Please pray for me…for I have, in recent days, lost motivation and inspiration to live. There seems to be nothing significant to look forward to, in every tomorrow, in every new day.
I have done the best I could to portray a strong and happy disposition after my mother’s death two years ago. When she passed, I knew that i had to be strong, for the sake of my father, and for my own sake. And so I decided, specially after spending time reading self-help books and listening to motivational speakers, to be happy and strong. I have read religious literature too. And those things have indeed helped me.
But it’s been quite difficult the past few weeks. I think it started when I got sick. The doctors, and I myself suspected that I might have had the dreaded A H1N1. I never had the chance to confirm this. My doctor asked me if I still want to get tested for it. He told me that he’d give the same medicine anyway, whether I have it or I don’t, so there’s really no use for the test. So I took the medicine and began to feel better. But during the ordeal, I faced the possibility that I might die. And so I tried to prepare myself. The nearness of death, however, wasn’t the most painful aspect of it. When I was sick, I had to get well all alone. Or at least, that’s how I felt. My father of course was there to give advice and to ask me what I needed, but it is not in his nature to be affectionate and nurturing. I did not expect him too. After all, most men are like that. But I missed my mother. I also missed my partner.
When I got healed, there were several other things I noticed. I have felt guilty about a lot of things in my life. I used to say that regrets don’t work. But in the past few days, I’ve realized that there really are a lot of things I am regretful about: past decisions, stupidity, sins, shortcomings. Also, work became more of a chore. And traveling caused me to become so weary. I could understand anyone who is in the same routine as I am to feel the same way as I have been feeling. After all, waking up as early as 1:30 am and then traveling for 2 and a half to three hours to work is not an easy task. I feel very drained every time I come home at night, sometimes as late as 10:30 p.m.
And so I craved for my bed, and for sleep. My father knows how sluggard I have become—I’m often asleep, sometimes just waking up and getting up to eat. My bed comforts me. This, incidentally, was my mother’s death bed. This bed, which was formerly in our old house in Los Banos, is now here in my bedroom in Alaminos. This very same bedroom was where I was born 33 years ago. These two facts, that I sleep every night on my mother’s death bed and that I sleep inside the room where I was born, are things that I cherish in my mind. What an awesome mystery life is. What a dreadful mystery it can become. Death and life. The room, my room, is a treasure trove of the mysteries of life, of the cycle of heaven and earth.
When I lay on my bed to sleep, I always look for my body pillow. This pillow, in countless times, has acquired countless names and identities. This is the pillow that I constantly embrace, the pillow I whisper secrets to, the pillow that has acted as my companion, the pillow that has absorbed my tears.
Two weeks ago, my cousins and I attended the funeral of an aunt, the cousin of my mother. She was, as I remember her, a very kind person, always with a happy smile. She died of cancer in Italy. She worked there for many years. Her last transit from that country was in a casket, made of the finest wood. A few days ago, we were in a funeral again. This time, that of one of my lolos, the brother of my immediate grandfather. He died at night, when a vehicle accidentally hit him. Several other massive trucks and probably buses hit him, as evidenced by the degree of damage to his body. There was, in fact, no body at all according to what my relatives have told me. The coffin was very light, someone said probably just a few kilos in weight. Only one hand and one ear were recognizable. The day of the funeral was a very sad day. And now, today, is our former president’s burial. All day long, we were glued to the television. A few weeks ago,I noticed that President Cory Aquino was beginning to resemble my mother in appearance: the frail body, the discoloration of the hair, the difficulty in movement. She became invisible to the public during her last days of life. I could imagine what she looked like and what she felt like. I could imagine her pain. I know cause my mother died of cancer also. And she, too, experienced terrible pain.
And then there’s the constant rain. I have tried many times to reason with myself regarding the weather, how it affects a person’s mood. How I can have control of my thoughts and mood, despite the weather. But rainy days, sadly, got me down.
And so, after relating what seems to be a hodge-podge of reasons, a jumble of causes, I ask myself this question, “what is it then that is causing this feeling? these thoughts?” I guess it’s probably all of the above mentioned factors.
But in my most honest assessment, I believe that there are certain things that I just need, in order to move on. Things which i’ve been praying about—a spark of inspiration, a piece of good news, affection and comfort. And yet how can it be possible to acquire these things if the sources are no longer here on earth; or by my side?
And so I ask that you pray for me.
