Axe falling

published 12 Jan 2009,MST

My late grandmother used to warn me against laughing too much. “Merong kapalit yan, [that has a counterpoint],” she told me, referring to an eventual crying episode that would neutralize my glee.

Even now that I’m all grown up, my Lola’s words keep me in check against indulgences of whatever kind. Laughing too much, feeling so free, getting high on my accomplishments—even having too much ice cream.

I’m still working on totally eradicating these notions. They have the effect of curtailing one’s capacity for happiness. And my, don’t I want to be happy. But the words come back, nonetheless.

For instance, several weeks ago I was out with my 14-year-old daughter Bea. We decided to have dinner and see a movie afterwards. She had been busy with her subjects, extra-curricular activities, her friends, and all the things that define the worlds of teenagers.

Over sisig and stuffed squid, she told me that she was worried because her life had been close to perfect in the last few days. Following the law of averages, was something bad about to happen then? I told her free will made all the difference. Through your words and actions, you decide the course your life eventually takes. Then we dropped the Big Talk and ate pistachio ice cream.

We went to the book store until the time we had to be in the cinema for the last full show. After the movie, we hailed a taxi whose driver did not think it was a big deal bringing us in the northernmost part of the city. There was no traffic at all and we were in front of our gate in 15 minutes flat.

I pressed the buzzer but our housemates were all asleep. Not wanting to be a bother, I tried fishing for my keys from my bag. But my bag was full and it was dark—the street was practically deserted, maybe because it was a weekend and well past midnight. I had to sit down so I could rummage through my bag better. Bea also bent over in an attempt to help me. For a brief moment she took out her cell phone from her hoodie’s pocket to check the time.

Then some guy sprung from behind us, grabbed her phone and ran away.

I swear there is nothing more frustrating than the sight of a thief running away with your possession. You feel as though your extremities were made of jelly. You are rooted to the spot, aware that you cannot catch up however fast you run after him. You feel so helpless as your attacker’s image becomes smaller and smaller until it disappears completely. He is gone and there is nothing you can do.

It was Bea who shouted after the thief and called for help. There was a barangay outpost just a few meters ahead and the thief was sure to pass it as he escaped. “Barangay! Barangay! Tulong!!!” my daughter and I shouted. There was only the sound of our own voices, desperate.

And yes, the outpost itself was dark and deserted. Why was I not surprised?

My daughter became inconsolable and had difficulty getting hold of herself, even sitting on the pavement for several minutes. "I was right, I was right," she kept chanting. I tried to be the voice of calm and reason and hoped my input, shaken as I was, as well, would help. Foremost, I had to convince her to go into the house. By that time, the family was awake and even the nursing students renting the door next to ours were looking on.

She alternated between rage, worry and frustration that her cell phone and all it contained—messages, music, contact numbers—would nevermore return. She attempted to console herself that the cell phone’s keypad was defective, that its charger was not easy to find,

and that it had no load. We even sent the thief a nasty message or two. But of course the joke was on us.

Hours hence, and Bea still could not sleep. I’d been wanting to be alone so I could sit down in front of the computer and write about what just happened. But she beat me to it. She typed away furiously, too. She was my daughter, after all. Writing helped us make sense of the world. And then she sobbed herself to sleep. I patted her back repeatedly, hoping the gesture would ease her pain. I did not stand up until I was sure she was deep in slumber.

Still, I do not wish to acknowledge that my grandmother had been correct all along. I would prefer to think of this as a coincidence, unfortunate as it may be. The law I choose to recognize is more basic and more just. If you do something bad, something bad will come upon you. If you let down your guard, even just a little, somebody might just pounce on and take advantage of you.

And if you lose something dear to you, but learn the right lessons from that loss, you are bound to find something that’s a hundred times more valuable.