Closure

This Christmas season should be missing out on the joys of holidays past, for my dear wife and their family, and for myself as well. My mother-in-law has been diagnosed with colon cancer in its advanced stage.

Events unraveled rather fast. I recall minor complaints of physical inconvenience every now and then; but nothing that would have made us even remotely think that a serious threat to her life was underway. We all went about the happy, deprived, problematic, and humid business of living our intertwined lives. We fought, argued, criticized, hoped, and dreamed; we loved each other nonetheless.

Then, as suddenly as lightning can strike on a clear, sunny day, the hibernating, frightful disease woke up from within her. It commandeered everything she had available: Her strength, her appetite, her lifespan, and her unfinished business. She now lives on shorter borrowed time and, although we don't discuss it, our common feeling is that this holiday season is the last she'll spend with us.

I share in the pain of everyone who loves this marvelous, simple woman: She who always hopes for the best, but contentedly settles for least and mediocre things. It takes little to make her happy.

I miss the liveliness in her eyes now. She has the look of resignation on her face. In all likelihood, she feels pain, but she does not speak to us about it.

My wife took after her. She perennially endures the indignities of a life lacking in material comforts, the outcome of my restlessness and imprudence. And if one day she will fall ill like her mother, I surmise that she would also be as resigned and uncomplaining.

It's all in God's hands now, as everything really is. Science can only offer to cure physical wounds, soothe some of the pain; love, kindness, and compassion prop up the spirit; but all life rest in The Great Arbiter.

Dream

This morning I woke up from a strange dream: I was cleaning a house in preparation for moving in. Then I noticed a figure looking out a window of the house facing my house. I was dreaming, and so I abandoned my task, proceeded towards that house in front, and entered it.

It was bare, devoid of furniture, the walls blank and faded yellow, save for a waist-high, dark-brown wooden cabinet with drawers. I opened the topmost drawer; it contained old photographs, some tattered, some almost crumbling, and all of them faded. They were of kin and friends I knew, and who all have passed away.

Suddenly, the people in the photographs were there, filling the house with chat and commotion. Some smiled at me particularly; one was noticeably insouciant, and while also smiling, she just went past by me. I kidded her about that. But dreams are so free-wheeling, no?

I then woke up (or was awakened by something), and had the urge to write the following poem -

Life is here, Life is
Now, a part of it is
Yesterday; but certainly it is not
Tomorrow;

Death, its kin,
has countless tricks
up its sleeves;
we outpace it each day,

Or so we think:
We eat, drink
and are merry;
we traverse many roads,

Some to great finds,
some to naught;
some to the loveliest of places,
some to the saddest of those;

We walk, we run, we fly,
straight towards coveted,
obscured goals; and oh, so fast!
Around a corner, Death waits, and smiles.

Talking God

These days I find myself questioning my faith: I may have been had; that it has always been merely a superb piece of literature; that all good things are wonderful coincidences, dissociated from earthly plans or divine intervention. Or it could be that faith is a ruse for very profitable business ventures, and that this life is all there is, and there is nothing more beyond it.

I keep score of life's inequities, and I always end up feeling that I have more than my just share. My arguments are strong. The unanswered questions are many. I cannot be faulted for being limited only to what I can see; it is man's nature to be puny and proud. I keep up appearances, and maintain the trappings and fixtures and rituals of faith, not so much out of love, as for the primeval fear of the unknown, and also superstition.

I could use a talking god right now, like I could use love and hope and courage in my time of distress. I am discontented with merely the adornments of faith and veneration. I need miracles!

Lifeline

One day my son asked me whether it's true that each person is a lifeline to another. An insight to marvel at.

How very true. No matter our station in life, somebody looks up to us as a source of happiness or inspiration. We may look at ourselves in an unkindly way, but to some hapless soul, we may be the whole world. We may think of ourselves as worthless, but sometime, somewhere, someone may be thinking that we are an indispensable cog in the wheel of life, an essential element in the universe.

Each one of us is a lifeline to another, and so we are bound to move on, to persevere, to stand up when we fall; if not for ourselves, then for the dreams and hopes entrusted to us. A tall order which leaves no other option other than preserving the integrity of the lifeline.

