The Good that We Do

(journal entry dated August 31, 2012, a Friday)

I’m writing this around 4:30 in the afternoon. ‘Di ako nakapagsulat kanina kasi pagkagising ko, diretso agad ako sa apartment namin kasi may kinontrata ako na karpintero para gumawa ng bubong. Dami kasing tulo. Napadaan tuloy ako kina Aling Hermie. Siya ‘yung namatayan ng asawa kelan lang.

Almost a month has passed since namatay ‘yung asawa niya and hanggang ngayon nahihirapan pa rin daw siya. Umiiyak pa rin daw siya. Kanina nga, nagkukuwento siya, umiiyak siya. Wala lang. Syempre, andun pa rin yung pakikiramay ko.

She was very accommodating. Pinainom niya kami ng iced tea. Dati kasi, kapag napapadaan kami, hindi siya ganun ka-maasikaso. Madaldal lang siya. Pero kanina, parang gustong-gusto niyang may nakakausap, kakwentuhan. Nahihingahan ng sama ng loob.

I fell to thinking while she talked. Nababanggit niya kasi si Nanay every now and then. Mabait daw si Nanay.

Naalala ko ‘yung sinabi ni Dolphy noon nang in-interview siya ni Jessica Soho. In effect, sabi niya, mas okay daw na iwanan mo ang mundo na marami ang natutuwa sa iyo, na maraming naging “blessed” kasi naging parte ka ng buhay nila. Kesa naman daw namatay ka, tapos when someone mentions your name, people go “Yuck!” Ahehe.

When I was watching that interview, I was like, “Would a dead man care at all if he was liked in life? Mararamdaman o maa-appreciate pa ba niya ‘yun kapag patay na siya?”

No, I wasn’t being cynical. I was just wondering…about people who lived their lives according to their own rules and not cared about whether people liked them or not.  Honestly, I still think THAT is the way to live. But now, I’m seeing things in a light that’s more…I don’t know…more kindly? More thoughtful? More caring?

I thought of Shakespeare. “The evil that men do lives after them.” True.

But then, my overactive imagination took it a step further and imagined, what if the evil that a man does actually does live—becomes alive—and personified? Like someone did something really bad, and that bad deed gains a life of its own, a personality that lives and breathes and acts out more evil.

Parang si Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. And after creating that monster, only then do you see the big picture. You see the monster holding up a mirror to you, and it reflects all that you have become—regardless of your good intentions.

Of course, we can’t all be saints. But I’m thinking, if we are to live life according to OUR rules, why not focus on the rules that, while do not bring about good, do not bring about evil either? AT LEAST. Yep. Parang cowardly, ano? I don’t know. “Just do it” is still the best, most open advice there is.

Everytime someone who knew my mother talks with us about her, they have only nice things to say. Well, maybe Nanay “just did it,” as the Nike ad said. And whatever it was she made of her life, overall it came out good.

Hopefully, the good that we do in this life will live on after us, just as well as—if not more than—the evil that we do.

Owning Time

(excerpt from my journal entry dated April 6, 2012, Good Friday)

. . .there’s this common notion that we live on borrowed time, and I was thinking if you borrowed something, shouldn’t you return it? I mean, shouldn’t you be burdened with the responsibility of returning it one day—whether you like it or not?

Our bodies, we return to the earth. Our possessions? The fact that you cannot really take them with you when you die (or, from a materialist’s perspective, you cannot enjoy them anymore when you die) proves one thing: your ownership of them is temporary. These possessions outlast us.

“How can you own something that which will outlast you?” sabi nga ni Macliing Dulag.

Even this very life we have, to what extent do we own this? To what extent do we own something which we have very little control of? I mean, you can decide on certain things about it, but then, there are others, too, who can decide for you.

That’s not the same with time. With time, you can choose which things or decisions or occasions or with whom you can spend it on.

Perhaps that’s the wisdom behind having just one person, one body, one self: to enable us to experience the fullness of time ownership—the fullness of life.

Imagine, there’s three of you. One is assigned to do tasks for your parents and family, the second is to spend time with your friends, and the third is for yourself. That would be spreading yourself thin—where is the freedom in that?

And dealing with the complications of having three (or more) of you, and you happen to be stupid, then that’s three times the stupidity. That would certainly eat a lot of time.

But with just one of you, you assert your freedom. You choose. “I decide to spend my time on this, and less time on that.”

That power to decide—it’s not something that others can easily take away from you, is it? They can force you, even compel you, but ultimately, it is you who can always “take your time” and tell others to kiss your arse, right?

One ironic thing about owning time is that it spends itself automatically. It doesn’t wait for anyone. Whether you spend it wisely or while it away on sleep and leisure, it remains “there for you” always, ever faithful to your bidding—yet, ever faithless with its pacing. Or rather, ever faithless with its uncompromising pace.

This aspect of time ownership—does this mean that, maybe, we don’t really own time? That it is “borrowed” just the same?

Well, if you borrowed it, where do you return it? To whom do you return it?

