Edgie Endrina 
Joseph Carlos
Ernesto Mercado

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[email protected]
Evelyn Alcaraz Muallil - 
megalcaraz@hotmail com
Edgar Luce
[email protected]

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AfterMath78 Archive

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 My second brother Raul, 44, has recently been sending me fillers through
e-mail that he is undergoing midlife crisis. He does not go much into
details -- just little complaints about being tired, unable to decide what
he wants out of life, staring at crossroads and dead ends. It's the kind of
problem, which I find difficult to react to - that philosophical crisis of
the soul, a pain that transcends the physical and emotional planes. 

 I should know. Four years ago, I was in the same boat. I woke up one
morning and felt depressed. I was 32, overweight, loveless, broke, alone,
and felt like nothing was happening to my life. The worse part of it was, I
didn't know what would make me happy. This feeling dragged on up until my
34th birthday. After passing the denial stage, I was finally able to accept
the fact that I am indeed suffering from midlife crisis. Ever the
conscientious researcher, I tried to know more about this much-talked about
American malady.

 My readings were limited to books written by American authors and three
Filipino books, which were written by middle-aged Filipino celebrities who
belong to the upper crust of society. Which makes me sometimes wonder: do
poor people -- those who live in the slums and shanties -- do they go
through midlife crisis, too? They probably don't. Perhaps the struggle for
physical and material survival doesn't allow them to reflect and dwell on
their respective lives anymore.

 According to my readings, sometime between the ages of 28 and 33, a person
normally experiences the first stages of stagnation and discontent. This,
according to midlife guru Gail Sheehy, is that stage where we push and
reappraise our relationships and either reorder or intensify our
commitments. "In the 10 years after reaching 35," writes Sheehy, "both men
and women confront an often harrowing passage when mortality first becomes
real and time suddenly begins to press in. As we examine the gaps between
our youthful illusions and where we actually are, we may experience the
same confusion and fears we thought we have left far behind in adolescence.
Such inner turmoil has become well known as the midlife crisis."

 I liked the way Sheehy used the word "harrowing" to describe this stage,
for that was exactly what I felt during that time. Physically, I saw
manifestations of time's betrayal: worry lines started to appear in my
forehead; unwanted and stubborn avoirdupois grew in my belly; my hairline
receded.  When I woke up one morning and found strands of falling hair in
my pillow, I was petrified. My defense mechanism shot up to stratospheric
heights. I told myself aging is natural, it's all in the mind, etc. I even
quoted Shakespeare by saying, "We owe God a death." But my ego simply
refused to wholeheartedly accept these facts. I'm too young to feel old and
too old to feel young. 

 Mentally, I felt more inadequate. All my life, I've always regarded myself
as somebody who can think well. I know I'm far from being an Einstein, but
I could easily analyze problems, command words and punctuation to behave,
do simple arithmetic, and absorb facts, figures, and insights like a
sponge. Imagine my surprise when I discovered one morning that I couldn't
even identify the subject and predicate of a sentence, which I was writing.
Was that five years ago when I said my work was insultingly easy? How come
my bosses complained about my written work?

 Emotionally, I became insecure. My fears doubled. I began to compare
myself with my colleagues. Among our college group, I'm the only one who
doesn't have a graduate degree. I carried that chip on my shoulder for
years! When I was 25, I told myself I'd make my first million by the age of
30. When I turned 34, I had to close my bankbook because my money was only
20 pesos. I felt like a junkie.

 My temper also flared up easily. So much so, that one time right after I
had an argument with a former officemate, I banged the door, kicked the
waste can, and threw things in my office. What cooled me down and made me
embarrassed was when our secretary talked to our staff and made an apology
on my behalf. She quitely said: "pasensya na kayo kay sir, tumatandang
binata na kasi. (You have to forgive sir, he's becoming an old bachelor,
you see). And just as my angry emotions intensified, I also discovered an
unknown part of myself - I was turning mushy and lachrymose. I would go
misty-eyed at sad stories and cry over dramatic novels. When I found myself
sobbing while watching the cartoon movie "Bambi," I went into panic. Gee,
something must be terribly wrong with me!

