a string of unsuccessful and costly relationships, I was now in a loving and mutually beneficial one. My days were filled with love, friendship, smiles, fun, excitement, and intimacy – in short, life “sans paranoia, deceit, and disappointment”.

Feeling content, all I could think of was that the New Year would be nothing like the last one. 2008 was going to be “My Year” – the year that I would advance professionally and grow closer to Nueng. Yes, I was really stoked about the life I envisioned living in the coming year.

(But all things must come to an end.)

I forgot about the spare house key I kept amongst the shoes in a shoe rack outside the front door. The Ex didn’t. She used it to quietly enter my townhouse to “surprise” me with her return.

“Happy Freakin’ New Year,” I thought to myself.

- Prelude -

So much had happened in the last five months. My Lao girlfriend, the woman I had fallen so much in love, with broke my heart.

She went on a visa run and eventually never came back.

After weeks of excuses (“mother sick, weather too bad to travel, thief stole my money, house roof damaged from rain, etc.”), I found out the truth: she was at a beach resort with another man.

 

How did I find out the truth?

Her cell phone.

You see, immediately prior to making her monthly visa run, her cell phone was malfunctioning (it could receive messages and phone calls, but couldn’t send them).

It was a new and rather expensive model. Since it was still under warranty, I suggested maintenance instead of a costly replacement. Besides, she was fond of it because she had finally mastered the art of accessing and using most of its features.

In order to keep connected during this visa run, I told her to put her SIM card into my phone and take it with her.

I put my SIM card into an old phone that I kept for just these kinds of situations (theft, accident, or damage to our better phones, etc.).

Two days after she left, I picked up her phone from the repair shop. I put my SIM card into her phone, changed the language to English, and tested the repair job with an outgoing SMS. She replied with the usual “I miss you. Be home soon.” Trying to call her failed, but that was normal for calls to Laos from Thailand. Local calls to my friends were fine, so I was satisfied with the repairs.

Feeling good about the girlfriend’s repaired phone, I charged it, and carried it around as though it was mine (temporarily).

Her phone was a different brand than my phone and had different menus and shortcuts to the usual, daily tasks. So, for the next few days I began to learn how to quickly access and use most of her phone’s many features.

Playing with her phone, I soon realized that she had saved almost everything on her phone instead of onto her SIM card.

Then I got curious…

- Jackpot or Worst Fears? -

There I was, able to peek into her private life. It was like having the key to her diary. Maybe now I could finally gain some insight into our confusing relationship.

Since we didn’t speak each other’s language very well, we lived in a chronic state of miscommunication. This was my chance to glean some inside information that could benefit our lives as a couple – kind of like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; or maybe a winning combination on a Vegas slot machine.

On the other hand, I could be opening Pandora’s Box. And unlike the classic story, if my worst fears were confirmed, hope wouldn’t be left in the box.

Results? Verdict? Thumbs down.

Instead of a jackpot, I found a well of ugliness.

I couldn’t read most of the text messages because they were written in Thai. (She must have deleted all incriminating English messages.)

But a lot of the phone numbers were names in English – male names. In fact, the bulk of them were men from Singapore, Malaysia, Britain, America, and Australia.

Uh-oh. Here we go again. The more I investigated, the more I was getting the whole ugly story.

I got some Thai friends to translate some of the incoming and outgoing messages. Yup, the Ex was stringing me and many other men along.

Judging from the messages, some of the guys had it much worse than me. Some promised marriage. One man (a Thai) threatened suicide if she broke up with him.

Many of them were still sending her money.

Imagine that. I was giving this girl a very high standard of living and she was still milking other men for more. Talk about a greedy bitch!

Oddly enough, I was only angry for a couple of minutes. I guess being a veteran of this kind of setup made recovery time shorter and shorter until finally, it’s almost instantaneous.

Sadly, the majority of relationships I’d had in Thailand ended up like this. It was inevitable. I let myself get caught up with women who were much too immature to take any man/woman relationship seriously.

I’d been stubborn, refusing to accept the following axiom:

Contrary to popular belief, Thailand is only a temporary cure. Whether it be insecurity, loneliness, frustration, or mid-to-late-life crisis, “Thailand as a Permanent Panacea” is an illusion.

(Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, November, 2007)

Oh well, what to do, what to do?

I know. I’ll warn the other men. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I’ll either call or text them and tell them what’s really going on.

