How do I make an omelet?
First I open my refrigerator and bring out the eggs, either how many I have leftover or how many I think I need if I am making an omelet for guests. All depends on the circumstances.
Then I open the vegetable drawer and take out the overripe tomatoes, the wilting leeks, whatever other green, yellow and red stuff I might have that are on the verge of death. Chop them and set them aside. Now I search for the leftover cheese — queso de bola, a little Manchego that gets harder by the day, ordinary cheddar — then grate and set aside.
Then I rummage through the fridge searching for leftovers, some tomato-based, others soy-based, others forgotten-based and I take them out, mix them up and set them aside. All of these will become part of my omelet.
Now I take my whisk and beat the eggs until they are light yellow and fluffy. I take my non-stick frying pan and melt enough butter in it. Salted butter. I always love salted butter. Then I pour in half of the eggs, all the chopped vegetables, all the grated cheese, all the leftovers. Then I pour over the other half of the eggs. Depending on my mood I may add other spices but no more salt because the butter has it, the leftovers too and there’s enough cheese.
While that omelet is cooking I take another non-stick frying pan and melt a small amount of salted butter on it. When it looks like it’s the right time, meaning the egg at the bottom of the first frying pan is cooked, I cover it with the new pan and very quickly, with conviction, turn the two pans over transferring the omelet from the old pan to the new one. Sometimes it will work, other times it won’t but whether or not the omelet comes out looking perfect it is still going to taste delicious and I know it will never be repeated because I never have the same leftovers twice.
That is the way I make an omelet and that is also the way a democracy works. The eggs are the decent intelligent people who are educated, well-read, who think and form opinions that are well considered. The rest of the folk well, there you are. They are opinionated like the overripe tomatoes and other vegetables. Some, while witless, are quite sharp with their use of language – they represent the cheese that I grate. Then there are others who have still other diverse shades of opinion represented in the omelet by my mixed-up little leftovers. They all come out at times maybe when we are hungry for news or excitement because life is generally unexciting until there is a crisis.
This happened recently at the CCP regarding their controversial art show, which, in my opinion should not have closed early. The solution was simple. Media had carried the story so people already knew beforehand if they would like it or not. If you knew you would not like it, then you know you shouldn’t go. Like if you know you do not like what I write, then don’t read me. That’s better than going or reading then assaulting and demonstrating and using foul language. But no matter what one says, there are always crazies who will assault and demonstrate and use foul language. Or a Senate that will call for a hearing. It’s inevitable. That is what’s supposed to happen in a democracy.
So to be able to adjust to the madness of things I sometimes think it’s like an omelet full of ingredients that may be acceptable to some people, not acceptable to others, but exist side-by-side without anybody demanding the removal of one or the other. This system of forcing people not to understand necessarily but to tolerate manners of thinking or interpretation that do not agree with theirs is a way for democracy to teach character to people, to force them (we cannot change a democracy unless we revolt and it looks like as a country we are too lazy to do that) to accept that the notion of liberty is to allow the freedom of expression of everyone. One person wants to express his or her rage at me accusing me of being an ilustrada, which he or she hates, I let him. I text back. Then don’t read me, I say.
I think the lesson we have to learn in a democracy is patience. I will say from my own experience it is hard to be patient sometimes. But I know it’s a lesson I must continue to learn better because others are entitled to their opinions and there are about as many opinions as there are people in this world.
What is the tolerant palliative to patience or the lack of it? The ability to laugh. I often laugh alone because I live alone so I don’t have to worry about offending others with my laughter. But I laugh when I feel people are being silly or stupid or extraordinarily inane. I laugh and remind myself they are only parts of the omelet, little insignificant bursts of flavor that would be meaningless unless bound together by the eggs. That’s what a democracy is. It is a delicious omelet. As inconvenient as it sometimes feels, we might as well eat it and enjoy it.
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I apologize. Last week’s column was wrong about Ninoy Aquino’s death year. Senior moment. Please text your comments to 0917-8155570.