During lockdowns my day goes by a loose schedule of indoor movements for the health of both body and soul.

I awaken at 7:15 to an iPhone alarm of birds chirping. Presently, even before I could get out of bed fully and turn the alarm off, it blends with live tweets from a little flock of live maya on the windowsill. There they are, perched atop the compressor of the air-conditioner, unused these nights because of the rain-cooled weather. They have become my adopted babies, waiting voraciously for their midmorning feeding, themselves emblematic of these hungry pandemic times.

My wellness routine begins. In case I was unable to do it before bedtime, I reverse my position in bed and stretch both my legs at a 45-degree angle against the headboard, holding it there for 20 minutes, by which time I have become propped for a good night’s sleep. The position helps circulation by bringing more oxygen-filled blood to the brain and empties accumulated fluids in the legs; it also helps digestion, relieves hyperacidity and shrinks the fat around the stomach. It happens to address my precise needs.

By 7:50, I do my five-minute mouth exercise with virgin coconut oil, which not only kills bacteria but brings health to gums and teeth and an aroma to breath; I spit it out on a piece of paper towel laid out in a small plastic trash bag. Afterward, I do my tongue exercises against Alzheimer’s in front of the mirror—something to do with strengthening the tongue muscles connected to the brain. Anyway, it’s easy enough and costs me nothing, except perhaps some loss of dignity in case the prescriber on Facebook meant only to make a fool of me.

Relevant gospel

At exactly eight, Fr. Tito Caluag’s daily Kapamilya Mass begins in the living room—on television. His homily sets the tone of my day. I don’t know how he can use the gospel so relevantly to everyday life, but he does.

Today he spoke of God’s justice, something we look for when evil seems to triumph: “God’s justice can only happen if we call attention to the wrongdoings and bring them to light. Not to do so would be tantamount to abetting them ourselves.” Father Tito has a properly disturbing way of calling us to action.

At 8:30, breakfast, alone, unless Vergel has awakened. I take my silver Centrum tablet—Mercury Drug has run out of my usual Conzace. I’m good for the day, unless I feel any symptoms of a cold, for which I take a Berocca vitamin C fizz tablet in a cold glass of water.

At noon Vergel and I pray the 10 Hail Marys suggested by the bishops. I attribute miracles—and there are, whether we know of them or not—to national prayer.

By lunch I’d have put in a 30-minute walk in place on the balcony and around our little condo unit. At 6 p.m. I pray the Angelus and the rosary together with my college chums; I do it walking to complete my 6,000 steps for the day. Yet I’m able to squeeze in some reading, writing, watching TV, or talking to family and friends on the phone.

I care for my mental, physical and spiritual well-being as much as I care about what happens around me and to others. I’m lucky I still write this column—it’s both therapeutic and cathartic. Since we’ve gone digital, some of our readers have wondered what may have happened to Conchita, Gil and me. It might be too much to hope that our older readers would ever learn to work their digital tools to access us, but a number have been successful—with help from their children or grandchildren.

In the scheme of things, I believe there remains an active role for older people, despite being at highest risk against the virus. Healthy seniors can be most useful, their wisdom begging to be shared. Many, in fact, remain involved in their parishes, their alma mater, in family businesses, or other endeavors that serve as suitable platforms.

Wanting less

The advantage we seniors have is our freedom and liberation from the future, needing and wanting less and less for ourselves. With minimal qualms we can now dig into our savings to help others. This pandemic, if it has done anything good, has simplified life and death for everybody, rich or poor.

Meanwhile, there are too many poor people out there who have lost the little they had and whose families’ future has never looked bleaker. Many of them are hungry; their privations have become so basic and enormous, even shallow-pocketed sympathizers like us can make a difference. It’s quite a leap from feeding birds, but the joy is incomparable!

Leni Robredo, deliberately starved for official budget, operating on donations, is a perfect model. Prudent budgeting does it. In one project we had the chance to join, she fed 325 families, comprising around 800-900 people, in one barangay in Novaliches, Quezon City.

When I was sent a pictorial account of of the distribution, I felt proud and was tearfully happy to have been a small donor. Just then an old business partner who had unexpectedly sold a piece of property amid the pandemic called to announce that she was giving me a share of her good fortune (certainly bigger than our donation)—unbelievable what a little sharing begets!

One morning I was awakened by a dear old friend, a parish priest in Cubao. He called for me to tell Vergel about parishioners falling dead, murdered, around him. He lit one candle for every victim. After the eighth murder, before he became demoralized, he began busying himself with cooking and feeding the victims’ orphans.

How can friends and I leave him alone to the task? We’re coordinating to help.