- Killing the Messenger -

The overwhelming majority of the men I contacted were tourists, only visiting Thailand for a few days to a couple weeks at a time.

After hearing the truth, many went into immediate denial. They couldn’t believe that their sweet, little tee-rak was a liar and a cheat. Man, they were really under her magic spell. A few of them actually yelled obscenities at me, saying that I was the “f*ck!n home-wrecker”!

Home-wrecker? What a crock.

THEY were the ones in the dark about the real deal, blissfully dreaming about the soon-to-be ex’s love from the armchairs of their foreign homes.

I was the one in Thailand currently living with “their” woman.

I was the one who was trying to free them from this conniving witch (albeit, an-oh-so-cute-and-sexy sorceress)!

The more seasoned Thai tourists simply shrugged it off and said that they weren’t surprised and thanked me for the information.

One of them, an American like myself, said, “Appreciate the low down, buddy. I guess it’s drop-kick time. I’ll shop for another one on my next trip. Oh yeah, I owe you a beer.”

These veterans of vacations in Thailand were extremely nonchalant about the whole affair. It was like I’d just told them that their favorite toothpaste was out of stock (no big deal, just a minor inconvenience).

I wondered how long it would be until I was that jaded?

One of them even suggested a nice payback. He was to make a surprise visit at my place when she returned, but I declined. I’d be rid of her long before this British guy could make it over to Thailand.

Since becoming a civilian, I shed my hardcore revenge persona. My personal philosophy now is that Life will compensate her for her actions more than I ever could. I just wanted to prevent her from inflicting more damage on other people.

I simply told the other men the truth. It was up to them to continue their relationship or not. For me, I was bailing out – and fast.

- Tying up Loose Ends -

After contacting the foreigners, I packed up the girlfriend’s belongings and moved them into a spare bedroom. I removed all reminders of her existence from plain view. I announced to the Landlord and neighbors that she was not my girlfriend anymore. Luckily, they all liked me and said they would keep an eye out.

Then I set out to make sure that “she knew that I knew.”

Until now, I was too busy to contact the guy she was having a holiday with at a beach resort half-way between Rangsit and Laos.

He was the Thai guy who threatened suicide (mentioned above).

Apparently, he was in his early twenties and working as a stock boy at an electrical hardware store in the Future Park Mall (translated: poor). He had saved up nearly a year’s worth of pay to take the girlfriend to the beach resort and propose marriage.

I scanned her phone, selected all the messages he’d sent her (and her messages to him) AND SENT THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM TO HER.

Then I sent the same messages, her messages to me, and my replies to her TO HIM.

They immediately panicked. First they turned off their phones for two days. Then they came up with a myriad of stories (lies) to try and cover up or justify their time together. None of the stories were remotely plausible. All were blatantly untrue.

My Thai friend got a hold of the man on his cell and proceeded to give him the riot act. My friend said (in Thai), “Are you proud of yourself now? You are with someone else’s wife. Can you trust her now? Do you really think she’ll change JUST FOR YOU? I have proof of many other men. Do you want their phone numbers?”

By now, the Thai man was beginning to wise up. He profusely apologized to me through my Thai friend. I said, “Mai bpen arai.” And I made it clear that I didn’t want her back.

He could have her (and her lying and cheating). Good riddance.

I wished both of them a nice life and hung up.

That night, she began calling me and saying that she was sorry and didn’t love him. She was just worried that he might really kill himself (yeah, right). She bombarded my phone with SMS, missed calls, and MMS (multi-media files) professing her undying love for me.

How hypocritical can you get? She was sending these love messages to me while remaining at the beach resort with another man!

I’d had enough. I told her to send her friend to pick up her belongings and that I hope she knows what she is throwing away (a solid future).

(Say good-bye to your gravy train, honey.)

She sent me a last image. It was of her with her eyes closed. The beach breeze was blowing through her hair. Swaying Palm trees, sparkling blue water, and soft-looking sand filled the background. The message at the bottom of the photo was “Rak khun kon-deos (I love you, only you).”

I deleted the image.

- Time-released Heartache -

As expected, over the next few days I kept getting flash back memories of intimate and happy moments with the Ex. It was kind of a delayed reaction.

All my life, especially in the military, once I made a decision, I acted swiftly and surgically; not allowing myself to feel things until much later. The motto always was: “Do it now. Complete the mission. Then cry (or laugh) about it later.”

