Way to live. Way to die. Way to write.

In 2019, when Greta Thunberg, 16, was scolding, thundering at, global leaders about the sorry state of the planet and warning of climate change coming, astrologers were warning of a worrisome conjunction of planets Saturn and Pluto—both malefic in ancient lore, transformative in current thought—culminating in January 2020 in Capricorn yet, the earth sign associated with governments, the global economy, the establishment, the patriarch.

The forecast that most resonated was of a black swan event that would shake world powers-that-be into seeing, acknowledging, that the status quo is NOT sustainable; that the planet, and the poor and the homeless, can take only so much abuse; that CHANGE is inevitable.

I was imagining a sudden escalation in global warming that scientists hadn’t seen coming, a surprise package from mother nature’s deep state with disastrous geopolitical and economic effects worldwide.

But, as it turns out, COVID-19 is no black swan – scientists and fictionists both, and the likes of Bill Gates, too, had been warning of a health pandemic such as this for years.

As it also turns out, the killer virus is only indirectly related to climate change, and more likely directly a consequence of the way we humans have cut down forests with arrogant disregard for our fellow creatures in the wild and the ecology of the whole, all in the name of ‘development,’ because, you know, it’s the economy (that matters) stupid, or so the capitalists preach/ed and practice/d.

Said to have jumped from bats through pangolins to humans, if not custom-made in some lab for biowarfare purposes (as conspiracy theorists insist), the culprit is a tiny replicating beast of a virus that we can’t even see except through a high-powered transmission electron microscope, but which is so contagious a challenge to the human immune system, it has been impossible to downplay the spread and the dead, the dread and the panic, around the globe.

Life is dramatically different, ang daming bawal. We are not to touch our eyes nose mouth in case our hands (wash hands!) are carrying the virus (from something / someone we touched, among other possibilities). It’s not easy because our eyes nose mouth are exposed, and sensitive, to the elements, and it takes a lot of control not to scratch that itch now and then.

Suddenly we have to wear masks and avoid human contact, the idea being to contain and delay the spread of the virus until a cure is found or a vaccine developed that is both safe and efficacious, and the only way is to stay home and keep every other human at arm’s length or two. Even family. Even in the confines of home, in case anyone turns out to be asymptomatic a carrier. Which is all so counter-intuitive for us humans who by nature like to touch, need to touch, thrive on touch, particularly in anxious times like this when the impulse is to huddle and cuddle and hug for strength and comfort. Pa-konsuwelo sa urban poor in cramped hovels, argh.

As if being locked down in our private spaces were not bad enough, it’s been a trial worrying about, problematizing the logistics of, access to food and meds and other essentials. Ang daming nawalan ng trabaho. Worst hit are the majority poor who pre-COVID-19 barely subsisted kahig-tuka from meal-to-meal, day-to-day, a drop here, a trickle there, consequently reduced to lockdown hunger, no kahig, no tuka. Asa na lang sa, hintay na lang ng, manaka-nakang hulog ng langit na madalas ay kakarampot na nga, nananakaw pa. And let me not get started on our overworked healthcare workers who deserve better care and better pay.

The good news, finally, maybe, as 2020 draws to a close, is of vaccines coming, raising hopes that things can go back to normal sooner than later.

I wouldn’t bet on it.

Getting access to enough vaccines for at least 60 (some say 70, some 80) million Filipinos in order for the herd to achieve immunity is going to take some doing. Ang pangako ni Dutz na Pamaskong bakuna, malamang ay sa Semana Santa pa at the earliest.

As above, so below. The year 2020 closes with another important conjunction. Jupiter, (benefic) planet of expansion and imaginative vision, and Saturn, (malefic) planet of structure and discipline, align in the first degree of Aquarius, the air sign associated with higher aspirations, humanitarian concerns, the collective good, ruled by Uranus, the “awakener” who brings unexpected shocks in aid of raising human consciousness.

There will be changes, maybe new beginnings, over the next two, three, years. We will be reminded again and again about the interconnectedness of all things. Ang sakit ng kalingkingan ay sakit ng buong katawan. We will be reminded again and again, over and over, until we get it right, that it IS the economy, stupid, liberal capitalism, to be precise, that has messed up the planet and humanity.

A new socio-economic order is the new grail.

Way to die

There was that video clip on cable TV of an angry, grieving daughter whose father had just died of COVID in hospital: “My dad was a good man, he didn’t deserve to die like that!”

Indeed. No one, except perhaps a jack-the-ripper, deserves to die a painful and lonely COVID death. I would rather die painlessly and happily, in my own good time a la Edward G. Robinson in Soylent Green, but not to be processed into food for the masses please, rather, straight to a crematorium, ashes to ashes.

