Moving forward after a heartbreak–or election loss
Roots and WingsBy Cathy Babao-Guballa
Losing an election feels very much like the end of a relationship, complete with the anxiety, attendant heartbreak, sorrow and sleepless nights.
Losing an election feels very much like the end of a relationship, complete with the anxiety, attendant heartbreak, sorrow and sleepless nights.
My mother took up running as a sport at age 40. Several years later, my father died, and she became a widow at 47.
All through my growing-up years, I was often asked by my mom’s contemporaries and colleagues, “Kilala mo ba si Grace Poe?” Apparently, I was a dead ringer for FPJ’s only child. Although, he and my mother had worked together on several films, and was a close personal friend, the king’s daughter and I had never met.
“Connect with your center at the edge of the world…” the tagline on the Terranea brochure read. Terranea is the resort-spa where my childhood friend Joy was taking me for the day, a good 24 hours after I landed in the city of angels.
We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again—to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.”—Pico Iyer
Although my dad passed away on an April’s day 32 years ago, and I’ve now lived the better part of my life without him, whenever this month comes along, my days are often filled with thoughts of him and what my life would have been like had he been alive.
As a child, I was a huge scaredy-cat. I had overprotective parents who tried to shield me from all sorts of danger, real and imagined, because of their love for me. It took decades, much heartbreak and many losses before I finally grew into the courage that I have now. Close to 50 now, I’d like to think that I’m finally fearless.
Sitting in a family court several months ago, I was struck by a poster that the judge had hung on her wall.
Today you turn 19 years old in heaven. It struck me yesterday how in June this year, you would have been gone for 15 years. How our lives have changed. How you must be all grown up now.
Unfolding before my nest in the south are two images that remind me of the departures and arrivals that are constant in our lives. One is a view of the glorious Manila sunset that never fails to inspire and awe every late afternoon; and second, the graceful dance of planes gliding slowly to land on NAIA’s runway at various points in the day, almost simultaneously with other planes taking off and disappearing into the skies.
I’ve been thinking a lot about growing old gracefully lately. I’ve been spending quite a time the last few days with some truly warm, wise, wonderful and much-loved older “sisters” and mentors. Learning so much from them, coming away with much depth and insight, it always feels like taking advanced courses in the subject of life.
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