Inception!

I've said it so many times before, and now I'll say it again. Christopher Nolan is one hell of a genius. And with each new film, he just keeps getting better and better. Seriously, one has to be smoking some truly exceptional sh*t to be able to imagine the world that he has created this time around. Some may nitpick and say Inception isn't entirely original, and I have to agree that some of the ideas seen here are rather derivative from past movies. But taken in its entirety, I would still say that this is a movie that's unlike any other. Those action set pieces elicit enough excitement that even the most jaded moviegoer would probably be amused, if not totally impressed. The story is multi layered and mind bending, and like most of the other Nolan films this movie entails repeat viewings for us to completely understand all of its nuances. Naysayers can nitpick all they want, but I would still say that Inception is the best movie I have seen so far this year.

Endless Replay

Don't you ever wish that you could turn back time? In my thirty years of existence, i have wished for that ability a number of times. To correct past mistakes. To make things better. To make things easier. To avoid all the pain and misery that our past actions have caused. But after some time, I would learn to live with the consequences of my past actions... mistakes, indiscretions, indecision. You could say that my mistakes have made me stronger, they have made me into a better person. You could say that with the help of time, which seems to have to ability to heal most wounds and mitigate all suffering... things have turned out for the best. With time, all the hurt that we have felt and caused in the past wouldn't seem to matter anymore. Eventually, with the help of time, all that would remain would only be a flicker.

For 23 days now, the events that transpired on the 13th day of June has been on endless replay on my mind. Before i go to sleep, when i wake up, when I'm walking alone, when I'm sitting alone, in every idle moment... I keep on remembering. And every day I would wish that i could turn back time, because maybe... just maybe... if I had done things differently, things would be so much different now. Maybe things would still be the way they were. I would still be in my comfort zone, where mostly everything was fine the way it was, where someone was always watching my back, that place where I could afford to be complacent and carefree, where I could afford to take risks because I knew that there was always someone who's supporting me and ready to catch me if ever I would fall. Not a single day would pass by wherein I wouldn't stare into nothing and keep on remembering. I have dissected every moment, every minute, every second, and I just keep seeing opportunities wherein I could have acted differently. And as days would pass by, I just can't help but feel more and more guilty. i can't help but feel that it's somehow my fault.

If I had been more persistent, if I didn't take no for an answer, if I went down on my knees and practically begged her to, maybe I could have brought her to the hospital when things weren't as critical and everything would be just the way it was. When I held her hand for the last time, and it just wouldn't stop shaking... if I only took that as a sign that things were taking their turn for the worst... if I only used my clinical eye and acted like a real doctor to her for the very first time, without any trace of weariness or spite, I could have finally done something to her that mattered. If I didn't leave her alone, even just for a few minutes, maybe I could have been there the very second her heart stopped beating... maybe that would have made the difference. Maybe if i didn't even bother to change clothes, or maybe if i didn't even bother to put her on her wheelchair because it just wouldn't fit through the door of her bedroom... maybe that could have amounted to something. If I called some of our neighbors to help us carry her, if only I drove faster, If I didn't even bother with stubborn pedestrians and stupid traffic rules, maybe we could have gotten to the hospital in time. If only I ran towards the emergency room faster, if only i shouted louder to call the attention of the hospital staff, they could have responded with a greater sense of urgency. If only I wasn't stupid enough to park the car near a post so that we could have brought the stretcher nearer to her side of the car, emergency measures could have probably been administered on time. Or maybe if I just brought her to a better hospital instead, one equipped with better facilities and manned by doctors who have better skills... to the hospital where we have always brought her, she could still be alive by now. I could still be talking to her right now. She could still be back home waiting patiently for the day that I would return.

I know that nothing is certain, and for all i know it could all have been inevitable... but with so many instances wherein i could have acted differently, I can't help but feel that things could have resulted to a much better outcome. I just can't help but think otherwise. All my life I never did enough for her. On the last day of her life, i still didn't do enough. It was as if I didn't care enough. For 30 years, I've had numerous opportunities to change and be a better grandson to her. The thirteenth of June was basically the synopsis of how I treated her for the past 30 years. Always in a rush, with a lot of mistakes... littered with opportunities wherein i could have acted differently but failed to do so... maybe even chose not to do so. She had waited patiently for 30 long years, still I never got to be the grandson that she truly deserved.

I doubt if i could ever learn to live with such a mistake.

It Comes in Threes

As expected, things went downhill...

Toy Story 3 is not one of Pixar's best efforts. It even pales in comparison to the first two Toy Story Movies. But it's still a good movie, especially when you compare it to the lackluster animated movies that the other studios keep on putting out... and even though it couldn't keep the momentum of the franchise going, it does give a fitting end to the Toy Story Saga Let's just hope this really is the last one. Another Toy Story movie would only be detrimental to the franchise.

and surprisingly, things went uphill. But just barely.

Barf inducing romantic scenes. Horribly cheesy dialogue. Wooden acting all throughout. You got that right. It's another Twilight movie.

I'd hate to say this, but despite the above mentioned faults, i did find Eclipse quite enjoyable... but just barely. It must be because of the number of killings onscreen. And the battle scene towards the end did pique my interest for a bit... too bad there wasn't much gore, and it was also over too soon. So for the next movie, I hope the producers give us hapless folks a favor. Since they can't tone down all that brainless mush, else they suffer from the wrath of all those screaming teenage fans... they should at least put more and better executed action scenes to give the males of our species something worth watching onscreen. And for Christ's sake, don't scrimp on the blood. Show lots and lots of it, show puddles and geysers of the sweet red stuff. More violent deaths would make it better, and speaking of deaths, better kill off some of the Cullens if you can't kill any of the three leads. That would make the story less mechanical and predictable, and we've at least have something to look forward to. The next one is gonna be the last one, right? We have tagged along for three movies now, they should at least throw us guys a bone. Even though senseless violence can barely cancel out all that brainless mush, at least it can make those 2 hours of watching a Twilight movie a less harrowing experience for anyone who has a pair of balls.

The Longest Goodbye

It’s been 2 weeks since my grandmother passed away, and I’m still stuck in that stage of denial. I’m far away from home, so I guess that makes it easier. I can pretend that she’s still alive, I can pretend that I will still see her smiling face when I get back home a few months from now… but every time I find myself alone, I am quickly overcome by the harshness of reality… That I’d never get to see her again. I always remember how I spent those last few minutes of her life with her… how she looked, how her voice sounded, how her skin felt… and I just couldn’t keep myself from breaking down. She has done so much for me and for a lot of people… she didn’t deserve to go that way.

I doubt if I could ever forget. I doubt if anything could make this pain go away. How can I ever forget when many things around me tend to remind me of her? How could I ever forget when everything that I am now, I owe to her? I owe her so much that every time I look at myself in the mirror, I am reminded of her? And every time I look at myself, I can only imagine how disappointed she was of what I have become. That feeling of guilt only makes it harder. If only I have done something of worth, If only I have become that person that she could truly be proud of, it would have been easier. She would have left this world with a great sense of fulfillment. I could try to convince myself otherwise, I could keep on telling myself that i have become that person that anyone would be proud of... but every time I look into my eyes as I’m staring at my own reflection, I know that I would only be trying to fool myself.

When I first saw her when my parents brought her home from the hospital, I knew that she wasn’t well. I was right. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet, she went home against medical advice. As I sat beside her during her last few days, I was always filled with dread. Something wasn’t right. It felt as if something was about to break. I couldn’t carry any decent conversation with her. She failed to laugh as I told jokes, she failed to give any sensible answers to questions I would ask… I didn’t even see her smile anymore. It was as if the simple act of talking caused her a great deal of burden. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way, that was why I kept crying. Whereas before she would show immediate concern each time she felt that I was lonely or if something was bothering me… during those days she remained still and silent, with both of her eyes closed. As if she didn’t care about my feelings anymore… as if she didn’t care about the world anymore. I was practically begging her to go back to the hospital, but she would simply say NO. If I asked her why she didn’t want to go back, she would just say that she hated being at the hospital. When she said she’d rather die than to go back there, that’s when I finally shut up.