It was insidious. Eventually, I accepted it. I was actually heartbroken.

And I cried for weeks.

- Merry Freakin’ Christmas -

After taking months to recover from the brutal heartbreak, out of nowhere, the Ex returns. She hands me a belated Christmas gift (a small stuffed toy), wraps her arms around me, buries her head into my shoulder and says, “I love you.”

Uncomfortably, I accepted her gift and returned her embrace – ALL THE WHILE THINKING OF THE OTHER WOMAN HIDING IN MY BEDROOM!

(Continued in “Experiences from The Flow [24]: The Ex Returns! Part 2.”)

Your Friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Thailand, heartbreak, return, ex-girlfriend, cell phone, SMS, text, messages, girlfriend, surprise, lie, cheat, worst fears.

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright April 2008

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

(*This article is based on the ideas presented in the book “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

Note: Throughout this article The Original Substance is the name used for: GOD, The One, Gaya, Infinite Intelligence, The Universe, etc. Please substitute this name with the name/word you feel comfortable with.

It was Monday morning and we (U.S. Navy Field Medical Service School students) were performing the mandatory, “Full Pack” forced march in the hot Southern California sun.

A fellow Corpsman hobbled up to me, obviously straining from the weight of his backpack – a U.S. Marine Corps issue Alice Pack, weighing about 65 pounds. Through clenched teeth and intermittent, uncontrollable grunts of pain, he said “Chief! Why don’t you look as miserable as everyone else? Aren’t your feet ground beef by now? Jeez! My neck, shoulders, and back are killing me too!”

- Legless in L.A. -

I looked at him and said, “Believe me, I’m in as much pain as you are, but it’s Okay.

I was in L.A. (Los Angeles) last weekend and I saw a legless man on the sidewalk. He was begging for coins. I plopped a few coins in his cup.

For some reason, I decided to say hello. When I said hello, he acted like he didn’t understand me. He looked Hispanic, so I said, ‘Hola, como esta usted?’

Finally realizing that I was speaking to him, he said, ‘Bien, gracias, y tu? By the way, I speak English.’

Obviously, he was overjoyed that someone was taking the time to converse with him. We chatted for a good 15 minutes.

I listened to his life story. It was full of tragedy and triumph. I noticed that he was actually a very intelligent man. We talked about family, economics, politics, and technology. Finally, thinking that I could now comfortably ask questions of a more personal nature, I asked him why he was in his current situation (legless and begging for coins on an L.A. sidewalk).

At first, I thought I had crossed the line of propriety because he stopped talking and closed his eyes. But after a few moments, he smiled a big brown-toothed grin and said, ‘Because I’m waiting for Halle Berry to marry me. She loves legless men, you know.’

We both laughed.

I didn’t push the issue any further. I gave him a little more money and thanked him for his stimulating conversation. And with a good-bye and handshake, he said, ‘Son, you are, indeed, a kind soul and destined for greatness.’

Maybe he was delusional. Maybe he was a drunk or a drug addict. Maybe he was running away from something very painful.

But I like to think he was a messenger.

The point is this. If a legless man begging for coins on the streets of L.A. can smile, survive, and also be kind, what the heck do we have to complain about?”

After a quiet moment, the Corpsman managed a smile/grimace and said, “Understood, Chief. This march ain’t nothin’.”

(We were both grateful to have legs that could hurt.)

And without further complaints, we both charged on.

- Attitude and Results -

Oddly enough, in spite of the sun, the whole-body pain, fatigue, and constant harassment from our Marine Corps Instructors, we finished the full-pack, forced march in record time.

Our superior performance earned us some bennies too.

We didn’t have to perform the post-exercise sanitation (that is, cleaning up the areas where we had slept, camped, and marched through in the previous 6 days). It was a lavish respite from the usual drudgery.

And we enjoyed every minute of it.

- The Law of Gratitude -

The Law of Gratitude is a Universal Law, a Life TRUTH.

Unfortunately, through ignorance or unbelief, many people discount the awesome power of simply being grateful.

Everything about gratitude is positive.

It brings you closer to the Original Substance. It puts you and the Original Substance on the same wavelength. Gratitude keeps you optimistic and looking forward to the next good, big thing that is coming your way.

It prevents you from entering into a scarcity mentality and reminds you that abundance is everywhere.

To get what you want in Life you need to follow this Universal Law.

