"Every. Effing. Artifact.: Why Memnarch Has My Attention."

 "Every. Effing. Artifact.: Why Memnarch Has My Attention."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

One of the things I saw in the Reality Fracture EDH precon spoilers that gave my heart a little twinge was Memnarch.

Not the Memnarch I knew and loved.

Well… technically, it is Memnarch.

But this is the good Memnarch.

The Echoverse version.

A far cry from the Memnarch who spent his time stealing other creatures from other planes and generally making everyone’s life miserable.

This Memnarch is Memnarch, the Warden.

And honestly?

I like this guy.

A lot.

For starters, he is a ten-mana colorless Wizard who is also an indestructible 8/9.

This guy is tough.

Really, really tough.

He also creates two 1/1 colorless Myr artifact creature tokens.

Those lovable little metal guys that were scattered all over Mirrodin, doing all sorts of jobs before the Phyrexians came along and decided that everyone needed to have a much worse day.

But that's not even the part that got me excited.

The really exciting thing about this Memnarch is what happens when he attacks.

You draw a card for each artifact you control.

Each.

Effing.

Artifact.

Read that again.

Every artifact.

And immediately, my brain went straight to my Sai, Master Thopterist Commander deck.

Because Sai does not believe in owning a reasonable number of artifacts.

Sai believes in production.

You cast artifacts.

You make Thopters.

You make more artifacts.

You sacrifice artifacts.

You make more tokens.

And eventually your battlefield starts looking less like a Commander deck and more like a small industrial complex.

And now Memnarch walks into that mess and says:

"You know all those artifacts you have?"

"Yes?"

"Draw a card for each one."

Excuse me?

Each one?!

This is the kind of card that gets me more excited than some of the other obviously powerful cards in the precon.

Because this is exactly the kind of ridiculous interaction that makes me want to build a deck.

I can already see the battlefield.

Sai has been doing Sai things.

There are artifacts everywhere.

Thopters are everywhere.

Myr are everywhere.

Somehow there are probably several other tokens whose original purpose I have completely forgotten.

And then Memnarch attacks.

And suddenly my artifact army isn't just an army.

It's a library search system with legs.

Yes, Memnarch costs ten mana.

Yes, that is a lot of mana.

But when the reward is potentially drawing a card for every artifact you control, I suddenly find myself asking a very dangerous question:

"How many artifacts can I make?"

And if you have played enough Commander, you already know that this is how it starts.

You tell yourself you're just going to add a few cards.

Then you need more artifact generators.

Then more token makers.

Then more ways to sacrifice them.

Then more ways to recur them.

Then suddenly you're staring at your decklist at two in the morning wondering why you have 47 artifacts.

And somewhere in the middle of all that madness, Memnarch is sitting there waiting to turn every single one of them into another card.

That Reality Fracture precon was already looking interesting.

But now?

It's looking really, really fine.

"Brewer’s Madness: At Last, The Ur-Sphinx Has Arrived."

 "Brewer’s Madness: At Last, The Ur-Sphinx Has Arrived."

By:

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

Every once in a while, I am afflicted with a condition I like to call Brewer’s Madness.

It is an all-consuming desire to build decks—Commander decks, specifically. And not just decks that are proven to work. No, I have a particular talent for trying to make decks work even when the tribe or strategy has absolutely no business being supported.

My last bout of Brewer’s Madness had me brewing decks for Spiders and Turtles.

Oh, and a third tribe:

Sphinxes.

Now that there is an abundance of Spider and Turtle commanders, I have been able to look at the situation with a slightly more sober mind and wonder:

When are the Sphinxes finally going to get their turn?

And then The Ur-Sphinx was spoiled as part of the Reality Fracture preconstructed Commander deck.

I finally got to say:

“Ah. There you are. At last.”

Aside from Sharuum the Hegemon, I really couldn't remember a Sphinx lord that I would consider a great commander to lead the tribe. I had previously settled for Unesh from Amonkhet to lead the way.

But now?

With five new Sphinxes from Reality Fracture, plus this new Sphinx Avatar, Unesh can finally take his rightful place in the 99.

Enter the Ur-Sphinx

The Ur-Sphinx gathers its brethren in only Esper colors, giving us access to white, blue, and black.

It is a nine-mana, flying 10/10 with the much-celebrated Eminence mechanic, allowing you to cast your larger Sphinxes for a colorless mana discount.

And finally, we have what I would call a proper Sphinx Matters Commander deck.

The Ur-Sphinx rewards you for attacking with Sphinxes. For each Sphinx that attacks, each player mills that many cards.

And then comes the really fun part:

For each player, you may cast a card that player milled this way for free.

Yes.

For free.

Now let's talk about that kind of value.

The more Sphinxes you attack with, the more cards everyone mills, and the larger your potential pool of free spells becomes.

Most permanents and spells can be cast this way without paying their mana costs. Lands are the obvious exception, which is one of the areas where the Ur-Sphinx is more limited than its draconic counterpart, the Ur-Dragon.

The Ur-Dragon can simply drop permanents onto the battlefield through its ability.

The Ur-Sphinx, on the other hand, needs to dig through the cards that were milled and find something worth stealing.

But that is still an absurd amount of potential value.

Let's say you attack with three Sphinxes.

Each player mills three cards.

With four players at the table, that's 12 cards milled across the entire pod.

Then you get to choose a card from each player's milled cards and cast those four cards for free.

That's four free spells from a pool of 12 cards.

And suddenly, my little Sphinx deck doesn't look so little anymore.

The Dragon Problem

I have to admit, though, that the Ur-Sphinx feels a little more limited than its dragon counterpart.

The Ur-Dragon doesn't particularly care what it puts onto the battlefield. If you can get a permanent into play, great.

The Ur-Sphinx needs something useful to be milled.

That introduces a little more uncertainty.

But honestly?

I'm okay with that.

Because watching three or four giant Sphinxes attack while simultaneously turning everyone's libraries into a buffet of potentially free spells sounds like exactly the kind of nonsense that makes Commander fun.

I still love my Dragons.

The Ur-Dragon has already earned its place in my heart—and probably several thousand dollars worth of cardboard in my collection.

But I might seriously consider building this Esper Sphinx Avatar in the future.

After all, I already have most of the cards that would fit right into it.

And that is usually how Brewer's Madness begins.

You tell yourself:

“I already have most of the cards.”

Then you buy the cards you're missing.

Then you realize you need a few upgrades.

Then you need a few more Sphinxes.

Then suddenly you have a deck.

And somehow, against all reason, you are already thinking about the next one.

Brewer's Madness strikes again.

At last, though, the Sphinxes have given me a reason to embrace it.

"The End of Oak Street Paradox."

 

"The End of Oak Street Paradox."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

The plot of The End of Oak Street is loosely explained through the concept of wormholes. The story follows a family whose entire neighborhood is somehow transported 200 million years into the past, landing in the same general area during the age of the dinosaurs.

And yes, before I go any further, there are spoilers ahead.

So if you haven't watched the movie yet, you might want to stop reading here.