I spent that whole Saturday with her. She was just sitting still, desperately trying to sleep, while I was studying beside her. I knew that she wasn’t well, and that she probably wouldn’t make it until the end of the year… but I never thought that she would be gone the next day. It was inevitable, yet it happened so soon. I just wasn't ready. It’s been years since I’ve spent that much time with her. For the past few years we rarely talked. Our daily encounters were mostly confined to those times wherein I gave her meds and checked her blood pressure. It has been years since we’ve talked, and when I finally found the time to talk, it seemed that see was no longer able to. But as I sat beside her on that warm afternoon, even though we were not talking, everything seemed to be all right. In that certain moment in time, everything seemed right with the world. For some unexplainable reason that i could not fully grasp, that afternoon was close to perfection.

During that night, we began her routine of trying to lie down in bed, and then wanting to sit up again after only a few seconds. I would tell her that it’s no use since she cannot tolerate lying flat on the bed, but she would still insist so we would just oblige. After a few minutes of sitting down, she would ask us to help her lie down again, and this cycle went on and on even though she knew that there’s no way she could sleep on her bed. Normally I would have already lost my temper, but on that night, i remained calm. I was unusually calm. We did this all night, and when the sun had risen on Sunday, I knew that she was already too tired. She hadn’t slept for two whole days, and this had caused her even more fatigue. When her private nurse came, I tried to get some sleep. I lied down on my bed for almost three hours, but it was no use. I had lunch at around eleven that morning, and then sat beside her again afterward. When I opened the door to her room, I saw that she was becoming worse. When I sat beside her, I told her i would already be leaving in a few days. She asked me if I already booked my flight. I said yes. I then tried to persuade her to go back to the hospital again, but she still remained firm with her decision. I knew that I had to bring her to the hospital that day because her condition was worsening. I said everything that I could to try and convince her, and miraculously, she finally agreed. She picked up the phone and called my dad. She told him that she wants to go back to the hospital. My dad said he was on his way. I touched her skin and I noticed how dry it was, how rough it was. I held her hand, and noticed how weak her grip was. I ran my fingers through her hair as i hear her raspy breathing, and I told her I'll be back in a minute. I went back to my room to change my clothes. I wasn’t even gone for five minutes. When I went back to her room I saw her slumped on her chair and her nurse was panicking. I quickly rushed towards her and checked on her pulse. I felt nothing, and she was also no longer breathing.

I panicked. i did not know what to do at first. It was as if I've encountered a person who has suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest for the very first time. I tried to carry her on my own but I just couldn’t do it. My brother left a few minutes earlier along with my aunt, and my parents weren’t there yet. The only other person in the house was our maid, and I called for her. Together with the nurse, I tried to carry her, and they were barely helping at all. Both were small women, and they weren’t used to carrying such weight. We transferred her to her wheelchair, but it just couldn’t fit through the door, so we tried to carry her again. She was too heavy, and I was already screaming out of frustration and desperation. We managed to carry her outside but by that time our arms gave in. She fell on the ground, her dressed soiled as she lay on the ground of our garden. I started to cry. She has done so much good, she didn’t deserve to go this way, soiled and dirty on the ground, lying lifeless on the grass and weeds. I just couldn’t allow that to happen to her. That just felt so wrong. We managed to carry her again before we lost our grip and she fell again in our garage just as I was about to open the door to my car. By the time I turned the engine on, I tried to estimate the time that had lapsed. It took us such a long time, 10 minutes had probably already passed. And although I knew that it was probably already too late and that any resuscitative measures will be of no use, I still pressed on. I drove her to the nearest hospital. It wasn’t the best hospital, but in that situation, it was the best possible choice.

It took a very long time before the emergency room physician managed to intubate her. After ten more minutes, I knew that she was already gone. Even if they managed to revive her, she would have been brain dead already. That’s when I finally broke down. I felt as if my whole world collapsed. I’ve seen many patients who have suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest before, and I know the routine inside out… but it seemed so different when the person they are trying to revive is someone you know… someone you love. I just couldn’t watch them as they did all those things to her… as if she was some inanimate object… as if she wasn’t a person at all. After a few more minutes, my parents came, and they brought the dog with them. I wondered if they were really concerned. On the way to the hospital I managed to call my dad saying that grandma was no longer breathing and that I was bringing her to the nearest hospital. Their house wasn’t far away yet it took them such a long time to show up… and they even managed to bring the dog. But I didn’t entertain such thoughts at that time. I was too overwhelmed with grief, that I wasn’t capable of any sort of rational thinking. Apparently my dad called our other relatives, and they started to come in trickles. After 30 minutes of resuscitative measures, the ER doctor told us that it was no use anymore, and he was asking our permission for them to stop. I knew it was no use, but I just couldn’t say yes, I was still hoping for a miracle.

After 40 minutes, her heart started to function again. All our relatives breathed a sigh of relief, smiles started to show on their faces, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth. They thought that everything would be all right. Everyone was feeling such joy, but I only kept on crying. I knew that she was already long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

The medications kept her heart beating until a little past 6 on Monday evening. She was admitted at the ICU, and our relatives took turns going inside to check on her. I just stayed outside even as most of our relatives went home. They smiled as they told me that my grandma was turning her head towards them, or that she was opening her eyes as they spoke to her… but I knew that all they saw were simply reflexes. She was no longer capable of understanding or even simply hearing the things they were saying because her brain was no longer functioning. The medications were the only things keeping her alive… and to even use the term “alive” entails a bit of exaggeration. My grandma was no longer there. The person who I’ve cherished the most all these years was no longer inside that room. All that remained was a body… with signs of wear and tear, evidence of all the suffering and hardships that she had to endure all those years… full of wounds sustained from this battle that we call life. It was a body that was on the brink of collapse, and any moment now, it would finally give in.

I just stayed outside until sunrise. I tried to sleep because I was so damn tired, but I just couldn’t. Each time I closed my eyes, I would see her… and every time I would think of what ifs. What if we didn’t allow her to go home despite her demands? I would probably still be checking her blood pressure and giving her medications today. What if my whole family was in the house at that time? What my brother didn’t leave the house to have lunch with his girlfriend? What if my parents actually came early for a change? Maybe we could have brought her to the hospital on time. Maybe I would be sitting beside her on a hospital bed today, and I would be talking to her, and I would be able to see her smile back. Maybe I would see her cry again as I kissed her goodbye when i leave for abroad. But all those things didn’t matter anymore. She was long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

Memories started to flicker. I have lived with her all my life. We slept in the same bed until after med school. That was when I told her pointblank that I didn’t want to sleep in the same room with my grandma anymore, because I needed some privacy. She patiently woke me up each morning and she literally had to drag me out of bed during elementary school even though I told her each morning that I didn’t want to go to school simply because I didn’t want to. I was such a spoiled brat and she tolerated it--- because I was her favorite. I knew that, and everyone else knew that. Most people knew her as stringy, yet when it came to me, she gave all that I wanted, she gave in to all my demands, no questions asked. She even had to spoonfeed me breakfast and give me a bath each morning because I was too lazy to do those things on my own. I was an overgrown baby. I’ve said hurtful things simply because I felt that I was shackled. She loved me too much that I felt that she kept on treating me like a child even when I was past the age of 18. I’ve said hurtful things on my quest for independence, because at that time, nothing else mattered to me. When she didn’t give me enough allowance to pay for the rent for my apartment during med school, I told her to stop being so stringy because everyone knew that she had a lot of money. Our dad had made us believe that she had an endless supply of cash, even though she was finding it hard at that time to keep all of us in school. She just underwent a major operation, and her bank account was almost empty, yet she never told anyone except for my grandpa. He even told her to stop paying for our education because it wasn’t her responsibility, it was the responsibility of our jobless father. My grandparents had numerous arguments because of this, yet we were so oblivious to the fact that we were the reason for their arguments. She was fighting for us. And I even had the gall to tell her that she was acting selfish, when all along I was the person who was only thinking of himself.