Seething

Are you
deaf to my pleas?
Are you
merely cut stone?
Lifeless.
Or you
can also be
simply borne
out of
the desperations of men.

I knock
on your door
each day,
spread out my plans,
and then
I go,
sometimes
I linger
and listen intently:

If you will growl,
or else
send me a rainbow,
so that I may be
on my way,
unmindful of
dying dreams.

Good People

Meet Rey. If Willy Wonka were a Filipino, he would be Rey. From a mobile contraption of a store mounted on a motorcycle, he sells stuff children's dreams are made of: The latest trinkets and novelty items; small toys; every imaginable kind, shape and colour of candy; action figures; tiny cars, planes, trucks, and ships; girls' and boys' jewellery and accessories; etcetera, etcetera. Rey makes the rounds of almost all the schools in our town of San Pedro, aware of their respective break and dismissal times (for obvious reasons), hopping efficiently from one school to the next like clockwork.

I have this admiration and respect for Rey, and all the others like him, who earn meagerly but at all times honestly. They are the good people in our midst, the ones who convince me that decency remains alive and well in this impoverished archipelago, made poorer with each passing year by rampant corruption. Whereas, in other still-fortunate places, those who are caught with their hands full of ill-gotten wealth are either banished or made to literally die of shame, in this country we elect them to public office, so that they can all the more acquire ill-gotten riches and flaunt these in our faces, by way of their mansions, expensive cars, and private militias. My faint clue, as to why this is allowed to happen, is either plain and simple idiocy or gullibility.

Rey has been in his trade for, I calculate, almost ten years now, starting out with a much smaller mobile store contraption connected to a bicycle. He has a wife who helps him eke out a living via this amusing, itinerant trade, but it is Rey who pounds the streets of our town rain or shine. He has two children (or maybe three), which he sends to two private schools, with the eldest set to graduate from high school in a few weeks' time, and already having obtained a college scholarship through sheer academic merit!

Rey and his family have this enviable acceptance of their fate and their role in the world. And with their seeming tirelessness and composure to go about their unvaried routine day in and day out, an unquestioning faith that they will persevere and prevail is very apparent. This accomplishment is beyond the reach of many others who are better-heeled and educated. At once, Rey has let me in on one of the secrets to happiness: The absence of too great or too much expectations.

Rey might be unaware of another thing enviable about him. He is assured of a special place in the pleasant and beautiful memories of all those children who patronize his store of dreams. Rey has made me recall some of my own schoolchild memories: Ka Conching's eatery for students, with its piping-hot, home-cooked meals; the Nectar ice cream man and his sweet, multicolored popsicles; Ka Domeng's Kabayan ice cream and buco sherbet; noodle sandwiches; deep-fried pork rinds dipped in spicy vinegar; Rey has opened the floodgate of memories, all of them pleasant and from times that held great promise.

The domain of childhood memories is sacred ground. It defines the man. It sets him off to his journey in life. Depending on the quality of these memories, they either provide solid anchoring or shaky foundation. Good people like Rey give to society the former. Not too many people may lay claim to this achievement. I can't. I most probably will be remembered as a moody, cantankerous man, an impractical dreamer, given to fits and episodes of rage, desperation and elation. My only consolation, however, is not being lumped together with the greedy, the murderers, the corrupt. As politicians are.

50

A few days from now, I am turning half-a-century old. It is only because the event is some sort of a milestone that I'm writing about it. I have not acquired the habit of fussing over my own birthday. If it passes uneventfully, without anyone recalling it or greeting me, then so much the better. I would never feel hurt in any way. I've always thought and believed that one can see and appreciate life better in anonymity. I can be as unobtrusive as possible as I witness life's fluid events. A famous (or infamous) person simply cannot indulge in this luxury, unless he wants to be mobbed by those obsessed with his presence, or those who crave to do him harm.

At half-a-century old, I most probably have less than half-a-century more to go. Not that I'm not avid about longevity, but I have looked at the lifespan of males from both my parents' families, and as far as I know, none among them were ever centenarians.

