“An open mind often leads to an open heart.”

Lately, the quote above has been on my mind.  I would like to add my two cents’ worth to it.  We should go beyond opening our hearts, for the act of opening oneself to the world can be an isolated and subjective affair.  Once we expose our thoughts and feelings, there is no telling if we keep the openness or invite animosity so as to formulate an excuse to close ourselves again.  An open heart is from where truth and magnanimity emanate.  And here is the crux of the matter – here is the reason we can’t leave ourselves exposed for too long: It leaves us vulnerable.  We are quick to accept the truth in other people, to promptly keep their thoughts in neat little boxes of generalizations and stereotypes.  But are we as quick to accept the truth in ourselves?  As we go through life, it is easy to impose our own values on the opinions we hear, on the minds we encounter.  To invest in an objective view of the world is almost impossible, I know, for the standards upon which we judge people are the self-same standards we have held so close to our hearts and heads since we were young.  With the passage of time, though, this subjective exercise is bound to give us an objective interpretation of reality.  But this undertakes a deeper probing than what we are usually comfortable with.

Many, though, are not capable.  I have learned as much.  They are content to breeze through the world, hearing other people’s thoughts without really listening, feeling other people without really touching them.  They look, but they do not see.  They talk, but what they say is beyond comprehension, for they are too immersed in their own thoughts and feelings that they alienate that part of themselves that should be shared by all.  Does this sound familiar?  We find them all around us.  The lawmakers with their rhetoric, the indignant masses with their transplanted but implausible concepts of equality, the religious with their vague promises of paradise, and the celebrities with their self-serving lies.  They surround themselves in pretense and have lies to keep them warm at night.  They use other people to further their own motives, sometimes killing the innocent if they have to.  Why people do these things is beyond me.  How they can live without so much as a speck of guilt in their conscience is something I have yet to figure out.

The signs of the times call for a change of heart.  We must listen to that innermost voice so as not to miss out on the opportunity to explore other ways of being.  Who knows, this innermost voice may be our eye-opener, our savior in this turbulent world.  In life, it is often too easy to render surface-level opinions of what one sees or hears rather than explore.  Either this could mean fear of the unknown, dislike for change, being set in one’s ways or beliefs, or even being opinionated.  To be open-minded does not mean that one always has to agree with what one sees or hears.  It is a means of opening up our minds and hearts to something new, to something wonderful, to something peaceful…that could eventually lead us to a whole new world.

Today, the 7th of April, the Philippines is celebrating “Araw ng Kagitingan”, meaning “Day of Bravery”.  Erstwhile called “Bataan Day”, this was then always commemorated on the 9th of April, the day Bataan surrendered and the Philippines fell to the Japanese in the Second World War.  100,000 Filipinos and Americans endured hell on earth on the Bataan Death March - the greatest atrocity in the Pacific War headed by the Japanese in their crusade for regional domination. 

The soldiers were barely out of their teens and already they were being thrust into the bowels of hell.  Poorly trained in combat, they were pushed back into unfamiliar terrain, deep into the jungle, with weapons that proved ultimately useless as supplies went dry and resignation to defeat was overwhelming that morale was on its way to becoming moribund.  These Filipino and American prisoners of war were commandeered to march from Bataan to Camp O’Donnell in Capas, Tarlac – a grueling distance of 112 kilometers.  With their condition deprived of hope and sustenance, an indubitably endless line of sick and starving men still had to endure the brutal actions of their Japanese captors.  Physical abuse was the order of every day, with gruesome disembowelment and bayoneting done indiscriminately to captured soldiers.  Those who survived the first day were spared only to experience a more agonizing death on the second week; those whose comrades lost their lives midway through the march couldn’t figure out who were more fortunate: those alive or those who have been given freedom by the Japanese through death.

How many actually died during the march, nobody knows.  The exact death toll has been impossible to determine.  According to reports, only an estimated 54,000 of the 72,000 prisoners made it to Camp O’Donnell; whereas some historians say that about 10,000 Filipinos and 700 Americans lost their lives during the march.  The suffering and brutality did not end when camp was reached, however.  Tens of thousands of Filipinos and Americans were to die in Camp O’Donnell and other camps due to dysentery, malaria, beriberi, a meager diet and water supply, poor sanitation and other causes.

