a must read!

The ‘March’ of time
By Debbie Ang Uy
The Philippine STAR
09/10/2006

I was walking back to a hotel one noontime in Makati when a woman suddenly stopped me. She was thin, middle-aged, casually dressed, and had a distraught look on her face. Her mouth was moving fast, but the surrounding noise drowned out her voice. Finally I heard, "Nurse po ako sa Canada, nanakawan ako ng wallet sa tren. Kung pwede makahingi ng pamasahe." (I’m a nurse in Canada. My wallet got stolen on the train. Could you spare me money for transportation?) Warning bells rang in my head. Was this a hold-up in disguise? If she needed money, why was she carrying a lot of shopping bags? On instinct, I shook my head and said, "Sorry, wala po e." She nodded her head, as if used to the rejection, and stepped back. I walked away. Then I felt guilty. Why did I refuse to give help? I knew why: I was afraid. I was, after all, in Makati, the same place where I had been held up years ago. Naturally I would be paranoid. I had heard of scams like this before. A stranger asks for help, a Good Samaritan lends a hand but gets robbed at the least. But what if this person was telling the truth? I tried to shake off my guilt. What was happening to me? I used to be the person who wanted to help. I used to want to change the world. And yet, and yet. The things I do and the things I do not do… This lack of courage and loss of idealism echoed as I read Geraldine Brooks’ 2006 Pulitzer prize—winner for fiction, March. Inspired by Louisa May Alcott’s classic Little Women, this poetic novel is set during the first year of the Civil War in the 1860s. Brooks takes the character of the absent father Mr. March and weaves a story about how a man struggles to live according to his ideals during the war. One of the passages that struck me the most in March was this: "It is a hard thing when a man is ruined by the very idea that most animates him." For March, it is his idealism, his strong belief in the cause of freeing slaves. His support in the abolition not only ruins him financially, it also ruins his sense of identity. When the Civil War breaks out, March goes to war as a chaplain despite being a not-so-youthful 39-year-old. He joins because he believes in the cause of a free nation where all people are equal. But as the war progresses, things go from bad to worse. Gradually, March detests his cowardice when his courage could have saved people. He wants to be heroic, but his flaws keep his feet on the ground, unmoving. He realizes that not everyone on his side is good, that even slaves can betray fellow slaves. After serving in the war, March no longer recognizes the man he was. He goes home, but feels like a stranger to his own self. As he sets on the path leading to his house, he feels like an impostor. "This was the house of another man. A man I remembered. A person of moral certainty, and some measure of wisdom, whom many called courageous. How could I masquerade as such a one? For I was a fool, a coward, uncertain of everything." Such is human nature, to imagine ourselves as bigger and better persons than we actually are. But when a tough situation arises and we fail, we cannot forgive ourselves for our weakness, for not doing what we should have done. So we torture ourselves that had we acted differently, things could have been better. They say that books choose you inasmuch as you choose them. I read March without any expectations more than to be entertained. But page after page, I began to relate to the main character’s crossing from idealism to despair to acceptance. Without my being aware of it, March came at the time when I needed to read it. In one of the passages where March talks of the abolition, he quotes the German poet Heine: "We do not have ideas. The idea has us… and drives us into the arena to fight for it like gladiators, who combat whether they will or not." The idea that took hold of me years ago was that I could change the community, make it better. I could be of service. This idealism – and a generous amount of naiveté – pushed me into an arena where I believed I could turn my idealism into reality. But things don’t always turn out as planned. Circumstances are not ideal. And we are not always equipped to deal with non-ideal situations. Before long, I began to lose sight of my goals. I wanted to go back to the person I was once, but who was she really? The ailing March, even on the verge of death, does not want to go home. By his own principles, he had not earned the right. "The efforts of the past year, all of them bore rotten fruit. Innocents have died because of me. People have been dragged back into bondage. I cannot go home – to comfort and peace – until I have redeemed the losses I have caused." By my own principles, I had earned the right to be realistic. I did not cause big losses but I felt my obligation was to take the road more traveled, because I had been disappointed in the road less traveled. I allowed other people to direct me because I wanted to redeem myself in their eyes. It took me time and tears to realize that I owed it to myself to take my own path. Eventually, March is prevailed upon to go home. He is advised that going back to war will not help him or anyone. "Write sermons that will prepare your neighbors to accept a world where black and white may one day stand as equals," he is told. Now I’m trying to reconnect with the person I once was, to the person I liked. This time naiveté is tempered with lessons learned. The spark of idealism is still there, but now kept in check by reality. I no longer aim to change the world by doing great, noble work. I comfort myself that even little things, done with sincerity and good intentions, will find their way into that great, bottomless box of goodwill. The world is not perfect, not everyone is good and supportive. Even we cannot be perfect, no matter how much we try to be. But in most aspects, I count myself lucky. Compared with the rest of the world’s problems, my concerns are mundane, only the tip of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. But each of us bears our own burdens. These problems may not be as immediate or as life-threatening as March’s, but like him, I struggle to be the person I think I should be. And so I work at and hope, with the hope of all hopes and a fearful heart, to someday be a person of passion, ability, courage, faith, and purpose. To come home to the person I will be proud to call me. Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that it all happened to you, and afterwards it all belongs to you." March is my favorite book not only because it is beautifully written, haunting and excellent. Although Mr. March "lived" more than 150 years ago and in far different circumstances, his struggles are still contemporary. Years from now I will look back at this period in my life and remember March, of how it spoke to me and of my own struggles. Because of this, I did not just read the book, I experienced it. To borrow from Hemingway: it belongs to me.

addendum

its rea pala..was on my way bak hir in gensan last thursday ng ma axidente bus namin.no one was hurt but it brought fear and shock to us all.was not able to go on duty that nyt..surviving an accident unscathed and with complete body parts still makes me feel nervous..thankful also.reflective,that i might hav died..but not yet.

today is rr's funeral..I pray for tinay...to be strong..and learn to let go.

para sau RR

thank you for everything..d ko na natupad promis ko na librehin ka,kau ni tinay..salamat sa paglibre sa suazo at sa pagsagot sa lahat ng lab results na pinapa interpret ko..sori kung my nagawa man akong d mo nagustuhan..
may you find peace wherever you are.my friend.

(sept3,2006 4am wen he slept forever)



salamat.

justice prolonged becomes JUSTIIS

well after having chikenpox atlast month, I finally did it.I filed for resignation effective n the 29th,though I think they will terminate me in the near future for Absenteism and for being sick, most of the time. I'm such a pain in their ***.
Regrets? only that I have not decided earlier.But now,I'm counting dwn d days to d-day...26 days to g and I'm out.
antagal pa non.huhuhu.
God help me conquer those 26 days that when this is all over,I'll still be whole,unscathed and be able to sleep well at night.

Sicut me Deus Adjuvet