She calls me everyday whenever I’m away from home. When I’m on a 24 hour shift at the hospital, or when I’m on a vacation somewhere, she would always call. When I’m out of the country and gone for several days or even weeks, she would call everyday. Often I would simply ignore her calls, and if I would answer, at times I wouldn’t even try to hide my annoyance. Once, I even asked her why did she have to call everyday when there’s nothing new happening between us, so we just end up saying the same things over and over again. Often she would cry as I was talking to her, and I would tell her pointblank that she was over reacting. It’s not as if I would never come back. Often, I found all that melodrama exasperating. Many times whenever I found it hard to administer her medications intravenously, I don’t even try to hide my irritation. There’s anger in the tone of my voice, even though I could always tell her how hard it was in a nice way. And all those times she would just look at me calmly, as if asking me to please try and try again. There was that one time that she caught me in a bad mood, and after several attempts I just told her it was impossible and I simply walked out on her. When I came back after a few hours, she acted as if nothing happened. She acted as if she wasn’t hurt at all, which was so typical of her. Every time she found herself on the receiving end of my bouts of negative emotions, she would only give me love in return. For as long as I can remember, from my days as a spoiled brat, to my years as an arrogant young adult, she never chose to castigate me. All got in return for being so ungrateful was her unconditional love. She would tell everyone who would care enough to listen that she was so proud of me, that I was the grandchild who was the kindest, that i was the one who was most responsible, most dependable... the one who was always there for her. Even though I believe that she had to have some doubts regarding those things that she has been saying about me, at least if she's able to see me in the proper perspective--- she never said it out loud. She would choose to consciously overlook my faults, so that only the good things in me remained in her line of sight.

Everyone knew how thrifty she was. She’s as thrifty to the point that it wasn’t practical anymore. She seldom buys new shoes and clothes, and whenever she buys some, she chooses those that are of poorest quality. She only had a few nice clothes, and she kept on wearing them again and again on special occasions. Looking at the worn out shoes that she kept on wearing, you’d mistake that she was a homeless person, if you didn't know her at all. A lot of people wondered what she was saving up for. It’s not like she could bring all her riches in the afterlife, that’s what they say. But somehow, I knew the answer. No matter how much money I ask from her to pay for my expenses, she didn’t ask any questions. After she passed away I found out she left money for me to pay for my future expenses on my upcoming trip later this year. Even now that she’s gone, she’s still looking out for me. She rarely touched her money, not even for her own personal needs. She didn’t use that money to do things that would make her happy. But she once told me that she’s happy as long as she sees me happy, so I guess anything material could not give her that sort of happiness. From the day that I was born, until the very end of her life, she was looking after me because that made her happy. And I never could understand how I can give her that level of happiness, in spite of myself. I don’t know if there’s even a person alive who deserved such love. I just know for a fact that if ever such a person existed, that person couldn’t possibly be me.

When I told her that I’ve made the decision to work abroad, she just agreed. She paid for all those exams, no questions asked. She supported my decision, she even said I was making the right choice… yet I knew that she didn’t want me to go. She wouldn’t want her favorite grandchild to go away. Others have told me that she kept crying when I’ve made this decision, but every time I would talk to her about it, she would keep a straight face. All these years, she never showed me her true feelings when she knew that it would affect me in a negative way. She never showed me how sad I made her feel, how angry I made her feel… she never showed me any signs of loneliness, betrayal, nor disappointment, even though I knew that she was already keeping those emotions deep inside. She had always wanted the best for me, and she loved me unconditionally even though I was so undeserving of all that affection. That kind of love cannot be equated with anything else. That kind of love cannot be bought. Such love is unique. Such love is priceless.

I finally found the courage to see her at around seven in the morning. I thought that I was already in control of myself, but when I saw her, I started crying again. I just couldn’t stand seeing her that way… intubated, hooked up to all those machines, bloated… lifeless. I held her hand, I brushed my fingers through her hair, I touched her face, and I kissed her on the cheek. And although I knew that she wouldn’t be able to hear me, I started talking to her. I started saying the things that I never had the courage to say to her. i started saying the things that I thought I could always say later. I said sorry for all the things I have done. I told her how much I need her. I told her how much I love her. I poured my heart out even though I knew that saying all those things was useless. I never said those things when it still mattered. I never said those things even though I had numerous chances. And now it was already too late. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way anymore, I wanted to remember her the way she was. I was crying so hard as I said goodbye. I kissed her once again, and I touched her face for the very last time. I decided to go home and just wait. I didn’t know how I would react when they would finally tell us that the effects of the medications have worn off, and that she has expired. Before I went out the door, I looked at her again, and tears started to well up immediately. That woman who was lifeless on that bed couldn't possibly be her. I closed the door behind me. That was the last time I saw her alive.

I drove around for a while, going around in circles, going nowhere. I was such a wreck. When I got home I took lots of Valium and after a few tablets, miraculously I was able to sleep. I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It was my dad. I knew why he was calling. I answered the phone and he told me the news. He told me that I was the only one they were waiting for before they transferred her to the morgue. I told him that I won’t be coming back to the hospital. i already said goodbye to her earlier, and I was just going to stay home. Then I hung up. I took a couple more tablets, and I was able to cry myself to sleep.

The next few days were surreal. Somehow each day passed by, despite the fact that I felt so detached from everything. Every time I find myself alone, I find myself crying. I always find myself coming back to her room, reliving our daily routine, opening her cabinet and touching her clothes, burrowing my face in her pillows, taking comfort in her scent, looking at all those pictures in those photo albums that she treasured more than anything else. I would always find myself sitting on her chair, lying on her bed, crying as I’m staring into nothing. I was stuck in that stage of denial. I kept telling myself it was all just a bad dream and it couldn’t possibly be real. I kept hoping that someone would wake me up. I just couldn’t continue moving forward without her.

Then came the regrets. We have become too complacent. Every time she got admitted at the hospital, no matter how bad her condition was prior to admission, everything was always back to the way it was by the time she got discharged. We got so used to all the times that we had to push her wheelchair, that we had to give her medications and administer oxygen, that we had bring her to the hospital... it has all become routine, and we barely noticed that her condition was indeed worsening. By the time we had that sense of urgency, it was already too late. I didn’t want to spend last Christmas at home simply because I needed a change. I was so sick and tired of our family traditions. Spending the holidays with the whole family was important to her, but I needed a change and that was more important to me. If I only knew that I would never get to experience our yearly holiday traditions again, if I only knew I would never get to spend Christmas with her again, I would have chosen to stay home and made the most out of it. If I only knew that she only had a few months left to live when I came home last February, I would've spend more time with her. I would have spent most of my days just sitting beside here. Doing anything. Doing nothing. If only I knew that the first few days of June were the last days of her life, I would have chosen to spend more time with her. I would have stayed at the hospital longer, I would have talked to her more, because I know that the simple act of talking to her keeps her loneliness away. Just having someone beside her gave her comfort. Having a loved one by her side at all times made her happy. If I only knew that the Saturday afternoon we’ve spent together would’ve been our last afternoon together, I would’ve said a whole lot more, instead of the usual things that I say to her. I would have told her how grateful I was, I would have said thanks for everything that she has ever done for me. I would have asked for forgiveness and understanding. i would have said sorry for all the wrongs that i have done, and i would have said sorry for not doing enough. I would have told her for the very first time how much I loved her. I would have told her that I loved her so much, and that she means more than anything in the world to me. Saying all those words to her would have made her so happy… now I’ll never get another chance to tell her the things that I should’ve told her a long time ago.