Have we as a people learned from those men’s sacrifices?  Sadly, no.  Those who do not learn from history are bound to repeat it, Santayana says, and I fear that we are in a Nietszchean loop of eternal recurrence.  There is no love for country – only love for self, money, power and glory.  Our forefathers who valiantly fought for this country against foreign invaders will surely turn in their graves if they could only see how Filipinos in leadership positions ransack their own country for their own greed, power and glory to the extent of compromising Philippine sovereignty – seizing opportunities to commit graft and corruption on a gigantic scale without batting an eyelash, shocking Filipinos and doing so at the expense of taxpayer money.  The tragedy is that it is now Filipinos do it against their own compatriots, a majority of whom scrape a living below the poverty line, all in the name of greed.

It is the same story in other parts of the world.  It is like being back in the Middle Ages when crusades were fought and again, for the same reasons – greed, power and glory.  When will we ever learn?

To my father, Isabelo Ponce de Leon del Rosario, and all the men and women who sacrificed, fought and gave up their lives in the name of freedom, I salute you.

To my Dad, thank you for the heritage – of honor, pride and courage.

Everyday, we encounter personalities that either comfortably agree or violently stray away from our own.  I, for one, appreciate the diversity of humanity – my experiences in my former career have helped foster my understanding of what “essential” human nature is.  But some experiences engender questions in me that are yet to have answers.

In my early years, I have met people whose mindsets are discordant with my own.  Most were women, but there were men whose philosophies could rival the Machiavellian ideas of some of my female colleagues.  Manipulating other people were second nature to them, and those they couldn’t align with their ideologies were either pushed to the side or had their ideas reduced to doubtful plausibility.

They had calculating minds, I concluded.

But what does it really mean to have a calculating mind?

Life has thrown one obstacle after another in my way, and they feel like karma to me.  What could I have done in my past life to deserve this hardship?  Like a fool I have even considered that perhaps something is wrong with me, that I draw out the worst in people.  Perhaps something in me lures them in, making them hurt me with their words and deeds.  Before I personally battled with cancer, I learned to live with these people, to take them as a sad part of my reality.  For instance, when my friend introduced me to her sister, I instantly felt her dislike towards me.  Whenever we would meet, the air would electrify with antagonistic tension.  Her smiles were forced, and her words were the worst – grabbed from empty promises of friendship.

The things I would do to appease her were mostly for my friend’s benefit.  I even helped her find a job.  The friendship sustained me for some time, and my being kind to my friend’s sister felt like a deed of gratitude for all the things my friend did for me.  This deed of gratitude felt almost like a sin of gratitude for me, for like a supplicant on God’s altar, I felt like the things I was doing for my friend’s sister were for my own benefit, for my own selfish need to be liked.  Thankfully, a colleague and mentor from work wise in years saved me from my needless guilt: “Calculating minds, Vicky!  She’s trying to figure out if she should classify herself above or below you.”  His words hit home.  Could the antagonism be from plain envy?  But why?  Has my kindness offended her?  Or did she think that my kindness was a sort of ploy to show off how I could bring about progress in someone’s life that they could not otherwise do on their own?

How about those who underestimate another’s capability?  Have we not come across colleagues in the office, in classrooms, or simply in one’s circle of friends and acquaintances who believe they are all-knowing and their ideas have to be implemented?  My recent experiences in some subjects in my MBA class clearly demonstrate how shallow the minds of some people are.  Don’t these people ever imagine or realize that the person on the other side of the fence could perhaps be steps, if not ladders, above them in terms of background, experience and sophistication?  Why do they just open their mouths without thinking?  Do they purposely put themselves up because they are down?

My only answer to all of the above questions is that one does not get ahead by elbowing other people around.  The people I have encountered in my former career have stamped out the hope I had for the essential goodness of people.  There we go again, with what is “essential” to us.  I am reminded of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs: the most basic necessities must be addressed first before we embark on the path to self-actualization.  This theory is partly true for me, but I believe that realizing one’s potential does not have to involve trampling upon the potential of others.

