MY CHRISTMAS WISH


I have a friend who's going to spend Christmas away from her family, braving the cold alone in London. That's not the sad part though. She shouldn't be alone and didn't have to be, except... her husband deserted her for another woman. That, after my friend worked it out so that he could be with her.

We've got a friend who's been diagnosed with bone cancer. It's actually lung cancer that has metastasized to his bones. He's now in the hospital fighting for his life. It doesn't help that his wife has got a bad case of nerves and has been on medication to calm them down. They have 3 children, the eldest being 14 years old, and I can't even begin to imagine what goes on inside their heads right now.

I've got another friend who hasn't been home for 5 years and is dying to be home. Last year, he was supposed to have come home for his wedding but it had to be postponed because the bride's father died a month before the wedding date. They scheduled it again for this year but had to postpone it again because they're having problems with the bride's visa. It has to be renewed, and by some twist of tough luck, they've been waiting 9 months... and are still waiting. Now they can't go home for Christmas, and they can't set a wedding date.

And then there's this friend who will have to spend Christmas without her only daughter, who chose to be with the father of her child, no matter if the writing on the wall states in big bold red letters, 'I WOULDN'T DO THAT IF I WERE YOU!'

In the web, there's this guy who states that 'Christmas is overrated,' and then there's this lady who's so bogged down with work, and it doesn't help that along with the razzamatazz, Christmas brings with it the need to hustle more. She just wants the whole thing to be over as soon as possible.

I've received several emails, of people telling me how their Christmases would be another lonely one, for this reason and that. One of them has this long-standing problem with her parents, that even after attempting to kill herself, didn't get resolved.

Tough, huh?

In the face of all these, part of me almost feels guilty for being so perky in anticipation of being home again, of having my loved ones with me this time of the year. And yet, when I think about it, I realize I've had my share. Christmas doesn't bring only happy memories to me... I've also had it bad a couple of times, maybe more than I'd care to remember. I took the crap, but now it's all gone. It's over. And I find myself standing, I'm still here... the one remembering, not the one remembered. Life goes on... and Christmas still happens, always have, always will.

It would probably be the basest form of arrogance to think of telling my friends to cheer up, that everything will be alright. I couldn't know that, now could I? I would only be offering them unthought of, empty, shallow, factory-assembled, right-off-the-top, sorry excuse for comforting words.

I ask them instead to hang in there and deal with the cards they're dealt with. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, maybe next week, next month, or next year, maybe 10 years from now, all these will just be a memory. Bitter, they may be... still, just a memory. You would have allowed life to go on, and in the end, still find yourself standing, relentless, inexorable. And what is the point to that? Nothing much... except that you have prevailed. And in the aftermath of such things, what else is there, after all?

There's something I read somewhere, a simple, self-effacing poem about a boy and his sister. The sister came into the room one night, all light and chirpy because she has claimed the moonlight for herself. She was counting to her brother how happy the moonlight would make her... it would follow her wherever she went and with that, she could make shadow puppets anytime she wanted, and she would have something bright to stare at in the darkness of the night, the whole night. Her brother pleaded with her to share the moonlight with him, because he, too, wanted to have some of her fun, and some light, cause he, too, was in the darkness... but to no avail. Despondent, the boy's shoulders sagged down in defeat. But then, a thought struck him suddenly and his face brightened. This is what he said:

it's alright
you can have the moonlight
tomorrow I'll have more fun
tomorrow, I'll have the sun

While others would wish for world peace, I would rather wish for fortitude of spirit, if only so we could keep the peace within ourselves.

And I wish Christmas would stay as long as it takes, until we can find time for it, until we can make sense of it... again.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I'm coming home...

SURROUNDED BY SELF-MADE MEN




I've already told you about my brother.

The other self-made man in my life is, of course, Papa. I'm not sure if he would consider himself already made, or still on the brink of being one, a work in progress, if you might call it that... but he certainly has come a long way from when our story began. I think this claim would best be demonstrated by a little conversation we had sometime back. We were driving along Quirino Highway, on our way to visit our families in Novaliches. The convo went this way...

Papa: Mylab o, Pares. (you know, those food stalls selling beef stew and rice served hot and quick for a little over 20 pesos or something)
Me: What about it?
Papa: Nung araw gustong gusto ko nang pares pero wala naman akong perang pambili. Ngayon, may pera na tayo, pero ayoko nang kumain ng pares.