Talks regarding financial concerns simply pissed me off. She wasn’t even buried yet and my father was concerned about our future expenses. About taxes that we had to pay. About the family’s future sources of income. About what little money she had left. He was expecting so much more, and with her numerous hospitalizations, what was left of her savings was only enough to give her the funeral she wanted. He wanted to cut costs, but he had no control over her money. I did. It was her money, she worked hard for it. No one should reap the benefits of her hard work but her. She never used her money for herself unless she really needed to. It was about time someone used her money for her. I almost emptied her savings account. I wanted to give her the funeral that she wanted. She deserved nothing but the best. If only she was still capable of appreciating it all, if only she could still see the things we have done to honor her memory, then it would be a little more comforting.

I knew that I love her so much. But I didn’t know up to what extent I was willing to go just to show my love to her. When someone had the gall to disrupt her funeral procession and show utter disrespect, I beat up that guy badly. I saw red, and I was capable of murder. If my cousins didn’t stop me, I would have killed him. I didn’t care about consequences, all I knew at that time that she did not deserve such treatment. Anyone who dared disrespect her had to pay the price, even with his own life. For a while the loneliness had subsided. It was overcome with rage. All that I felt was anger.

When I boarded the plane last Tuesday, I thought I already had my emotions under control. But by the time the plane landed, I remembered how I would always call her immediately as soon as I’ve landed. Just to tell her I’m safe, and for me to know how she was feeling. And the tears started to flow again, I just couldn’t hold them back. And even though I’m so far away, a lot of little things that I do, a lot of little things that I see all around me still remind me of her, and that just aggravates the loneliness that I am feeling. Everyday, I still feel that I am simply watching the world from a different plane. I feel like an outsider, simply looking in. I still feel as if I am dreaming. Everyday, I’m still hoping, that the past 2 weeks is all an illusion. And when I wake up tomorrow, somehow, everything will be back to the way things were.

What makes it harder to let go is the knowledge that she didn’t want to leave yet. There were so many things that she still wanted to do, there were so many things that she still wanted to witness. During our talks for the past few months, she knew that she didn’t have long to live. She was in and out of the hospital for the past three years, and I knew that she was aware of her current state of health. she told me that she wanted to live to see the day when my two cousins would finish college, because apparently, she was also paying for their education. When we talked about my plans for the year, she told me that she wanted to see the day that I would become a very successful doctor. When I became a doctor she felt such immeasurable pride and happiness. And when I become successful, she told me that it would only make her happier because she would live to see the day that I am already able to stand on my own. Two weeks ago, we were talking about plans for her 80^th birthday this coming October. She wanted a huge celebration because it was her 80^th. I told her to go for it since I knew it would make her very happy, and she’d be using her hard earned money anyway. It was about time that she used that money for herself. We already contacted an event planner, we already chose a venue, and she already contacted someone to design her dress. That was the last time I saw her smile. She was looking forward to a lot of things. She wanted to hold on. A few minutes before I found her in a state of cardiac arrest, I was able to convince her to go back to the hospital. I gave her a lot of reasons to go back, and I thought that nothing I could say would convince her otherwise. Then I told her that I would be leaving for two months, and if she stayed at our house in her present condition, she might already be gone by the time I got back. And I don’t know how I would be able to live without her in my life. i just wouldn't be able to bear it.

A few seconds after I said that, she finally agreed. She told me she wanted to go back to the hospital.

Up until the very last moments of her life, it was still all about me.

She never got the chance to tell me that she was leaving, and I know for a fact that she wouldn’t want to leave that way… unceremoniously and haphazardly… without warning and without proper closure.

My grandma never got the chance to say goodbye. That’s why I find it so hard to say goodbye to her as well.

All That We Leave Behind

Ten days and i'll be out of here. Ten days and I'll be leaving. Sure, it's only for a couple of months, but when I purchased my plane ticket last week, i just couldn't keep that smile off my face. Staying here has been draining for me, both emotionally and physically. Even my own health seems to agree with me. I've been having these coughing spells for months now, ever since i got back. And when I went to the province for a vacation a few weeks ago, it seemed that I was miraculously cured. As soon as I got back to the city, I started coughing again. As soon as that happened, I couldn't help but laugh. Staying here is not just bad for my emotional well being, it's also bad for my health as well. If that doesn't vindicate my decision for leaving, then nothing will. I want to leave because there's absolutely nothing for me here. As the future looms closer, I see that opportunity for change. And the happiness that continues to evade me is finally within reach. I was soaring on an emotional high, and it seemed that nothing could bring me down... but the turn of events these past couple of hours slowly brought me down.

After almost a month in the hospital, we finally brought our grandmother home. I've been writing about her health concerns for years now, and bringing her to the hospital has become habitual already, that I've grown weary of writing about it. I would only be saying the same things again and again, anything I would write would only look redundant. Bringing her to the hospital and having her confined to the ICU has become an almost monthly thing. After a few weeks, she'd be well again. But since she's inherently a stubborn patient, we'd have to bring her back to the hospital again. Then she would swear that she would obey the doctor's orders, but we all knew that she probably wouldn't. And the cycle would repeat itself again and again. We've all become so used to the cycle that emotionally, we have all become complacent. We knew what to expect, and we knew that everything will be all right. We have become so used to the cycle, that any other outcome seemed highly improbable. We knew that eventually her heart is going to give in, and no amount of medications can make her well again, but as of now, such an occurrence seemed highly unlikely, at least in the near future.

I woke up this afternoon just in time to see her being brought to her bedroom. When i first laid eyes on her, I could see that she didn't look well. Whereas before she looked fine when she was brought back home, this time she didn't. If she was my patient, i wouldn't send her back home. Before, she would always be active when she got home. She talked a lot, she could walk on her own, and she would always smile. Now she was just quiet, and obviously still in respiratory distress. She can't even stand up on her own anymore. And she can't lie down on her bed. The edema on both her legs immediately returned after a few hours, whereas before, it took days. She can't tolerate breathing without oxygen support, she couldn't eat anything without vomiting right after, and she couldn't seem to sleep even if she's obviously very sleepy. When I talk to her, a times she would answer but it just wouldn't make any sense. She didn't seem well at all.

A few hours ago I just sat beside her as she tried to sleep on her chair. That was how my grandfather was a few months ago. That was exactly how i sat beside my grandfather during the last few days of his life. And as I looked at her face I just couldn't hold back the tears. There was a continuous rush of memories, and i didn't have the strength to keep it all in. She was obviously awake, yet she didn't seem to be aware that i was crying beside her. I was making a lot of noise, yet she only remained still. That made me break down even more.

I hate almost everything about this place. that's one reason why I want to leave. Another reason was to finally be independent. I told her a few months back that it would take years as a doctor in this country before I can finally be able to support myself. I didn't want to be like my dad who still relies on her financially until now. I also want to be able to give back something to her somehow, and I just couldn't do that if I choose to stay here. Everything I am now, I owe to her. If I stay here, i would depend on her until the last days of her life, and I feel that need to give back something, no matter how small, no matter how seemingly insignificant, so that I wouldn't look like a failure to her. I wanted to be someone she can be proud of.