- Reciprocity -

The Law of Gratitude is a wonderful, reciprocal process. When you are grateful; that is, sincerely thankful for everything (past, present, and in the future) to the Original Substance, you are emanating a strong, positive force.

This force affects everything in its path.

Since the Original Substance is in, through, and around everything, IT and all touched by your gratitude respond in kind. Hence, a magnified wave of positive force instantly moves toward you.

Strong and constant gratitude will continually move the fulfillment of your desires to you.

NEVER, EVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF GRATITUDE.

- Ungrateful People -

People without gratitude are engulfed with negative dissatisfaction. This negativity attracts more negativity (and so it goes).

They dwell on what they don’t have.

They don’t realize that by being grateful they can have it all.

- Discipline of Vision -

Ignore any appearances of lack and remember that it is just an illusion, a façade supported by false, pre-conditioned, negative beliefs.

If you look at (and take) the best in life, you become the best. The reverse is also true. Giving your attention to negativity only leads to misery. Attend to the good things in life and your life will be filled with good things.

Your thoughts will always create your reality.

You can be disciplined and choose your thoughts; and hence, choose your path. Or you can haphazardly let others choose for you. You can be the architect of your life, living it by your own design. Or you can live your life by default, letting others tell you what to think and do.

Do you want to be a drone, mindlessly fulfilling other people’s wishes without reaping the rewards of your labor?

Think of this.

Fast forward about 20 years in your life. Will you be able to happily say, “This I did for me.”

Now back to the present.

What kind of life do you want to create?

- Gratitude fosters Faith -

It is much easier to have faith in Universal Laws when you are grateful. Faith can be your shield against negativity. Faith continually increases as the universe responds with its magnified positive energy return.

That is why grateful people always have Faith (in themselves and in the Universe). They expect positive things to happen – and it does.

Their faith turns life into an endless string of exciting and heartwarming adventures. It’s a wonderful, snowballing effect of reciprocal goodness – a beautiful dance with the Universe.

- For All (all the time) -

Remember that Universal Laws work perfectly, effortlessly, for everyone – all the time. The Original Substance does all this (and more) for you 24/7.

IT arranges the unfathomable complexity of the universe to deliver you whatever you desire.

Be grateful for that!

- Your Choice -

Negative dissatisfaction alienates you from the good things and positive people in life.

Remain thankful to the Original Substance (for all that IT is and does).

Being thankful will make you an active partner with the Universe, co-creating your own riches, and continually moving a stream of true prosperity toward you.

It’s all within your total control. No one can keep you from being grateful. You can be cynical, another victim in the masses of unhappy people who blame their lot in life on something or someone else.

Or you can be a happy, thankful Winner.

Miserable Victim or Happy Winner? Choose. You can’t be both!

It’s all up to you.

I can still remember what the Marine Corps Instructors used to shout into my ears: “Son, Take Charge of Your Life!”

Take charge of your life, indeed!

- Parting Thoughts -

“The surest way to get a ticket to nowhere is to NOT know

where you want to go.

And if you always want to receive the leftovers in life; the crumbs from the table, wait for everyone else to choose first.”

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo (August 2007)

 

Make a choice, my friend.

You will be delightfully surprised at what happens next…

“Until next time, be brave enough to take a Different Path.”

Your Friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Law of Gratitude, Faith, Universal Laws, free will, choice, reciprocity, prosperity.

By Carl “J.C.” Pantejo, Copyright April 2008

(Author “My Friend Yu – The Prosperity Mentor,” Copyright August 2007. Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing.)

“Prosperity: The eternal flow of all that’s good in life…”

*Below is the twentieth episode based on a series of real life events experienced by the author. The only deviations from the truth may be the names of people and places. These stories are also incorporated in “My Friend Yu – the Prosperity Mentor: Book II,” Pantejo – Y.N. Vurce Publishing. Release Date: 2008.

This is my second Songkran in Thailand. And the same thing is happening. Ex-girlfriends, women who have contacted me once or twice in the whole previous year, call me up with stories of crisis and emergencies.

It started during Songkran 2007…

Three weeks before Songkran 2007, I broke up with my first “real” girlfriend in Thailand.

- Noot -

She told me her name was Noot when we met. Months after we broke up, I learned that wasn’t her real name. We had been living together for about six months in an upper class condominium complex in Rangsit.

