The other day I was sitting pensive in the hospital room, waiting for that euphoric feeling of weightlessness to wash over me, as sleep slowly crept in. Recently, I started to look forward to these long and quiet afternoon hours of staying by Nanay’s bedside, alone and away from the bustle of work. Needless to say, it has been a guilt-free way of escaping the frequent power outages in the city these days.
There I was, dozing off and thinking of what must have been comfort food or some delightful thing of that sort. Banana split with pineapple bits, nuts and whipped cream…fields of green grass and dandelions with puffy white clouds overhead…my hair blowing in the wind while listening to the voice of Elton John in the background…Fly, pigeon fly...towards the dreams you left so very far behind..
I was just thinking of how old that song was and how old Elton John must now be when suddenly it dawned on me. If that song was old, and if he was old, then…I must be getting old, too. Carefully counting with my fingers so as not to make a mistake...one, two, three…in ten weeks I will be inevitably, unstoppably turning forty.
I really hadn’t given it much thought before that, but maybe due to the stress of recent days, the thought of being forty made me overwhelmingly sad. My stomach was caving in and I was actually feeling desolate. I realized that arguably half of my life had already passed me by. I wondered when it would be that I would start looking at the years ahead as the few remaining ones I had. When would I start to count down my high school classmates one by one as we all slowly passed away? It it going to be downhill from here?
Compulsively, I sat up and started to try to remember all that had transpired in my life so far, in an attempt to hold back time and to slow things down. I was trying to shake the sense of foreboding. I wanted to dig up as much memories as I could.
At six, I went to my first day of school in St. Paul’s Pasig. When my mother brought me to my classroom, all could worry about was where she would sit down so I told her she can go home…At ten, I stole some brandy from my father’s wine cart because my classmate had told me that brandy can help stop menstrual flow forever. The bleeding didn’t stop and all I had the day after was a whopping hangover…At fourteen, I become totally obsessed with John Lennon, his songs and his life to the point that I started thinking I was Yoko Ono…In college I joined the street rallies and overnight vigils. Walking down the streets of Colon with a shower of yellow confetti over my head, I felt that the world was mine to conquer. Going towards seventeen, I found myself one Sunday morning in what was called a church service, surrounded by crazy people who kept shouting Hallelujah and Praise God while lifting their hands in the air. The public display of emotion was just too much for me. That night, alone in my room I recalled the faces of those same people as they prayed. I decided I wanted the same thing and gave my life to God. When I was twenty, I sat in my regular chair one Sunday morning, waiting for the service to start. A dashing and lean young man in white shirt and a tie flew past by me as he led some thirty children to the stage for a special number. He's like the Pied Piper, I said, and my boyfriend who sat beside me told me, that guy was the Sunday school teacher and his name was Bong.
There I was, dozing off and thinking of what must have been comfort food or some delightful thing of that sort. Banana split with pineapple bits, nuts and whipped cream…fields of green grass and dandelions with puffy white clouds overhead…my hair blowing in the wind while listening to the voice of Elton John in the background…Fly, pigeon fly...towards the dreams you left so very far behind..
I was just thinking of how old that song was and how old Elton John must now be when suddenly it dawned on me. If that song was old, and if he was old, then…I must be getting old, too. Carefully counting with my fingers so as not to make a mistake...one, two, three…in ten weeks I will be inevitably, unstoppably turning forty.
I really hadn’t given it much thought before that, but maybe due to the stress of recent days, the thought of being forty made me overwhelmingly sad. My stomach was caving in and I was actually feeling desolate. I realized that arguably half of my life had already passed me by. I wondered when it would be that I would start looking at the years ahead as the few remaining ones I had. When would I start to count down my high school classmates one by one as we all slowly passed away? It it going to be downhill from here?
Compulsively, I sat up and started to try to remember all that had transpired in my life so far, in an attempt to hold back time and to slow things down. I was trying to shake the sense of foreboding. I wanted to dig up as much memories as I could.
At six, I went to my first day of school in St. Paul’s Pasig. When my mother brought me to my classroom, all could worry about was where she would sit down so I told her she can go home…At ten, I stole some brandy from my father’s wine cart because my classmate had told me that brandy can help stop menstrual flow forever. The bleeding didn’t stop and all I had the day after was a whopping hangover…At fourteen, I become totally obsessed with John Lennon, his songs and his life to the point that I started thinking I was Yoko Ono…In college I joined the street rallies and overnight vigils. Walking down the streets of Colon with a shower of yellow confetti over my head, I felt that the world was mine to conquer. Going towards seventeen, I found myself one Sunday morning in what was called a church service, surrounded by crazy people who kept shouting Hallelujah and Praise God while lifting their hands in the air. The public display of emotion was just too much for me. That night, alone in my room I recalled the faces of those same people as they prayed. I decided I wanted the same thing and gave my life to God. When I was twenty, I sat in my regular chair one Sunday morning, waiting for the service to start. A dashing and lean young man in white shirt and a tie flew past by me as he led some thirty children to the stage for a special number. He's like the Pied Piper, I said, and my boyfriend who sat beside me told me, that guy was the Sunday school teacher and his name was Bong.
Now, twenty years later, I am happily married to that Sunday school teacher and we have four teen-agers, two who are ours by birth and two who are ours by circumstance. They are turning out to be people of character and tenacity despite all the odds and I am proud of them. Somewhere in between, I became a painter, a homebody, a teacher, a counselor for troubled youth and some sort of a showbiz insider. My husband and I have a school and a church to run, doing what we love to do best. Our staff are dedicated, loyal and hardworking. We have three Labradors who love us and countless friends and family who have touched our lives. And the list goes on.
Yes, I guess the first forty years had been quite good ones after all. The next forty ones should be even better.
Feeling much better, my thoughts naturally went back to banana split and Elton John.