The bottom line though, is envy.  People resent another person’s advantages or accomplishments.  They do their utmost to bring that person down – the so-called crab mentality.  This horrendous illness is not only characteristic of our society.  Every culture I have had the displeasure of coming to blows with has shown me that they, too, have their own little crabs ready to bring someone down with their sharp pincers of unfounded criticism and spitting envy.  What blows me away is when such people suddenly become too friendly when they realize that they can use you to their advantage.  Well, the time to ingratiate oneself has arrived!  How unscrupulous!  How thick-skinned!  Never-ending encounters with barracudas!  In this vast sea of sharks and rats, I find myself falling to the bottom of the sea.  But my triumph against cancer has me floating toward the surface, breaking the water of complacency and greeting the inviting rays of righteous dissent.

There is a Filipino saying which goes, “A fly that manages to get itself on top of a water buffalo makes itself out higher than the water buffalo.”  This cannot be truer.  It is human nature.  There are some members of the nouveau-riche who remain untouched by culture.  Such people are not able to fathom that with rise in stature comes savoir-faire – the ability to say or do the right or graceful thing.  Difficult?  Yes, for how can one assimilate himself into a culture vastly unfamiliar to his own?  There is hope, though.  If people are only able to process in their minds the situations they find themselves in and recognize the consequences of their actions, then they are on the best way to learn, understand and improve themselves.  It is the depth of one’s acumen that determines if he or she has what it takes to live in dignity and integrity.  A diamond is analogous to this great human predicament.  Like that eternal stone, we have the four C’s: clarity, color, cut and carat.  The higher the grade, the greater the value; whereas, the lower the grade, the lesser the value.  In which grade of the diamond do we fit?

To this day, life continues in the same manner, albeit I now know much more.  Because of cancer, my life has taken a hundred and eighty degree turn and I now retaliate if I have to.  I know now how to fight for myself, how to teach a lesson to people they won’t soon forget.  The many times that I have been bludgeoned in my life have made my sense of perception extra sharp that I can read behind people’s words and actions.  Somehow, I can also manage to laugh now about such despicable experiences, although they will always remain abrasive.  Despite all, I have not lost my sense of sensitivity towards other people though.  This is a burden.  A sweet burden I willingly slung across my back, along with the trials and obstacles that have made me who I am today.

This abrasive post does not denounce the ability to be calculating, but one has to be in the right time and place for it.  The “Desiderata” should be something kept to heart at all times.

There is a time and place for everything, even for you and me.

Nic Askew once asked: “What if a sense of ‘wonder’ about your life and the world around you already existed but somehow you had just managed to miss it amongst all the drama?”

But I ask: “What if a sense of ‘wonder’ about life and the world already existed, and you try to keep the optimism, but somehow the world chose to leave you in your suffering and still asked you why you were alone?”

In my initial foray into the blogging world, I described myself as a gladiator, bloodied by my battles of will and wits against my merciless co-workers.  The coliseum that was my workplace has transformed me from a meek slave numbed into accepting my sad fate into a scarred gladiator challenging the empire that underestimated my ability to take control of my ferocious will to change the world.  The fear that constantly accompanied me has become stifling, and I exchanged the safety of my comfort zone to the challenges of the world at large.

When once I used to tremble, I hold my head high and wear my scars proudly.

My best laid intentions are always the most dangerous.

How does one make an organization tremble to its very core?  With a revolution.

But my voice is lost in the wilderness of complacency, and my cries of change fall on ears pretending to be deaf.  A drive to reform the organization is still deep within my heart, but I refuse to fall back to the status quo and its safety in numbers.  Did I miss something?

I was beginning to feel hopeless.  The self-fulfillment I reached when I was still working had reached its zenith.  But I feel it has a long way to go, only it has been stymied by the foreboding clouds of resistance to personal and professional change.

I read a friend’s blog the other day, and somehow I gleaned the answer to this predicament.  From what I understand, a good leader needs chemistry with the organization and its people, an ability to connect with each employee’s basic needs and vision.

The changes I initiated at the organization I formerly worked with had been put into motion, but so far I am the only one seeing the wheels of history begin to change its course.  They finally heard my voice in the darkness, but they never gave credit where it was due.  My vision was so strong they were blinded by its brilliance, but instead of willingly giving up their ways they chose the shade of the familiar instead and went back to their complacent lives.