Just now, a notion came to me: The true masters in this life are those who truly own their time. When we were babies, we did not decide much of our time, others did. WHEN we fed, WHEN we slept, WHEN to do what things, etc.

But as we grew older, we are given the power to decide. More and more, we learn to use that power. Up until the very moment we die.

Looking back at it all, how much of our time did we really own? How many of the minutes and seconds we spend in this world can we truly say, “Ah, yes, in those times, I actually lived” or “In those moments, I was living life according to how I believed it should be lived.” That’s real freedom, I think. Whether you’re in prison or as free as a bird.

We can be great masters. I have to keep this in mind. In this life, just being free is worth it.

Dark Nights of the Soul

(with excerpts from my journal entry dated April 23, 2012, a Monday)

Kahapon, nasa PGH [Philippine General Hospital] ako. Naka-confine kasi ngayon dun yung tatay nila Weng, kapitbahay namin. May tubig daw sa baga.

Dumating ako sa PGH magsi-6 pm na. E, 6 pm ang tapos ng dalaw tuwing weekends at holiday. Pero parang ‘di naman sila istrikto sa mga ganun. Basta dire-diretso ka lang ng pasok. Kasi pag nagtanong ka pa sa guard sa may lobby, baka ‘di ka pa papasukin. So, ‘yun nga ‘yung ginawa ko. Dire-diretso lang lakad ko papunta sa Ward 3.

Akala ko si Weng ang bantay kahapon. ‘Yun pala si Totoy at yung asawa niya. Wala akong pasalubong na dinala kasi hindi ko naman alam kung ano ba ang pwedeng kainin ni Tatay Erning. Naisip ko, pag nalaman ko na, tsaka na lang ako bibili sa labas ng ospital.

Pagdating ko dun, kwentuhan konti. Dapat pala kagabi ooperahan na si Tatay. Tutusukan daw siya ng tubo para mahigop yung tubig sa baga niya. Namarkahan na nga ‘yung likod niya kung saan siya bubutasin para itusok ‘yung tubo. Pero dahil Linggo kahapon, walang doktor. So, maghihintay pa sila ulit ng schedule kung kelan magagawa yung operasyon.

Puro sabaw at lugaw lang daw ang pwedeng kainin ni Tatay. Nang nalaman ko ‘yun, ayun, lumabas ako sandali. Bumili ako ng lugaw tsaka dalawang value meals sa Wendy’s para kina Totoy. Buti pala hindi ako nagdala ng prutas. Hindi rin kasi makakain ni Tatay ‘yun. ‘Yun na lang ang nagawa ko.

Ang hirap ma-ospital. Magastos. Nakakainis pa yung paglakad-lakad mo para bumili ng gamot, etc. Tapos sa pagbabantay mo, wala ka pang matulugan nang maayos.

Nang na-stroke si Tatay, bantay din ako. Sa San Juan de Dios kami. Aircon ‘yung ward. ‘Yun nga lang, may mga kasama kaming ibang pasyente. Meron dun pasyente, comatose na. Tapos, everytime nililinis siya sa tuwing dumudumi siya, grabe. Ansaya-saya!

Natatawa nga sa akin ‘yung isang nurse dun. Dala ko kasi ‘yung “Next” [Michael Crichton] na libro ko. Kunwari nagbabasa ako. Pero ‘yung ilong ko nakasubsob dun sa pahina ng libro.

Ang konswelo ko lang sa pagbabantay sa ospital—halimbawa sa PGH—e yung pagtambay ko sa labas sa katahimikan ng gabi. Nase-senti kasi ako pag ganun e. Tsaka yung food trip. Goto, nilagang itlog, tokwa’t baboy, siopao, buy-one-take-one burger, etc.

Sa PGH kasi, halimbawa sa emergency, bawal ang bantay sa loob. Dun ka lang sa labas. Ipapatawag na lang sa gwardiya ‘yung pangalan mo kapag may kailangang bilhing gamot o gamit para sa pasyente mo.

Pwede ka namang matulog sa bangketa sa gilid-gilid ng building. Andaming gumagawa noon. Maglalatag ka lang ng higaan doon. Pero magpahid ka ng Off Lotion para ‘di ka lamukin. Tapos sa umaga, gigisingin na lang kayo ng mga guwardiya. Bawal kasi matulog sa araw. Sa gabi lang pwede.

Pero nung isang beses na may binantayan ako sa PGH, hindi ako natulog. Kasi nga tamang senti ako. Tahimik kasi ang gabi. Tapos, ‘yung mga mukha ng mga tao—hapis at desperado. Pagod sila at malungkot. Parang ‘yung mga tao sa “The Potato Eaters” na painting ni Van Gogh. Sa gabi, kahit paano, nakakasumpong sila ng pahinga mula sa mga pasakit ng buhay.

Nalibot ko yata ang kabuuan ng PGH noon. Wala lang. Minamasdan ko lang yung mga lumang building na naiilawan ng dilaw na ilaw. Feeling ko, nag-time travel ako pabalik.

