My grandmother died.

It was a usual Saturday afternoon for our family. Just mum, dad, and I, in the foodcourt of a famous mall at North Edsa. No, not that one. The one connected to the train station. It’s better there. In our usual spot for nearly over a decade, surrounded by cups of coffee and silence despite being in front of each other (thanks to our smartphones), we waited for the day to pass by. Coffee, Mass, and groceries was our mundane routine every Saturday for as long as I can remember.

Earlier that morning I contemplated whether or not I should indulge my cousins’ invitation for “bonding”. We all know that meant tons of alcohol and consecutively louder, wasted laughs. But I was hindered not by myself, but by some force I cannot reason with. Only later did I discover what it was and why it did so.

“Hello, Jake”

I bought the coffee that afternoon. It’s a much needed change of pace from an arguably mind-numbing routine. While waiting for the senior citizens to finish their inexplicably long order as they should, I felt a buzz from within — my phone was ringing. I’ve gotten better at detecting vibrations from phones; we all know how this became a chore after the era of the leg-breaking 3310. “Hello, Jake”, in a teary, down voice, my auntie greeted. From that point onwards, I knew.

And I was right. A few minutes before I walked towards the store to buy coffee, I received a phone call from the same aunt. My grandma was being revived. The new news sent no shockwaves through my body. The implications of the phone call did. I had to tell my parents – mum, of all people – that grandma is dead. I was, in a way, a harbinger of death.

The ride home.

The following mo(u)rning arrived as it should. The air was lighter than expected, which I took advantage to steel myself not for me but for her, for mum. When death usually penetrated through my thin skin and cause downpours from my eyes, this morning went differently. I consoled myself by looking at things objectively.

The Dichotomy of Control.

“Some things are within our power, while others are not. Within our power are opinion, motivation, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever is of our own doing; not within our power are our body, our property, reputation, office, and, in a word, whatever is not of our own doing.”

– Epictetus

As difficult as it is for most of us, death is one of the many things that is beyond our control, making up 95% of everything that happens. What’s left is our perception of them. And while it sounds coldblooded for some of you, death is death and we cannot do anything about it. What we can control, though, is how we take it in. Yes, grandmother is dead, what does it imply? She’s now free from pain. She no longer struggles. If you believe in the afterlife, she’s now in heaven as the priest who offered Mass told us in his sermon yesterday. And our expenses have been ended. The list goes on but you understand my point.

Death comes for all of us.

Among the things that cause divisions to humankind, death is one that binds us all. Everyone will face the reaper at one point. It could be in an hour, a day or two, a week from now, or even while you read this. Do not be afraid. Keep close to heart what Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius said:

“…why should it [death] be feared by any? Is not this according to nature? But nothing that is according to nature can be evil.” 

Death is natural to us as breathing, eating, sleeping. It is simply a biological process that can be triggered by anything. Why spend our brief existence worrying about death when we can use it to live our best lives. We will all be forgotten soon, each and every one of us. In the grand scale of things, of endless space and eternal time, we are mere specks of dust and that is all there is to it. So why be anxious? Let death motivate us to be alive in every second of the present time, living our lives, and cherishing who and what we have while we still can!

Things happen as they should. Accept them. Learn from them.

To many there is an order in the universe. I believe in such. That there is a reason for everything that happens is something undeniable for me, even if I cannot fathom it. Whether it’s from an almighty, loving God, or from an uncaring universe, things happen as they should. To some extent we can predict what happens, like when a someone is sick, we can determine what happens based on what the doctors say or how the patient appears. Whatever happens, happens. Confusing as it is (and it should be), that’s how life goes. Sometimes we know, mostly we don’t, and that is fine. We were not meant to know when the leaves on our backyard fall nor when our bosses promote us (if ever, at all). Things happen as they do. This is not meant to de-power us, instead, it should teach us. In every circumstance is or are virtues to be learned. And for me, in my grandmother’s death, it was fortitude or the ability to resist fear. I had to be a man for my mother, for my relatives, and for myself. A pillar in our family has fallen and another must take its place.

“To welcome with affection what is sent by fate. Not to stain or disturb the spirit within him with a mess of false beliefs. Instead, to preserve it faithfully, by calmly obeying God – saying nothing untrue, doing nothing unjust.”

– Marcus Aurelius

Chasing solitude.

The following is a long, up close and personal take on my life so far. And by “so far” I mean just this weekend. That being said, I made absolutely no attempts to make this appealing by conventional standards. Best of luck and thank you, reader.

Grandmothers are sick.