My wife had a great idea about how the movie was going to go.

She thought this would essentially be a simple Point A-to-Point B survival movie. The family would somehow make it through the dinosaur apocalypse, escape the prehistoric wilderness, and eventually return home more or less intact.

Which, considering that practically everyone else in the neighborhood seemed to be getting eaten by dinosaurs, was already a fairly generous interpretation of the family's chances.

Then Greg, the father, played by Ewan McGregor, dies.

My wife could not believe it.

And honestly, neither could I.

Except the movie apparently wasn't finished with Greg yet.

About fifteen minutes before the neighborhood is transported into the past, Anne Hathaway's character calls her husband, who is still very much alive at this point, asking him to have pizza delivered to the area in the hills.

And because of the way the movie handles the timeline, Greg survives.

The family is reunited.

There are tears.

There are hugs.

Everyone is happy.

The end.

Except...

A tiny thought suddenly appeared in my head.

"Wait."

That's a paradox.

Now, my wife had just wanted to watch a movie.

I, unfortunately, had just discovered a temporal problem and apparently could no longer leave it alone.

Here's the problem.

The family exists in the original timeline. The neighborhood is then transported 200 million years into the past. We, as the audience, are allowed to see what happens in that prehistoric timeline, including Greg saving his wife from being eaten by a dinosaur.

That means Greg's actions in the past directly affect whether his wife survives.

And if his wife survives, she can help their children survive.

And if the children survive, they can eventually reach the portal that allows them to return.

But here's the problem:

What happens if Greg isn't there?

Because in the original timeline, the family has effectively gone into the past.

Greg's survival in the ending depends on information and events connected to the family's journey into that past.

But the family's survival in the past depends on Greg being there to save his wife.

Remove Greg from that timeline, and his wife may die.

If his wife dies, the children may not survive.

If the children don't survive, they never reach the portal.

If they never reach the portal, the events that lead to Greg surviving don't happen.

Which means...

Greg doesn't survive.

Which means his wife doesn't survive.

Which means the children don't survive.

Which means they never reach the portal.

Which means Greg doesn't survive.

And suddenly we've gone from a dinosaur survival movie to Doctor Who before breakfast.

My wife, who had simply wanted to enjoy the movie, was understandably not thrilled that I had decided to perform a full temporal mechanics analysis immediately afterward.

She basically wanted to watch people escape dinosaurs.

I wanted to know whether Greg's existence was causally dependent on his own family's survival, which was itself dependent on Greg's existence.

Eventually, I did manage to explain the paradox to her.

She understood it.

She was still annoyed that I had thought about it.

And honestly, I can't blame her.

Sometimes you just want to watch a movie, eat your breakfast, and move on with your day.

Unfortunately, my brain occasionally sees a perfectly good ending and says:

"That's nice. But have you considered the implications of the space-time continuum?"

My wife did not appreciate this contribution.

But I still think the movie has a problem.

Greg isn't just the father who survived the dinosaurs.

He may also be the reason the story could happen in the first place.

And that, my friends, is how a simple dinosaur movie became a breakfast argument about causality.

"When Machines Become Family: What My Wife Has No Emotion Says About Loneliness."

"When Machines Become Family: What My Wife Has No Emotion Says About Loneliness."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I recently finished watching My Wife Has No Emotion on Netflix.

It is a 12-episode anime about Takagi Kosugi, a lonely office employee who falls in love with a Mina Series robot originally designed to cook for him and take care of various household chores.

Yes.

A robot.

Basically, Takagi fell in love with a microwave.

A microwave with a cute face, a pleasant personality, and considerably better conversational skills, but a microwave nonetheless.

And yet, the more I watched the series, the more I realized that this wasn't really a story about a man falling in love with a machine.

It was a story about loneliness.

And suddenly, my joke about the microwave wasn't quite as funny anymore.

The Loneliness Problem

Japan has been dealing with a growing loneliness problem, particularly among the elderly, but also among younger people who are increasingly disconnected from traditional ideas about dating, marriage, and starting families.

There are people who live alone.

There are people who grow old alone.

And, sadly, there are people who eventually die alone.

There are plenty of reasons for this.

Japan has an aging population and a declining birth rate. Younger people are working long hours and dealing with economic pressures. Some simply don't see marriage or having children as necessary parts of a fulfilling life.

Others may want companionship but don't necessarily have the time, energy, or opportunity to pursue it.

And then there is Takagi.

Takagi is practically the poster boy for this demographic.

He works.

He goes home.

He eats.

He sleeps.

Then he does it all over again.

Dating?

That's a lot of work.

Relationships?

Even more work.

Starting a family?

Congratulations, you've just unlocked an entirely new difficulty level.

So instead, he has Mina.

Mina cooks for him. She helps around the house. She talks to him.

And eventually, she becomes much more than an appliance.

Which is probably where things start getting uncomfortable.

Because the idea isn't actually that ridiculous.

The Robot That Comes Home With You

The Mina Series isn't simply designed to make life more convenient.

It fills a social gap.

Imagine coming home from work and having someone there.

Someone who talks to you.

Someone who knows your routines.

Someone who notices when something is wrong.

Someone who can prepare dinner.

And, unlike your spouse, apparently doesn't ask why you left your socks on the floor.

Okay, maybe that last part is an important technological advancement.

But this is what makes My Wife Has No Emotion interesting.

The robots aren't merely solving practical problems. They're addressing loneliness.

And the anime understands something that technology companies have also begun to understand:

People don't just want things that make life easier. They want things that make life feel less empty.

And Then There Are the Parents

Takagi's aging parents represent another side of the equation.

The Mimamorius 3 is designed to monitor the health of elderly people. It can keep track of their condition and call an ambulance when necessary.

That alone is useful.

But once again, the robot isn't simply a medical device.

It is also a companion.

And that distinction is important.

A machine that reminds an elderly person to take their medicine is useful.

A machine that reminds them, talks to them, checks on them, and makes sure someone—or something—is there when they need help becomes something else entirely.

It starts becoming part of their daily life.

And eventually, you have to ask:

At what point does a machine stop being an appliance and start becoming family?

From Hatsune Miku to AI

There is another interesting aspect to all of this.

The idea of people developing emotional attachments to fictional characters, virtual personalities, or even inanimate objects isn't particularly new.

Japan has had some very famous examples.

There have been people who have held commitment ceremonies involving fictional characters. There was even the famous case involving Hatsune Miku, the virtual singer.

For a long time, these stories seemed like uniquely Japanese curiosities.

Something you read about on the internet and thought:

"Well, that's Japan for you."

But AI has changed the conversation.

Now we have increasingly sophisticated virtual companions capable of holding conversations, remembering previous interactions, responding emotionally, and adapting to the person they're talking to.

Suddenly, this isn't just about anime fans and virtual idols.

It's becoming a much broader human phenomenon.

And perhaps the more important question isn't whether this is strange.

The question is:

Why does it work?

Why would someone become emotionally attached to something that isn't human?

Perhaps because loneliness doesn't particularly care whether the person sitting across from you is made of flesh and blood, circuits, or pixels.