It was a sobering discovery and, considering that I still desire to accomplish a lot of things, makes me feel pressured and hurried. I think that, generally, we all leave behind a lot of unfinished business when we finally go. It's either because a lifetime is insufficient to do everything we have and want to do, or because we have a tendency, in the initial, to waste a considerable number of our years.

At this point in my life, I'm beginning to deal with the possibility that I may be unable to give substance to all my dreams. But I will do my very best to give justice to the gift of life. I will always look for happiness and hope in even the unlikeliest of places and circumstances.

I look older. My face looks more weathered, with wrinkles creeping and catching up in every nook. My grays seem to be multiplying exponentially among hair strands that grow longer but not thicker. I'm pleasantly surprised by all these. I feel basically the same. I find myself more forgiving and tolerant, though, and also more appreciative of quiet solitude.

I think the years of clean living are actually paying off. I feel that I have the stamina and endurance I had ten years ago, give or take a few occasional aches in the joints here and there. The emphasis of my efforts is on the quality of life, rather than on its longevity. I don't intend to be a long-lived cripple. Good health and being ambulatory are important for me, the requisites for survival among the human species and its kind of societies.

"Life is like a box of chocolates..."

It could well be my favorite quote from Hollywood, coming from one of my favorite films. I seriously consider the quote as potential epitaph material, if I will be unable to choose from among my writings. Lest I be misunderstood as being preoccupied with the thought of death, I am not. I know we're all headed in its general direction, and I've just come to accept that we will all have to stare it in the face one day. I do believe that many of us do not fear death per se, instead, it is the pain that leads to it. We all have a natural abhorrence for suffering, and this is evident in our preference for convenience and creature comforts.

I saw "Forrest Gump" (again) on television, and for the nth time I was held captive by its moving story. I know it's fictional, but the wisdom, the emotions have parallels in real life. Innocence, the struggle to keep it, and losing it eventually; death and the feeling of betrayal; perseverance and prayer, and redemption in the end. Life proceeds inexorably, only momentarily stopping for our tragedies, and then it picks up its pace again. We choose to be either left behind or to move on and keep pace with it.

Although Forrest is the unmistakable central figure in the film, I identify more with Lieutenant Dan. Gung-ho and audacious, with enviable deftness and intrepidness. But the ironclad persona is a facade, like the facades we all have, and Lt. Dan crumbles and comes crashing down under the weight of physical and emotional pain. He then finds Life as only either rancid or tasteless. He lives his days with a simmering disgust for the world and even God. He stays on though, either out of perseverance, or the cowardice to take his own life. He has the good fortune, however, to have a redeemer in the person of Forrest, who makes him an offer and, maybe unwittingly, provides the lieutenant an avenue to possibly re-route his static and wasting life. He succeeds eventually, and finds himself back in the mainstream, all the more wiser and materially affluent.

We are all looking for our own Forrest Gumps to redeem us from our inextricable situations, to redirect our lost paths, or to help us find peace and contentment. This is why we take up religion, do yoga, recite mantras, get immersed in mysticism and the occult, or convert to Buddhism. Exploiting this desperation, the unscrupulous among us have turned God and gods into a profitable business enterprise, with gullibility the best assurance of its success. While there are those who succeed in finding what they seek, there are more who do not, and the best they can manage is to languish in despair and disappointment throughout their lives.

My favourite Hollywood quote, although very befitting to one of my favourite films, seems to be wanting in accuracy. Our boxes of chocolates do not offer us plain sight of everything once opened. Rather, the morsels are wrapped individually, each enticing in its unique shape, colour, contour, and aroma. I'm more than halfway through my box; I've had some really good and tasty pieces. There are those that delivered expected goodness, and others which caught me pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised, off-guard even. Some were so good, I only took small bites off each, re-wrapped and saved them for another day. These are the ones made up of hope, love, and happiness, the pieces I do not wish to run out of.

I want to live forever but not here.

Worldwide, the human lifespan is generally on the increase. This is very evident in first-world countries where the relatively widespread availability of medical care and medication has made possible people living long lives with quality attached to them. In poorer, less-developed countries, lifespans, too, have increased, although at much lower figures. However, the universal conclusion is that people live longer nowadays.