I visited my grandmother last Saturday. Friday night’s booze and hangovers tried to keep me on my bed the entire day but the thought of visiting the woman who raised me got me through. Also my best friend since elementary wanted to hangout and get drunk, so yeah, hit two bird with one stone that faithful Saturday. I entered our ancestral home, the one I grew up in, carrying a big paper bag stamped with a gigantic bee head and yelled “Naay!” (it means grandma) I pushed the door to one of our rooms and in it were my cousins and my aunt, circling my grandmother. “Kuya Jake!” (kuya means big brother), my youngest cousin greeted me with a smile. His smile was joined by the others when I said I bought burgers but warned them that the fried chicken were for grandmother and I. As the gods ate my offerings, I sat on the bedside, staring intently at my grandmother as my mind cannot grasp the reality it was facing: this isn’t the woman who raised me. The woman who raised me wakes up at 4 AM everyday to cook rice and food for us. The woman who raised me does the laundry and even irons our clothes even if we strictly “forbid” her. The woman who raised me was allergic to the idea of us bringing our lunch to school because the food won’t be warm by the time the clock strikes 11:40 AM (my old elementary school, which my younger cousins also now attend to, had an early lunchtime). She cooked for us and had a tricycle bring our food to school everyday. The woman who raised me often asks my auntie if we’re coming over for the weekend (I left our province for the city to continue my education) so she can cook my favorite sinigang na baboy and heat the food when we arrive. The woman I was blankly staring at can barely utter words. Almost instinctively, I laid my head down to her chest while gently caressing her arm. In response, she squeezed the skin of my right forearm as the words “masakit ya” (it hurts) escaped with her breath; she was vehemently against slapping or pinching as a form of disciplining ever since. She’d go in between my parents and I whenever they were reprimanding me for something I was definitely guilty of. As if losing breath, I sat straight up and gently told her I finally got her the 2-piece fried chicken she’s been asking me to buy. Being the eldest grandchild and the first one she raised, my heart can’t say no to her in the same way she never said no to me.

As I finished dinner and prepared to go to my best friend’s place, my dad crossed my mind. It was when I rode the tricycle I understood why. All those tears he struggled to keep inside whenever we visited my other grandmother, who suffered Alzheimer’s, began to make sense as the wheels of the vehicle started rolling. He, too, was well-acquianted with what I experienced last Saturday. The pain of undoing. The pain of seeing good people suffer for what seemed to be the equivalent of all the good they have done.

I lost my friends, and am losing my cousins.

If I were to be tattooed with a branding iron it would spell “desperate-to-find-a-tribe” because as far as I know, the moment I left my province for high school, I have been tribe-less, friendless, and whatever “less” you can come up with that involves friendship. Every circle I’ve entered and managed to be part of ultimately leaves me. Now I can count with my fingers the times I was blameless, but I guess for the most part, I am at fault. I tried hindering my weird habits and be normal but it didn’t work. I tried changing my personality to blend in with a certain crowd but it didn’t work. I went full-blown weird and didn’t hold back and…hey it worked! Worked. See, October last year, I found my tribe and I couldn’t be happier, plus you won’t believe where it all started: in a family gathering. YES, those usually awkward events where aunties seem to have scripted lines about your weight, your relationships, your plans for the future and when you’ll get married. THAT kind of gathering, except this one went off script. Instead of insulting me like how a “good” family gathering should, it went rogue and gave me the group of people I’ve always dreamed of: my cousins and relatives of the same age. What followed were months of bliss and contentment that I didn’t mind being jobless back then, yet as those days unfolded, the pessimist in me rose from the grave to nag…or so I thought.

He was right, my pessimistic side. Or was it I was right? In many ways, I knew this circle wouldn’t last. My dream of having “sophisticated” friends who didn’t shy away from the deeper questions in life disappeared without explanation. I’ll write about it some other, maybe.

My girl isn’t always there for me (she has more pressing priorities).

Don’t hate on her, she was my world and that was my mistake, it’s something that never should have been. If you are in love with someone right now then heed my warning: never put anyone on a pedestal and make your world revolve around him or her because the moment you do, everything you do will be about that person. You have to be you without depending on someone. This was the harshest lesson that I learned probably because I needed it.

Growing up having everything I needed and wanted, it was difficult to process someone saying no to me, directly or indirectly. Such was the case with my girlfriend who was born on the opposite side of the spectrum. I showered her with the attention, affection, love, and everything else that I expected would be done for me, except that didn’t happen and I either coped with it or throw tantrums and be dragged. Long story short, she isn’t always there and you can interpret it in anyway you want to. The acceptance and the understanding that she won’t always be there for me, regardless of how much I need her, made me more enduring and self-sufficient. It is a continuous, grueling, and sobering experience that I won’t have any other way.

