Have you ever wanted to run away from home? Have you never had the urge to just junk everything and take off for some remote place where you know no one and no one knows you? Does the thought of anonymity excite you?
Lately, I have sat down to chat with friends and contemporaries, and have come away with a feeling that some of us wish we were somewhere else, at least for a spell. Like one lady said, “I am perfectly happy with who I am. It’s where I am that upsets me.”
I am not entirely sure if she meant geographically. But she had just come out of messy traffic. So I think it’s a safe guess. But this is not about travel or exploring foreign places. It is about getting away, to be anywhere but here.
I believe every person is entitled to his own “secret place,” a safe haven where he can retreat, even if it is just in his mind, and be uninvolved, unconcerned.
Maybe I’m just feeling sand in my shoes. Some call it the travel bug. I get it about this time every year. With a reluctant heart (because I hate to fly) but filled with eager anticipation, I plan my annual visit to see the rest of my family across the Pacific.
Yes, perhaps it’s a little bit of that. But I know that much of it is part of a sickening, sinking feeling of disappointment that tells me nothing will ever change; that our good intentions have gone awry. People just don’t care enough. Maybe life is too hard and most of us are just trying to get by.
I look around and see the unfairness of it all. Posh villages stand just a wall away from shanties; exploited children beg in the streets when they ought to be in school.
Something for nothing
It is no wonder that the winning TV format in our country is still the one that, no matter how inane, gives the biggest cash prizes. We love freebies. We want something for nothing, big return for little effort.
The only non-game show we spend any time on is the afternoon extravaganza that seems to be trying hard (and sadly, succeeding) to make a mockery of our justice system. It is also about money. They just don’t give it away; not to the “madlang people.” The cash in this show is hidden, protected by the banks and, may God help us all, even by the law.
But more than money, it is about honor, integrity, propriety, delicadeza. These have been swept away like dead leaves in a summer wind.
I once saw a bumper sticker saying, “I would rather be riding a mule in Molokai.” I don’t know about the mule, but Molokai sounds good.
The past week has been, to put it mildly, extremely upsetting. The scenes on TV would put the plot of a bad telenovela to shame.
Back in the day, old-time politicos got up on a makeshift stage and took their opponents to task. The language was raw and graphic.
For lack of anything better to do, the whole barrio would turn out. They would clap and cheer, or jeer the speakers and throw garbage at them, depending on which side they were on. Sometimes there was a free-for-all. Chairs and tables became lethal weapons. The police would intervene, whistles blowing and nightsticks flailing in the air. And then it was all over.
The neighboring barrio would learn about it from mamang barbero, who was probably the only person who bought a newspaper. By the time the story made the rounds, it was embellished or edited as the teller saw fit.
Today, we have premium seats to any event. All we do is click on the TV remote and there we are, front row and center at the most celebrated trial in Philippine history.
Much as I would rather flee from the unfolding scenario, I find myself immobilized by the spectacle on live television. Will the MTRCB please step up and give the Senate impeachment hearings a stricter “patnubay at gabay” rating? How else can we protect our young children from such a shameless display of arrogance and bad manners?
But last week, just when the atmosphere had become stifling and unbearable, we felt a breath of fresh air, so unexpected that it almost blew the crimson robes away!
Eloquent protest
And while we all sat at home, aghast and in shock, waiting for a reprimand that never came, an unsuspecting folk hero was born. He could have walked out in disgust. But he stayed.
Then, in silent but eloquent protest, he covered his ears.
No one has stood up so gallantly, all the while sitting down. Please allow this corner to cry out BRAVO!
Tomorrow, the charade starts all over again. Final judgment looms. The verdict will be pronounced soon.
Should we perhaps also cover our ears? Or should we hightail it to some undiscovered hideaway, and commune with the stars?
Suddenly the strains of the ukulele beckon. “I wanna go back to my little grass shack in Kealakoku Hawaii” comes to mind.
I think everyone has a place on this planet that he wishes he could return to, maybe to revisit a glorious sunrise or breathtaking sunset.
Where is your Kealakoku?
I would love to go back to Princeville on the island of Kauai. There were cottages built on terraces along a mountainside, overlooking the deep blue ocean. From my window I could listen to the surf. At a distance stood the pier where they filmed “South Pacific.” More than once I dreamed I heard Bloody Mary sing Bali Hai.
The little pond in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park near the entrance from 2nd Avenue brings back beautiful memories. I watched the swans while the children played. It was pretty. Quiet. Peaceful. I did a lot of thinking there.
And then there was House of Pies in Honolulu. My favorite cousin and I went there a lot. They say the pies were delicious, but we never had a bite. We just talked about life. We laughed a lot, cried a little. It was good.
In my mind’s eye, I can see the backyard of my daughter’s home in South Salem, NY, one winter night. The full moon bathed everything in silver. Sparkling icicles hung from the evergreens. There was a blanket of immaculate crystalline snow on the ground. The sky was a deep purple, and millions of diamonds danced around the moon.
I hugged my warm old robe around me, opened a window and breathed in the cold night air. I realized that this was a special time, never to be forgotten. I also knew that God, who knows each star by name, had summoned them all out that night, just for me.
I know I can’t go back. But I can remember.