The day before we brought her to the hospital, a mass was held in memory of my grandfather. After mass, there was a small gathering in our house, and she called me and introduced me to some of her guests. Apparently, they were talking about me, and everyone kept saying that she was telling them that i was the grandchild she was most proud of. That was when I realized that I didn't really have to do anything in return. For some reason, she was already proud of the way i turned out. I feel like such a failure, but to her, I was far from being one. I just wish i could be something more. i wish that she could see the man that i would become a few years from now. i wish that she would live to see the day when i am finally someone who is proud of himself. But with her present condition, it would take a miracle for that to happen. She might not even be around anymore when i get back after a couple of months. But that's the reality of life, I guess. The ideal never happens. Things never really turn out the way we want them to. In our pursuit of our dreams, we can't take everything with us. Bringing too much would only slow us down, taking too much can even make such pursuits impossible. We have to choose which ones to take, and we have to let go of certain things. But all that I am now, i owe to her. I am pursuing my dreams because of her. She's not someone that I can easily leave behind.

When it comes to her, I just couldn't possibly let go.

Relieved

Here's the thing. Three years ago, after I resigned from work, i was sort of a drifter. My life had no direction, I just went with the flow. I did a lot of stupid things. I was so damn careless, and I didn't give a shit about the consequences of my actions. When I finally came to my senses, I became paranoid. i realized how stupid i was. I started thinking about repercussions... and I wondered if I could still undo those certain things, or maybe it was already too late to change things. That's almost three years of paranoia. These symptoms that I've been having for the past few months only aggravated that paranoia. Fact is, I'm having problems with my health, and this could be the result of the stupid things I have done in the past. All these symptoms seem to point to something benign, but i can't help but think of other possibilities. I can't help but think about the worst case scenario. A few hours ago, I finally took the plunge. I didn't know how I would react when I finally see the results, but i just took that leap of faith and hoped for the best.

Thank God.

Only safe sex from now on, I swear.

Efficiency at Its Finest

I've been having this problem with my Macbook that has been bugging me for months now. I had very limited space left on the hard drive, and I couldn't figure out what's taking up so much space. i suspected that one of the third part apps that I was using a few months back was the culprit. I downloaded this program that was meant to password protect applications and folders. I found it useful since quite a number of people have been borrowing my laptop, and I didn't want them to read my private emails, and i didn't want them looking at my private files (i.e. porn. LOL). But ever since I've transferred all those files to an external hard drive, i didn't find any more use for the program. And let's face it. It's really quite impractical to keep 100 gigabytes of "private files" on my hard drive when the capacity is just a little over 200gb. I could use all that memory to store something else.

So I deleted all the files on the encrypted folder, and after that I uninstalled the program. i failed to check my hard drive's memory status right after. I only noticed that my hard drive was almost full when a message popped up after a month or so, saying my hard drive is almost full. I thought the number of videos I had stored was the culprit, so i deleted a lot of those videos... but i was able to free only a couple of gigs. I checked each application and folder one by one, and nothing seemed to be taking up so much space. About that time, I bought a 500gb external hard drive, so I thought of finally using Time Machine to back up my computer. After backing up my hard drive, i was surprised to see that all my data only amounted to 90 gigs. At first i thought that Time Machine was busted, but it kept displaying the same results. When I checked the back ups, everything seemed to be intact. Nothing seemed to be missing. Then a thought occurred to me. What if all those private files weren't really deleted? And even if they were, the operating system just couldn't write over all that data because it was in an encrypted folder? I didn't really know for sure, but at that time, I just wanted to do what any Windows would initially think of--- I just wanted to nuke my Mac and get it over with.

But I really hated erasing my hard drive and starting over... I did that a lot of times when i was still using Windows. With all those problems with viruses and countless hardware and software crashes, the simplest was to fix things was just to nuke your system and start with a fresh slate. But it takes a lot of time to re-install all those programs and to download all of those software updates. It usually takes a whole day. Add the fact that you can't exactly return everything to the way things were, you can't blame me for having apprehensions every time i had to start over. There was always going to be something missing. But with Time Machine, all I had to do was plug in my external hard drive and wait for 2 hours. No more re-installing all those programs. No more transferring my personal files folder by folder, one by one. Everything was there, just the way I left it. As if I didn't nuke my hard drive at all. Sure, there are minor differences... I still had to download the OSX updates--- for some weird reason, Time Machine can't back up the OS... but otherwise, every program was there, no re-installation required. Efficiency at its finest. That's something I could never do with Windows. Their system restore function is archaic when compared to this. Heck, even Windows 7 feels outdated when compared to OSX, and OSX was released years ago.

After two years, i still think that switching form PC to Mac is one of the best decisions I have made in my entire life. To those who keep saying that Macs are just status symbols, they're all flash but no substance---- well obviously, you guys have never used a Mac. :)

Just Deserts

I was surfing the net, reading news from around the world like I always do when I've got nothing better to do. And then I stumbled upon an article, about how Bangkok has gone from its past state of robust economic growth, into its present state of chaos and anarchy.

Looking at the timeline, it's amazing how things could change so much in just a few years. Street demonstrations have become so commonplace, that the whole exercise looks so pathetic and tiresome already. Everyone in the country looks so pathetic. They are not getting any sympathy from the international community. They've become objects of ridicule. Outsiders look at them with amusement, contempt, or disdain.

Rallies are a great way for the people to be heard, but when the people hold such demonstrations that often, with conditions that they wouldn't stop until their demands are met--- they act like spoiled brats, who throw hissy fits with even the slightest provocation whenever they do not get what they want. You don't like the current leader? Demand that he resign. You still don't like his replacement? Let's demand that he resign too. And if you still don't like the one who would replace that replacement? Hey, might as well demand that he step down also.

And that's the thing. They live in a democracy, right? And when they voted for these people in the government, those were the people that majority of the population wanted at that time, right? But when the rotten side of those politicians begin to show, they quickly forget that they are the ones who voted for those politicians in the first place.

These people do not have the right to complain. If things do not turn out the way they have hoped, then they should just DEAL WITH IT. Very few promises ever come true, plans don't always push through, and things rarely turn out the way we hope. Maybe if they used even half of their brains when they voted, maybe things could have turned out better... who knows? To keep on complaining about something that they are partly responsible for is a telltale sign of immaturity. These people should learn to grow up. Sure, things didn't turn out all fine and dandy. Well then, tough luck. They should just take that bitter pill and swallow it, and try to strive for change when the next opportunity comes along--- that is, if they're the type of people who learn from their past mistakes. But for now, they should just learn to live with the repercussions of their stupid decisions. They should take responsibility for their actions. After all, they're not being punished for something that they weren't partially responsible for. They're simply getting exactly what they deserve.

Further Disillusionment

The five stages of grief according to the Kübler-Ross model consists of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and lastly, acceptance. When it comes to politics in this country, the intelligent people have been resigned to that state of acceptance for the longest time. When history has shown that we as a people fail to make the wisest decisions time and time again, those people who use their heads have accepted the fact that as a nation, we will be heading nowhere.

I however, have been trapped in the stages of denial and anger for so long. Maybe it's about time for me to move on. i should no longer be surprised. i should stop being so hopeful because I just end up being so angry and disappointed in the end. I guess it's about time that I accepted the fact that this country is riding on the non stop train to oblivion.