With what’s happened and is happening in my life right now, am I crazy to assume that God wills my solitude? Am I wrong to think that He is preparing me for a life to be lived alone? As an only child who’s losing a pillar of his life, being constantly left by friends therefore having no intimate relationships or consistent shoulders to lean on to, I’d say it’s a fair assumption and is a foreshadowing of my life in the distant future.

Remembering Sunday

Imagine a lovely Sunday morning, your face greeted by gentle rays of sunlight and kissed by cold breaths of December air. As you slip on you slippers and begin your descent to the living room, the sound of crackling bacon catches your attention but not before its smell does and you waft towards the kitchen. You see dad at the dining table, reading the morning paper. Breakfast has been prepared and only mom and the bacon are missing. The perfect Sunday morning.

It was all going well I didn’t do anything wrong“, you muttered insensibly before sprinting to your room, dropping a piece of bacon on the floor.

Mom finally brings home the bacon and breakfast starts. As you munch on that third strip of bacon, a brief absence of light happens, like those one second blackouts where you’re unsure if it actually happened or you just blinked longer than usual. Mom and dad’s voices are slowly getting muffled. the walls of your home being closing in on you without moving from their foundation. Only you feel this. Then phantom hands phase through your skull and abruptly squeeze your mind. “Stop“, you harshly whisper. Mom and dad barely heard. “Stop, stop, stop, please not today“, you beg. “It was all going well I didn’t do anything wrong“, you muttered insensibly before sprinting to your room, dropping a piece of bacon on the floor. You faint.

Recalling these events grant me a lovely cup of shortened breaths and a slice of anxiety. I’m quite sure some of you have had similar, hopefully less intense experiences. I haven’t seen a shrink yet to know if this is normal or if it’s something serious like a disorder (it would be awesome if this were still considered normal). I hope and pray YOU see one soon for peace of mind. But for the others who are still building the courage and the resources to see one (a soft stigma exists), I was able to come up coping mechanisms that hopefully help you, too. Here are three things that helped me live!

Don’t use the phone.

What do you do first thing in the morning? Do you pray? Do you sit still for a couple of minutes thinking of nothing? Tabula rasa style? Or do you pick up your phone and do a “quick check” on your notifs and social media accounts which often takes an hour or two? Just like that, an eighth of our day is gone. “But your math isn’t right“, title of your sextape (B99 reference) doesn’t matter. This is the case for many, I included. I haven’t perfected this yet, but I’m getting there! I did a little experiment with myself a while back. I compared the days when I didn’t pick up my phone first thing in the morning with the days that I did. As shocking as it may seem, the likelihood of me experiencing those “blackouts” were significantly lower when I didn’t pick up my phone. Don’t get me wrong, blackouts still happened during some of those days but on with lesser intensity.

Write, don’t tweet.

concept of children’s dreams and travels. pilot aviator child with a toy airplane plays at home in his room

For some of us, tweeting our feelings and sentiments about dread appears like a solution. It did for me, but not in the long run. The way I understand it, Twitter poses itself as a ‘public diary’ with which people scream their hearts out to a bird-shaped whole while subconsciously hoping someone from the other end answers back in agreement. This actually works but it also backfires. Big time. We feel a rush of validation whenever that bird scream back with ‘likes’ and ‘retweets’. When it doesn’t? It sucks the life out of me. Now if you’re not a celebrity or an “important” person, the latter scenario most likely happens. Heck, even if you arean “important” person, it’s not healthy to rely on other people’s validation of your feelings. You are your own person, and that in itself makes everything you feel valid. Go write your thoughts. Go spill your heart out on paper. Start writing.

Stop, breathe, and be.

Don’t fight the moment when it’s there. Don’t resist but don’t cave in. Stand or sit still. Breathe. Be. Let the moment be and let it slip away. There is beauty and strength in observing from a distance. Observe yourself. What would you do if you didn’t hit the brakes and stop? You can rewire yourself and your habits. Yes it’s true you can’t not feel, but what happens after that you have complete control over.

Don’t be dismayed if you can’t do these properly at first. I still fail every once in a while and that’s okay! Trust me when I say it gets better the more you keep on trying. You’ll be more self-aware and more in control of your actions. Chin up and keep smiling! 🙂