If something talks to you every day, remembers you, listens to you, and makes you feel like you matter, the emotional response can still be very real—even if the other side of the conversation isn't experiencing things the way a human does.

And that is where My Wife Has No Emotion becomes surprisingly relevant.

A Future That Might Not Be as Strange as We Think

One of the things I appreciated about the anime is that it doesn't spend all its time telling us that Takagi's relationship with Mina is bizarre.

Instead, it gradually normalizes the idea.

Mina becomes part of his life.

She becomes part of his home.

Eventually, she becomes part of what he considers his family.

And perhaps that's the future the series is quietly asking us to consider.

Not a future where robots suddenly take over the world.

Not The Terminator.

Not killer machines marching down the street.

Something much less dramatic.

Something much more ordinary.

Robots that cook.

Robots that clean.

Robots that monitor your blood pressure.

Robots that remind you to take your medication.

Robots that call an ambulance when you fall.

Robots that talk to you when nobody else is around.

And eventually, perhaps, robots that someone considers a member of the family.

That future may sound strange today.

But then again, there was a time when talking to someone thousands of kilometers away through a tiny rectangle in your hand would have sounded like science fiction.

Now we call it Tuesday.

Technology has a funny way of turning ridiculous ideas into normal household appliances.

Which brings me back to Takagi and Mina.

At the beginning of the series, I thought:

"This guy fell in love with a microwave."

By the end, I was asking a very different question.

Maybe the important thing isn't whether Mina is human.

Maybe the important thing is that Takagi isn't alone anymore.

And in a world where loneliness is becoming an increasingly serious problem, perhaps that is the part of the story we should be paying attention to.

"No Spark, No Problem: Koth’s Guide to Infecting the Table."

 "No Spark, No Problem: Koth’s Guide to Infecting the Table."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Koth, the Geomancer, really can’t seem to catch a break.

He lost his home, and apparently, he lost his spark as well. Once a planeswalker, Koth is now merely a Legendary Creature. Talk about a career downgrade.

But while his planeswalker status may be gone, some of his old tricks are still around.

Koth now has a Landfall ability, and every time a land enters the battlefield under your control, he deals 1 damage to each opponent.

Not bad. But wait, there’s more!

If the land that enters is a Mountain, you get an additional red mana. That’s right—two mana from a single land drop! Koth may have lost his spark, but he certainly hasn’t lost his connection to the land.

Of course, being a Phyrexian at heart, my first thought is simple: What if we turn all that pinging into Infect?

The answer? Grafted Exoskeleton.

Equip it to Koth, start playing lands, and watch those innocent-looking points of damage turn into poison counters. Ten land drops ought to be enough to eliminate all opponents through poisoning alone.

And if that seems too slow, we can always swing with Koth’s 5/4 body(With the Grafted Exoskeleton of course). A single successful attack puts five poison counters on an opponent—halfway to victory in one go.

The plan might be a little simplistic, but hey, this is a mono-red EDH deck. In a four-player pod, survival is never guaranteed, so who knows what might happen?

Besides, Koth has already lost his home and his spark.

The least we can do is give him a chance to poison the table.

"Sometimes, the Hardest Part of Medicine Is the Patient."

 "Sometimes, the Hardest Part of Medicine Is the Patient."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I have been involved in the medical and paramedical fields for more than two decades—as a first aider, lecturer, and doctor.

Throughout my career, I have encountered countless patients, each with different personalities, beliefs, and attitudes toward their health. Some are easy to convince when it comes to taking care of themselves. Others require more explanation. And then there are those who resist medical advice, either directly or indirectly.

When I was starting out, these patients frustrated me. In my mind, who would willingly argue against something that could protect their health or even save their life?

Over the years, however, I have come to recognize three particularly difficult types of patients.

1. The Intellectual

Some people rationalize everything you tell them. They analyze, debate, and sometimes use their own reasoning to dismiss sound medical advice.

I once had a patient who proudly told me that he no longer monitored his blood pressure because he did not experience any symptoms whenever his blood pressure increased.

Knowing that both of his parents had a history of heart disease—and that one of them had died of cardiac arrest—I was concerned. So I asked him:

“How would you know your blood pressure pattern if you do not check it regularly?”

Some people become so accustomed to having high blood pressure that they no longer experience noticeable symptoms. But the absence of symptoms does not mean the condition is harmless. Their bodies—and particularly their hearts, brains, and kidneys—may still be sustaining damage.

His response was essentially that he was still alive, so there could not be much of a problem.

I wanted to argue further, but even a doctor’s patience has its limits.

2. The Spiritual

A relative of mine once stopped taking his medications because he believed that God would take care of him and heal him.

I grew up in the Church. I believe in the power of prayer, and I believe that healing can come through faith and blessings.

However, as a doctor, I cannot condone the decision to stop essential medications simply because of one’s religious beliefs. I have argued that medicines can also be blessings from God. The doctors who prescribe them, the researchers who develop them, and the people who care for us can all be instruments of that same grace.

Unfortunately, my relative eventually died after suffering a second stroke.

Was the outcome inevitable? I honestly cannot say. But I cannot help wondering whether stopping his medications contributed to what happened.

I hope he is at peace.

3. The Superstitious

We once had a helper who complained of a persistent cough. She had asthma, and despite the explanations, treatment, and medications we prescribed and paid for, she was not improving.

Eventually, we discovered that she had not been taking her medications. She was not using her nebulizer, either.

Instead, she insisted that the cause of her persistent cough was an elemental living in our laundry area.

According to her, this elemental was causing her harm, and no medicine I prescribed could possibly make her better.

Now, I do believe in elementals and in other things that go bump in the night. I have seen unusual things since I was a child. But because of that, I was also fairly certain that there was no such presence in our laundry area.

I have been to hospitals, graveyards, and deserted places where such things are said to abound. Our laundry area—and the surroundings of our home—were not among them.

I hope she eventually found an answer through the local healer in her province. Unfortunately, I had no answer for her here.

Over time, I have come to realize that people carry deeply rooted beliefs about their health. Some rely too heavily on their own reasoning. Others place all their trust in faith. Some turn to superstition when medicine fails to produce the results they expect.

As a doctor, it is not always my job to change their minds. My responsibility is to explain their condition, present the available options, and help them understand the possible consequences of their decisions.

In the end, they still have the right to choose.

And sometimes, that is the hardest part of medicine.

You can prescribe treatment. You can explain the risks. You can offer guidance.

But you cannot always convince someone to accept the help that might save them.

"You Can Buy a Car. You Can’t Buy Back a Minute."

 "You Can Buy a Car. You Can’t Buy Back a Minute."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Recently, a viral video showed a fire truck hitting a black car that had been double-parked on a narrow street while the truck was responding to a fire.

While many people focused on the fire truck hitting the car, there was much more to see in the longer video. It showed how several streets in Makati—streets that should serve as alternative routes when the main roads are congested—have effectively been taken over by double-parked vehicles.

