Parasite

the movie that ruined rainy season for filipinos smell. basement. stink bugs. cockroach. rock. chimpanzee. a comically large pile of toys and a comically large pile of pizza boxes. flood. birthday parties— a knife is required. a line you cannot cross. ah, the enduring scent of economic disparity and social division lingers. one can be so closed off from reality, while another strives to avoid it by blending in. however, the façade of blending in cannot erase this inherent division; it only highlights the chasm that separates us. after all, a life of luxury behind unplastered gray stone walls, mahogany floors, and enormous glass panels, all protected by a 6-foot high fence, seems like the ideal existence. meanwhile, you continue to live underground in poor conditions, looking up at a world that looks down on you. and no matter how you try to blend in, your true self and its scent can’t be masked. those born into privilege will despise your smell. but they’re nice, so what can you judge, really? so, make a plan. write to your father trapped at the bottom. whisper to him sweet nothings. bring a rock while you’re at it, let it float, but dream it sinks. if all else fails, return to the bottom. worship those you serve. remain beneath them. be the chimpanzee in a self-portrait.  but you must know, at our core, we were all parasites once.