If in the near future there will be a pill or procedure to extend our lives to well past the hundred-year mark, I will have none of it. Personally, I consider a 85 - 90
lifespan as agreeable; not too long or short, but just right. Even if I die at some point between the ages of 70 and 80, I will not be disappointed or feel cheated. I do not wish to outlive my family and friends. It will be most lonely. I do not want to be frail and bedridden. I want to still be able to go out and feel the sun and wind on my face, and to see the clear blue sky.

I find it odd that most people, if they could, would want to live much, much longer, if not forever. I do not. I would want to eventually earn my rest from this life. The world is so beautiful, yes, but most of the time we are blind to it, prevented and distracted from true appreciation by necessary and pressing human needs and concerns. I'm certain that over-extending lifespans will not have for a goal a deeper appreciation of the beauty of this world but, rather, the continuance of selfish ends and personal motives.

I want to live forever but not here. There must be a more beautiful place than the most beautiful this world can offer. There must be some place where happiness is enduring and unconditional. There must be.

The Herbivorous Cat

I was about midway into my weekly ritual of cleaning the car last Sunday, when I saw the neighbor's cat seriously munching on stems of wild grass that sprouted from the sidewalk near to where I stood. I was curious and so I watched, whereas ordinarily I would have detested any trivial interruption to my chore.

I've known cats as essentially carnivorous creatures, and so for me seeing one munching grass was too much for my curiosity. I know I've read somewhere, though, that cats do eat plants they instinctively know to contain substances that kill parasites or counteract toxins in their gut, and in this respect, my neighbor's cat may only be acting out of the need to protect and prolong its existence.

In many ways, cats are like people, and contrariwise. There is also a sea of difference between them. Cats instinctively know what is good for them, and so they munch on stems of grass. People instinctively know what they want, which may be good or bad, but they want them anyway.

Cats live simply and take only what they need; all the other cats may have the other clumps of grass to gnaw on. People have their needs gnawing at them, and so they take what they need, as well as those needed by their fellowmen. Whenever they can, they would fence in everything for themselves, and deny everyone else. Greed is the engine that drives the entire spectrum of human activity. People, when they've made up their minds about what they want, such as material things and wealth, or abstractions such as happiness, love, or power, will stop at virtually nothing to obtain them. This determination, at times, turns fearsome or deadly, or both.

Cats also become insecure, but only with territoriality issues, and so they squabble and claw at each other. Otherwise, they are perfect illustrations of contentment; sleeping most of the time or else chasing butterflies.

People become insecure about themselves, and turn distrustful of other people. They jealously protect the trappings of their wealth and power. I've come across persons so insecure that they imagine I'm after what they have, and so they refuse to work with me, and design all sorts of ruses to prevent me from entering their turf. These people, so much like the politicians and warlords who have the false notion that their stations are eternal, miss out on the dynamism, the possibilities and opportunities of teamwork. I never postured to take what they have, at any rate, simply wanting instead to share whatever talents and skills I have. I just let these people be, and hope that one day they will allow their eyes to be opened to the wondrous, morally upright world of equal opportunities for all.

My neighbor's cat munching on grass has prodded me towards these musings. I'm grateful that I'm still able to see not-so-ordinary things behind ordinary ones, the ones usually and plainly overlooked by most.

People rush off to here and there, to the ends of the earth, in search of new and great discoveries, overlooking the still largely uncharted regions of the self, the journey into which consumes a lifetime, and where some of the greatest discoveries lie in wait.

Handheld

It is intimidating to be aware that I hold some people's lives and fortune in my hands. I want to shirk the responsibility and avoid it with all the might of rationalization I can muster. But as I have written before, if we disregard the obligations we've been fated to have, eventually we become unhappy. This is probably the reason why in this country, even after killer floods, a killer volcano, and the merciless killing of 57 people by a power-crazed warlord, people are still able to smile and to hope for better days.

As a nation we probably have long accepted that we were preordained to endure curses generation after generation. Take corruption, for example. It has been making its rounds long before my generation was born. I think it is safe to say that it will be with us until time ends, or this country collapses unto itself like some banana republic.