Getting two out of three isn’t bad, I concluded.  But I am tired.  I feel the futility of the fight in my body, and my arm is getting tired from demonstrating indignance at affairs that will never change.  My voice, once strong and eager to be heard, is growing faint with every accusation and obstacle thrown my way.  I am on my knees, and I am beginning to bow my head to defeat. 

In the first quarter of the year, I feel like a bird learning to try out my wings, or a sunflower slowly looking toward the sun in search of its blessed rays.  The past two months have been like fire to me: soothing in its warmth, but unforgiving in the hurdles it has given my way.

Life has given me cause for celebration, however.  On March 23, I am celebrating two birthdays, and they are both mine.  I have spent forty-plus summers, and a number of winters and autumns too, when I was still in Vienna.  But I can confidently say that I was reborn in the spring of my new life eight years ago, when my oncologist cleared me of breast cancer.  Like a baby uttering its first cry, my rebirth had not been without blood, sweat and tears.

When my doctor told me that I had a tumor in my breast, my world crumbled to pieces.  Those pieces were further reduced to smithereens when my doctor broached the possibility of having a mastectomy to save my life.  I was at a loss for words, and the shock disconnected me from the world of others.  At home, I was like a ghost, wandering aimlessly from room to room, picking up trinkets and wondering if my possessions will personify the life I had led once I was gone.  In death, I knew I would be alone – the things I owned would mean nothing, I know, for I can’t bring them with me.  But I couldn’t help thinking if the people I love would remember me in the things I would leave behind.

With these in mind, I braced myself for a mastectomy.  Chemotherapy followed, but the reality that hit me square in the heart was that I can no longer have a child.  My chest had been scarred, but the aftermath of the operation left me heartbroken.

After almost two years of recuperation on sick leave, I returned to work.  It did not offer much in the way of comfort, for my career path had always been paved with ill intentions masquerading as helpful advice.  My co-workers are masters of their craft, skilled at envy and never at a loss for dirty tricks.  Well-meaning initiatives are avoided like the plague, and my ideas for the organization’s improvement did not just fall on deaf ears – they were trampled again and again by unfounded accusations of implausibility and doubts as to my ability to even come up with them!  The chutzpah they have with resisting my ideas is laughable now, especially when one considers the fact that a proposal given by someone is “taken” into consideration only to be stripped of its owner’s touch and offered as an “original” idea by one who appropriated it for him/herself. Originality is an art practiced by those good in it, and I could safely contend that my workplace lacked artisans skilled in proposing ideas that are genuinely their own.

Looking back, I now know that the timing was perfect.  Yes, I faced all of them, managed them, smiled when I had to and discharged my venom when needed.  I could read their faces, what was going on in their minds, the intentions of their intentions.  What entrenched structures!  In the midst of it all, I found myself writing proposals one after the other, missing sleep if I had to, seizing every opportunity in the hope that change for the better will happen.  Surprisingly, it was in the initiatives I took and proposals I wrote that I found my peace, joy and contentment.  No matter the difficulties, stress and tension that abounded, I was happiest at this time.  This is the miracle in my life.  My timidity was replaced by ferocity, baring my claws when my co-workers dare bare their teeth.

How many people leave this world without knowing what they are capable of?  There are countless, and this makes me sad.

It now seems such a long time ago and somehow, I still can’t believe that my life has turned out as such.  Since then, I have as well seen many a tough time but life goes on.  In this world, one has to accept what one is dealt with, but have the courage to fight if need be.

On March 23, we are celebrating Easter.  It is also the start of spring.  Moreover, I am celebrating my two birthdays.  Yes, all these celebrations signify hope – a time to live again…

Happy Easter!

                                                                  - W. Somerset Maugham

In this month of love, there is hate.  In a bouquet of roses, I feel the thorns of discord prickling my worn and weary soul.  The sweet promise of chocolates is overshadowed by the bitter aftertaste it leaves in my mouth.

I chanced upon this quote from Somerset Maugham and, upon pondering its meaning, I asked myself, “Is unrequited love really possible?”  Automatically I answer in the negative, thinking about great expectations and miserable failures.  How many times have we heard a friend’s heart breaking over a promise that was never fulfilled?  How many times have we found ourselves black and blue with love’s bruised kisses?  A cursory look at my experiences creates a feeling of empathy toward broken idealists and disappointed optimists.

