The ‘Young Once’ and their Once-Upon-a-Time

“Objects remind one of the past and in this they are beneficial for one can give them away and it is like shedding history. Memories are more cruel: they cannot be given away, only shared.”- Stephen, The Iron Tree

It is almost 9 o’clock in the morning. No other light is present outside of their new home. There is nil except for the first set of glittering, orange, sun rays — the one that is being considered by many as the light of hope.

However, the heat of such do not give warmth but rather exacerbates the condition of the whole place — irritates the old people inside the Luwalhati ng Maynila Home for the Aged. I, a piece that reflects their strength and freedom in days of yore, start to experience their lives. Though nobody knows what the future holds, I believe that this is more like a glimpse of tomorrow. Growing old happens naturally despite the fact that, if we are going to examine the reality, it do befall in different manners.

I am always interested with people and the stories they bear inside their hearts — especially with the old ones, knowing that they have lots of experiences and lessons to share. This is the reason why I did not find it hard to approach them, because I have the passion. However, away from others’ excitement of seeing a new face inside their shelter, an old woman tells me to go and leave them away for she thinks that I do not belong there because we are not of the same age. She resent visitors. All that I see in her eyes is a profound kind of bitterness that no one else but she could define.

The other old fellows go near me and advise me to shun her. She does not want anybody else but her self, they say. I nod at them. Though I find her interesting, I know that I must respect her. Probably, she has a deep reason for isolating herself.

I roam around the place. If chance would allow me, then I would talk to all of them.

Abruptly, an old woman runs towards me. She expresses how she likes me, even if this is our first meeting. According to her, when I smiled at her from a distance, she felt a streak of special emotion running through her veins — as if we were relatives who met after many years of separation. She did not say her name when I asked her, she just continue her pouring her heart on me. She feels like I am her grandchild, though she never had one because she is an old maid. I suddenly remember my grandmother’s embrace when she hugs me.

Ma’am Emilia, a nursing aid, calls her to give her snacks. Meanwhile, a house parent, Ma’am Nelia, approaches me and asks me to follow her. She takes me to the place where the bedriddens lay in the coldness of longing. She explains that they, the staffs, are not enough to give them adequate care. This place, perhaps, is really far from a heaven-like life — away from the cradle of a love coming from a real home. It is heart-breaking to vide these old people, who are almost dying due to their age and sickness, feeling the pain without a relative beside them. Some of them are not that old, still sensitive to emotion.

We leave the building and Ma’am Nelia goes back to her work.

I start to observe them again. I begin meeting different kinds of people whose past are not the same but the present lives are alike — lonely.

“How can I be happy?” Lolo Augusto raises his voice. “I miss my family. I never like this place.”

He, most of the time, answers in English. He is a former professor in English and History. He was brought here by his cousin who is a policeman. He really does not want to stay in this institution but he has to. He do not want anyone to be burdened because of him so even his child and his ex-wife do not know that he is here.

Similar to his sentiments are that of Lolo Pablo, Lolo Ernesto, Lola Catalina, Lola Bising and Lola Anita. They are all experiencing the pain of unwanted solitude. Lolo Pablo was already separated with his wife who never gave him a child and is being resented by his son to a woman he met when he is still too young for responsibilities;  Lolo Ernesto whose children do not treat him as their father for being absent in their lives for years without knowing the his in-laws are the reason why they are living a separate life; Lola Catalina who do not like her grandchildren’s spouses; Lola Bising whose three children love their jobs more than their mother; and Lola Anita whose children are always fighting because of her property.

Some stories are even worse. Lola Trinidad expresses a deep feeling of sadness while telling me how she loves her daughter that in spite of their simple life is always getting what she wants. Haplessly, she never appreciates her mother and disrespects her. As a result, even her husband treat her with disgrace and the reason why she got here is because he hit her head with a stone. Some concern citizen took her here. Another is that of Lolo Delfin who studied Preparatory in Law at the University of the East but feels so helpless and worthless because of his nephews, nieces and their spouses. And, Lola Teresita who had been left by her sister who asked her to accompany her to the bank but just took her elsewhere and hurriedly rode a jeepney.

“Ma’am, isama mo nalang ako.” Lola Joselyn begs, telling me that she can be a maid and she will not ask for money as payment for her service.  She only wants to get out of this place.

Somehow, this place is an institution for the unfortunate people. The sun’s heat suddenly becomes cold as ice to me. This is truly a windswept area — imbued with people whose eyes have dying lights, and some have no light at all.

“Hello!” a cheerful and beautiful woman, who does not look so old, approaches me. Her name is Lourdes but the people inside keep on calling her ‘Donya’ because she never ran out of stories about her family’s property and riches. As we chat, I fathom that even a weakening ambiance cannot enfeeble a person who has optimism in her. She explains that she is happy in this place, though her children are far from her, because she enjoys planting here — no one does it here but she. She also tells me that, when her two daughters come here from the United States, she will share some of her wealth to me. That sounds funny to me but I feel a bit sorry for her because according to Rhivan, Ma’am Nelia’s son, when we talk to each other a while ago, her daughters have already derelict her.

As I continue spending time here, I meet folks who are thankful to have a place to shelter them from the relentless people outside. We should really open our eyes to the beauty of this world, I thought. The earth maybe drastic at some point but terrible things are also signs that we are living. We only have one life and it is up to us whether we are going to live or die in every moment we breathe.

It is getting late in the afternoon now. I go to the staffs of this institution and thank them for being generous to me. I also thank the old people who made me feel so welcome.

Before I go out of the gate, two old women stop me. One of them is the one who reminded me of my grandmother’s embrace. She keeps telling me to go back here some other time. And, the other gave me a bracelet made of wooden beads which she made for me. I am really surprise with her because we never had a chance to talk while I am currently relishing this place.

I wave goodbye to them. I shall go home now.

Memories are more cruel, as what I have read in Martin Booth’s novel, for they cannot be given away — only shared. Old people have a lot of memories to share and they badly needed someone to sit beside them and hear their tales of long ago. If you are planning to leave an old person inside a home for the aged, then you are also planning to make their journey towards their last mile harder than what it supposed to be. Happiness is a choice but only a few can choose to be happy knowing that they are already abandoned. These people are frail. Are you that heartless to make them even weaker?