It was clean, had two aircon units, two balconies, a living room, a bedroom, a mini-mart and restaurant in the lobby, cable TV, internet café, manicured grounds, a good security staff, washers/dryers, adequate parking, and friendly management.

And, of course, it was expensive.

While we lived together, I taught English at the nearby, prestigious government High School Monday through Friday. Monday through Thursday nights, I taught adult English classes at Future Park (in one of the many Language schools located throughout the mall). On Saturdays, I taught another adult English class at a local International school. The pay was too good to turn down.

Why was I working so much?

Three reasons.

First, I didn’t want to spend any of my military pension while I was actually “living” in Thailand. For vacation? Yes. While living here? No. I wanted to see if a foreigner could, indeed, live comfortably in Thailand with only the money earned in Thailand.

Second, I love teaching and the novelty of teaching English in Thailand had not worn off yet. Granted, the High School students were pretty lame and unmotivated, but the adult students were great to teach.

Lastly, as this was my first girlfriend in Thailand, I was totally unaware of how much support (and gifts) I was responsible for. Consequently, I gave her outrageous amounts of money and some very expensive gifts.

- The Beginning of the End -

At about the four month mark in our relationship, I was beginning to wonder if it was doomed. I was just beginning to learn Thai and she did not speak English (even at the rudimentary level).

The lack of communication was strike number one.

During the next two months, I noticed other things happening. She played the head games that I’ve come to realize are the norm for so many young girls in the LOS.

She was a spendthrift, totally reckless with the money I gave her. She spent enormous amounts of money on all things trendy and feminine. She never saved any money. I guess she thought I was a limitless ATM machine.

Her lack of money skills was strike number two.

She was also a slob. Oftentimes, after coming home from my THIRD job, I would end up cleaning the condo, washing the dishes, or doing laundry.

She spent endless hours on the phone while the TV was on, both aircon units blasting at max levels, and playing on her PSP.

Why did I ask her to move in? Well, she was beautiful, caring, and sexy. I suffered from the common Thailand Rookie Syndrome: I let myself get blinded by beauty and sex.

Of course, her nymphomania was cured soon after moving in. The sex became less and less as the months went by.

(Granted, when it [sex] did happen, it was great, but I had this nagging feeling that it just wasn’t worth the rest of the bull$hi+.)

- Strike number three, she’s out! -

As I grew more and more fatigued from overwork and irritated by her antics, she became more and more demanding. The dreaded Family Emergency and guilt trip stories became more frequent.

The last straw came when she and her female friend (from two floors up) were watching TV in the living room and it was approaching 1:00AM. Their chatter and the TV’s loud volume were keeping me awake in the bed room.

Why is silence so deafening to Thai people?

I politely asked her friend to leave and explained that I was working early and needed some sleep. The truth was that I also wanted some sanook, sanook.

After the visitor left, I turned off the TV. My girlfriend looked shocked, as if I had just shot her mother! She began pouting.

Looking at the blank TV screen for a minute, she let out a loud exhale. Then, while doing a pretty good “about face” (for a civilian), she gave me a fake salute and went into the shower.

In spite of the sarcastic gesture about my military background, I thought, “Great, she’s getting ready for me.”

I waited for her to finish showering and wondered if I was, indeed, being too militaristic and controlling in our relationship. Even after five years of retirement from the U.S. Military, I still had vestiges of the lifestyle manifest now and then (usually when I was angry or stressed out).

But after assessing our live-in history, I brushed any thoughts of being a tyrant aside. I gave her much, much more freedom than most partners (Farang or Thai). I didn’t pry into anything I considered none of my business – although, in hindsight, I should have!

I provided her with an “allowance” that was larger than all her friends in the same situation. In fact, her monthly expenses were more than the monthly expenses of two average-sized, middle class Thai families put together!

I was always respectful, responsible, and affectionate.

All I asked from her was companionship when I was home, friendship (i.e., to have fun together – anywhere: at home, at restaurants, malls, cinemas, etc.), partnership in daily living (meaning: to share in the housework and daily errands), a little financial responsibility (e.g., no squandering of money), and a healthy, regular sex life.

What did she do while I was working so much? I don’t know. All I know is that the longer we stayed together, the more I felt that she was not willing to do (or possibly, not capable of performing) the most routine tasks. It was disappointing and frustrating.

I heard the shower stop.

Anticipating a nice romp in the sack, my mood changed instantly. She was always one of the best women in bed that I’ve ever met.