Love without expectations is impossible.  It applies to everything, not just to pronouncements of till-death-do-us-part.  In my life, I feel that a return on my investments is a deserved reward for all the hard work I have expended.  This is a natural, albeit vicious, cycle of life.  Some people, however, are more fortunate than others.  There are those who feel that “what’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is also mine.”  Taking a cue from the Beatitudes, blessed are those who actually feel the love they are supposed to get – they will merit the kingdom of heaven!

My family has always been a constant source of comfort and heartbreak.  I give them everything I can afford to part with, and in return I get their empty blessings.  “God will reward you,” they tell me in earnest, and sometimes I catch myself looking at the sky, waiting for the gratitude that never came.  When I still had a job, a professional adherence to the rat race meant teaching what you knew was career suicide.  Nevertheless, the need to share what I have learned took precedence over a concern for the direction my job was taking.  Knowledge I had gleaned from 25 years of experience was freely shared; the lessons I gave were never restrained by a promotion that always seemed to dwell on the horizon – a horizon that never seemed to reach my shores.

Throughout my life, I have given what I can.  Is it wrong for me to expect some goodness in return every once in a while?  Am I fated to be the lady who waits for the love that could never be returned?  Alas, this is also my downfall: my love is unrequited, yet I continue to feel as if my heart would burst from this joy I know I could give to the world.  To the cultural philistine, it would sound like I am waiting for my Prince Charming.  Life is more than just the idea of romantic love.  Love is everything, and it permeates my family, my career, my treasured friends and the people I interact with.

In this month of love, there is hate.  But there is also hope.  And still I wait.

Oftentimes, I have been confronted with situations involving cash outlays.  The reasons for such may range from organizing office/school parties, gift giving and what have you. Like the hand that rocks the cradle, I coo worried hearts and anxious minds with lullabyes of financial security. Once their tensions have been assuaged, they somehow find ways to lure these worries back again.

I am the Good Samaritan, and today I wish I could stop for every injured traveler I see on the side of life’s road.

I am sick and tired of people assuming the guise of well-intentioned motives to hide their attempts at deception. They act smug and think that no one can guess what they are up to. Don’t they know that like books, they can be read with the turn of a page or with the skimming of a few lines?

Personal principles are presumed to be shared. Anyone else who thinks differently is considered a socially inept Napoleon who has encountered his Waterloo. For most people, presumptions come automatically to them. They do not analyze, for it is easier to tread on shallow waters than to risk drowning in the depths of understanding. Thoughts to ponder are useless to them, for they believe that ideas are meant to be fleeting. These assumptions are taken for granted, and these people are comfortable in the security that the expected provides. They are happy within the four walls of their preconceived notions.

What is wrong with the country? Having traveled the world and compared my culture to that of the West, I cannot fathom the difference in similarities between my fellow Filipinos and other citizens of the world.

We have always prided ourselves on our sense of community. Some Filipinos would go so far as to assume that what they feel is a shared emotion, common to every Filipino. However, there are countless people who have already metamorphosed, albeit in a Kafka-esque sort of way. Like a cockroach, we feed in the darkness of rumor mongering; like crabs we pull each other down and take great pleasure in the failings of a particularly envied colleague.

Take my advice: Don’t think outside the box. People are liable to throw you over the wall and ostracize you as a social pariah. Your questions and your dissenting voice will be silenced by the looks of doubt and insincerity. Your initiatives for change will be considered for a second but immediately forgotten. If you are successful, however, in changing an aspect of society for the better, you are seen as a crab that should be taken down and buried in the sand of conformity.

Unless people have a change in mindset, they will never agree to be wrong because they are unable to rise above their principles and inflated egos.

Think about it.