And it wasn’t just cars. Motorcycles, e-bikes, food carts, and even a barangay tent were occupying valuable road space. As the fire trucks tried to pass, these obstructions slowed them down while they were responding to an emergency.

Reports indicated that the fire trucks arrived at the scene within a minute. I can already imagine people arguing online that the parked vehicles did not really delay them or that the delay was insignificant.

But consider this:

How long does it take for a fire to grow hot enough to consume more of an enclosed structure? How long before it reaches a gasul tank and causes an explosion? What if your loved ones were trapped inside that burning building—and that lost minute could have made the difference between life and death?

People get angry when their cars are towed. They shout at enforcers during clearing operations. Even worse, there are barangays where residents treat public streets as their personal parking spaces.

I do not know how local authorities deal with these situations, but something clearly needs to be done.

People buy cars without making sure they have proper parking spaces. Instead, they say:

“Puwede na sa tapat ’yan.”

“Wala naman dumadaan dito masyado.”

“Linggo naman.”

“Weekend naman.”

Until the road is suddenly needed for an emergency—and everyone is forced to watch as the people trying to save lives struggle to get through.

A road is not merely a place to leave your vehicle. It is a passageway for ambulances, police cars, rescue teams, and fire trucks. It may be the only route available to someone whose life is in danger.

So, please, think twice before blocking it.

You can buy a car. You can replace a damaged vehicle. You can pay for towing.

But you cannot buy back a minute that might have saved someone’s life.

And I sincerely hope that when the time comes, none of the people who insist on blocking these roads will ever need saving themselves—because no one can blame the firefighters for failing to reach a fire that they were prevented from accessing in the first place.

"Emrakul Is Back—and Apparently She Has a Job to Do."

"Emrakul Is Back—and Apparently She Has a Job to Do."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

When the current Reality Fracture lore videos featured a conversation between Emrakul, appearing in human form, and Tam, Jace's creation, many MTG fans immediately began speculating that Emrakul would be making an appearance in the upcoming set.

That speculation became even more interesting when the conversation revealed something about the role of the Eldrazi—specifically, our favorite spaghetti monster.

Apparently, the Eldrazi's purpose is to consume certain existences before they can fully become reality.

So when this card was finally revealed, it essentially confirmed what many of us had already suspected:

A new version of Emrakul!

Behold:

Emrakul, the Exigent Doom!

Costing a whopping 10 colorless mana for a 12/12 creature with flying and trample, Emrakul has apparently lost her old powers of annihilation.

But she has gained something else.

A lot of something else.

When you cast her, you get to untap all your lands.

That ability is absolutely ridiculous in a dedicated Eldrazi deck.

If you have enough mana to cast Emrakul, suddenly all those lands are available again. This means you could potentially cast another Eldrazi Titan on the same turn—or simply have enough mana left over to deploy whatever you need to end the game.

It's the kind of ability that makes you look at your mana and say, Wait… I'm not done yet?

Her ward ability, requiring you to sacrifice three permanents, isn't exactly a bad deal either.

Sure, sacrificing three permanents is painful.

But if your opponent wants to get rid of a 12/12 flying, trampling Emrakul, they're going to have to make you pay for it.

And considering what Emrakul has been through, she does seem surprisingly squishy compared to some of her previous incarnations.

Maybe spending all those years trapped inside that moon above Innistrad weakened her.

Maybe she just needed to stretch her tentacles.

Who knows?

Then we get to one of the most interesting parts of the card.

For three mana, you can exile Emrakul from your hand and have a target land gain the ability to tap for two colorless mana.

In other words, the land basically becomes an Ancient Tomb without the pain.

And here's the really interesting part:

You can still cast Emrakul while she remains exiled.

So instead of simply sitting in your hand as a gigantic 10-mana creature, she can actually contribute to your game plan much earlier.

You can exile her, turn one of your lands into a two-mana-producing monster, and use that extra mana to accelerate your board.

Maybe you cast a two-mana mana rock.

Maybe you ramp into your bigger Eldrazi.

Or maybe you simply start preparing for the turn when Emrakul finally decides that reality has become sufficiently annoying for her to intervene personally.

Either way, she gives you something to do with her before you can actually afford to cast her.

And that's what makes this version of Emrakul particularly interesting to me.

She isn't simply a gigantic creature waiting at the top of your mana curve.

She's part of your ramp plan.

She's part of your late-game payoff.

And once you finally cast her, she gives you all your mana back so you can potentially do something even more absurd.

All in all, Emrakul emerging from the moon was a very pleasant surprise.

The bigger question is what she actually intends to do once she's here.

She might end up consuming the Echoverse, serving as an unexpected instrument in thwarting Jace's plans.

Or she might very well become the thing that brings the multiverse to an end.

Again…

Who knows?

She might be in a mood.

And honestly, who could blame her?

She's been cooped up inside a tiny moon for years.

Maybe after all that time, Emrakul just wants to stretch her tentacles, eat a little reality, and remind everyone exactly why we were afraid of her in the first place.

"An Open Letter to Those Who Naruto Run in Pedestrian Crossings in BGC."

 "An Open Letter to Those Who Naruto Run in Pedestrian Crossings in BGC."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

Dear People Who Naruto Run Across Pedestrian Crossings,

I have always been acutely aware that there are certain pedestrian crossings where drivers need to slow down, stop, and give pedestrians the right of way.

And then there are the pedestrian crossings where people apparently decide that the proper response to an oncoming vehicle is to Naruto run for their lives.

You know who you are.

If you see a vehicle speeding toward a pedestrian crossing, the natural instinct should be to stop, wait, and let it pass. Unfortunately, some people seem to have a completely different survival strategy: Run across and hope for the best.

Sometimes it works.

The driver sees you from a distance. They slow down. They stop. Everyone gets to wherever they are going.

Congratulations.

But all it takes is one distracted driver. One person looking at their phone. One driver fiddling with the infotainment system. One person who simply doesn't see you in time.

You don't get a second chance to discover whether your strategy was statistically sound.

So please: slow down, stop, look, and listen.

You were probably taught this when you were a child. It remains surprisingly good advice even after you've grown up and started commuting around BGC.

And please understand this: a pedestrian crossing is not a magical force field.

The white stripes painted across the road do not stop a vehicle from moving. They do not create an invisible wall around you. They certainly will not stop an 18-wheeler truck from turning you into the least successful pedestrian of the day if you happen to run directly into its path.

And then there is the other behavior I genuinely don't understand:

Why do you start running the moment one car stops?

One vehicle has stopped.

Wonderful.

But you are not crossing a single-lane road.

There are still several other lanes between you and the other side.

Why do you suddenly assume that every vehicle in every other lane has also seen you, stopped for you, and agreed to participate in your carefully choreographed attempt at survival?

BGC has its fair share of kamote riders and drivers who seem to believe traffic rules are merely suggestions. Some will squeeze through gaps, accelerate when they shouldn't, or come flying through a lane that you thought was clear.

And when you are already running across the road, you have given yourself very little time to react.

I have already seen enough accidents involving pedestrians who took unnecessary risks at crossings.

