One of Us Did

When your friends do what you can't accomplish, you feel redeemed. One of us did. And look we're still all hanging out in place that looks like the final shot of a movie. Rambling on conversations without being judged. Otherwise often insightful. Thank you for this happily ever now. 

P.S. Maybe because we'd laugh at anything, at ourselves. Even the old stories and jokes about us are still funny. Eternal recurrence of laughter. 

Tromboned

"I play the trombone." F.,  1年生中学生, told me.

"Oh, do you like marching bands?" I asked, genuinely excited.

"いいえ." (No). She said.

She must think I'm such a nerd. 

Undelivered Birthday Greeting

Nagsisiumla ang lahat sa bahay. Hindi gumamit ng maraming salita ang aming mga magulang, natuto kaming magkakapatid na hinding-hindi maglamangan. Lumaki kami na nagtutulungan. Paglabas ng bahay, itinuturing natin ang ating kapwa bilang aming kaptid.

70 taon gulang na si Mama ngayon, pero tuloy-tuloy parin ang paghahanapbuhay niya. 26 years siya nanilbihan sa PLDT bilang supervisor, at pagkatapos bilang may-ari ng tindahan, habang nag-aalaga ng kanyang tatlong mababait ng anak. Si Papa ay masigasig naglilingkod sa aming barangay, pagkatapos maging negosyante ng ilang dekada. Kapag napapagod ako sa pagtatrabaho, tinatanong ko sa sarili kung san nakukuha ng mga magulang ko ang walang-hanggang sipag nila. Kung mamana ko ang kahit kalahati ng kanilang kasipagan, ako na siguro ang pinakampalad.

Sinulat ni St. Jose Maria Escriva,

 “Persevere in the exact fulfillment of the obligations of the moment. That work – humble, monotonous, small – is prayer expressed in action that prepares you to receive the grace of other work – great and wide and deep – of which you dream.”

Naisip ko na napakasipag siguro ng aking mga magulang dahil ang pagtatrabaho ay isang uri ng pagdarasal. Gaano man kaliit, ang trabaho na alay mo sa iyong kapwa ay alay mo rin sa Diyos. Ito ang katuparan ng iyong pangarap.

Huli sa lahat, alam naman ng lahat na si Mama ay madalas na fashionably late. Sabi sa isa sa mga paborito na libro, "You can't hurry a beautiful lady." Ano nga naman bang maganda ang naidulot ng pagmamadali? Dadating at dadating din tayo diyan.

Huwag kang magmadali. Huwag kang manlamang. Hilingin natin para sa ating kapwa ang anumang hingin natin para sa ating sarili. Sipagan mo pa dahil yan ang iyong panalangin. At angkinin mo, angkinin mo ang iyong mga pangarap. Ialay mo ito sa iba.

Between Istanbul and Malate

my name is red
orhan pamuk

It took me months to read its 500 or so pages. I highlighted twelve pages worth of annotations. My awe was non-quantifiable in a novel that's magical, educational, enlightening. If you ask me why, I won't have an arrogant answer except that it has been my honor to read this novel. Because I felt the stir of light snow falling sorrowfully, or melancholy rain. For the first time, I learned about Husrev and Shirin, geometric patterns, gold leafs, gilding, painting as the act of seeking Allah's memories and seeing the world as He sees it, of how the color crimson or a coin would narrate a story, the combined smell of bedding, frying oil and humidity, of warm lentil soup, of artists blinding themselves literally to maintain their convictions about style, their souls mingling with the eternity of a picture, the enemies of coffee, and what a pleasure it is to fiercely form my own picture sixteenth century Istanbul. I can only write about my own experience, and I'd like to think that it has widened my perception of art and history while fascinating me with a story that gripped me for long months.

I read John Updike's review in the New Yorker, and I felt even more humbled about saying anything. I was reduced to "yes" and "exactly." Fuck, even the reviews about this book are literary gems.

And life happened while I was reading it. I usually read it when I was waiting for my son do maths at a Kumon center near my old university, summoning memories of the library, of reading Kafka, Joyce, Eco (especially), and something about literary criticism or postmodernism.The warm summer breeze of Malate stirred my middle-aged face.

Jairus is of a Certain Age

I remembered to greet you, Jairus. But in all honesty, I thought I was running out of clever things to say so I decided to put it off. I suppose you tire of flowery vocabulary and fabricated creativity when you are happy and content. Smug in a newfound coven of complacency. There's the sound of a comfortable, satisfying buzz.

We are almost forty. I was flattered, rather superficially, when a new high school student asked about our age and said that we looked like we were in our 20s. There's the sound of a truly old man.

D. says that it comes naturally, upon reaching this age of ours, to flirt with the idea of doing bigger contributions to society. That's been on my mind, even if I also consider myself a kind of underachiever. We didn't really bother competing so we defaulted on being an achiever. Perhaps the real winners are those who quit the corporate rat race. There's the sound of a confused, humble brag.

I suppose, at this certain age, we start to trim down our cravings to just genuine relationships and experiences. No fancy cars, or European tours or Rockwell condominiums. We've fully developed our capacity to care for others, even for our country. We've laughed so much, we wouldn't mind self-deprecating just to laugh some more. There's the sound of someone who flicked on a light bulb.

In reality, those genuine relationships, experiences and regard for others are extremely difficult to come by. I just made a playlist named Fake Jazz Bar because I couldn't be in a real jazz bar in Shinjuku or Quezon City. Most days, I'm running on the treadmill instead of on the ground. I read more electronic books instead of paper ones, flip through digital magazines. I teach/tutor remotely as a virtual presence to students in another country. Sometimes you long to connect with people you care for but your fingers just end up spending an awful lot of time fudging through fake lives lived in social media with all their tourist-ey experiences, purchases, even more god-awful politics, that's liked by fake friends. There's the sound of bitterness and honesty.   

But don't draw the wrong conclusions about us, Jairus. Everyday, we are surrounded by so much genuineness, love, laughter and a literal togetherness. After a year of self-training, I. has taken strides in his piano skills. V. expresses herself in dances and songs, and is beautiful as a splendid ray of light that falls on us everyday. There's the sound of home.

While I never want to leave home, I've developed a travel itch. (Does that count as a good irony?) More than going places and gaining experiences, we've reached a certain age where we keep fewer and fewer connections to people while we want to accept and return kindness.

The world has been kind to us, Jairus. There is no other way to reciprocate, and that means having to agitate that comfortable, satisfying buzz.

We are of a certain age, Jairus. We are finally certain. 

3

Stars in her head, sparks of brilliance and bright smiles that brought us over the moon. Happy Birthday, dear V!

Want for others whatever you want for yourself.