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.”
                                             ~T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding” 

2007 has come and will soon be gone. With it, another year of my life as well.  I arrived Manila a year and 13 days ago after being placed on disability by the organization I worked for.  In the beginning, I thought it was a joke – how many times have I been sent on disability or sick leave these past five years due to the abnormal (at least for me) incidents in my office?  What is wrong is right, and what should be right…is wrong?  Where is this world going?  Talk about a change in mindset!  Nevertheless, I have thus decided to return to professional school and finish the MBA I started sixteen years ago to bring some meaning into my life – a feat not at all easy, considering all the commotion I was going through then.  To think that I was even the oldest, but thank God that my classmates didn’t seem to think so on the first day!  In most of my classes, however, my professors thought it proper on the first day to insinuate how wisdom came with the passing of one’s years.

My mind was no longer used to studying and I had to adapt again to this demanding task.  I have to admit though, that I was never a serious student during my undergraduate years although I managed to pass and got even exempted from a few subjects.  But after the first term, studying became smooth sailing.  I got myself organized and two of the subjects I took much earlier got credited.  Thank goodness even if they were just accepted as electives.  Presently, I just have three more subjects to go, including this term.  I can hardly wait to finish and move on with my life.

Meanwhile, life is centered on my studies.  There is always research that needs to be undertaken, papers to write and presentations to be made.  Yes, presentations – which I used to dread in the beginning – have now somehow become routine, albeit I still get butterflies in my stomach.  However, I have gained confidence and optimistically, by the end of my studies, fare much better.

This is the eighth year that I have outlived cancer.  I will always be counting, for every year is a gift of life.  “…Though I grope and I stumble, though I’m weak and I’m wrong, though the road buckles under, still I’ll walk …” (sounds like a line from a song I learned in grade school), I will always cherish the gift of life.  Been there, done that and with all that I went through, I can rightfully say that I am a survivor.  Experiences have taught me a lot about life.  They are the stories that we live out in a specific time and place in this universe, continuing all the way through our whole lives, tucked in the folds of our memories, to be remembered from time to time.  In my journey, I have learned to read people to the extent that the task has become routine for me.  Sadly, countless mindsets necessitate an all-embracing transformation.  Many are capable when it comes to looking after their job responsibilities or studies, but that’s how far it goes.  To go through a change in mindset is an extensive process.  It is thinking, thinking until it hurts.  It is self-transcending behavior.  It is tough - yet the reward is deliverance, freedom, and every so often, sweet sacrifice.

Now and again, I and my mother go to the cemetery to visit my father’s grave. Dad passed away on 20 July 2006.  At that time, I was scheduled to return to my work but postponed my flight at the last minute.  Little did I know that I would be rushing my father to the hospital the following day.  That same evening, Dad passed away.  It was a very sad time for me and my tears overflowed from buckets to rivers of sorrow.  Nevertheless, I am also thankful that I was with him shortly before he passed away.  Looking back, I no longer know where I got the strength to arrange his funeral, but I somehow managed.  Dad looked handsome in his Filipino dress.  He had this romantic aura.  His real looks stood out once more.  The traces of his illness were gone. Everybody said so.  This is not important though.  Doesn’t the Bible say, “For thou art dust and unto dust thou shall return.”  Yes, we all find the strength when the circumstances call for it, even when death comes knocking.

Coming back after living abroad for almost 25 years is hard.  If I went through a culture shock in 1982 when I left, then I am going through a reverse culture shock now that I am back in the Philippines.  Culture shock is a reversible phenomenon.  This is why there is also the so-called “Re-entry or Reverse Culture Shock”.  Returning to one’s home culture after growing accustomed to a new one can produce the same effects as culture shock.  At times, re-entry shock is more severe than culture shock because it is unexpected.  I know, because I myself went through the process.  Upon returning to the Philippines, most of the things no longer seemed as it was when I departed.  Due to changes in the way I perceive my environment, the Philippines seemed to be different from what I remembered it to be.  Oddly, I had difficulty fitting back into the culture I left behind.  I had again to readjust to a way of life very different from what I worked so hard to adapt to.  For example:

-        I had to get used again to other people minding other people’s business.

-        Our penchant for everything foreign.

-        The tendency to get around with various ruses when caught trying to get away with what they want.