The combination of her young, curvaceous body; smooth, fair skin; shiny, jet black hair that cascaded down her back; exotic face; and angelic smile, was hard to beat.

(NOTE TO STICKMAN: Sir Stickman, you may omit the next three paragraphs [in italics] if you deem fit. If it’s beyond the submission guidelines of your site, I apologize. I never want to be overly risqué. As a writer, my goal is to paint a vivid picture with my words [full of feelings and pertinent detail]. And as much as possible/permissible, I want to put the reader into the experience. I kept the below [italic] paragraphs informative, emotive, humorous, and tasteful. Nevertheless, omission of the paragraphs will not alter the mood of the article. Respectfully, J.C.)

I had never seen a woman with such a full, firm bust and butt, on an otherwise fat-free body, before. Her waist-to-hip ratio blew my mind. I have always described her bust as “unbelievably Hide-n-Seekable” and her waist as “tiny, just three palms wide” to my Farang friends.

As the bathroom door opened, I saw her step out with a towel wrapped around her waist. Her upper body was fully exposed and still glistening from the shower water. The cool air from the air conditioner had the desired effect (pencil erasers standing at rigid attention – Woo-Hoo! Thank you God.). The light behind her produced a full-body halo that made her look like an angel sent from above – just for me! Jeez! She was so beautiful!

I leapt off the bed, grabbed a bath towel and hung it on myself (guys, you know what I mean). Doing a “drive-by” sniff kiss on her neck, I skipped into the bathroom like a little kid.

True to convention, it was now my turn to bathe. I had already showered. But, for the girlfriend’s peace of mind and comfort level, I quickly showered again.

But when I came back to bed, she didn’t acknowledge my presence, rolled further away, and pretended to fall asleep.

I was having none of this! I pulled her to me and said I wanted some. She acquiesced, but instead of the usual raucous, loud, playful, and raunchy sex – the unbridled sex that made me feel decades younger when we met, she did the starfish routine on me. Uncharacteristically, she lay there motionless – like a beached starfish. I was so pissed-off that I didn’t even finish!

Thinking things over, maybe I was asking too much from her, especially after throwing her friend out of the condo?

Oh well, I decided to forget it and try to go to sleep. I moved to kiss her goodnight, but she copped an attitude and turned away.

Mai bpen arai (whatever, no problem), I whispered – to her and to myself.

But I could not go to sleep. The totally lopsidedness of the relationship was making me feel like a fool. I couldn’t see any way to turn this lose/win relationship into a win/win.

- Tossing and Turning -

I thought about all the things that I had been trying to forget. I thought about her extended trips home (supposedly to Cambodia). I thought about all the money I was throwing away on her. I thought about her late night calls to her “brother.” I thought about our continual state of miscommunication. I thought about her sloppiness. I thought about her attitudinal changes about me and about sex. I thought about being tired all the time from my multiple jobs. I thought about how she threw away money on stupid things and on her friends. Then I thought about how little I asked of her.

How dare she cop an attitude on me!

At 4:00AM, after tossing and turning for almost three hours, I sprung out of bed, grabbed a large, black (clean) trash bag, and began to throw her clothes in it.

Apparently, the girlfriend was not asleep either. Without a word, she got up, took the trash bag from me, and continued packing her clothes. I went to the balcony and watched her pack her belongings while I smoked outside.

She called and woke up her friend. Ten minutes later, both of them were packing up the soon-to-be ex’s remaining knick knacks, toiletries, and stuffed animals. She packed up the PSP and her Nokia N72 cell phone (gifts I bought her for her birthday). Then she picked up the Sony camcorder I bought for the both of us for Christmas, put it down, and looked at me. I nodded a “yes” and she quickly packed the camcorder into her brand name, oversized shoulder bag too.

Then, without a fuss, they left. Amazing.

It was about 5:15AM – too late/early to go to sleep. I had to get up at 6:00AM anyway. So, I just made a cup of coffee, smoked, and thought about what had just happened.

I knew it would be rough. I was so used to her being around. I knew I would miss her, but I couldn’t live like this. I’d had enough. It was for the best. And with that thought, I actually felt relieved.

The next day, she and her friend came down to my room. She motioned that she left her toothbrush in the bathroom and immediately stepped in and went to go get it. I watched her. She went into the bathroom for maybe three seconds. For the next ten minutes she poked around the rest of the condo, supposedly looking for her toothbrush.

