Incongruity

We live in a world of norms, of patterns, of rules. We are forced to conform, lest we be labelled as radicals, or saboteurs, or plain disruptive. We are allowed to dream, yes, but these dreams should be kept in our subconscious, or so we are told, never allowed to make forays into our "real" lives.

I can fully appreciate my son feeling very tortured and restrained. He is a dreamer. He has the articulateness that many covet, and the naivete we have lost so long ago. He has many ideas and thoughts that race through his mind each day, I simply cannot keep up with them and him. He has ideas with their clever simplicities hidden from plain view, and some abstract ones I cannot comprehend, try as I might.

I am guilty of ignoring him many times. He subjects me to countless and endless questioning. But what can I do? I also pursue MY own knowledge which I assume will make me better equipped. And so I deny him the opportunity to seek HIS own knowledge, and deny myself the possibility that one day he might look up to me with some measure of admiration.

I have only disdain for people who pretend they accept and tolerate those who, like my son, do not fit into patterns and conventions. It takes only the minimum of effort and analysis to find out their deep-seated prejudices. They are a dangerous breed; the kind that shows merciful eyes, extends out a sympathetic hand, and stabs you at the back with the other. I offer no other thought for their kind than to wish that they go straight to hell. Right this very instant.

Growing Old

I think that when we are still young and strong, growing old is some distant prospect that annoyingly intrudes into our lives only occasionally. We don't give it much thought or lend it credence.

After birth is a decade of childhood; another decade or so of blissful, reckless youth, followed by another two to four decades of growing up and mellowing and pursuing dreams. We then come out of these either wealthy but depraved, or impoverished but wise; or morally upright or rakish; or diseased and dying; or healthy and endowed with longevity, natural or otherwise.

We then discover that, from birth to death, life is short, and we take stock of our joys, our sadness; of those we found and lost; those who left and remained, those we hated and loved.

We take stock of many things. We sort and sift through them, and we discover that only a few really matter.

Opportunity Costs

If I thought about my statistics of missed opportunities, I surely would end up feeling very miserable. I have let good, promising things go, forever out of my grasp; I have failed to see their true worth. I have made many very bad, uninformed, hasty decisions that have put me in perilous, struggling conditions. Such is Life: We decide, we choose, and after that we either celebrate our success or wallow in dismal failure.

There are chances, however, to pick up the pieces, or to start fresh; to tap the wellspring of hope, to slow down or stop, and appreciate the things that really matter; to pray, most of all, and feel the hand of Divine Guidance.

On Friendships

As I make the journeys in my life and pursue my happiness and dreams, it takes its toll on the friendships I have. As I move on or vacillate or remain as I am, I either unknowingly or unavoidably discard friends; or they unknowingly or unavoidably discard me.

Some of my friendships had been for certain moments and situations; they never were meant to last. There were those which seemed promising, but due to my fault (or theirs), they did not make it beyond beautiful promises and expectations.

There are those which I deliberately lost (and without so much as a morsel of regret), I mean, I intentionally lost them as soon as I saw that they were in pursuit of two areas of self: Centeredness and aggrandizement. The pursuit was either theirs or mine.

I also know those which wait and watch from the sidelines. They are very polite and unobtrusive. They are all too careful not to cause offense. Where is the fun in that? In the spirit of excessive caution and propriety, these friendships miss out on the novelty, dynamism, and excitement of human liaisons.

Finally, there are the friendships which are the greatest things in our lives. They are heaven-sent gifts to a mortal race. They endure; they refuse to die; they tolerate and withstand abuse; they persevere in times of uncertainty; they are always there to walk us through the vagaries of our drab and troubled existence. These are the friendships to die for.

Partings

This evening, my wife's sister, Liza, together with husband, Philippe, and children, Kim and Greg, got on a flight to Paris, France, their home. They were in the country for their month-long summer holiday. Their last Philippine visit preceding this was four years ago.

My wife has often said that she prefers welcoming people to bidding them goodbye, and I share her sentiments. A welcome is replete with hope and expectation; it has a most genuine smile. It shows a lot of promise and makes a lot of promises. It is spontaneous, it disregards convention, it is gay abandon.

When I bid someone goodbye, I feel a sense of finality. I have dread thoughts. I fear that Fate might wield its hand and forever prevent me from welcoming that someone again. A part of me dies when I bid someone goodbye.

I envy those who can say hello and goodbye rather casually, treating them as mere words or expressions, parts of everyday common speech. They may have no conviction or commitment, but they spare themselves from the self-inflicted agonies of sentimental fools.

Justice

I truly enjoyed reading Madelline V. Romero's blog entry on February 25, 2009, titled "A Sad Sight" (http://mvromero.livejournal.com/).

Madelline, a fine young lady all of 27 years and a native of Tarlac, was a former colleague at a USAID-Winrock International program called AMORE. She writes rather well. She hit the mark, so to speak, in the blog entry I am referring to.

At a time when we reminisce and celebrate a former president's greatest legacy, i.e. toppling a well-entrenched dictator and restoring democracy, the downfall of overlords and despots, and their cohorts, is very exhilarating. Madelline's blog entry almost sent me into an adrenaline-driven fit of frenzy, much like the tarantella dance, with its feverish, wild, erotic gyrations which are supposed to be an antidote to the bite of a venomous tarantula. It also imbued me with the fresh realization that karmic laws operate in our midst. It is almost a universal belief that we reap according to what we have sown. Madelline's tyrant (who was also my tyrant for the whole of nine months) could not escape or be exempted from these "laws of life".

Revenge may be sweet, but it is morally wrong. Divine Justice is sweetest.

Farewell

Today, Cory Aquino, former president, is being laid to rest. She is among the handful of public figures who are well-loved and revered by my countrymen, and who deserve that love and respect. All other public figures outside of this exclusive circle are vile and loathsome creatures.

I must admit that probably like many other Filipinos, I've relegated the Cory persona to the back of my mind. I have my own personal daily struggles to contend with; seasons, hardships, and illnesses to endure; dreams that have to be kept lit.

I was 23 when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, 26 when People Power swept Marcos out of power, and now I'm 49 when Cory, Ninoy's widow, is being laid to rest; a beloved human being, public servant, and mother. I'm thankful that because of my age, I'm able to fully appreciate the events of the day.

Writing about it, though, does not do justice to the gamut of emotions and sentiments that spring from these events.