'Two Days'

The first few weeks of January were off for me. It started with a stressful conference, then a period of hearing a mouthful from someone who did not even know the facts before lashing out. Still, I looked forward to my birthday. I had a lot planned, and I was excited to get it on the ground. But before all that, for the first time in my life, I walked out of a meeting. I simply could no longer hold together the emotions which I kept in for days; of frustration, of defeat, of anger. 

So now that all is said and done, I feel like I lived out stories worth a lifetime. Reeling from disappointment, this feeling of inadequacy, I celebrated my 49th the worst way: I  sulked. I had dinner with my family and genuinely laughed, though. In the days that followed, I received warm greetings, flowers, had dinner with  friends, posed for a thousand photos. I was appreciative of all the efforts my colleagues and friends exerted to make my birthday meaningful. Yet, I was not really ecstatic. I was whining inside. I was being a brat. Nothing seemed to be going right. 

Then we went to the school we were preparing to help. My friends who were with me saw plenty I did not: skirts too small for the waists of school girls who have outgrown them, pieced together by safety pins; not-so-white tshirts as tops with the logo of the public school (I was told they were instructed to wear their best for the visitors.); slippers thinning out, cradling dirty feet from walking through rough roads. But I did see their smiles when we arrived; I heard their cackles during the games; I witnessed cat fights over a pair of slippers, even when we all assured them all would get a pair. After the activities, with the last of the kids wearing their new peepers, loot bags in hand, the school principal walked us to the gates to properly say thank you and goodbye. She was saying thank you over and over, to all of us who shared little of what we had to the kids. Then she started to cry. I put my hand on her shoulders and said nothing.

There was a holiday in between that, and our next stop was the home for the aged which needed a little help. There are sixteen residents in the home now, left alone by their spouses and children for some reason or another, or those who simply do not have families any longer. By the time of our visit, my sulking and whining has started to wane, perhaps because of the day we spent with the school children. Ana, my daughter and her friends arrived from Baguio to help out. Her presence erased all the anxieties and doubts days before. So my eyes were wide open to see: the eagerness of  residents and staff of the home to meet us; the joy in their faces which welcomed all of us; the tears of gratitude in their greetings; the gladness over an excuse to sing, dance, laugh, eat; the relief of seeing new pillows upon which they can lay their heads at night and dream of their families. 

Two days, both taught me to live in the moment, to be present, here and now. My fondness for dwelling in what was, and my agitation over what will be, has robbed me of here and now. I have lived 49 years hovering in between the past and the future, not being in it. Perhaps it is a curse, or my destiny. To rise above what seems to be both, is a challenge I need to face.