Swerte ko nga noon kasi bilog ang buwan. Maliwanag. Nakatingala ako habang naglalakad. May mga parteng madidilim. Sabi nila, may multo raw dun. Wala naman ako nakita. Sa sobrang senti ko, ‘di na ako natakot.

‘Yun nga lang, nang umaga na at pauwi na ako, nakakainis ang init ng araw. Para kang bampirang nasisilaw at malulusaw sa liwanag.

Iyon ang isa sa mga hirap sa tuwing may pasyente ka sa ospital. Puyat at pagod ka. Humihinto ang daloy ng buhay para sa ‘yo. Tuloy, andaming resentments. Kahit sa pasyente mo na alam mo namang hindi niya kagustuhang ma-ospital, nagkaka-resentment ka rin. Sa pelikula lang ‘ata ‘yung mga bidang bantay sa ospital hindi nagrereklamo at hindi nagmamantika ang mukha sa umaga.

Si Mother Teresa kaya, nagka-resentments din habang nagsisilbi sa mga mahihirap na maysakit? Ang alam ko, for 50 years bago siya namatay, nakaranas siya ng spiritual emptiness—to the point na nag-doubt din siya kung totoo nga bang may Diyos. Pero natural lang daw ‘yon sa mga taong banal. Iyon daw ang tinatawag na “the dark night of the soul,” sabi nga ni St. John of the Cross.

Posible pa rin na pwedeng wala ka ni katiting na resentment sa hirap ng pagbabantay. That is, kung mahal na mahal mo talaga ‘yung pasyenteng binabantayan mo.

Pero kasi siyempre, nakakapagod din minsan ang pagmamahal. Kaya nga minsan nagkukunwari ka na lang. Kunwari hindi ka pagod. Kunwari hindi ka galit. Kunwari hindi masama ang loob mo. Masama ba magkunwari?

Napaka-complex kasi ng buhay. There’s no one correct way para gawin ang mga bagay-bagay kapag desperado na ang sitwasyon. Kaya nga minsan, iniisip ko na lang, robot ako. Gawa lang nang gawa. Trabaho lang nang trabaho. Malay ko ba sa mga tama o mali, e robot nga ako? Duh.

DeVotchKa

(excerpt from my journal entry dated May 22, 2012, a Tuesday)

May last-song syndrome ako. “The Last Beat of My Heart” na version ng DeVotchKa. Kelan ko lang na-discover ‘yung kantang ‘yon. Now, how did it happen?

I was looking for…? Now, what was I looking for? I forget what. But I do remember typing “Little Miss Sunshine” on Youtube, and one of the songs that came up was “You Love Me” (or is it “You Loved Me”). I checked out the comments first to find out what listeners thought of the song, and some found the song “beautifully written” and “memorable.” One said it made him/her cry. Whoa. Ok. So, I checked it out. I chose the video with the lyrics so I could check out the lyrics as well.

It was deceptively simple. But poignant in its simplicity. Nice. And the lyrics are just very concise and captivating. About a man who finds true love, marries her, and then in a fit of rage, they break up, and then years later, they see each other again, but he has not moved on (“I’m still trying to forget...when you said you loved me…I thought you loved me….”). Wow.

I searched for other DeVotchKa songs on there and found that they have this album, “Curse Your Little Heart,” which I think is a compilation of remakes--among them the Sinatras’ “Something Stupid,” Velvet Underground’s “Venus in Furs” (excellent, kinda new-wavy), and yep, Siouxie Soux and the Banshees’ “The Last Beat of My Heart,” which I instantly loved. I’ve never heard of it before, I only knew of one Banshees song and I don’t even know the title at that. Ahehe.

I actually like both versions—the Banshees’ and DeVotchKa’s, although I prefer learning to sing the latter because the voice range is closer to mine. It is just “majestic, imperial,” sabi nga ng lyrics. Nice.

Ah yes. There’s this other DeVotchKa song that I have also been singing along to these days. “Hot Burrito No. 1 (I’m Your Toy).” Originally by the Burrito Brothers. I listened to both the Burrito Brothers’ and DeVotchKa’s versions and I like them both.

In the original version, however, the singer seems to have been crying when he recorded the song. Although I’m inclined to like the DeVotchKa vocals better, I thought the “crying” version has something to it that begs exploring.

Why was he crying?

I checked out the lyrics. It’s about this guy in love with this girl who seems to have outgrown him (I think). Now, why the crying? I think he has regrets. Maybe when they were still together, he took her for granted, and so, she learned better and has moved on, and our lover/singer thinks that she can still come back to him anytime she wants—because he doesn't want anyone else (except her) to love him.

Or…maybe he’s always been in love with her. And then he let her use him to lose her virginity (“…and once upon a time, you let me feel you deep inside… do you remember the way you cried? I’m your toy….”). The girl has since moved on and is now a pro in the game of love, and our lover is bewailing the fact that he still loves her so. Hmm… Pwede.

DeVotchKa’s one of those overlooked bands. They really have taste, and one of the great things about them is that they refuse to be pigeonholed. They’re like the bands of the old days, when bands/singers didn’t sound like one another.