Another Year to Breathe

January 05, 2011

It has rained since December 31. We are in our fifth day of no sun, only downpours, interspersed with light rain or mist. According to Filipino belief, if it rains on January second, the rainy season will continue through February. If it rains on the third of January, the rainy season will extend through March. If it continues to rain throughout the month, I suppose we can expect the rainy season to last well into July of 2012.

Very difficult to comprehend that ten years of this century and millennium are already water under the bridge. In another ten years, Emelie will be 43 and I will be heading toward 71, if I continue to wake up every morning, which, by the way, is my New Year’s resolution. What’s that you say? You think that’s a silly resolution? Not at all! ‘Silly’ is setting goals you either can’t achieve or you achieve at such a price that it tires you out and leaves you wishing for the comfort of a few bad habits.

Give me life! That’s all I ask! Another day to wake up and breathe! In, out, through the nose. And if life stinks I can appreciate that too. I often awake to the smell of pig shit. It’s all around. Everybody raises pigs. No one comments on the smell. The same way they don’t comment on bad luck, lack of money – a serious lack for most – aches and pains, long, hard working hours or even the death of a loved one.

A young woman and her husband lost their only child a few months ago. They came to Emelie’s mountain home a couple of weeks ago, to help us celebrate the Combalbag Fiesta. I asked about her and her husband and started to ask about the child. It was a blunder, automatic, without forethought. I cut myself short but it only served to accentuate the sad situation. With tears in her eyes, she told me how hard it was. She said it matter-of-fact, and in a way that left a vast emptiness in the moments after her statement: a black hole of sadness that clouded, for that moment, my own vision.

She broke the silence on a note of genuine hope: they had each other. I looked at her red-eyed husband. He smiled. I was grateful for their bravery. I felt a connection to both of them, through this shared sadness and hope. Maybe it wasn’t a blunder, after all.

So, let me wake up tomorrow, and continue to do so for many tomorrows to come. I can handle the rest of the day, once I’m conscious and recapture that sincere appreciation for the ability to breathe and move, one more time. I can handle any kind of day when I keep that broader perspective of appreciation for just being alive.

That’s my prayer. So be it.