There were no students then, no youth groups, no choir members, no Legionnaires, no co-teachers, no co-employees, no co-administrators. There was just me. And it was hard.
I read somewhere that the surest ways to cure your pain are: killing yourself, or listening to another pain. If you try to soothe the sorrows of another, you tend to forget your own. That was a good plan. Saintly, I should say. In the heat of the battle, however, when sorrows would drown me with my tears, and I could not see in the dark, it would be very hard to think of those saintly thoughts. And so, I baptized myself dreamshadow, as a sort of escape. Invisible to pain and fortified in my philosophical cloisters. Defended by archers and pikemen from those who would try the doors of its heart. That way, it protected me of trying hard to be happy.
Whenever sad, I would only convince myself that, hey, you're the dreamshadow, no one cares for you. You should not complain because you're not supposed to be loved. Years later, I heard Kurt Cobain - a Piscean also, and a "successful" suicide - singing "I miss the comfort of being sad". When you're sad, you can't be sad anymore. That was the comfort. I once wrote of the "anxiety of being happy". Cobain was my brother. I missed meeting him though.
But then, one grows up.
And growing up, I believe that, now, passing corridors, seeing those lonely eyes hidden behind those emo-hairstyles, I feel that I have a connection with the youths of today, with their angst, pain, identity-crisis, and role-confusion. Erikson would've clapped.
My brother used to call me Peter Pan, the boy who refused to grow up. But there is a critical difference between us. He was bubblier and happier, while I was just a melancholic trying to look like a bubbly and happy person.
Growing up sometimes makes one forget his/her own youth. Hence, they don't understand the young people when they misbehave in class, or smoke because they weren't allowed to play after "Sugarfree", or find a way inside the gym sans ticket, or slap you in the face with her wand because she is "Princess Andrea" and I am just a "Slave Daddy". These things make one furious, but it's what happens after that matters. The young people now don't need to be told that they are right. They need only to be heard, and understood. Just like what I told my former student in Dominican College - "I heard, I understand...but I don't agree". To which, he replied, "Thank you, it's all I needed".
It is an unsure world out there. I fear that the stocks would fall and wipe out my investments. I fear that an earthquake will devastate our country. I fear that the terrorists would bomb cities and blow us back to the Middle Ages. I fear alien invasion, meteor collision, ozone depletion, the end of humanity. But all these things are part of the march of humanity towards the great sea of Life (or the final shearing, for negative people). One writer then said, "I am glad to be old at such a finished world". That was almost 200 years ago. The world goes on.
And while we worry about our own lives, relationships with our loved ones, financial problems, health problems, security problems, problems of our children, our parents, our teachers (ugh!)...while we worry about them, let me say - cliche, though it is - it is still a beautiful world.
Let us just remind ourselves that all the things that worry us now will be gone tomorrow or the next day. Fifty miles down the road, we will be nurses, writers, broadcasters, managers, accountants, teachers... we will be parents too. And as parents, we will take care of the next generations with their peculiar problems. They will be looking for heroes also, for eagles, for soldiers who came from battles and did not grow weary. Who stood up in the face of death and calumny with the strength of a lion. They are the gods. They are the angels sent to the world to inspire those who may have broken their wings. They are the ones who carry the torch onwards, and inspire the youth to carry them the same. Light their torches too. Light the world. Light the world. Light the future of the world.
When Prometheus stole the fire of Olympus, he was bound and imprisoned by the gods. We will carry the torch forward the light a thousand other torches. Live on. Keep on keeping on. Life goes on and everything is for the best.
There was a story I read back when I was just 14. It's from one of those Bible Diaries that carry a "thought a day". Back when I wanted to be a priest. It's a fitting ending for this meaningless piece that has no unity and coordination (that my students in Writing will fail me for).
In one of those cold counties in Canada, an old woman named Cely goes to church everyday to hear Mass at six in the morning. She lived very far and needed to rise up at 4 each morning, because she needed an hour to prepare, and another hour to walk the distance from her house to the church. Everyday, without exception, she heard Mass, staying at the front row of the church. She was too deaf to hear.
One day, the worst blizzard in that county happened. Snow covered the land, and rendered the roads impassable to vehicles. The priest rose a little late that day. No one will hear Mass today, he muttered to himself. When he peeped from the altar curtain, however, he saw old Cely in her usual dress ready to hear Mass.
The priest then went on with the Mass with his one audience.
After the Mass, the priest called old Cely and asked her, "How did you ever make it through this terrible blizzard?"
Cely answered, "I just kept saying to myself, One more step for Christ, and I got here".
She walked away.
(reworded from article in A Thought A Day, "One More Step For Christ")
Post script.
We all need to go on. One more step. For life, for Buddha, for Krishna, for Allah, for God, for Christ, for your future.... for whatever inspires you. Don't give up, kids.
"That these tatters in you may find harmony.... (cf. Will Durant, History of Philosophy)"
All the love.
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