In that 1973 film of a dystopian future—forests gone, oceans drying up, humidity all year round, the greenhouse effect in full swing—assisted dying is the norm, and Edward G.’s character, after saying goodbye to loved ones, is hygienically dispatched with his choice of music (light classical) playing in the background and film footages of rich green fields flashing on a panoramic screen. The payback: government gets to convert his remains into green wafers to help feed a hungry populace—”Cannibalism!” the critics screamed. So yeah, cremation is good. Dust to dust.

But seriously, when I first read of some conservatives in America saying NO to quarantine and social distancing and YES to just letting the elderly die of COVID-19, even encouraging them to welcome death for the greater good, for the sake of the economy, this senior-cit went WTF! Talaga? E, kung ganoon ang scenario, let the elderly have a choice naman: either to run the risk of dying painfully of COVID, or to die ahead painlessly and in the company of loved ones. To be fair, and humane. Konting puso naman.

It’s life-changing enough, growing old and counting down. The added threat of COVID-19 and the forced early retirement is a monumental hassle, freak-out, bad trip. And given so much time and reason to dwell on things existential, it’s disconcerting, because otherwise taboo, to be talking and thinking about death.

Why nga ba are we discouraged, warned against death-talk, or the mere mention of the word? Sabi ng matatanda noong bata ako, baka kasi akalain ni Kamatayan na tinatawag siya, kaya rin may kasunod dapat na knock-on-wood three times to drive away any evil spirits summoned.

The notion of death as a bad thing. As misfortune. As punishment even. Needs rethinking.

Way to write

When the lockdown happened, I stopped work on a half-done Ninoy Aquino book project because suddenly there was no time. Suddenly the husband and the daughter who were usually out all day if not all night were home 24/7. A whole new world, LOL. Goodbye, solitude.

There was, besides, a scary virus to read up on and avoid catching, pandemic news to keep track of, a non-performing prez to rant at and about, COVID-19 (and other) deaths to mourn, healthcare workers to champion, relief work to help with, there was just no extra time.

I did try to sneak in a blog post, essay a reading of the new normal unfolding, pero hindi ako makabuo-buo, hirap na hirap mag-wrap-up, a measure I suppose of how uncertain I was about everything. Malay ko, baka naman the Inter-Agency Task Force on Covid-19 knew what it was doing, baka naman kayang gawin ang ginagawa sa Vietnam at sa South Korea, baka naman by Christmas ay maayos-ayos na (so to speak) ang buhay-buhay, as the prez promised.

Natauhan ako bandang katapusan ng June. On the 25th nabalita na gustong palitan nina Cong. Paolo Duterte, Lord Allan Velasco, at Eric Yap ang pangalan ng Ninoy Aquino International Airport (NAIA), gawing “Pambansang Paliparan ng Pilipinas.” Dapat daw kasi ay pambansang wika ang gamit at dapat daw ay malinaw agad na ito ay nasa Pilipinas.

“We want it to reflect the legacy of the Filipino people, our everyday heroes. The name bears no color, no political agenda. It only signifies our warmth as Filipinos in welcoming our own kababayans and foreign visitors,” sabi ni Pulong.

“House Bill No. 7031 is part of the efforts to reposition the Philippines as a choice tourist destination once the COVID-19 pandemic is over and travel restrictions are lifted,” sabi ni Velasco.

No political agenda. Bola. Clearly the agenda is to deny Ninoy his place in the nation’s and the airport’s history. If we allow this to happen, what’s to prevent them from eventually renaming it FMIA [Ferdinand Marcos International Airport] —in Imelda’s lifetime, they imagine; in a Bongbong presidency, they hope.

Biglang nabalikan ko tuloy si Ninoy. These last months have been all about reviewing and updating the 1980 to 1983 timeline in particular, and reading up on the Agrava fact-finding reports (majority and minority 1984), the Sandiganbayan and Supreme Court rulings (Marcos and Cory times), a convict’s belated full-of-holes “confession” that pointed to Danding as promotor (1995), the early presidential pardons by GMA (2007 to 2009), and Fe Zamora’s seven-part special report for the Inquirer (2010). Close readings for the nth time, and now I’m seeing the signs of long-term planning for both the assassination and the cover-up, how Machiavellian, how Marcosian.

Yes. Much easier to write about the past, no matter how maddening. A kind of escape from what’s turning out to be an endlessly harrowing and painful present.

Except that there is really no escaping the present for long. No ignoring the COVID threat, no shrugging off climate change, no excusing state terrorism and historical revisionism.

Without losing sight of the past, writing in, on, the present is the urgent challenge of these trying times.

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This essay was written for the e-book IN CERTAIN SEASONS: MOTHERS WRITE IN THE TIME OF COVID, handog ng CCP at Philippine PEN.

Free e-book download link: https://www.mediafire.com/file/07tdoup69koebsw/In_Certain_Seasons_012321b.pdf/file?fbclid=IwAR0Y42SPJsUzNaTOIZDBPYowntgaXJ06h6jT3N12t_koOHyd4537riY8qzs