Why do people bend the truth or shape perceptions?  Is this what normal is in our society?  Does doing so make people happy?  Are they simply not content when they are not able to put one over the other?  How do people learn to think this way?  Sadly, this is the truth.  No wonder there are scores of problems in this world.  Many, especially those in positions of power, are not able to deal with reality or, simply said, the truth.  Reality for them has to be manipulated.  Such people are not used to honorable dealings, especially when it comes to money.  Isn’t reality just the plain truth that needs to be accounted for?

On a positive note, the end of the year is here.  All is silent except perhaps for the sound of laughter, the clicking of glassware, the sprucing up of the dinner table - those last minute preparations to welcome in the New Year.  It is the stillness before the ringing of bells, hooting of horns and cracking of fire.  ‘Tis the season to be jolly, for peace, for hope, for new beginnings.  What for was the word “hope” then invented, if not for the passing of the old to herald in the new?  Just like Newton’s law of gravity, there too must be a theory that says, “What goes down, must come up”.  My year had been so-so; to be honest, it was distressing most of the time.  It was a terrible year, but in a few hours, it’s almost over.  Time to look forward to the New Year, to 2008, to make sure that I bounce back with a bang the way I did in past years (but that’s another story), for what was the reason I hit rock bottom if not to soar past the nadir of my life?   This is the challenge you and I now face – to make the New Year meaningfully new and break away from the miseries of the past.  For our own sake, we just must strive.

A Happy New Year to All!

No matter the state of the country’s economy, one could always expect Christmas to start making its presence felt once September rolls in.  On the road in the middle of stalled traffic, the monotony of stopped cars and hawked newspapers is broken by songs of yuletide.  This always makes me wistful and brooding, and in my mind’s tired and sad eyes, I glimpse a memory of my eleven-year-old self.

I remember how Christmas to me seemed like a season for unadulterated cheer and optimism; there was no room for sad thoughts, and I couldn’t understand then why people would have them in the first place.  My mother hired me as her baking apprentice, and it was a task I took to easily.  The loving way with which I iced the cake and glazed the cupcakes was appreciated by my family, but they appreciated my cooking more for the mere scent of my cooking emanating from the kitchen would bring them scampering to me and eager to sample what I have cooked up.

In my teen years, the sheen of Christmas was never dulled by the real world.  In fact, I fell more in love with the lure of picking out gifts and seeing that person smile in sincere gratitude.  I would also reply with a smile of my own as I remember how I took my sweet time in choosing a gift that best represented the significance that person held in my life.

From my childhood innocence to the dawning reality of my youth, Christmas was a joyful companion that never failed to make me see the good in people – with my family and with the friends I have had the pleasure of meeting.  This, for me, was the spirit of the season.

As the traffic deadlock moves an inch to the stoplight, I am jogged back to my present reality.

I just got back from my psychiatrist, and my doctor and I are in agreement that I am currently in limbo.  I keep irregular hours and I do so without protest.  At night I am awake, but I am not present.  During the day, I busy myself with tasks that don’t need to be completed and people I really don’t need to see.  In between distraction and apathy, a regular dose of Lithium and Prozac keeps me sane.  Normal.

Normal in this context, however, is going with the flow. Normal is accepting the bitter core that is at the center of this sweet fruit we call life. In my day-to-day dealings, normal is laughing at the joke that is never funny, of pretending that supposed altruism is not motivated by personal ulterior motives.  Normal is complacency.

In my more lucid days, I see myself going up to my acquaintances and showing them the mirror that reflects their horrible values.  Their reflection is the face they show to the world, but when I look on their faces I see the warts of deceit, the wrinkles of jealousy, and the blemishes of false humanity.  Their mouths speak bitter rumors and their ears hear nothing but the beating of their selfish hearts as their noses sniff out the air for a scandal they could exploit. I break the mirror to unite their reflection with their reality, but nothing happens.  They are still the terrible examples of greed working its way through humanity.

And nowhere is this more apparent than in Christmas.  The spirit of giving has been replaced by the competition of one-upmanship, with gifts bearing the intention of showing to the world how well-off someone has become.  At this age and with the experiences I have carried with me through the years, Christmas songs for me now are sung by monkeys who deal in deception and trickery.  When I look around me, I see zombies, bereft of the soul of the season and the true meaning of this celebration.  In this time of the year where we celebrate life, I see the death of kindness and sincerity.

“Merry” Christmas to you all.