The metropolis is like a ghost town. Going around town is swift and easy. It’s nice to savor the almost clear major thoroughfare. Not much vehicles fly the main route. Most of the city dwellers are either in their hometowns visiting their dearly departed or have trooped to the beach resorts to enjoy the three day long weekend.

I am green with envy.

This is the first time in three years hence my muse left this, our earthly existence to join the biggest editorial desk up there that I am here in Manila. I’ve got work. Argh, no rest for the wicked! I am not whining, though.

A confluence of developments prevents me from joining hundreds of our kababayans, who trekked out of the busy metropolis for a respite. That includes the visit of Santi, the latest weather disturbance, which makes coming back to Manila from an out of town trip iffy. The fear is aggravated by the sorry state of our infrastructure, particularly up north, wrecked by  Santi’s siblings—Ondoy and Pepeng.   

Still, I do believe that my being here does not necessarily lessen my ability to remember people I loved who are now in the great beyond.

Haunting memories are wisdom to behold 

In his writings, National Artist and Ramon Magsaysay awardee for literature, Frankie Sionil-Jose, in no uncertain terms, underscores the importance of the past and how it shapes the future.

“Nurture memory because it will be your most important asset because without individual and collective memory, there is no nation... Enshrine your roots in your heart and mind for by doing this you will anchor yourself to the unerring reality of your time and place and thereby provide yourself with the perspective with which you will then observe the world.” Uncle Frankie wrote in his column last Sunday, which appeared in the Philippine Star.

I fully subscribe to his philosophy not because I am a relative.

Looking back, the downturns in my personal life—the lost I suffered in succession has actually fortified my character. It was Ewok, my favorite of the 11 dogs my muse and I cared. My mom followed a week after. And 11 months, three weeks and four days, it was my muse. Coincidental so it may seem, the demise of my muse, Ewok and my mom all happened during the month of July.

I must admit, at the outset I was in denial. This inspite the strong willed front I showed—a facade. Deep inside, though, I was hurting. My doctors assured me, denial is a phase one has to go through. And what a phase it was!

Beyond the financial wreck (I was near penury but I was no mendicant), the emotional devastation was too much to handle. And, it showed physically—I looked malnourished at 93 to 95 pounds. Eyebags virtually became a permanent facial feature.

The emotional dimension consumed me like anything. I thought it was too difficult to overcome. Looking at the surroundings, thinking about the things we both enjoyed doing was more than enough to drag me into a state of near depression. I was fortunate then that my schedule has allowed me to be by my lonesome more often. There were friends but I prefer to be recluse. I found solace in solitude. The privacy gave me the opportunity to assess my situation and which direction to take moving forward.

Yes, I am in the acceptance stage already. At the onset I refuse to go to the mall alone, hear mass alone or even eat in restaurants alone because it felt like a big letter L (for loser) is painted on the back of my shirt. Now, I have no qualms doing things alone.

As Uncle Frankie advised, I have enshrined in “my heart and mind” the memories of my past. It is not only today that I remember my parents, my muse, friends and other relatives and Ewok as well. Their memories are enshrined in the recesses of my mind.  Neither haunting nor hurting me but serves as enlightenment.

‘Til our next filibustering

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