Another one always seems inevitable.

And I really don't want to see it happen.

So, to everyone who Naruto runs across pedestrian crossings in BGC:

You don't get bonus points for crossing quickly.

You don't have to prove that you can beat traffic.

You don't have to trust that every driver has seen you.

You don't have to sprint simply because one car has stopped.

Just stop.

Look.

Make sure the other lanes are clear.

Then cross.

There is nothing cowardly about waiting a few extra seconds to make sure you get to the other side in one piece.

The goal of a pedestrian crossing is to get you safely across the road—not to determine whether you have the reflexes of an anime protagonist.

"Eternal FOMO: The Enchantment That Never Ends."

 

"Eternal FOMO: The Enchantment That Never Ends."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr. MD

I imagine that sometime back in 2020, at Wizards of the Coast headquarters, they gathered everyone who opposed the proposed Secret Lairs and Universes Beyond crossovers into one room and sacrificed them.

Then, using all that newly generated mana, they cast a Global Enchantment.

An enchantment that still affects us to this very day.

Eternal FOMO.

Yes. Wizards of the Coast has permanently enchanted all of us with the fear of missing out.

They bombard us with an endless cycle of previews, spoilers, reveals, Secret Lairs, bonus sheets, and announcements until we can barely think straight.

Surely you need to buy this set.

After all, look at this card.

And this one.

And this one.

And then the influencers arrive.

“This set is a banger!”

And just like that, the spell grows stronger.

Those who resist are eventually drowned beneath a deluge of new cards. Sometimes, Wizards even manages to hit that exact obscure creature type you have been waiting years to see supported.

You waited forever for a Lord for your favorite tribe?

Congratulations.

Now you have twelve cards for it.

Heck, Spiders and Turtles barely had a Lord before, and now we are practically up to our necks in Spiders and Turtles.

Eternal FOMO is real. And it is here to stay.

Case in point: a friend of mine recently bought a Hobbit Bundle.

He had barely opened it.

He probably hadn't even finished admiring what he pulled.

And before he could properly enjoy his haul, here comes the deluge of Reality Fracture spoilers, bringing with it another wave of cards that suddenly feel like absolute must-haves.

And guess what?

Once you finally buy your Reality Fracture products, the next set will already be staring you in the face.

Before you have even received your Reality Fracture cards.

Then add all the Secret Lairs.

Then add the cards already being spoiled for sets coming in 2027.

Then add whatever else Wizards has decided we absolutely, positively need to know about right now.

There is no escape.

Eternal FOMO will never die.

And MTG players, despite our supposedly strong wills, have only two choices:

Quit...

or succumb.

We complain about the endless release schedule.

We complain about the constant spoilers.

We complain about our wallets.

And then Wizards shows us one more card.

“But look at this one.”

And suddenly we're checking preorders.

Nice move, WotC.

Nice move indeed.

"3 Reasons Why Proxying MTG Cards Now Makes Sense."

 "3 Reasons Why Proxying MTG Cards Now Makes Sense."

by:

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

If you have been following Magic: The Gathering for the past six years, then you are probably familiar with two things that have fundamentally changed the way we look at the game: Universes Beyond and Secret Lairs.

One is Wizards of the Coast's attempt to bring other fan bases into Magic by taking existing intellectual properties and turning them into Magic cards. Hence, Universes Beyond.

Secret Lair, on the other hand, is Wizards' way of selling directly to players. You get reprints, alternate art, and sometimes mechanically unique cards that don't necessarily follow the traditional aesthetic of a normal Magic set.

And at this point, almost everything seems to be on the table.

All but the Reserved List, apparently.

So here are three reasons why proxying MTG cards now makes perfect sense.

1. If Anything Can Be Anything, Then Art Is an Open Frontier

If you can convince yourself that a circle is a Sol Ring, then apparently any circle can now be a Sol Ring.

And if you've looked at enough Secret Lairs, you know just how far Wizards is willing to stretch the visual identity of Magic cards.

Don't get me wrong. A lot of these different art styles are fantastic. But they have also opened the door to something else:

Why not make the cards look exactly the way you want them to look?

This is where proxying becomes particularly fun.

I have, for example, an All-Hinata deck.

It is built around Hinata, Dawn-Crowned from Kamigawa. Of course, that Hinata is a Kirin.

The Hinata I actually like, however, is the Hinata who existed long before she became Naruto's wife.

So naturally, the deck features her.

Even the lands are themed around the world of Naruto.

Maybe someday we will get a Naruto x Magic: The Gathering Universes Beyond product. It wouldn't even surprise me anymore.

But I seriously doubt Wizards would ever make the exact Hinata-themed cards I have in my proxy deck.

For one thing, let's just say my version is a little more... niche.

And there certainly isn't going to be anything remotely resembling that particular interpretation in an official Universes Beyond product.

But that's precisely the point.

If anything can be anything now, why limit yourself to what Wizards decides to print?

Proxying allows you to take a card's mechanical identity and build an entirely different visual identity around it.

You can make it funny.

You can make it obscure.

You can make it personal.

You can even make it so specific that you are probably the only person in the world who understands why the card looks the way it does.

And honestly?

That's part of the fun.

2. The Price of Printing Can Beat the Price of the Real Thing

The first time I had cards proxied, I understood the concept very differently.

I was making proxies of genuinely expensive cards—things like Grim Monolith and the Moxen.

That made sense to me.

What I didn't understand was why people would proxy cards worth only a few cents.

Why would you spend money printing a common card when you could simply buy the common?

The card already exists.

Just buy it.

But I digress.

The reality is that even relatively inexpensive Magic cards aren't actually free.

Take something like a heavily reprinted shock land. Its price may have fallen dramatically compared to its original versions, but it is still not zero.

And if what you actually want is to play the card rather than own the collectible object, then the economics can start looking very different.

A proxy can cost a fraction of the actual card.

Now, obviously, this doesn't mean you should represent a proxy as an authentic card when selling or trading. That's simply dishonest.

But for casual play, testing decks, experimentation, and personal collections, the calculation becomes much simpler:

If I can play the same game without spending the same amount of money, why wouldn't I?

Especially when the alternative is spending hundreds—or even thousands—of pesos on a card simply because it has become expensive on the secondary market.

At some point, you're no longer paying for the game.

You're paying for scarcity.

And those are two very different things.

3. Savoring the Flavor

Nothing beats an original Magic card.

I'll say that.

There is something special about opening an actual card, feeling it in your hand, seeing the original artwork, and knowing that it is part of Magic's history.

But there is another kind of satisfaction that comes from building a deck exactly the way you imagined it.

If you're the kind of person who wants your lands to match the plane your Commander comes from, you already know how difficult completing an EDH deck can become.

Maybe your Commander is from Kamigawa.

So naturally, you want Kamigawa lands.

Maybe your deck is based on a specific character.

Now you want every basic land to reflect that character.

Maybe the deck has a particular story, joke, aesthetic, or fandom behind it.

And suddenly you're hunting for cards that Wizards may never print.

That's where proxies become incredibly liberating.