I knew what she was doing. She was looking for another woman (or evidence of another woman). She couldn’t believe that a man would break-up with her just to be alone. In her mind, it JUST HAD to be another woman.

Search unsuccessful, she started to leave my condo sullen. Clearly, she had prepared herself for a cat fight and now there was no one to fight.

I touched her shoulder and said “Kao tot na kraap, tee rak (Sorry, darling). Lar gone (Good bye). Choke dee (Take care).”

Saying, “Mai bpen arai,” she left with her friend.

- They NEVER go away for good. -

I didn’t hear from her for about three weeks. I was beginning to think I’d escaped the hassles and horrors that usually accompany breaking up with a girlfriend in Thailand.

But then the inevitable happened. Noot called me and said she was nearby and wanted to “talk.”

Although suspicious, I said “Chai, tee rak” (yes, darling). I honestly was missing her everyday since she left. The only thing that bolstered my resolve was the constant flirting of almost every other woman in the vicinity of my condo.

Of course, my numerous forays into Bangkok “eased the pain” quite a bit too!

When Noot arrived (one hour late) in the taxi, I left the lobby, jumped in the cab, and said, “Bai Daddy’s Home, kraap (Go to “Daddy’s Home,” a modern, foreign style restaurant, bar, and karaoke that I like – located near Future Park)” to the driver.

The driver was confused. Obviously, he thought he was taking his customer to see a Farang (foreigner) at the high-class condominium complex. Since I am Asian, the driver looked at me and assumed that I was a Thai man.

Noot asked for the taxi driver’s cell number and said to wait for her call. She didn’t realize that I’d spent the last three weeks intensively upgrading my Thai skills and now understood most of what she and the driver were saying. The driver could tell that I understood and was visibly uncomfortable.

Noot was oblivious. She declined the offer for dinner, drinks, and karaoke at Daddy’s Home. She got out of the taxi and headed straight for the lobby of my condo.

The driver asked for 350 baht! I said “Tam mai (why)?” He said that it was a long trip. So much for the truth. Noot said she was “glai” – short word (meaning: nearby), not “g-l-a-i” – long word (meaning: far)” when she called.

I looked at the taxi meter. Of course, it wasn’t on. I said, “Mai dai! Pang maak! (I can’t! It’s too expensive!)” We settled on 200 baht – still way too expensive, but I had other, more immediate issues to deal with (meaning, Noot in the lobby without me).

- Halt! Who goes there? -

She got to the front desk before me. An argument ensued and the staff physically blocked her from going to the elevators because they knew that she was not my girlfriend anymore. When I finally caught up with her, I told the security staff that it was okay.

Noot looked furious and upset.

The taxi debacle had me extra paranoid. In the two months of being “girlfriendless” (my first two months in Thailand), I already knew – from many painful experiences – the makings of the ole’ “hit and run” scam when I saw it. I wasn’t going to be a victim again.

Too bad. The con games, lies, callousness, and outright exploitation of kind-hearted, honest men, so commonly seen among Thai women (whether in “The Game” or not) was the main reason why I chose to have a regular, live-in girlfriend.

As an aside, I am not saying that men are always the victims.

The biggest reason there is so much distrust between Farang men and Thai women is the temporary nature and reciprocal callousness of most Farangs.

For Thai women, a kind-hearted, honest man (Farang or Thai) can really be hard to find.

Furthermore, the double-standard held against women in Thai society allows men (both Farang and Thai) to generally fool around on their wives and girlfriends.

Thai society always blames the woman for unsuccessful relationships.

It [Thai society] lays the fault of any broken relationship squarely on the woman’s shoulders, not the man’s. No matter the reason for the break-up, everyone assumes that she wasn’t a “good enough” woman to “keep” her man. Too add insult to injury, now she will be viewed as “used goods,” and will most likely be shunned by all Thai men.

With all these things hovering over Thai women, I can see why they are “the way they are.” Most are just protecting themselves from the emotional pain, public shame, and financial ruin from a temporary relationship with a fly-by-night Romeo.

Knowing the above, it’s no wonder why most Thai women want to keep their boyfriends from meeting their families, friends, and colleagues (keeping them totally secret) until eminent marriage is secured.

The repercussions from a break-up can often be devastating and have long-lasting negative effects on the rest of their lives (e.g., huge loss of “face” for the woman and her family; and now that she is judged as “impure” by Thai society, any future “sin-sot” – the dowry given to the family of a Thai bride – automatically diminishes or vanishes altogether).