 My spiritual side was even worse. For the first time, I started to have
doubts about my faith. I even engaged myself into a debate with an SVD
priest friend regarding the authenticity of an afterlife. What if there is
no such thing as heaven and hell? I asked him. "Huwag naman, lugi naman
kami nyan," (I hope it's not true, we're at the losing end if that's the
case), he seriously intoned. See? I told him. If a priest like you is
unsure, can you expect me to have firm convictions? He threw a question
back: "So what do you believe then?" I don't know, I confusedly replied. I
thought I've done my spiritual search in college. Now I'm back to the basic
questions.

 And if that wasn't enough, everyday of my stressful life, I have to
contend myself with that irritating nagging question: "Why aren't you
married yet?" Rather than be rude, I found myself explaining that this was
my choice and that my status does not in any way make me a freak of nature.
But then, I found it difficult to keep on explaining to people every time.
 

 Midlife crisis is harrowing because you wrestle with your personal demons,
deconstruct and challenge your self-postulates, go into private wars, and
cope with your own malaise, maladroitness, and sense of disarray. It's a
flummoxed stage, which can pull the sail out of your boat, while your
seemingly woebegone life unreels before your eyes like a mythological
monster, evoking a sense of doom.

 But just like the changing seasons, a refreshing breeze flows from nature
and through time, one slowly learns to romance tranquility. Changes come at
dead ends. As my former editor would often say, "the most dramatic change
happens to a person when he is pushed to the wall and he is left with no
choice but to make that change." In my case, it was my first trip abroad
that became my turning point. From my very fast-paced life in the
Philippines, my new job took me to a research institute in Taiwan, which
resembles that of a monastery. For months, I hanged on to keep my sanity
intact while I acclimatized myself into this cold, impersonal, and
non-English speaking environment. I survived on long letters and phone
calls, but after awhile, when I realized that my friends have lives and
families of their own, I unwittingly surrendered to the counsel of my own
wisdom. I began to pray even if I had doubts that someone was listening to
me and learned the art of talking to myself. When you're helpless, you just
have to believe in a higher force or a Supreme Being. I did what I thought
was right. I was baptized Catholic so I went to mass, participated in a
bible study group, read till my eyes drooped, became conscious about my
health, ran daily to experience the endorphin rush, and slowly socialized.
Before I knew it, I graduated from awkwardness to comfort.

 Physically, I've come to accept the painful fact that I could no longer
compete with teen-aged dudes in the strength and looks department. My
body's metabolism is slowing down. I believe that my parents' genes, which
carry a long history of ailments such as obesity, cardiac arrest, cancer,
diabetes, and hypertension, are all within my system, and unless I live a
healthy lifestyle, those ailments would start to activate. And so I became
aware of my meat, salt, sugar, and alcohol intake and started to replace
them with fruits and vegetables. My occasional smoking is the only problem
that bothers me but I am trying hard to quit. 

I likewise discovered that if one just hangs on and relies on his
wellspring of strength, new passions would emerge. I never knew I could
cook until one day, I experimented on making my own version of spaghetti
bolognese. The word spread around and I have started to get a regular set
of followers who eagerly wait for my next kitchen appointment. With the
help of cookbooks, hours of hanging around the kitchen, and reliance on my
discriminating taste buds, I have slowly earned the reputation of being a
promising chef. I used to be chained by the glamour and stability that
white-collared job offers. But now, the thought of shifting jobs from
corporate work to odd ones even sounds exciting to me. I've always dreamed
of becoming a chef, like Richard Gere in "Autumn in New York" or a
bartender, like Tom Cruise in "Cocktail."

For many months, there was an inner voice that dictated me to write. I've
been ignoring this voice, but it won't stop nagging me. It yells at me at
all times: in the middle of the night, when I'm taking a shower,
exercising, riding in buses or trains, or even in the middle of a boring
office meeting. I'm becoming docile to this voice now. I write no matter
what. I just let this voice guide me. It might lead me somewhere, and I'm
no longer afraid.

I've become more tolerant, and my temper has leveled down. When you're in a
foreign country, you'll always think twice about blowing your top because
this might mean your immediate deportation. And so I count up to 500, or
sometimes even up to 1000 when I'm steaming just to cool myself down. I
still cry over sad novels and movies, but I am not ashamed of it anymore.
I've thrown stereotype gender roles out of the window a long time ago. I've
reached that stage where people's opinions about myself don't affect me at
all. I figured that life is too short and to dwell on negative things is
going to take a toll on my health.

