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.