#mentionsomeoneyouareafraidoflosing was a hashtag that trended on Twitter a few months back. A similar one is trending as this is being written. It's impossible to miss a hashtag, especially when it's a whole sentence sticking out like a stop sign on the bottom right corner; encouraging people the world over to pause and think the same thought for a moment in time. I, being my journalist-to-be self, went the extra mile and checked it out. A lot plainly said "mom," "dad," "my brother," "friends," and other terms of endearment; some people however, went with "me." Back then, the first chapters of our thesis were underway so I didn't pay much attention. It's bound to change in a few hours anyway and even if I did tweet in, believe it or not, I wouldn't know who to put. There are so many people in my life. It would be unfair if I dropped everybody just to name one.
But lying awake past 3 am one night, I began to wonder that made those people tweet who they did. Is it because calling out someone over the internet is instant and easy? Or is it because of the ability to do it in public without a crowd to boo them? On to deeper speculations, is it because that someone sacrificed so much for them before they even knew what sacrifice meant? (As in the case of mothers). Or is it because they are just beginning to realize how their life is incomplete without a guidepost? (As in the case of fathers). My head was flushed with ideas; the current only stopping after I remembered a dream I had on the night of my birthday.
The dream was this: I and my sister were actors for GMA (a T.V. network in the Philippines). Our shoot just finished and after packing up, we proceeded to the ground floor and headed to the driveway. It was like an upward ramp from below the street that leads from the gate to the street. It was about 10 in the evening, and I was still wearing shades (you know, like the celebs do). I was busy with some friends when someone dressed like a nurse walked up behind me. She said something I couldn't remember, but it let me know something was wrong. She was hurrying back to where she came from and I ran along. We entered a wooden, middle-class house. That's where I saw what the commotion was about.
My mother was lying on a wooden bed. People were gathered around her. I walked toward the bed and saw a blood on the back of her head. "David," she called out, trying to open her eyes. I moved up to see how she is. The light hit her face just right for me to see what's wrong. Her eyes were light-blue in color and it's as if some oil solidified beneath her pupils. They were cloudy. "'Wag mong kalimutan 'yung kwan mo." She said calmly.
Right then I knew, she was dead behind the eyes.
Then the people around me started crying. I just stood frozen there, dumbfounded. I couldn't believe it. Up to her dying minute, she was still thinking about my needs; about what I want to get.
Flashbacks of how she lived her life through the eyes of her friends followed. All the memories I have of her shaking hands and spending time on the phone appeared one by one. It was then when I woke up.
And then I realized, all I am is nothing. The music I appreciate so much, is nothing. The games I play, are nothing. My social life, is nothing. All I've learned from "love," is nothing. My grades, they're nothing. All my heartaches, are nothing. My anxieties, are all about nothing. For 19 years, I've been living on the ocean floor of nothingness.
What only matters is how much of yourself you give to other people. That is love. Something I've plastered so deep behind walls. Depressing, isn't it?
Well, this 2013, I plan to take shape my heart rather than having it shape me. I'm turning a new leaf. I've made my bed but I'm not ready to lay just yet. It's crazy how many people live like me without realizing it. By the end of next year, I hope to become set a subtle example change.
