I TURNED 50 last June. For the optimists, they would say reaching this age is being lucky. After all, there are many who never got the chance to grow this old. For the realists, they would say 50 is a stressful age, a time of mad scramble to achieve what they have failed to accomplish when they were younger. I belong to the latter group. I have always contented that what is real is more depressing than uplifting. When I was much younger, I always worried, but I am more acutely aware now about numerous concerns to worry about.
One of the things that keeps me awake at night is about my health.
Actually, I should not be so worried. A cursory evaluation of my relatives’ medical history and longevity paint a hopeful picture. Tatay Luring, my maternal grandfather, passed away when he was 86 due to pneumonia. His elder sister, Bae Nena, passed away when she was 101; most likely from old age. Tatay Luring’s younger sister, Bae Basiling, passed away when she was more than 80 from cirrhosis of the liver. Tatay Luring and Bae Basiling were both alcohol drinkers.
Nanay Elay, my maternal grandmother, passed away when she was 84. She suffered from a stroke. I was back home then, a day before I was to go back to Singapore, when she woke up one morning and found herself unable to stand up and walk. That morning I helped her sit and massaged her arms and feet. We were both optimistic she would improve. Before I left, she told me to marry soon - someone who would marry me because of love and not because of money.
Nanay thought I was rich because I was working abroad. However, a month after I went back to Singapore, her condition turned for the worse, was brought to the ICU and died two weeks after. Ama Becto, my paternal grandfather, passed away when he was 86. He had an asthma attack. Ina Aning, Ama’s wife, found him lifeless in the morning. My great grandmother, Bae Melia, Ina’s aunt who would later become her stepmother, passed away at 100. Ina, unfortunately, passed away recently when I had a writer’s block trying to make sense of this piece. She was 95. With the exception of my Uncle Fred, who was 55 when he succumbed to brain aneurysm while campaigning during an election, I have yet to hear about a relative who lived below 70.
Yet, I worry. When pain radiates from my upper back, I start thinking I will be the first in the family to die of lung cancer. When I have a bad stomach, colon cancer comes to mind. When I feel some discomfort near my liver or kidney area after a night of binging on beer, I worry about having cirrhosis of the liver or kidney trouble. When a sudden sharp pain in my chest renders me breathless, I shudder thinking I do not have the money to pay for an angioplasty. When I get dizzy, I am reminded of what happened to Uncle Fred. When I forget things, I get scared thinking I may grow old contracting Alzheimer’s. Mommy, who turned 83 last August, has the terrible disease. She no longer remembers me.
I also have golden retrievers who are considered “seniors,” two are almost nine years old (68 humans years) and one is five years old (40). Their breed is also prone to cancer. A slight change in their demeanor and I spiral into imagining the worst things that may befall them.
My greater concern, moreover, is the worry that I have not achieved anything significant or lived a meaningful life. When I was young, I used to believe that I was to achieve great things. I was an academic scholar in kindergarten, class valedictorian in elementary and 7th ranking student in high school among 1,000 graduates. I dreamt then that I could be a genetic scientist, like Gregor Mendel, the Austrian monk who discovered the basic principles of heredity. But when I learned that one of Ama Becto’s dreams was to have a lawyer in the family, I wanted to be the one to fulfil that dream. I never planned to have a simple life.
Nevertheless, when I went to the university, my perspective changed. I learned that I live in a society that was basically exploitative of the poor, minority and powerless. I felt that being a genetic scientist or a lawyer was to become indifferent to what was wrong with the society that I lived in. I decided to have a direct participation in solving the ills of the society. I became a student activist and joined the so-called parliament of the streets. Perhaps, most of my exuberance was depleted in those years. When Marcos was finally ousted, all I wanted to do was to earn a degree so that I will no longer be a burden to my family.
Thus far, even with all my pessimism in life, I still find myself hoping. Perhaps, that is how we humans are wired, that even when we reach the lowest point in our life, no matter how prolonged our struggles are, and no matter how pervasively dire our situation is, we will have the urge to hope.
A few weeks ago, I told myself I have to do something for humanity, not save humanity from its own amoral ways, but become a little voice so that someday humanity will be awakened from its slumber and save itself from its destructive ways.
Therefore, at 50, I found another reason to be like my young self again - full of hopes and big dreams, and “fighting”. I am thinking of pursuing a post-graduate degree. I am still unsure if it will be on environmental management or literature. I intend to utilize my knowledge about golden retrievers accumulated in 17 years to continue to produce sound companion animals. I also plan to train young dog enthusiasts to be responsible breeders and owners. There is also the plan to plant my own garden of fruits and vegetables at the backyard. I will also aim for zero or minimal waste. I will keep on writing. And yes, because this nation has turned a blind eye to the State’s attack on our human rights, I will be an activist again.
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