Accepting one's fate is, therefore, a key ingredient to achieving happiness. The sooner one determines the form and direction of one's fate, the better. Going against its mighty current is futile, and we only expend without purpose or usefulness our finite life.

Fate also sets the arena for the battle between Good and Evil. The ones destined to be in the service of the latter act with an enviable sense of urgency and conviction; while those on the side of good perform their deeds with the ambivalence and hesitance of a feeble breeze upon scorched earth. It is all too easy to see why Evil collects triumph after triumph, and Good is often preempted because it procrastinates.

I will do my best for those who rely upon me to see them through, but I cannot make any guarantees. Even at my age, I'm still deciphering the codes of my fate. The time its form becomes crystal-clear to me, is the time I will have to decide whether or not to accept it wholeheartedly or reject its entirety; and whether I shall be smugly content, or unhappy for the remainder of my lifetime.

Fortunately and Unfortunately

Jason Ivler and Andal Ampatuan, Jr. could have been the best of friends if they grew up together, attended the same school, or grew up in the same place. If they did, I'm certain they would be bragging and comparing notes about each other's killing sprees and murderous rampages. Fortunately, they are miles apart, literally, and in their respective social stratum and personality. Jason is clean-cut, clear-skinned, and yuppie-ish, a sharp contrast to Andal's dishevelled, oily, pockmarked, and unkempt appearance. Unfortunately for them, they are missing out on the camaraderie that would have terrorized a lot of people. Which is fortunate for us, I suppose.

Fortunately as well, both are behind bars, and this assuages somewhat those they have wronged. Unfortunately in this country, putting a criminal behind bars does not at all guarantee that justice will be obtained. Criminals' lawyers may be fortunate to come upon and take advantage of legal loopholes, and consequently spring their clients to freedom. Something like this is very unfortunate for those who seek redress.

Unfortunately, life is famous for its ugliness of having too many injustices. Fortunately, there is a Heaven and a Hell, and those denied justice in this life will be rewarded with an eternal form of it in the former, or so we were taught.

Now, Jason and Andal are, fortunately, both headed straight to Hell. However, in the event that they genuinely repent and perform acts of contrition, we may, if we are fortunate enough to end up in Heaven, unfortunately find these two angels there.

Inequity

There is one kind of success that baffles me and makes me jealous, the kind that appears to come solely from good fortune. You do nothing, it comes to you; you go the other way, it follows you. You can be the most incompetent, illiterate, bungling idiot, but if the heavens have ordained you to be successful, then you are. It is the kind of success that simply eclipses that which is borne out of long years of hard work and the acquisition of knowledge, and probably even patient, persevering prayer. For the fortunate person, it is simply there for the taking.

I used to have this runaway kind of success, but it has run out somewhat. Now I have become like most other people in this country, with an existence mostly barren of hope and dreams, and with only the minutest chance for redemption. Literacy and knowledge serve no other useful purpose here other than to make one more aware of the stifling onus of stagnation.

There are the fortunate few, however. Those who pluck out riches from thin air, the corrupt politicians and officials who steal from the national coffers through their malevolently-designed contracts; the unscrupulous men of commerce who hoard and overprice goods, exploit the desperate many through slavish labor and, consequently, amass immoral profits; the warlords who terrorize their subjects into submission, steal whatever little they have, and commit them to a lifetime of poverty. They are appropriately called the "lucky bastards", anomalies in an otherwise equitable and harmonious world.

Bridge Builder

My friend confided that if this one will
go down, then he will
have to go down with it; it will be his final bridge of dreams;

He has built other bridges before, some small,
others grand, some with spans that did not hold;

The small wooden ones, which take my special note,
hang low and wonderful, spanning a clear stream
between two gardens; my friend's worlds connected;

The grandiose one he works on now,
shall connect East and West,
if integrity holds, and remains unfazed
by storm and wind;

If it does not, my friend declared, he may be unable
to salvage his lofty plan, as his soul is mingled
with the beams and cement that will
come crashing down;

If it falls, he has plans: Either he will
snuff himself out through vicious alchemy
that crackles and hisses out of thin air, just the
thing for fatigued souls; or he will be an illusionist
unto himself, and vanish into thin air;

My friend said: Life having failed me, I will now
be a godless god in an island at earth's end,
and nightly my rakish appetites will consume
the salty tastes and odors of native lasses;
I will care not for their souls or mine,
God didn't mind, why would I?

