Outlive

There are a few times in the year when we have brushes (bruises?) with death. The “Adlaw sa Minatay” is one of the more expected encounters. When we visit the graves, light candles or gather with relatives, the topics begin auspiciously. We talk of many things corporeal (i.e. losing weight, how difficult it is to lose weight, gaining weight, how easy it is to gain weight), what kind of medication we are on and  we brag about the younger ones’ milestones (first jobs, first kids, first homes). Then, the conversation drifts to something a little bit more funereal, more somber. We reminisce about the ones who have gone ahead of us.

My mother and her siblings and cousins congregate over All Souls’ Day, every year, without fail. As keepers of the family tradition, they rise to the occasion magnificently. There is food, funny banter and some complaints (the knee, the gastritis, the eyes) here and there. And like clockwork, they exchange stories about their parents. They are mostly happy stories, and there are favourite ones that they never tire of retelling. They proudly recount my Lola  Anun’s spunk and ingenuity – the same qualities that made all of them professionals. They wax nostalgic over how well-matched The Anun was with The Eligeo. I agree. They lived with us for a while, and I saw how they were opposites on the personality spectrum. She was bubbly and extroverted. He liked to listen and preferred to be certain that his actions aligned with his words. But together, they were an amazing team. They took care of their kin, relatives and student boarders whom they treated as family.

Lolo Eli passed on when I was still in university but he has been a comforting presence for the past year. I feel that he ‘gets’ me, with the little victories and heartaches that I grapple with as a foreigner living in another country. He was in his 20s when he left Ozamis City and had a month-long boat ride en route to the USA. His first taste of the Americas was by being quarantined at  Ellis Island.  He then spent seven years  working in pineapple plantations, and wherever work took him. He was easy going, hardworking and never had an unkind word about anyone – I imagine he earned the respect and friendship of many. He cut a dashing figure too; tall, with an athletic build, his bronzed skin topped with a square-jaw and a cleft chin. When he came home, he not only brimmed with the confidence of expanded horizons but also overflowed with stories of “hamburgers as big as plates” and of friendly Americans. He passed on his American life to his children, three of whom would eventually build successful careers there. His journey has made mine possible. It sometimes feels like I am continuing his story. He continues to live through me.

Earlier this year, the American actor George Clooney was interviewed by James Lipton through “Inside the Actors Studio”. The show is presented as a seminar to graduate students of the Actors Studio Drama School of Pace University in New York City. Here, aspiring actors, directors and screenwriters listen to those who have mastered their craft. The always charming and surprisingly candid Mr. Clooney takes the audience into an interesting imagery. “You know when you do that tribute when you’re, like, 75 years old and you’re sitting there and they wheel you out. And they say, you know, ‘Well, he had 15 movies that opened at Number One’. I really don’t care. I really don’t want that. I want something that lasts longer than an opening weekend. And that’s all that really interests me right now.” For the past decade, he has certainly done that, with spectacular movies like Syriana and most recently, The Descendants. His movies will outlive him and he will be remembered for them. I bet that legacy will even overshadow the Sexiest Man Alive (twice!) tag. But he wasn’t always like that. He bounced from ‘gig to gig’, working at an assortment of jobs like selling insurance from door to door (“Now there’s a fun job.”), doing caricatures at a mall and selling ladies’ shoes. And then he had his own brush with death, while still living.  He spent time with his dying Uncle George, after  whom he was named. The 68-year-old Uncle George was not only dying but was also mourning over his own sad, wasted life. “What a waste”, he kept saying. This woke up the younger George. He started defining his own choices, and his own life. He started paying attention. He set out to live.

There are many, many stories of men and women who have also decided to outlive their lives. There is Pacita Abad, the lone artist of the Abad political clan of Batanes. She fulfilled her vision of completing Singapore’s (and the world’s) first ArtBridge while receiving cancer treatment in the morning and painting in the afternoons. A video going viral right now is that of Dr. Richard Teo, a medical practitioner in Singapore who attained all the markings of success, only to find out that he had terminal cancer at 40. He died last month, but YouTube assures that he speaks beyond the grave to remind us to: “keep your moral compass” and to know what is essential. He speaks sincerely and earnestly, yet urgently. “The irony is that a lot of times, only when we learn how to die, then we learn how to live.”

There are a few times in the year when we have brushes and bruises that teach us how to live.