For you to understand why I am so affected, why I seem to care too much when most of my peers choose to be apolitical, you have to understand where these feelings are coming from. Ever since I’ve started this so called career, save for the few months when I’ve worked at a private hospital (where I’ve felt so out of place), I have been working for government institutions. I know how life is for the poorest of our countrymen, how their lives are defined by hopelessness and despair. I’m not like most of my friends who work at private companies, where all they care about is to pass through each they, and get their salaries bimonthly to support their own needs as well as their families. I don’t do all that work for financial needs. I work because I want to help. A lot of times, I’ve used up my monthly salary just to buy things for those patients who lack the means to buy the necessary supplies. Many times I’ve done volunteer work, where I’ve spent long hours seeing patients without any sort of compensation for my services whatsoever--- because I wanted to help. And there’s an incredible lack of manpower because there were very few people like me who wanted to help without asking for anything in return. And with the present state this country is in wherein almost everyone is affected by these hash times, fewer people could even afford to help. I’m not some sheltered prince who’s oblivious to the ways of the real world. I may have been one before, but for the past few years I have been with those people who are neglected, used and trampled upon. I have seen them with my own eyes, I have touched them with my own hands, and I have shared in their pain.

It was sometime last year that I have finally become disillusioned with it all. Every time I complain, every time I would try and gather our collective voices for change, I kept on hearing the same answer. The system has been rotten for years, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If I hate the system so much, all of my superiors would say that I was free to leave and search for my ideal working environment, wherever that may be. At first I was adamant, but inevitably I accepted defeat. There’s no way I can change things, I am just one man. And the fact that everyone seems to be contented with the status quo that they do not even want to exert any effort to try to change things makes it impossible. I have accepted defeat. There’s no way I can help others, when these very people I want to help refuse to help themselves. And it’s even more frustrating when these people who obviously need help refuse to recognize the fact that they need help.

I resent the fact that some people have called me unpatriotic when I’ve made this decision. Excuse me for saying this, but what have these people done for their country? I’m willing to bet that in the few years that I have served my countrymen, I have done more than what most people in this country would do for their nation in their entire lifetime. So excuse me for finally getting fed up with the system. Excuse me for finally giving up. To continue living a life like that where i am experiencing constant strain and frustration would be a little too much for me to handle. To continue living a life like that is bound to kill me.

The result of this year’s elections further vindicates my decision. Can you blame me if I felt that here was one opportunity when we could finally have some changes? Changes that weren’t possible if I tried to do them on my own? That’s why I find the results so frustrating. Here was a glimmer of hope, but it turned out to be nothing but a mirage. Here was another chance to turn things around, and we blew it, yet again. Contrary to what others think, I do not hate specific candidates. I’m not convincing people to vote for a specific candidate either. I just want people to use their heads. That’s it. It’s the way people vote that really pisses me off. They say they think about their decisions, but once you ask them further, they are at a loss for words, which completely negates their statement that they make informed decisions. When asked, may people say one liners, similar to those campaign slogans used by candidates, as if it ends there. They say we should just respect each other’s decisions? Well forgive me for saying this, but just like trust, respect is something you earn, it’s not just given away for free. I may not agree with your choice, but say something that makes sense in defense of your choice and I will respect your choice. I just want to hear something that makes sense so that I may believe that you have made an informed decision. But if you can’t say something sensible to justify your choices, at most I could be civil with your decision. Asking for respect is a little too much.

Some have commented that I was so negative, that I resorted to bashing specific candidates instead of just pointing out the positive traits of my choices to convince others. First of all, I wasn’t trying to entice people to vote the candidates that I preferred. I want to open their eyes, I want them to be open to other possibilities so that they may make informed decisions. And let’s face it. I posted positive things before, and I didn’t get any reaction. but when I started my bashing spree, that’s when people took notice. Some people agreed with me, some people took offense. But hey, I got reactions. That’s one fact of life. Talk to people in a nice manner, and you’d be completely ignored. It would take something extreme to get people’s attention and hopefully knock some sense into them. And hey, I managed to open the eyes of at least three people. And save for the few who blew their top when they ran out of things to say in defense of their candidate, I’ve had several meaningful conversations with some people, I got to hear sensible answers, something that would never have happened if I chose to stay silent.

Some saw me as arrogant. Thinking that I was too stubborn, thinking that I was the only one who was right, and all others were wrong. Some even say that I was so narrow minded. How can I be narrow minded when I reviewed each candidate’s platforms for months, when I kept on watching those debates and discussions again and again so that I can reach a truly informed decision? I doubt if those fanatics ever considered what the other candidates had to say. They are the ones who are narrow minded, and I find it laughable that they would label me as such. They’ve completely bought the marketing strategy of one candidate, that it’s a battle between good and evil, and he alone leads the forces of good, and that he has a monopoly on integrity. I didn’t buy all that bullshit because I know for a fact that other candidates could offer what he’s claiming to offer, plus a whole lot more. And anyone who claims to have analyzed each candidate’s platforms would realize that only two candidates have made promises that they can actually keep. The others just kept on spewing whatever the people want to hear, and no one realizes that all those words are nothing but empty promises. I’m a realist. I’m not a fan of blind faith. Miracles don’t happen everyday after all. I need to look at a candidate’s track record and I need to see if he is capable of doing the things that he says he can do. And to choose the leading candidate is tantamount to giving blind faith. There has to be something that I can hold onto, and he offers absolutely none. This is not a progressive country, and at the depths we’re in now, we can’t afford to keep on praying for miracles, we can’t afford to put our trust on something that isn’t realistic and attainable. As a nation, we can’t afford the luxury of blind faith.

I’m not saddened that one candidate won. I am saddened with the results of the elections as a whole. I thought it was impossible to sink into further depths of disillusionment, but that’s where I am now. I’ve completely lost faith in our people. Just by looking at the winners in most positions, and looking at the runner ups… it only proves that people are still dumb enough to buy all that propaganda. It only shows that people do not learn from the past. One man used to say that our people are worth dying for. I doubt if he would say the same thing now. Would you give up your life for a nation that doesn’t care? Nothing could be more stupid than to give up one’s own life for a nation of imbeciles.

Two of my friends got it right. I asked them why they are supporting a certain candidate, who obviously pales in comparison to all the others. They told me to get real. They pointed out that even though I’m a realist, I kept pinning on the ideal. They pointed out that I am a study in contradiction. If I am really a realist, I should accept the reality--- THAT I LIVE IN A NATION OF MORONS. It’s always about charisma, it’s all about popularity, it’s all about the right kind of propaganda. They turn a blind eye to one of the most qualified candidates because he speaks harsh words, because he speaks the truth. He makes no lofty promises, only those that are attainable, but apparently realistic goals are too boring for most people. He makes no attempt to woo the voters with sweet words because he means business, and because he believed that voters are now mature enough to look past all the fluff of propaganda… and he was so wrong to put that much faith in our people. These people do not want to hear the truth because it is so offensive to them. All prefer to hear what’s nice to hear, no matter how surreal, no matter how absurd. People wouldn’t know what’s good for them even if it’s already right at their faces. The ideal is not an option in a country full of morons. The intelligent people have no choice but to choose the lesser evil, because that's the only choice available, as dictated by the overwhelming moronic majority. When the ideal is not an option, the best that the thinking class can do is to choose the less stupid choice. Those are very harsh words indeed, but I have to agree with my friends. In the case of this pathetic excuse for a nation, nothing hurts as much as the truth.

So I’m sorry for contradicting myself. I apologize for thinking reforms are possible in a country so content to lie down in mud and grime, that any form of change is impossible. By actually thinking we can change things when it is clear that we cannot, I was thinking like most people in this country. By believing in the impossible, I WAS ALSO THINKING LIKE A MORON.

But everyone deserves a chance right? I don’t want this country to sink further into the depths of mediocrity after all… there’s nothing more I can do about it, we should just learn to deal with the repercussions. All I can do this time is hope for the best, and that everyone proves me wrong. But for now, there’s really nothing to hold onto, is there? When all you’ve got are lofty dreams that would need miracles in order to fulfill, I can’t help but feel so pessimistic. In a few years, we will know if our people have finally made the right choice, or made another stupid mistake like they always do. Although most signs point to the latter, anything is still possible. In a few short years, we will all know. But by that time, I wouldn’t even care anymore. I’d be so far away, that I wouldn’t even care whatever happens to this god forsaken country... even if I wanted to.

