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First, there’s this daily texting crusade that my former teammates seemed to have set off after I took a sabbatical. I left community for thin reasons: I sort of needed power to reboot after realizing that I am not growing with the pace that my service is taking me. One hinted we often go through spiritual dryness, it’s common. To this, I did not subscribe. There is always an underlying reason besides being parched when the field is filled with the promise of flowing waters. Sometimes, we simply refuse to dip that cup in the spring. Instead of washing away that lump that choked us, we let it stay for a while and dwell in it, examining what this membrane is made of, so when another sort builds up, we might have developed the antidote against it. Then it no longer wants to stay and will freely stream down. My team accepted my reluctance to a more literal explanation but promised to keep the floors open (I’m getting better at floor directing) should I decide to sweep it back. Sometimes I feel the force of their insistence but I have decided not to precipitate my re-entry at which time things can still get in the way of my service. To this, I am hopeful.
Then, there’s that meeting with a priest friend who asked if I already made up my mind regarding his incitement. This is a perennial question really to which my reply is always a grin and a change of topic. This isn’t the first time. In college, I’ve been asked to consider becoming a cleric by three of my professors, one of them a Jesuit. The picture of me donning a sotana is an old ambition, as old as first or second grade when the usual answers we give to question like ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ is a choice among four options: becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher or a priest, when alternatives like becoming an accounting professional still haven’t made an impression to our consciousness. So I take it as one of those points that others see in me that I cannot make out on my own. This priest friend is communed by two of my officemates who counseled that I try to find myself (from this line, I take it that to them I seem lost). I am yet to be enlightened. Yes I have my frequent silence spells and maintain a mountain of questions about meaning and purpose but I guess all discerning people do at one point in their lives (I realized that discerning doesn’t breed certainty, only acceptance). So do I seem out of direction? No one knows for certain where he is headed next not even those who have committed to marry or those who have entered into novitiate. Do I need to map my road? It’s a categorical yes although often it turns out futile. Until now I still cannot say if the option I forego is a case of ‘should have been’. It happens when it’s fated at which time we’re in for a big surprise.
Recently, I went to a reunion with batchmates at another religious community. After the how-are-you’s, some of the talks shifted to thesis, OJTs, graduation and finding work. Those who graduated earlier but still jobless cracked about the tedious phase of jobhunting and how they might better their CVs. I suddenly felt old. I felt old that I’ve become a resource person, a been-there-done-that sort like being asked how did you do it when it was your time? Pardon me, but it’s still my time. So issues come with age and my batchmates may have noticed that I sat silent while they brawled about this game they call Dota (I don’t know if I spelled that right; Lola Techie will eat me raw). The instant realization then was beyond my lag in the latest talk of the town, it is the disparity of my current concerns and the supposed order based on conventions. Then there’s the more measurable side of things. When I was a kid, I imagined building my own house at age 25. Quite impracticable it seems now. At 28, I couldn’t even afford a bag of cement and I’m still outlining a savings plan to speed up that lot’s amortization. Worse thing. Everytime I bump into someone I haven’t seen for a long time, say an old classmate, guess what the top question is - if I already tied the knot - and if replied with ‘not yet’, the usual follow-up is ‘when’. When my rebuttal ran like ‘when’ is a matter of right timing, the verdict was an insinuation that I’m no longer getting any younger and my time is running out. Ouch. You see, I’m in big trouble here since everyone knows everybody where more people than the entire race of Abraham will attempt to dip a finger into your porridge. So I’m closing the lid of my bowl and eat my goto congee up on a tamarind tree. I just hope that spider doesn’t come along.
I’m reminded of previous week’s horoscope. I’m not exactly superstitious; I learned glancing at the daily foretelling from my former boss who was ecstatic one day while recounting that her sign’s divination actually happened, but this one pretty summed up my sentiment for that day. It affirmed my ‘wild’ (practical?) plan of leaving job and go bumming around. Okay, so the latter was not exactly what it said. It was something like my plan of doing something entirely different from the one that occupies me now. Oddly, the following day at a morning TV show, a braided soothsayer pronounced that the best time to find some place ‘better’ is now. I can see my heart going out of my chest cavity. This is much of a happenstance. I rode the pedicab that morning pondering what was just concurred. I had options, I still do. I know where my capabilities lie. But after a wheeling cycle of whining and coming into terms I still couldn’t find the courage to pack up and not worry about the tasks that I might be leaving. Maybe there’s greater meaning in shifting the focus from conquering personal legend to addressing the more pressing concerns, wherever it may be. I chanted this-too-shall-pass mantras many times before and I know I’m still not fading it, not while frustrations are starting to loom big and begin to get in my way. But my chords are now belting off-key I’m afraid I might be losing pitch. Maybe ‘better’ is a myriad of things. Maybe it’s opera when the in thing is hip-hop. So I’ll start ditching that shrieking Pavarroti. Now, it’s JA Rule who’s playing on my MP3.
I was sitting unmindful in a corner when another butterfly hovered. I know this one’s just going to pass by but the way it fluttered over me was all too familiar – the flaps, the swerves and the shade. It flapped for a few seconds before it hit off with a whiff that left a trace in my solitude. So it’s not everyday that something catches my stare. And maybe I’m for purple and not pink. But I guess a stare is all I can do for now. I cannot rely on the dictates of my hunches since sometimes, they don't have backbones. I should realize that there are things deeper than feelings and sterner than intuition. Maybe it was not the right day to chase a butterfly. The sun is already high up and I just wanted something to shoo away my reverie (it’s still hard to un-feel the touch of e.e. cummings’ “small hands”). And it cannot land on my palm. Not while the bees are still busy buzzing behind.
If there’s one word that is drilling deep into my psyche, I believe it’s the word PATIENCE. Everywhere I go, something tries me out and attempts to get the better of me. I know I’m not acing the hurdles; I’m pretty bundled in bandages. Sometimes I choose to trek by the sidelines to avoid the obstacles because I’m afraid I might as well just knock it down. But I was told that the way to get the chicken is to hatch the egg - not to smash it. I guess I’ll try to curl and be a hen for now lest I become another meaning to this word’s adjective. May God have mercy on my soul.
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