- Turn on/off tears -

In my room, I asked Noot why she wanted the taxi driver’s number – wasn’t she going to stay for awhile? Surprised that I understood what happened in the taxi, she remained silent for a few, long seconds. Then, as if on cue, she burst into tears. Trembling, she laid her head on my shoulder. (I hate it/love it when women did that.)

Yes, the tears were real, but I already knew how she could instantly perform an academy award-winning scene at will. Her histrionics amused me, but I wasn’t buying into it for even one second. I swear, she must have been a soap opera star in a past life!

She told me that she missed me, but had to go home for Songkran. And, of course, she was broke.

She said that if I give her money to go home, she would come right back to me – if I wanted her to. She kept saying that she loved and missed me over and over again.

I said that if she loved me, she would not have done so many bad things to me.

She said she had changed and would be a good wife now.

I said that I was sorry, but I do not give money to women who do not live with me.

She continued to sob, wale, and convulse. I went to the bathroom to get some tissue. While in the bathroom, I realized that the beers I drank while waiting for Noot were now screaming to leave my body. As I stood there relieving myself, I could hear the rustling of bags in my bedroom.

Not wanting to give away when I was coming out of the bathroom, I didn’t flush the toilet, and quietly opened the door.

The bedroom was empty. When I went into the living room, I saw Noot hurriedly stuffing some hats and shirts we’d bought during our last shopping excursion into some large “Lotus, Robinson, and Central” shopping bags. She looked totally guilty. I said, “Mai bpen arai, tee rak.”

While she turned on the tear faucet again, she pleaded with me for “go home money.”

I stood my ground.

- Cruelty is Sexy? -

When she finally realized that I’d changed (I’d actually grown a set of balls while she was away), she stopped begging. Then I saw that familiar look on her face and in her eyes. She was horny! Can you believe it? My obstinacy was turning her on! She jumped onto me, wrapped her arms and legs around me, and starting to passionately kiss me!

As Noot began unbuckling my belt, I couldn’t help thinking that this must be why Thai men get away with so much abusive behavior? Some Thai women think it’s actually sexy! Weird.

Anyway, I didn’t give-in. I wanted to. Believe me, I REALLY wanted to! But I knew what the result of all this would be. After some (probably great) sex, she would ask for money again. And then what was I supposed to do?

Nope. This wasn’t going to happen tonight.

I bit my lip, peeled her off me, straightened my clothes, and said that it’s best that she go now. Maybe she had enough time tonight to find another sucker, I mean “friend,” that would give her money to “go home.”

Stoically, she grabbed her bags and left.

 

I smiled and waived to her from my balcony as she got into the taxi. (That would be the last time I would see her).

Then I went to the bathroom and flushed the toilet.

I knew I did the right thing, but it didn’t help.

I felt like I was swallowing my heart. A lone tear crept out of my left eye, traced itself down my cheek, dribbled off my chin, and in slow motion, plopped into the bowl.

Thai women. They have a kind of magic over us, don’t they?

Grabbing another beer, I went back to the balcony, smoked, and shed a couple more tears of self-pity. But within seconds, a comforting thought entered my mind. This is THAILAND! Hot and cold running women abound!

I looked into the starlit sky, thanked Noot (aloud) for the good times and hard lessons learned. I sincerely wished her a nice life. Then I felt a smile beginning inside. It started in my heart, radiated throughout my body, and before I knew it, I was back to my old self again – ready for all the exciting things to come.

“So many more adventures ahead,” I whispered to myself.

Beer and smoke finished, I immediately got ready to go out…

- Update -

A whirlwind of women have come and gone since last Songkran. Some were quite memorable. Others are better left unmentioned.

Why do I remember Noot and Songkran 2007 during Songkran 2008?

Well, it just so happens that among the dozens of women calling me this year (for Songkran money) is Noot. She called me today. With her pheromone-laced voice, she said that she wanted to meet me and just “talk.”

Feeling nostalgic, I said, “Chai, chai, tee rak.”

Same, same.

(I admit it. I’m such a sucker).…

“Until next time, find ‘The Flow’ and jump in!”

Your Friend in this Intrepid Journey called Life,

Carl “J.C.” Pantejo

Farang, Thailand, Songkran, call, SMS, girlfriend, ex, sexy, cruelty.