Papa has long since seen better things, tasted better flavors, gone to better places. Inevitably, experience changes perspective, consequently changing preferences... and then again, they may not.

My Dad is a farmer's son, or more accurately, the son of a local school teacher, back in the old days when such men were maestros who walked around carrying pointer sticks and a formidable facial expression, turned farmer. He grew up in a quaint little town in Nueva Ecija, a town situated along the border of Pangasinan, and although Nueva Ecija is not really Ilocandia county, I grew up hearing folks speak Ilocano all around me... my parents, our relatives, the maids. I remember being lulled to sleep by the humdrum of that native tongue which, although I never quite learned to understand at length nor speak fluently, gave me a feeling of security and belonging, knowing that I was in the bossom of kinsfolk.

Gutsy? Oh yeah, my Dad sure was one gutsy little boy. There's a story my grandmother always told us. It was during World War II. My Dad, perched high up on a tree with a handful of stones in his pocket, waited for some Japanese soldiers to pass by, and when they did, started throwing the stones at them, in a swift barrage of hailstones clanking metal helmets. Before the soldiers knew where the hail was coming from, my Dad managed to clamber down the tree and run a few feet away from them. Unfortunately, he was spotted and fired at. He caught the bullet below the ankle of his left foot but he didn't stop running until he was safely home. Surely by Divine guidance, the soldiers did not pursue him and he was able to escape what would have been a painful and fatal end to his pranks. The wound was deep and got infected. It would have killed him too, if not for some voodoo medicine that my grandmother got from some voodoo medicine man. Today, he sports a deep cleft on the site of the wound and he calls it his own 'Achilles' ankle.'

He's a lawyer, and boy... what he went through to be one. He sent himself to college, and later, law school, driving a cab. The irony of it is, he would ferry people to and from places all day, but when it got to him getting to school, he would walk it, all the way to and from, cause he had better use for whatever money he had. He lived alone, save for a pet dog, in a one-room rented shack. He only had 2 changes of clothes, except for his driver's uniforms, and he had to wash his clothes every night, so he would have something ready to use alternately. When he got sick, there was no one to minister to his needs and he had to take care of himself.

By all means, my siblings and I could envisage what that kind of life would have been like but try as we might, we would perhaps never be able to comprehend all the nitty gritty things that came into it day in and day out... a battered body after a day's toil which could not have the luxury of rest until after reading chapter after chapter of sleep-inducing law books; being young and always finding himself on the outside looking in, never quite having the time nor the resources to enjoy what the other students in his day enjoyed; being alone in the city and having had to learn everything fast just to survive a day; never losing site of his dream no matter what the cost in blood, sweat and tears.

And yet, my Dad never looked upon this time in his life as a low point... he considered it the phase of his life that defined the man he would be.

True enough, my dad has had alternating years of scarce and years of plenty, which he has likened to Joseph's life, but nothing and nothing made him buckle down... not a midlife career change after years of working on a job that afforded him the illusion of security, not after having built his dream house in a land as big as he was able to pay for only to give it up in the end because his financial situation has taken a downturn and there was no way he could have maintained it, not after he found himself with failing health just when he was supposed to be at his most robust, not even with a son who woke up to a day when he could not command his legs to move... although this broke his heart immeasurably.

This man, my Dad, has had his bouts with tough luck, life's sorry pranks and misjudged calls of fate, but he has risen up to them, not with indignance nor submission, but with tongue in cheek, a formidable resolve to overcome, and a strong conviction that he has not gone to such lengths to find himself failing.

He is 76 years old today. He still walks... in the mornings when the air is crisp and sunshine dons a kinder shade... in the company of his dog, pausing every now and then to exchange a friendly word with a friendly neighbor, bowing to acquaintances as they zoom to places and circumstances, knowing that wherever they're headed, he's been there before... so he looks on with a kindly smile, grateful for the time he has been blessed to take long, luxurious strides where all around him people are taking short, hurried steps.

My brother conquering his fate, my choosing the husband I have... What is the common denominator? The man who sired us, the man who made his life the best lesson that his children might learn... my DAD.

With all my love Daddy, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

SHOULD THERE BE NO GOOD THING FOR ME TO SAY
HELP ME, OH LORD, TO SHUT MY MOUTH TODAY


"Let your gentleness be evident to all... whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things... and the God of peace will be with you."

Philippians 4:4-9