You can simply make them.

Instead of asking:

"What has Wizards printed?"

you can ask:

"What do I want my deck to look like?"

And that is a very different question.

For years, players have been limited by what Wizards chooses to print and, increasingly, by how much those cards cost.

Proxying removes that limitation.

It lets you experiment.

It lets you build the deck you actually want to play.

It lets you create something that could never exist as an official product.

And let's be honest: Wizards itself has pushed Magic further and further toward the idea that almost anything can become a Magic card.

When Magic 30 tried to pass off Alpha cards as a premium fan-service product, the message was pretty clear:

The line between Magic card, collectible, crossover, alternate art, and novelty has become increasingly blurry.

So why shouldn't players take advantage of that same creative freedom?

The Printer Equalizes Us All

I'm not saying proxies replace real Magic cards.

They don't.

There will always be something special about owning the real thing.

What I'm saying is that proxies give players something that Magic has increasingly made difficult to obtain:

creative freedom without an enormous price tag.

So brew to your heart's content.

Build the weird deck.

Make the ridiculous alternate art.

Turn that obscure anime character into your Commander.

Put whatever lands you want into the deck.

Create the card that Wizards will probably never make.

And don't worry too much about the elitists who insist that the only legitimate way to enjoy the game is to spend more money on it.

Because at the end of the day, we're still playing the same game.

And when it comes to making the Magic card you want?

The printer equalizes us all.

"The Cards We Are Dealt: Refusing to Fold"

 "The Cards We Are Dealt: Refusing to Fold"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

If you view life through a certain lens, there will never be a shortage of bad things going on.

Rains that seem to have never stopped for a month. You can probably count on your fingers the number of times the sun has actually come out.

Floodwaters that have affected work, businesses, and education, as well as the lives of those who have been badly affected by nonexistent or poorly implemented flood-control projects.

Manila now declaring a leptospirosis outbreak after the threshold for the disease has been reached, while hospitals are already struggling with the number of patients.

The ongoing increase in gas prices that trickles down to everything—from passenger fares to the prices of basic goods and services.

The inability to pass an ₱85 increase that could at least provide some relief from the rising cost of living.

Nothing seems to be going the way of the Pinoy.

And yet, we are known for two things: our humor and our resiliency.

So what do we do?

Do we blame the government again and again?

Do we blame ourselves for the choices we have made?

The truth is probably somewhere in between.

Sure, the odds are stacked against us. We can go to the streets and shout as much as we want, and I am not discounting the power of protest or the need for change.

But I have always believed that if you want change to happen, it should also start at home.

I cannot offer a magical solution to everything that is happening around us. The government will not always save you. Nature certainly will not save you. And at the end of the day, what you have is yourself and your family, if you have one.

All I am saying is that we should have the resolve to better ourselves first.

Work.

Hustle.

Learn.

Adapt.

Overcome whatever part of the stacked deck is within our power to overcome.

Low education.

Walang padrino.

Walang pambayad ng placement.

No qualifications.

Stacked odds.

And even more hurdles waiting around the corner.

One mayor recently suggested building a second floor as a solution to flooding. While that suggestion may come across as tone-deaf, one can also argue that there are neighborhoods where even having a second floor would not be enough to survive a serious flood.

There are households that cannot afford that kind of infrastructure. There are families who cannot simply move somewhere safer because they cannot afford to relocate.

And perhaps that is exactly where the conversation needs to begin.

We cannot pretend that everyone has the same starting point.

Some people are already running uphill before the race even begins.

Some families are one flood away from losing what little they have.

Some people do not have the money to simply move somewhere safer, build a second floor, go back to school, or start over.

It is easy to tell people to "work harder" when you are not the one carrying the weight they carry.

So no, I am not saying that personal effort will magically solve everything.

It won't.

We still need better governance.

We still need accountability.

We still need competent infrastructure, better education, decent wages, and leaders who actually understand what ordinary Filipinos are going through.

But while we wait for those things to change, we cannot simply wait for someone else to save us.

If there is something within our control, then we should do something about it.

Learn what we can.

Work with what we have.

Save when we can.

Prepare when we can.

Help our families.

Help our neighbors when we are able.

And when an opportunity comes, take it.

Maybe that is what resiliency should really mean.

Not simply smiling after every disaster and saying, "Kaya natin 'to."

It should mean getting back up and asking ourselves:

"What can I do differently this time?"

Because the odds may be stacked against us.

The system may be broken.

The rain may keep falling.

The floodwaters may rise.

The prices may keep going up.

But we cannot allow the difficulty of our circumstances to convince us that we have no agency at all.

We may not be able to control the hand we were dealt.

But we can still decide how we play it.

And sometimes, surviving isn't about having the best cards.

It's about refusing to fold.

"Seven Days to Prepare, Two Hours to Panic."

 "Seven Days to Prepare, Two Hours to Panic."

by: 

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

I really cannot understand the Filipino last-minute mentality.

Every week, the information is available online. It is even posted on the MyDay stories of certain groups and pages, and yet somehow, it gets ignored every single time.

People are given ample time to prepare for a fuel price increase. You have an entire week to fill up your tank before the new prices take effect. Even on the last day, there is usually still plenty of time.

And yet, for most of that week, the gas stations remain relatively quiet.

Then, suddenly, about two hours before midnight, cars seem to appear out of nowhere.

Every gas station you pass is packed.

Traffic starts building up around the stations. Cars line up along the roads, sometimes stretching surprisingly far. People wait for their turn to fill their tanks, and some even get angry when the station has to ration the fuel and they are given, let's say, only half a tank.

And I can't help but wonder:

Didn't we know this was coming?

The fuel increase wasn't a surprise.

People knew about it days in advance.

Seven days.

Seven entire days to respond to the threat to their wallets.

And when do many people actually react?

About two hours before the deadline.

I am not writing this to ridicule anyone's financial situation or circumstances. I don't know what ultimately brings each person into those long lines. Maybe they were busy. Maybe they couldn't afford to fill up earlier. Maybe they simply didn't think about it until the last minute.

There are a hundred possible reasons.

And I certainly don't want to assume that everyone waiting in those lines could have easily bought their fuel days earlier.

But what I find fascinating is how predictable this has become.

You can almost set your watch by it.

The announcement comes.

People see it online.

The week passes.

Nothing happens.

Then, a few hours before the price increase, suddenly everyone remembers that they own a car.

And the gas stations become ground zero.

What makes it even more frustrating is that the gas stations aren't going anywhere.

They will still be there tomorrow.

They are still there today.

And they were there yesterday.

There was no need to wait until the final two hours to rush there with everyone else.

This isn't really about gasoline.

It's about how we respond to information.

We are given plenty of warning about something that will affect our wallets, yet many of us seem to wait until the very last possible moment before doing anything about it.

We don't necessarily have a shortage of information.

Sometimes, we simply have a shortage of urgency.

Until suddenly...

there are only two hours left.

Then for everybody this becomes very, very urgent.

And by then, of course, everybody is stuck in the same long lines.

