MAKING SENSE

by Clifford Marshal Ablaza

    THOUGH not to directly say that we are losing a very essential part of our self to the vacuum and void of the modern times, but, regardless of our admission or denial that is the simple truth. We cannot hide the fact that we have already made our share of left turns and parking at the wrong side of the road too soon. We have been downright overwhelmed with the new paddle of progressive living that, if we weigh it down on a scale, the heaviest part would be our utter obsession with mundane things that, by now, have conquered the frail hearts of millions. But, who can blame us? The world is changing colors right before our very noses that  following the novelties wouldn't seem like a sin. It is, after all, natural to adapt. But what we have not noticed are our leavings on a scrap of paper left behind for yesterday.

    We have all been led into being callous towards our core needs as a result of keeping up with the fast train that we don't give much weight on the things that we drop along the way. Our human emotion, much coveted by today's fiction characters flooding the tri-media, is a relative casualty which is probably staked under a melee of wires and chipboards and remote controls. But, everyday, masked by a facade of shiny, happy smiling faces, there are things that tear us up inside. But nobody would suspect they are there, for underneath the paint can we see the true broken man. It's only when our little breakdowns come knocking like a welcome stranger can we really find the avenue to ventilate that cargo. However, the tragedy of this need to chip away our share of the weight of the world is that no one is there to willingly and uncritically listen to our downpour of heartaches, for there are always a thousand and one alibis that may even sound cliché. And that's what we keep on discovering - perfect alibis, as if all the lies we tell ourselves are not enough.

    It might mean we turned ourselves numb, but then again, they are not the only ones contained in our cobweb-covered treasure chest. Even the words that have been bridging our thirst for conversation, for the sake of feeling accepted, have been abandoned without a second look. And what do we really know now? Just about nothing compared to the language that we unmindfully disregard. Nobody has ever voiced out the wisdom of the ages spawned from years of living in the clutches of conversation. We can't say that we have been taught more or learned more compared to the generations before us - they lived in silence, and so do we. We're actually back to reaping the fruit of the seeds of the basics. We never really managed to move on from our cornerstones. 

    Our years of bringing and purging all we know just head us back to the same corner. We actually duck and run before we even know what we are up against, or if we are even against anything. For the most part, we fight with our tendency to vocalize our piece of thought. And for what cost? Just about a quarter of our lives.

    Another unfortunate victim of our boundless walkways is the value and essence of touch. Touch is one of the best medicines for an ill person - whether physically or emotionally - and it runs close to laughter. As we might notice, the similarity between the two is that it takes more than one person to experience it, and it somehow cements the thought that we are not alone. And that's one of the very best assurances that we can get. If only we have not shied away and later on condemned the gesture of being there. There would never be too much of it, I swear. What is there to lose to have somebody to shake hands with, to tap our backs, to lean on our shoulders, to enclose our palms with or to kiss our cheeks everyday? Nothing but our pride, the poison of our soul.

    All in all, it's about us living in contrary to the present culture and frame of mind of being too exclusive with what we believe in; it's all about not being glued to a particular genre of thought and disposition; it's all about leaving the narrow path our mind is forged into trodding. We are not at the losing end when we reach out and be a part of another person's day to day experience. Only pride kills the beauty. 

And who else would care to notice if we do? No, not the powers who want to lift their heads and stop being leavers. And we are all leavers, but we need to leave out that state of mind before everybody else leaves us.

    We not mountains. Let's keep it that way.