In the end, nothing matters but the shirt on our back, the pets we have, and the person whose hand we are holding at the moment. That, I think, is the culmination of all this shebang.
A friend of mine, a young woman of 26, asked me if she could leave before three today to join a protest rally on Katipunan, which if a critical mass is reached, will head to EDSA this evening. I indifferently said yes and told her to just make up for the lost hours next week. I on the other hand had to stay until 6 at the school to work on the evaluation of the French class students. I have papers to check this weekend, a class to prepare for, and cats to take care of. I also have to catch up on my workout as I haven’t gone to the gym for a week now because of work.
The people I see on the street, those my age, show that similar look of resignation, save for some undergraduates in their PE shirts or long tees who seem poised to change history tonight.
For all the rest, this protest on EDSA against the clandestine burying of the remains of Marcos is an annoyance, a cause of this monster traffic. The reason they’re stuck on buses on their way home to Fairview or Bacoor.
This is what has become of us. Work has made us unresponsive to events and happenings that would otherwise scandalize us had we been not rendered docile and satisfied but unthinking by work. I hate this feeling. This is what it means to be an adult; I hate that I am one.
I told myself a long time ago when I was much, much younger, that I would be part of history unfolding. That I will not stay home and let pass that rare opportunity to make a difference in this country. But look at me now. I’m scurrying to go home, cursing the traffic on EDSA just to catch some sleep.
And the saddest thing is that, passing by EDSA shrine, I saw a small crowd, hardly a critical mass enough to send the message that the people are indignant. There were several groups taking selfies while a member is holding a placard.
Everyone is tired. Everyone has gone tired. What with the unfulfilled promises of the past two People Power? The world goes on turning, with Marcos’s body finally subject to the actions of worms and vermins, after years of keeping it almost lifelike inside a tomb his family built for him.
But even rats and roaches won’t touch him. Who would want to gnaw on a dessicated body preserved in formaldehyde for almost three decades?
Life goes on.
And that is the tragedy of the Filipino, myself included, this general quiet and seeming indifference, this lack of rage at the direction this country is heading.
And my train goes to the direction of home, and I’m dying for sleep.
This isn’t exactly the best view one can have while sipping a 5-peso coffee dissolved in boiled tap at five in the afternoon. But who cares?
This feels like afternoons back home when my father would ask me to make him coffee and we shared talks about how our day went while my mother gossiped about our neighbors as she tended her ornamental plants.
I’m excited to be home this Christmas.
Cats will never allow anyone to use a leash and use it to rob them of their dignity. Nobody is going to walk them. They will walk whenever they want. This I learned this afternoon when I attempted the stupidest thing in the world, putting Tumi on a leash. He jumped all over the place, hurt himself, thrashed the room, and almost scoop my eyeballs with his claws. I had to wrap him with a towel to control him then quickly unbuckled him. He suffered some small cuts plus I will have to wait for a week or more to regain his trust. This cat demands respect and will not let anyone to shame him. Sorry, Tumi. It won’t happen again.