"Compel Brutality: When Atraxa Turns Planeswalkers Into Weapons." by:

 "Compel Brutality: When Atraxa Turns Planeswalkers Into Weapons."

by: 

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

Compel Brutality is a two-mana instant coming out of Reality Fracture, and it immediately made me think of one of my favorite decks:

Atraxa Superfriends!

The first half of the card is something we have seen before: Green's version of spot removal based on the might of the creatures it targets.

So, with an Atraxa in play, you're easily looking at four damage to an opponent's creature or planeswalker. Given that there are plenty of planeswalkers with less than four loyalty when they enter the battlefield, this already makes Compel Brutality a very respectable spot-removal spell.

But then we get to the second half of the card.

And this is something we haven't really seen before.

Compel Brutality can target one of your planeswalkers and use its loyalty to deal that much damage to a target creature or planeswalker an opponent controls.

Think about what that means.

A planeswalker isn't just generating value for you anymore.

It's ammunition.

Planeswalkers like Garruk or Ugin, for example, can enter the battlefield with a healthy amount of loyalty, making them excellent targets for Compel Brutality.

And this is where things get particularly interesting in an Atraxa EDH deck.

Atraxa Superfriends is already a deck filled to the brim with planeswalkers. Then you add Atraxa's ability to proliferate at the end of every turn, and suddenly those loyalty counters start piling up.

Your planeswalkers get bigger.

And Compel Brutality gets nastier.

That Garruk that started with five loyalty?

That's potentially five damage.

That Ugin sitting there with a mountain of loyalty?

You can turn all those counters into a very unpleasant surprise for someone else's board.

So every time you cast Compel Brutality, you're not just casting a removal spell.

You're asking one of your planeswalkers:

"How much damage would you like to do?"

Of course, Compel Brutality is only two mana, which makes this even more interesting. You're essentially turning the loyalty you've already accumulated into additional removal without having to sacrifice the planeswalker itself.

For Atraxa Superfriends, that's a pretty sweet deal.

Your planeswalkers generate loyalty.

Atraxa proliferates that loyalty.

And Compel Brutality turns all of it into damage.

That's not just Superfriends anymore.

That's weaponized loyalty.

"Darksteel Angel: The Platinum Angel That Finally Learned to Survive"

"Darksteel Angel: The Platinum Angel That Finally Learned to Survive"

by: 

Virgilio F. De Leon Jr., MD

Though I have always been surrounded by Magic players, it was only around 8th Edition that my brother and I really started getting serious about the game.

I have often joked that if 8th Edition was my handshake with Magic, then the following set, Mirrodin, was when I started French-kissing the game!

Mirrodin introduced so many things to Magic, including one of the mechanics that would eventually become a staple of the game: Equipment.

And then there was that one Angel that kept appearing from time to time.

An Angel that, on more than one occasion, was able to save me.

The card was, of course, Platinum Angel.

Platinum Angel was always a headache for opponents when it landed on the battlefield. As long as it remained in play, your opponents couldn't win and you couldn't lose. It was the kind of card that immediately demanded an answer.

Unfortunately, it had one little problem.

It was surprisingly easy to squish.

Spot removal? Straight to the graveyard.

Mass removal? Also straight to the graveyard.

For all the protection Platinum Angel gave you from losing the game, it wasn't particularly good at protecting itself.

But now, in Reality Fracture, a new and improved version of the Platinum Angel has appeared.

Behold...

Darksteel Angel!

Many older players may recognize this card as something that was teased back when the Phyrexians finally besieged Mirrodin. It was one of those great cliffhangers in Magic history.

Would the Mirrans prevail?

Would the Phyrexians win?

And as a teaser for what was coming, the image of the Darksteel Angel was released.

Well, we eventually found out how that story ended.

The Phyrexians won that round.

But now, all these years later, the Darksteel Angel is finally coming to reality in Reality Fracture—and this version is a considerably tougher evolution of the beloved Platinum Angel.

While it doesn't have Hexproof, Ward, or Shroud, this Angel has something arguably just as important:

Indestructible.

So go ahead. Target it with your spot removal.

Darksteel Angel will still be there.

Throw a normal board wipe at it?

It just shrugs it off.

And what about things like Wither, Infect, or even Black Sun's Zenith?

Well, Darksteel Angel has an answer for those too.

Creatures you control can't get -1/-1 counters.

So not only is this Angel difficult to destroy, it also protects your creatures from one of the nastier ways of getting around Indestructible.

Of course, there is a price to pay.

Darksteel Angel costs nine mana, two more than the original Platinum Angel's seven.

But honestly?

If you're spending nine mana on an Angel, you'd probably like it to stick around.

And with Darksteel Angel on the battlefield, you can finally breathe a little easier while your opponents desperately scramble to figure out how they're supposed to get rid of it.

After all, Platinum Angel taught me how to survive.

Darksteel Angel just made sure nobody could squish her quite so easily.

"An open letter to that lady who stood in the middle of the elevator earlier tonight."

"An open letter to that lady who stood in the middle of the elevator earlier tonight."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

Maam,

Gusto ko lang pong tanungin kong first time niyo po bang nakasakay ng elevator sa buong buhay ninyo?

Kasi kadalasan ang tamang gawin eh manatili sa kanan para makadaan ang mga bumababa at para mabilis ding makasakay ang iba kaagad. 

Di ko alam tuloy kung bakit nasa saktong gitna ka ng elevator tapos para tuloy gusto mong mag lips to lips kayo ng unang baba eh, yun ba talaga gusto mong mangyari?

Siguro ok na sa akin yun kaso ikaw pa yung mukhang galit nung may mga walong tao na bababa at napilitan ka din na umalis sa gitna para sila makadaan. 

Nakakabigla ba na may bababa ng elevator sa mga oras na yun eh uwian na ng ibang shift yun? Ikaw pa talaga yung nainis eh.

Siguro nga nagmamadali ka lang. Pero kaya naman magintay ng olang segundo lang sa mga gilid ano? For sure di naman mababawasan yung late mo kasi mukhang late ka naman na. 

Yun lang naman. Promise next time na makita kita itutulak na lang kita para sure na yung lips to lips mo. Maging sino man yung bababa.

Pekmans. Mamatay ka man.

Di Nagmamahal,

Doc June

"I Like Nature. I Just Don't Want to Sleep in It."

 "I Like Nature. I Just Don't Want to Sleep in It."

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

I have a close friend who regularly takes his family camping, and they seem to absolutely love it.

I have never quite understood the appeal of sleeping in the woods, but hey, this isn't meant to ridicule people who love the outdoors. If camping makes you happy, more power to you.

It just isn't for me.

I have three main reasons.

1. Security—and Everything That Comes Out at Night

Forget the nighttime monsters that may or may not exist. I'm talking about the ones we know are real.

Bears.

Snakes.

Insects that can ruin your entire week.

You are, after all, sleeping in a forest. There are going to be things out there that consider your campsite part of their territory.

And then there are the real monsters:

Other people.

