As a child I was taught that a Muslim’s devoutness is not judged solely on his or her ability to memorize prayers and verses in the Qur’an, or fast during the holy month of Ramadan, or give zakat, charity, to the less fortunate, or abstain from pork and other things haram — a Muslim I was instructed must, at all times, have a clean bottom.
Having a clean bottom means washing it with generous amount of water, preferably with soap. Toilet paper will not do, lest you become a kafir –a nonbeliever. It’s taking the adage “CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS” to the next level. I never questioned this wisdom, not even when I was already a grown up and have earned a reputation for being a smartass. I discovered in geography lessons that many Muslims live in desert countries where water is a scarce resource; access to clean water can sometimes result to civil wars. For lack of imagination, rubbing sand in one’s ass never crossed my mind.
Shitting –the act that requires this seemingly ritualistic cleansing— is a serious business. It’s one of man’s most important bodily functions. It flushes out dirt and toxins, preventing certain type of diseases. It has given birth to a whole range of spa services like coffee enemas and colonic hydrotherapy. Shitting improves mood and emotional well-being. Just imagine when you haven’t shat in the morning – you’re more likely to be grumpy the whole day. Like most things, it’s an act anchored on tradition and to some extent, a lot of superstition. For instance, you must not face the qiblah, the direction of Mecca when you’re sitting on your throne. Misfortune can be a result of having a toilet that is elevated from the rest of the house. Our step grandmother gave a more lasting reminder: “Don’t speak when you are shitting because it causes bad breath.” That was enough to keep us silent when we were in the toilet.
The whole business of shitting and of cleansing the behind has a profound effect on my lifestyle. When I scout for a new house or apartment, the most important consideration is the physical condition of the toilet. I cannot take a dump in a dirty toilet, which was the case in high school so I was always constipated. When I felt the need to go to the toilet, my anal sphincter tightened and silently dispatched a telepathic message— “How can you take a dump in a place so filthy. Yuck!” I would walk out of the toilet disappointed. In youth camps foregoing trips to the toilet was not unusual. I managed five days without taking a shit. Later when I began working, the first thing that I do in my hotel room during business trips is check the toilet for tabo, a dipper, the most essential thing in cleaning one’s bottom. A tub made of the finest Italian marble can be ignored, but never a tabo. It can be made of plastic, ceramic, tin, or anahaw leaf – it doesn’t really matter. But it must be clean and be able to hold 500ml of water. In the absence of a tabo, I dart to the nearest department store and buy one. If the schedule will not allow it, I settle for a 1000ml bottle of mineral water.
During my first visit to Tokyo in 1995, I was astonished to find out one of man’s most brilliant inventions— the electronic toilet seat. At the home of my foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Katayama, I sat like a king on his throne every morning. First I would adjust the temperature of the toilet seat. This was a significant factor in carrying out the task in full fruition. A cold seat was not encouraging. After fulfilling the task, I pressed a button that sprayed water in my butt –ranging from a light sprinkle to pressure washing— with water temperature adjusted to my liking. Satisfied, I wiped my butt with fresh paper towels, walked out of the toilet, and prepared to greet my temporary Oka-san and Oba-san, “Ohayo gozaimasu!” I was always in a nice mood after taking a dump each morning my foster parents got so smitten and asked me, “You wan to go Disneyrand?”
With the great importance that I put on the business of defecation and cleaning after, it can be deduced that my greatest fear is not writer’s block but being caught in a messy situation especially in public places. I go to great lengths to avoid it. At parties I eat cheesy and creamy food sparingly knowing that I’m lactose intolerant. I avoid curry-based food when I’m having beer or red wine. I always skip the buko pandan. Crustaceans mixed with tomato-based sauces plus alcohol produce a lethal combination that can be described as a ‘certified party pooper.’
I read that some people can live for weeks without taking a bath, as long as they have clean socks everyday. Others don’t care whether they’ve worn the same pair of jeans since the dawn of the new millennium. “As long as I wear fresh Calvins,” they confessed in an ad. A friend of mine is so obsessive-compulsive about his dental hygiene; he brushes his teeth after every meal –even if it’s just a pack of saltines. I wash my bottom with soap and water every chance I get. It’s my best shot at religiosity.
Filed under: Culture, Mindanao, essay, writing | Comments Off