In Retrospect

Nothing like driving on the freeway to keep my mind off things. I don't need a particular destination. I just drove around, moving in circles. It was just me, my car, and the road... with deafening music on full blast on the radio, I was all by myself, completely oblivious to the outside world.

Everything has been relatively normal these past few days. I can function perfectly, in fact no one would have known that my grandfather recently passed away unless i told them so. It's just that during those times that I find myself alone, the littlest things bring tears to my eyes. The music coming from the radio, old pictures on our family albums, even eating dinner alone makes me think of the person who used to sit on the seat to my left... I know I've been acting a little too melodramatic these past few days, but he's the first person that I used to see on a regular basis that has passed away... never mind if we weren't really that close when I was growing up, never mind if we had countless arguments, never mind if we didn't really get along during my younger years, and never mind if he's not really my grandfather, at least biologically speaking... every time i think about him, especially how he looked on his last few days, i just couldn't help it. I just couldn't help but cry.

I have come to realize that I'm such a lousy doctor--- at least when it comes to my family. I never wanted to be a doctor, and the only way for me to resign myself to this fate is by viewing this profession as simply work--- i derive no pleasure nor personal satisfaction from it... it's just a way to make ends meet. Thus, for the past couple of years I strived to separate work from home, because home is the place where i find refuge, where I can be away from the things that I do not want to do. So when any of them would ask me questions about their health or about anything medically related, i get annoyed. I would just think of the simplest, shortest answer possible just to get it over and done with. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer i don't know. Most of the time, i wouldn't even exert any effort at all, but when it comes to other people, I can give a definite answer, and even give them proper treatment. At work some would laud my performance, but at home i turn out to be one of the lousiest.

I know that they expect me to have answers regarding their health related concerns, seeing that I'm the only physician who's readily available to them, but I still get annoyed by the fact that they fail to see that sometimes, I just want to be completely free from anything medically related. There are times when I just need a break from it all. Sometimes, I just need to be free to do the things I want to do, and be away from the things that I feel I am only forced to do out of necessity.

Right after graduation, I failed to recognize that my grandmother had varicella zoster infection despite its classic presentation... as a licensed physician, that was the first negligence on my part. And during her repeated bouts of congestive heart failure, i would find myself at a loss even though I have treated dozens of patients who were brought to the emergency room and presented with the same condition. i seldom check on her numerous medications and insulin shots... who knows if she hasn't been taking the correct dosages. And when it came to my grandfather, i used to hate all those conversations we had during dinner when he kept on asking me all those health related questions as soon as I get home from work. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer with a yes or no. He never had much trust in doctors, that's why he often relied on folk medicine. Looking back, maybe there were many instances when he would have opened up his mind to the legitimate practice of medicine, and i was the one who was capable of opening his mind... yet all those times, I chose to brush him off. Who knows, if he had consulted a doctor early enough, his cancer could have been diagnosed in an early stage, and he could still be alive today.

When i came back home, I noticed that he had lost a lot of weight... his clothes seemed a little too large even though they were old. And he was telling me that he felt very weak, and he was asking me for a possible cause. When I am presented with a patient who complains of weakness accompanied by weight loss, i would immediately suspect cancer. But in his case, i wonder why it didn't occur to me as quickly. And looking back on his last night, I knew that he was suffering from respiratory distress and he was obviously having a very difficult time, i didn't really do anything. i should've gotten my grandmother's oxygen tank when his ran out even though she didn't want to share--- she didn't need it at that time, she just wants oxygen to help her fall asleep... I should've given some analgesic to take away the pain... and I should've demanded that he be brought back to the hospital even though it was agreed upon that we'll just wait for him to expire at home, because he was clearly in respiratory distress and to simply wait for him to die wasn't the right thing to do... I had the opportunity to do all those things, but I didn't. Because when I'm inside our house, i choose to be crippled... i choose to be incapable, unreliable, useless.

i found myself outside the mausoleum. Aside from the wind blowing softly, everything was still. It was locked from the inside, so i just stood outside for a few minutes. Maybe unconsciously, i knew it was where I was headed. i didn't really know why i went there. I knew all that's left inside is just a body... cold and lifeless, undergoing the slow process of decomposition. I doubt if i still believed in the myth of the afterlife, and I knew that any word i would say couldn't really reach anyone. But just for the sake of it, with the wind and the earth as my sole witnesses, I said sorry... for all the things i have done, and for all the things I haven't done.

Thunderstorms

I used to think that i was over this phase...

I used to think that it was just a phase, something that i had to go through, until it's over and done with...

after so many years, it rears its ugly head once again...

Ever since I got home I've been in a state of depression. Either I'm pissed off about something, or i just feel so lonely for no apparent reason. That is my baseline.

I've been that way for years... my emotions just fluctuate every now and then, but these fluctuations never veer far from the baseline.

But since I got back i've felt so much worse. The fact that i'm not doing much work has given me time to reflect on the things i've done and haven't done for the past couple of years, and my realizations have been so depressing.

And with the recent death of my grandfather, together with the feelings of guilt that came along with it... it has led me to an even deeper state of depression.

During dinner, I began to notice things... and i began to look at my family with disdain. How my grandmother's bad traits have been showing. How my mother appears to be some sort of a user. How my brother doesn't give a f*ck about anything at all. How everyone could act so happy, just like that, as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed. And of course, how my father can piss me off with such ease as always.

At the dinner table i remained quite. I felt as if i was about to burst. I kept playing with my food, just as I did when I was a kid whenever I didn't feel like eating... while they went about with their idle conversation.

i just want to go away. i just want this stage in my life to end. If i stay here for long, I will surely go crazy.

And that's when I thought about doing something drastic. That's when I thought about the things that filled my thoughts those many years ago. back when I wanted an easy way out. Back when I would let irrational thoughts cloud all logical thinking.

But I knew all i had to do was take a drink. Calm down and take one drink. It always pulls me away from my state of melancholia, albeit temporarily. I just fear that the day might come when I'll grow tired of such temporary relief...

Because as of now, i'm so tired of my life as it is.

Epilogue

If someone asked me a few days ago questions pertaining to death, I would have answered in a nonchalant manner. It’s not something I’m afraid of. It's not something that saddens me. It’s part of the natural order of things, and death will come to everyone sooner or later. I have encountered so many deaths in my few years of medical practice, that I have become desensitized with the whole idea of death. Except for a few patients that I have been seeing regularly for a few weeks or even a few months, I have no deep emotional attachment to most of the dying patients that I have encountered. Once they’ve taken that last breath, I would check for definite signs and pronounce them dead in a very systematic manner. After one patient, I could easily proceed to the next. After all, once a person has died all that remains is a lifeless body, made up of organ systems that have simply ceased to function.

But that was me yesterday. This is how I am now. After more than a month in the hospital, we finally decided to bring our grandfather home. I often advice relatives of terminally ill patients to just bring the patient home and let him spend the last remaining days of his life in a familiar environment together with his loved ones, even though I absolutely had no idea of what it would feel like, how it can be both physically and emotionally draining. Such a recommendation looks so good on paper that I thought it was also the best decision to make with regard to my grandfather. The basic necessities were bought, and one room in our house was renovated to make it look like a hospital room, complete with all the basic equipment. Two private nurses were hired, so that means less work for us. However, more pressure was set on me because I was the one that they would call whenever there were problems. Everything was manageable though, and my grandfather seemed to be getting stronger, even though I knew that was quite impossible. He spends less time sleeping, he can carry conversations again, and the manifestations of psychosis seemed to have lessened a bit. But I knew in the back of my head that whatever sort of reprieve that we were experiencing back then was only temporary. Back in March i thought he wouldn’t even reach April… the fact that we were able to bring him home was nothing short of a miracle.