I've heard stories of campers dealing with people wandering around their campsites or trying to get into tents. A tent might be perfectly good at keeping out wind and rain, but it isn't exactly a fortress.

I don't know about you, but I prefer sleeping somewhere where I can lock the doors and windows.

Preferably with a guard somewhere nearby.

Call me paranoid.

I call it sleeping comfortably.

2. The Bathroom Issue

This one is particularly important.

As a guy, I probably wouldn't have that much trouble finding a convenient place to go, especially at night when nobody can see me.

But I can't exactly speak for my wife and daughter.

They might not be particularly comfortable with the idea of using the great outdoors as a bathroom.

And even for me, there is something deeply unsettling about having to walk outside in complete darkness, surrounded by tall trees, just to pee.

What if something is watching?

What if something moves?

What if I suddenly hear rustling behind me?

At that point, I'm probably going back into the tent and holding it until sunrise.

Not particularly good for my bladder, perhaps.

But considerably better than discovering that the forest has been watching me conduct my business.

3. The Work

Then there is the actual work involved.

Setting up camp.

Maintaining camp.

Breaking camp.

All that effort just to sleep on the ground.

I know, I know.

I don't exactly scream outdoorsy type.

One look at me will probably confirm that.

But more than that, I simply don't see the appeal of giving up all my creature comforts when they are already available at home.

I like nature.

I enjoy looking at mountains, forests, rivers, beaches, and all the beautiful things the outdoors has to offer.

I just don't necessarily want to sleep there.

I'll explore the wilderness during the day.

Then I'd like to return to a cabin somewhere.

Maybe a hotel.

Actually, scratch that.

A hotel sounds better.

It doesn't even have to be in the city. Put me somewhere in the middle of nowhere if you want.

Just give me four walls, a proper bed, electricity, running water, a bathroom, and a door that locks.

I have no problem visiting nature.

I just prefer to experience it from a comfortable distance.

Because apparently, my definition of roughing it is a hotel without room service.

"The Hydra We Keep Feeding"

"The Hydra We Keep Feeding"

by:

Virgilio F De leon Jr.

I have often said that corruption is everywhere.

It may never be completely eradicated. Perhaps the best metaphor for it is the Hydra: cut off one head, and two more grow in its place.

Every political system contains the temptation to abuse power. People can enter politics with idealistic intentions, believing they can make a difference, only to become corrupted by the power they acquire—the power to bend rules, escape consequences, and, in the worst cases, take public money from the very people they were elected to serve.

Perhaps the difference is that in some countries, corruption still operates within certain limits. The people in power may take their share, but they leave enough behind for governments to continue functioning, for public services to operate, and for infrastructure to actually be built.

Here in the Philippines, however, it often feels as though even those restraints have begun to disappear.

Look at the social media posts of the past few weeks: houses carried away by floods, vehicles of all sizes stranded in rising water, families watching years of hard work disappear in a matter of hours. Ordinary Filipinos suffer because the greed within our government—regardless of political party—has reached a point where corruption seems to exist at every level of the chain.

It is no longer about taking a small piece.

Everyone wants the biggest piece they can get before what remains trickles down to the next person.

And so the common Filipino suffers.

People who are already struggling to improve their lives find themselves pushed backward again. And even those who have managed to build something through years of hard work can see it swept away in a matter of hours.

Then comes the inevitable question:

Will anything actually be done?

The eyes are elsewhere.

The ears are listening to other things.

The mouth is talking about other topics.

Meanwhile, the suffering continues unabated.

And perhaps, someday, something else will rise from these waters.

Something other than Pinoy humor.

Something other than another celebration of Filipino resilience.

Perhaps it will be an urge to do something different.

To choose differently.

But then comes another question:

Who are the alternatives?

Will they simply be another version of the same animal? Another group waiting for its turn at the trough? Or will they merely be the lesser of two evils?

Because lesser does not mean good.

Evil is still evil, no matter how much smaller the portion may be.

No one seriously talks about revolution, of course. Not openly, anyway. In an age when people can communicate more freely and instantly than at any other point in history, it is strange how rarely the word itself enters the conversation.

Perhaps it is because many people have come to believe that revolution would accomplish nothing.

Perhaps they have seen too many revolutions replace one group of powerful people with another.

Perhaps they are simply tired.

And maybe that is the greatest danger of all.

Not that the Hydra has too many heads.

But that we have become so accustomed to feeding it that we no longer believe there is any point in fighting it.

For as long as that remains true, the Hydra does not even need to defend itself.

We will keep feeding it ourselves.

"The Places Where Her Glasses Go"

 

"The Places Where Her Glasses Go"

by:

Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD

My wife has this weird habit of losing her glasses, even though our master bedroom really isn't that big.

She'll get out of bed, touch her forehead, turn this way and that, and ask,

"O, asan na naman ang salamin ko?"

Where are my glasses again?

There are the usual places.

First is her office table, where she keeps an unusual plate that I jokingly call the V-plate because, well... it looks like that particular part of the female anatomy.

She always corrects me afterward by saying that it's a cloud.

I just nod and agree.

Then there is her dresser, where she actually has a designated holder in one corner. It's lined with velvet and fur and looks suspiciously like Santa's boot. This is where I usually put her glasses whenever she falls asleep while I'm around, or whenever I happen to find them lying somewhere they shouldn't be.

And if the glasses aren't in either of those two places, there is one more likely location: a particular part of our bed.

The part where I usually sleep.

We call this area the Abyss.

The Abyss is normally inhabited by our stuffed sharks, Shiloh and Shasha, along with Aven's gift to us—a microbeaded lobster whom I lovingly named Pinchy.

But the Abyss contains much more than marine life.

It holds hair clips, her phone, the TV remote, and an impressive assortment of things she may have been holding when she eventually fell asleep.

Most of the time, her glasses can be found in one of those three places.

But that particular night, they were nowhere.

We checked the office table.

Nothing.

The Santa-boot holder.

Empty.

The Abyss.

The sharks and Pinchy were there, of course, along with half the contents of our bedroom.

But no glasses.

My wife finally sighed and said something that I found ridiculously cute.

She wished her glasses would simply return to her hand like Thor's Mjolnir.

And, naturally, my brain immediately supplied the image.

My wife standing in the middle of the bedroom, holding out her hand dramatically as her glasses flew across the room—

whoosh!

—only to fly straight past me and into her waiting palm.

I don't know why that amused me so much.

Maybe because after being married long enough, you start developing your own little mythology for ordinary things.

The Abyss.

The V-plate.

The Santa-boot glasses holder.

The legendary glasses that apparently deserve to be summoned like a magical weapon.

Eventually, we found them.

They were sitting quietly beside her dresser the entire time.

Of course they were.

We had dinner afterward.

Nothing particularly exciting happened.

No dragons.

No magic.

No Mjolnir-like return of the glasses.

Just the two of us having dinner after solving yet another very small mystery in our very ordinary home.

And somehow, I think that is what I like most about our life together.

Sometimes happiness isn't found in grand adventures.

Sometimes it's simply knowing where your wife's glasses are—

even when she doesn't.