Memento Mori

The old ones would tell us that we're lucky to have experienced neither war nor Martial Law (#MarcosNotAHero by the way). We are fortunate to not have had to run for our lives in fear of losing it. Instead, we were told to just stay at home and we will be safe.

Safe? When have we ever been safe? Wherever war went, death followed in its wake. Lives were lost. Economies shaken. Systems destabilized. Well, aren't we at war now?

It is even scarier now that the wars we fight do not happen out there. We are at war with our own minds. At least, I am. For the past year and a half, I have been at odds with my own self. What started out as perhaps a seemingly harmless dependence on Mobile Legends to cope up with the abrupt changes (Hello 88Rising squad) has now turned into a crippling, debilitating grief that I never seem to free myself from.

Gone were the days when I can wake up at 4am, drive to Valenzuela from Quezon City, teach 2 classes for about 6 hours, travel back to Quezon City to bring my family home, rush myself to attend a meeting in Ortigas (and nope, they were face-to-face, not Zoom meetings), go home finally at 12am to repeat the same process the next day, and the next, and the next. Amidst the pandemic, I've persisted to keep up with my busy life. I took on a higher service in the church, continued to take on 10 classes (now, 11) a week, and even had the courage to enter grad school.

I thought, "I've done this before. Now I can actually do more kasi nasa bahay na lang naman ako ngayon. Imagine how many more things I can do if I am able to save 6 hours of daily travel time." Haha! God, that was so naive. Now, I have fallen from grace. I've been barely functioning. They say I just need to rest and take a break, but how long can I do that when every time I take a break my responsibilities would just lay there waiting for me to get back, until their rearing ugly heads eventually become too much for me to overcome? I have just been dragging my feet to attend my classes, both the ones where I teach and the ones that I am a student in. People thank me for the lessons I teach, the talks I give, the meetings I lead, and the knowledge I share, but little do they know how heavy it always felt and how long I've stared into oblivion as I prepared to deliver those.

Throughout the past year, I kept on telling myself as many of you did. "Pagod ka lang, kailangan mo lang ng pahinga tapos magiging okay ka na ulit." But after everything that happened, it's high time I look inwards and acknowledge what I really feel. I am exhausted. I am in fear. And I am in grief. Many times I would just stare into the nothingness that lie beyond my windows or the pixels of my screen. Many times I forget what I just said or what I still am supposed to say in the middle of my sentence. Many times I would lose track of the calendar and forget what happened just days ago. I look forward to the days when I would no longer find myself sobbing in front my meal, alone, when I would no longer feel my heart pounding so hard in fear of conflict, when I would be able to offer myself again out of the overflow from my cup. We can't give from an empty cup. That is true, and more so if our cup is shattered. And even more so, if you yourself are shattered.

Natasha Romanoff's mother often told her, "Your pain only makes you stronger." And while I kind of still believe that that's true, holding out until things are okay still remains to be just an option. Right now, I am still lost. Even tiny glints of hope are hard to come by nowadays. We will fight, for as long as we can. And I sincerely hope I can still continue until such time when I can be the one to be the source of strength and comfort for others.

Life is as fickle as the winds that blow past us. We wake up every day not knowing if that is going to be our last, but death is inevitable. Our lives will end sooner or later, but I hope that in our time here, may our days be spent well with the people who truly matter and may our last be a day that we find that all these years have been worthwhile.