Died on a leap year while the moon's half-lit and the stars are out.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Old Man
It was awkward, how the thin old man walked along the sidewalks of Ayala avenue near PBCom building past 9 in the evening. From about 40 adult steps away, I could see he was bending on his stomach, pushing his left hand on its lower part. Probably something he ate, I thought.
But I knew there was something terribly wrong when I saw his face that resembled a dying Christ. At about 10 adult steps away, he was so much thinner. His eyes were almost shut. The remnants of his teeth were grinding. Something's terribly wrong with this man, I thought as he slowly passed me by.
In curiosity (I'm pretty sure it's not sympathy), I stopped, looked back, and approached the old man. Old man says he has liver cancer. Doctors said he's gonna die soon. How soon, I don't know. I didn't bother asking. He's dying anyway and I can't do anything about it.
Old man showed me papers. He had just went to Malacañang Palace and sought some help. I wanted to die in Leyte, old man said. The problem is, he had no money (to die in Leyte). Old man said fare was too high.
At that point, excessive pain was pretty obvious in his face. I was at 2-arms length. He wasn't looking at anything. I'm not sure if he's looking at anything in front of him. I was thinking he was looking at Leyte in his head. Mind over matter.
Old man continued talking about Leyte, his hometown. I wasn't listening. I was looking dead at him. Waiting for sympathy to come and kick me in the heart. But there were no sympathies for that evening. I was too sleepy, in a hurry for work.
He ranted about the government. Malacañang won't help. Six senators turned him down. Promises from DSWD were eaten by cancer cells celebrating inside his liver. Fuck the government, I thought what he really wanted to say. Better yet, fuck hope.
Old man suddenly turned silent. I heard whispers. Not sure if he was cussing. I don't care. I told him to ride a bus and go to Cubao and from there ask some bus driver to get him to Leyte for free. But he was mad and dying. I was cussing like a machine in my mind.
I handed him a hundred and fifty pesos. It was not because of sympathy. Maybe yes. I just thought it was the right thing to do. Old man gripped hard on the money, slowly looked at me, and threw the paper bills on the cold sidewalk of Ayala avenue.
Old man turned his back cussing and cussing cussing cussing cussing fuck it I'm dying anyway. Old man left me alone between intersecting streetlights and headlights. I was late for work. Always late. I picked up my money. Bought some chips and ate it like the cancer cells eating the old man's body up.
But I knew there was something terribly wrong when I saw his face that resembled a dying Christ. At about 10 adult steps away, he was so much thinner. His eyes were almost shut. The remnants of his teeth were grinding. Something's terribly wrong with this man, I thought as he slowly passed me by.
In curiosity (I'm pretty sure it's not sympathy), I stopped, looked back, and approached the old man. Old man says he has liver cancer. Doctors said he's gonna die soon. How soon, I don't know. I didn't bother asking. He's dying anyway and I can't do anything about it.
Old man showed me papers. He had just went to Malacañang Palace and sought some help. I wanted to die in Leyte, old man said. The problem is, he had no money (to die in Leyte). Old man said fare was too high.
At that point, excessive pain was pretty obvious in his face. I was at 2-arms length. He wasn't looking at anything. I'm not sure if he's looking at anything in front of him. I was thinking he was looking at Leyte in his head. Mind over matter.
Old man continued talking about Leyte, his hometown. I wasn't listening. I was looking dead at him. Waiting for sympathy to come and kick me in the heart. But there were no sympathies for that evening. I was too sleepy, in a hurry for work.
He ranted about the government. Malacañang won't help. Six senators turned him down. Promises from DSWD were eaten by cancer cells celebrating inside his liver. Fuck the government, I thought what he really wanted to say. Better yet, fuck hope.
Old man suddenly turned silent. I heard whispers. Not sure if he was cussing. I don't care. I told him to ride a bus and go to Cubao and from there ask some bus driver to get him to Leyte for free. But he was mad and dying. I was cussing like a machine in my mind.
I handed him a hundred and fifty pesos. It was not because of sympathy. Maybe yes. I just thought it was the right thing to do. Old man gripped hard on the money, slowly looked at me, and threw the paper bills on the cold sidewalk of Ayala avenue.
Old man turned his back cussing and cussing cussing cussing cussing fuck it I'm dying anyway. Old man left me alone between intersecting streetlights and headlights. I was late for work. Always late. I picked up my money. Bought some chips and ate it like the cancer cells eating the old man's body up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)