By any known standards, I am still very far from being rich, but I no
longer dream of making millions. As long as I know how to work, I told
myself I wouldn't go hungry. I've paired down my needs Just give me a
comfortable bed and some money to spend on books and decent meals, I'd
survive. My only form of vice right now is traveling, which could really be
expensive, but that only happens every now and then. I could always forgo
buying expensive shoes or electronic gadgets in exchange for plane fares
and hotel accommodations. 

No longer pious, my spiritual life has taken a different course, too. I
don't go to church regularly but I rediscovered God and talk to Him every
day. I'm even thinking of doing some volunteer or apostolic work because I
want to help people. I feel I have been so blessed, I want to share my
blessings with others.

 At midlife, we do take stock of things, and our discoveries oftentimes
surprise us. I guess the important thing is to nurture our solitude while
at the same time, not totally neglect our social life. We should also not
take the stigma and negative tags that go along with the term "middle age"
too seriously. I used to feel awkward getting more interested in yoga and
yogurt rather than rap music and cognac -- but not anymore. 

 The shining leitmotif of midlife, I suppose, is managing change. We
mellow, do our reality checks, clean up our acts, acquire a level of
persnicketiness, slow down, simplify, and forgive ourselves. I still
believe in the magical power of love, but I no longer go crazy for that
kind of feeling, which Gwynyth Paltrow mouthed in "Shakespeare in Love" as
the "love that overthrows life."
 

 After five years, I am proud to say that I am peaceful and happy. I know
this is not and will never be a perfect state. I still feel blue every now
and then, experience silly moments, and am contented with my loveless
status. But who doesn't feel blue from time to time? Does everyone feel
smart 24 hours a day? And was it "Time" magazine that recently ran a story
on the escalating divorce rate and that more people are choosing single
life over marriage? If this is the case, I must be in good company then.

 Somebody said the worst form of loneliness is when it is shared with
someone. If this is so, then maybe the best form of happiness is when it is
experienced alone. Recently, I wrote the following in my journal, and have
discovered that almost every weekend thereafter, I succumb to this new
level of joy:

5 April 2001

It all sounds like a coffee and bacon advertisement, but it's true,
sometimes I wake up to perfect mornings. Just like today, I opened my eyes
with a smile on my face knowing that it's a holiday. No rush bathroom
rituals, hurried breakfasts, and making on-the-spot decisions on what
office attire I have to wear. The thermometer, which hangs on my wall,
registered 20 degrees Celsius. There was no sunshine but the wind was cool.
From my glass window, birds chirped in unison. For almost a minute, I was
swept by the natural sweet cadence of what seemed like a thousand tweets.
The sounds came from a mango tree where the birds nestled. The marvelous
thing was, after they rendered their musical performance, a gust of wind
blew, and they all flew towards the north. It was a sight to behold - a
flock of birds in graceful flight, fading before my eyes. I said my morning
prayers, made 50 push-ups, and jogged in place to allow my blood to
circulate. And then I went down to the kitchen and started to brew coffee.
While the coffeemaker was making those gurgling sounds, I stared at the
kitchen window and noticed the tall blades of grass swaying slowly near our
herb garden. It was a sight I wanted to freeze. I could have painted this
scene if I was an artist. I went back to my room and played Antonio
Vivaldi's Concerto No. 10 in C Minor. I was overjoyed. I felt like I could
live forever.

 I am confident that my brother will soon be happy, too, because everyone
that goes through a harrowing crisis can always discover his or her bigger
self. People in midlife have to fight. We have to believe that we deserve a
second lease on life. We should vow to be better.

Ronald Mangubat
22 September 2001
Shanhua, Tainan, Taiwan
 

From Rev. Fr. Erick Santos

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Please help us find the following buddies:

Edgie Endrina, Joseph Carlos, Ernesto Mercado

(Requested by Philip Mangay)

(Still) Wanted:

Maybelle Limasing, Rogelio Isleta, Bien Cruz, Ester Trilliana, Emma Nicholas, Yolanda Wines, Elena Villalon, Caroline Palero-Torres, Bong Lauza, Nenette Kit Cruz, Antonio Ocampo,  Rainier Virgino, Susan Prado, Mario Mendoza, Benilda Inocencio,  Rodel Lachica, Rioben Guzman, Nora Villanueva
 

If you have information on them please let one of us know

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