It was on Tuesday morning when things took their turn for the worse. He barely woke up again, and I wasn’t able to have any decent conversations with him again. Around lunch time I noticed that he was gasping for breath. He was trying to tell me a lot of things, but all that I could make out was something like… he was having a very hard time, he was finding it difficult to breath, and he wants to give up. Oxygen was administered, and after a few minutes he fell asleep. I knew back then that in an ideal setting, he should be intubated already. But it was agreed upon that we would just wait for the inevitable at home. Bringing him back to the hospital wouldn’t do much good anyway. And if it could add a few more days in his life, he may not even be aware of those extra few days anymore. It would probably just prolong the agony.

After midnight I went back to his room... though he was asleep he was obviously in respiratory distress. He woke up when I tried to listen to his lung sounds, and he just looked at me without saying I word. I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me. I smiled and said everything’s okay, and then he fell asleep again. It was on Wednesday morning when the nurses called me up again to check on him. He was lying on his bed as always, he looked exactly the way he was each time I checked on him on most mornings. Except this time, I felt no pulse. I couldn’t hear any heartbeat. There was no spontaneous breathing. Both of his pupils were fixed and dilated, and all his extremities felt very cold. I’ve been so used to the sight of death that I felt nothing at first, but when everyone started crying I felt tears welling up. I knew that it was coming and I thought that I was already prepared for it, but it seemed as if I wasn’t. I tried so hard to fight those tears but ultimately it was a losing battle. A few hours ago I witnessed him gasping for breath, a few hours ago he looked me straight in the eye and I told him that everything was okay even though we both knew that it was not. And now that he has expired, I was the one who would pronounce him dead.

I knew the exact moment when an endotracheal tube should have been placed. I knew the exact moment when vasopressors should have been started. I knew the exact moment when we had to do CPR and when those intravenous injections of epinephrine could have helped... and I wondered if I should have done those things instead of doing nothing. But looking back, those things wouldn’t be able to do much good anyway. All those life saving measures are only temporary and cannot sustain life in the long run. Doing so would only prolong his agony. I just wished I could have given something to have made it easier. I didn’t even give him anything for the pain. We ran out of oxygen during the wee hours of the morning and there was nothing I could do to help him breathe. Looking back, I just wish that he wasn’t in pain or in any form of agony. I just wish that he didn’t experience any form of hardship. I just wish that the last remaining minutes of his life didn't prove to be difficult for him... and I wish that he died with a sense of fulfillment, without any physical nor emotional burden... I hope that he died peacefully.

It has been a long day and I haven’t even slept yet. He had specific instructions that he did not want to have a wake. He just wants a short service in church, and then we should proceed to his burial afterward. Everyone had to do his part for all the necessary arrangements, and with everyone’s help, we managed to pull it off. We picked up some formal clothes in his closet, thinking of what he would want to wear... and what would look best on him. At the church, after mass, when we all took turns at dousing his coffin with holy water, I couldn't even look at his body without breaking in tears. By 6 PM, we were already at the cemetery back at his home town. The sun was setting on the horizon and the wind was blowing softly as we finally laid him to rest. Everything was so surreal, I could have sworn that it was all just a dream. The atmosphere was serene and for me, it was close to perfection. If he was still alive, I knew that he would be happy with what we all saw. We did exactly as he wanted, and taking all things into consideration, i would say that we did a good job.

We got back home at around 8 PM. Everywhere I looked, there are things that reminded me of him. I got so used to his daily routine through the years, that I would half expect him to show up. 8 PM... that’s the same time everyone usually gets home from work. That’s also the same time he goes up to his room upstairs to sleep, and we would see him on his way up and we would all kiss him good night. At 6AM, I would always expect to see him eating breakfast, and by 8AM I would expect to see him running around the garden as I’m leaving for work, doing his exercise routine. By 11 AM if I’m at home, I would expect him to call me, asking me to join him for lunch. At 5:30 PM he eats dinner, and he would always ask me if it was really all right to take that one shot of brandy after dinner so that it would help him fall asleep. Everyday, at those specific times, I would expect to see him going through his daily routine... his routine that I took for granted and never gave much attention to because I have become so used to it... and after a while reality would set in and I would begin to remember that he's gone... i would realize that i won't be seeing him anymore. I would realize that he'll no longer be there.

I entered my grandparent’s bathroom and the smell of pomade admixed with his aftershave lingered in the air as always. That was the same scent that I’ve smelled as I kissed him on the cheek that last time while he was still confined in the hospital. In the kitchen there are all sorts of herbal medicines in the cupboard... he was never fond of “manufactured” medicines, and we always had minor arguments regarding all those stuff that he used to take. In the garage his car is parked next to mine, that vintage Mercedes Benz that he refused to give up no matter what, despite the many offers from vintage collectors. I would always remember the distinct smell of its old leather interior, and how I always found it embarrassing to ride that car when we were in elementary school because all the other kids rode in cool and modern cars. When I went upstairs, I saw the makeshift gym that he has filled with equipment bought from those home shopping channels on TV, and I would always remember how he tells me I’m wasting money with my gym membership because he thought everything that I needed was already there. In the living room there’s still that Lazy Boy chair, where he sits all day just watching TV or sleeping when he was already too tired to move around the house... and now it's just an empty chair. Inside the makeshift office I saw the words “dada 56 years old” scribbled on the wall. I wrote those words directly below his picture on that wall back when I was 5, to commemorate his 56th birthday. My dad said that dada was how I called my grandfather when I was 2, and somehow it just stuck. Me and my siblings call him such, even to this very day. Scattered on the desk, I see lots of empty billing forms for the tenants in his apartments. Years ago he taught us this weird formula that he made up which was needed to arrive at the proper total billing. He said we needed to learn all that because we will be the ones who would manage his business when he’s gone. During summer he would bring my brother and me to help him do those basic repairs because when he’s gone we are the one’s who would take care of his business... it’s funny that now, both of us would want nothing to do with it. I went up to his room and I remember that talk we had last November, when he said that there’s nothing greater than remaining in one’s own country and serving his own people... and I answered that there’s no money to be earned here, that’s why I want to search for greener pastures. I can’t afford to be a hero or a saint after all. When I got home back in February, that time we talked in his room was also the last time he slept there, because he grew tired of going up and down the stairs already. His body wouldn’t allow him even if he wanted to. He was asking me a lot of questions about his health, and I had to cut it short because I still had plans for the evening. After that he grew too sick. That was the last meaningful conversation that we had.

All this familiarity has resulted into such a huge emotional investment. That’s the reason why his lifeless body is so different from all the rest. That's the reason why reality refuses to set in. I kept crying as I was holding his hand yesterday, wishing for him to still be able to feel my touch for one last time. I wish I could have said something better that last time we spoke, and if I only knew that yesterday was his last, I would have spent all day beside him instead of being holed up in my room studying. There are things that we couldn’t change, and there are things that we couldn’t take back, no matter how hard we try. He has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and will all those things that I wish I should have done still in the back of my mind, it makes it so hard to let go. I kept holding his hand for more than an hour since he passed away, denying the fact that the hand I was holding was no longer the hand of my grandfather. It was just a hand attached to another lifeless body, made up of worn out organ systems that have finally ceased to function...a lifeless body that has finally succumbed to the disease... and nothing I could do can ever change that fact. Nothing I could do can ever bring him back.