While She Waits

Book in Hand: Half a Life by V.S. Naipaul
Song in Mind: ..and i'm not afraid to try it on my own... (just that phrase)
Word in Mouth: Huh!

Oh, I wait.
Life is about waiting.
For things to start. For things to end.
For things that may come true, or things that will prove false.
It's an endless waiting. And I guess what makes it matter is what you do while waiting.

Yesterday, I waited two hours while my Dad made up his mind to finally go to the hospital. I waited another two hours to get there. Another four hours before he was diagnosed and admitted to the hospital. I waited five hours before I could assure my heart that he's going to be okay and I should be going home. Spent another two excruciating hours commuting home. Then waited half an hour for sleep to come and for my dreams to overtake me so I could leave this earth where so many things turned miserable that day.

An image kept replaying in my mind. When I commuted home, I took a jeepney and got stuck in a traffic jam somewhere near SM Fairview. During the slow progression of cars, I watched a man push his karetela full of junk along Regalado Avenue. His skin was dark, like burnt umber. It was already 5 in the afternoon, but it was still sweltering hot. He was sweaty and quite dirty. He was bent over the cart handle as he pushed. But it was his eyes I remember the most. They were anguished. He had this terrible look as if in the middle of this excess sunlight, he could still only see the dark. He looked feverish with suffering.

And that pain took me. There are times that when you look at people, all you see is everyone struggling, drowning, trying to survive. Some flail about, some push reality aside, some are crushed underneath the pressure, and some are like that man who just keeps walking with almost a mindless automatic functioning. Only his eyes betray how hard it is for him.

Today, I woke up feeling better. The eyes of the dark man was already part of yesterday. And outside the color blue spilled over the sky, and the sunlight was soft on my face as it pulled me out of my dreaming. And I could only hope that man wakes up to see the same merciful sun, the same thoughtful breeze. Oh yeah, we all wait for the pain to end. We all wait for the joy to come. But while waiting for this too brief moments randomly dispersed in our lives, we could walk. We could sleep so we could dream. And then when we wake up, we could believe it's true that

With all its drudgery, sham and broken dreams, it still is a beautiful world. (desiderata)


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