Aware that I, too, was a bridge builder of sorts,
with bitterness at par with his own,
an invitation was laid out for me to join my friend
when he concludes by vicious alchemy, or indulge
till death in earthly heavens;

I was taken aback, muted, by the dare,
they seemed attractive for those who have
axes to grind against Fate, and lives to enjoy
and, afterwards, throw away; I've given it much thought
and each day, I want to know how his bridge has fared.

Egg Cracklets

I've always loved hard breads and biscuits, really crispy toast, and bread sticks, too, but I am really partial to my favorite, egg cracklets.

During college, when my classes were spread out within an entire day, I always (well, almost always) brought along a quite large bag of egg cracklets for lunch. They went so well with ice cream, or with plain cold water when my weekly allowance was dwindling.

Today, I just ogle at bags of egg cracklets stacked neatly on store shelves. I have not bought any for quite some time now, the reason being either of these two, or both: That I have a misplaced sense of frugality, just a tad short of miserliness. If I wanted to, I can forever forgo acquiring things that will benefit only myself, but will gladly spend the greater portion of my finances for things to be enjoyed by the majority of my family. I look upon such a deed as obligatory, rather than unequivocal selflessness. From birth, each one is given a roster of obligations to fulfill, and should we balk at doing them, or treat them with disregard or avoidance, we would become very unhappy; OR, I am an overly optimistic individual, the kindred spirit of those who seek justice, ever hopeful that it is obtainable; and of the perpetrators of crimes, forever seeking avenues of escape and the delay of sought redress; as well as the faceless many whose lives and dreams are regularly decimated by both natural and man-made tragedies that visit this land, but who rebuild each time and move on.

In this country, the hope for change is a national obsession. It accounts for the popularity of a home-grown tv soap about an orphan boy possessed of the divine gift of healing and miracles. At the rate the boy heals people of their morbid illnesses, gunshot and stab wounds, fractures, paralysis, even bringing back people from the dead, he could well surpass and better the record of Jesus Christ. Which is why I think the show is blasphemous to a certain extent, promoting misguided values and fallacious expectations. Healing and change do not happen at the instant of an orphan boy's touch, or overnight. They are brought about by serious work and commitment over decades, at times even lifetimes.

We are dead certain (no pun intended) that better days are in the offing, and that it is written in Fate's pages that they will come. And so it is with me that I await buying my delicious egg cracklets again, promising myself a special treat, a reward, on the arrival of better fortunes.

The Road Ahead

When I was much, much younger, I welcomed the new year like most anyone else: With firecrackers, with noise and merriment. It was difficult to disregard the forceful habit of tradition.

As I turned older, I became disillusioned with all the wasted resources used in welcoming the new year, and so disenfranchised by economic hardship that I had no other option but to be austere on New Year's eve. Thinking about it, if we can collectively become disillusioned with tradition and economically disenfranchised, then we can altogether avoid the casualties and injuries that we foolishly incur when welcoming the new year. Alas, this is highly improbable in this archipelago of contradictions: Where else can you find, but in our poor country, people who perennially complain about the high costs of keeping body and soul together, but who buy deadly pyrotechnics to welcome the new year, spending enough to register a blip on the country's Gross Domestic Product and to keep the fireworks maker well-fed for another year? Or people who pride themselves on being the friendliest, most hospitable on the planet, but who mow down human beings by gunfire, mutilate and disembowel them, and either leave them rotting for flies to feast on, or bury them hurriedly in a mass grave using a payloader? It could only be here, or in some other country masquerading as a God-fearing nation.

I now welcome the new year with a mixture of cautious optimism, a dash of both anxiety and cynicism, but always with redeeming HOPE. The road ahead does not afford me the view of clear directions, it only shows me that lives and dreams are fragile and fleeting. The new year thrusts me into unknown territory, and makes me bow my head in humble, imploring prayer.