Blinded by one’s own light

It constantly amazes me how Manila is populated by persons who are "holier than thou"... in extremis. You see it in a myriad of situations, and it makes me truly wonder. Is it really that easy to blind oneself to what one has done or committed in one’s own past? Or is it revisionism gone amuck, as one so conveniently forgets or justifies one’s misdeeds? Don’t look now, but it’s a resounding "yes," judging by what comes to pass as acceptable behavior in this Peyton Place of a town (okay, Knots Landing for the younger ones out there).

How often do we have to witness the spectacle of some "former mistress, now second wife" bewail the audacity of some young strumpet/nymphet eyeing her husband and throwing herself at him. Truth be told, if it’s reached this stage of complaining, it’s a safe bet that said nymphet is already ensconced as hubby’s new household pet (of course, in some "safe house"). Mrs. #2 will bemoan the breakdown of morality, and lack of respect for the institution of marriage, and we’re all thinking, "Uh, did we all miss something here?"

The best part is it’s said with all earnest, and to point out the little (OK, gaping!) irony is akin to telling her that she can’t sign at the Polo Club or Manila Golf cause she’s not the real Mrs. So-and-So. She just doesn’t get it! And what makes it deliciously wonderful, is that her coterie of friends are in all likelihood, all former "other women"; and they will burn the lines or spew fire over lunch at NuVo, 12 or Kai, decrying the loose morals of "pretty, young things" everywhere.

Then there’s the gossipmonger, the "snake in the grass" kind of friend. You know, the kind, so ready to curry favor from others by making themselves look like they’re so in the know with the latest delectable scandal tinged tidbit (true or untrue), even if it’s at the expense of others who consider them a friend. The basic ploy when it’s gossip about a known acquaintance is to feign "concern," as that way, it doesn’t make Mr. Loose Lips appear mean or traitorous. They ingratiate themselves and are super nice to all the right people, as these people are all stepping-stones to social acceptance, to being seen "in the right places with the right people."

And yet, when something disparaging is said or spread about them, up come the fangs and claws; with matching "How could they say that about me, I have never harmed anyone!" Jeez, pathetic, as throughout their social lives they’ve been more than ready to cast doubts and aspersions on others, as long as it gave them social mileage in the eyes of those they were currying favor from.

And believe me, they do all this pandering so subtly, or even through third parties, you wouldn’t believe how transient their loyalties in fact are. Correct that, their loyalties are only to themselves. It’s all in the name of mounting some pinnacle of social desirability. And they’ll have the nerve to look you in the eye and get all misty-eyed, decrying how life is so unfair now that they’re being attacked. "Shameless" in the dictionary should be defined with their photo; enough of the coffee-table books where we find them now.

And of course, there’s also organized "holiers." It’s not uncommon to hear of how sects or neo-religious groups take it upon themselves to be the anointed, possessing all the answers, while paying lip service to tolerance and charity.

Don’t make the mistake of filing this under zealotry; it may seem that way, but beneath the veneer of respectability, there’s hardcore meanness and unmitigated spite. It’s really sad how religion can be used for baser of instincts. I actually heard the case of a couple that wanted to enroll their child in one of the schools identified with one sect. As the parents were of the Born-Again persuasion, right to their faces, they were told by a school official that the school would rather have children whose parents are Buddhists or atheists than accept a child whose home was ruled by parents who were Born Again. Yup, there is a God of compassion, and instincts of compunction; but apparently these so-called Christians are merely degrees away from Nazism and an Aryan mentality.

‘C’-ing is knowing

Recently attended the book launch of Kara Magsanoc-Alikpala, the second edition of her very commendable "I Can Serve" book. For those out of the Big C-loop, it’s basically a compendium for victims of cancer; organizations that are out there ready to act as support communities, tips and hints on how to re-assimilate into society after chemo (exercises, wigs, beauty tips, and so on), features on childbirth after chemo and a host of other really useful articles and lists. A survivor herself, Kara joked about how, before she had cancer, when she was working with Cheche Lazaro on the Probe Team, she had been assigned a piece on cancer and she had rebuffed the assignment, saying it wasn’t really interesting. Little did she know just how ironic her comments were to be.

I entered the room at the Hildalgo Place, Rockwell and eventually felt a bit out of sorts. No, it wasn’t because I felt I was some square peg in a room full of circles; there was a smattering of men and I was not "alone." It started when it was mentioned that we all had been invited because we were "victims." Some were survivors themselves, others had loved ones who had cancer, either surviving or who had succumbed.

In a span of six months, I saw both my mother-in-law and mother fall victim to the dreaded C. Both had similar experiences. Ostensibly healthy and problem free (my mom had stopped smoking for years and my mother—in-law never smoked), some ailment had moved them to seek alleviation and it was discovered that they had advanced-stage cancer. Within three to four months of diagnosis, they were both gone. They never had a chance to say they were in remission, or interact with fellow victims. For both of them it was retreating into medication and family, and hanging on until the time came.

That was 1996; and things have never been the same. Both mercurial characters (for different reasons and in different ways); something went missing in my world with their absence, never to be replaced. Now, this may not be very popular or it can be shelved in the "things best left unsaid" cabinet; but the reason I felt uncomfortable was that being in that room infuriated me. It rekindled a lot of the anger, frustration and lack of understanding I experienced with that "double whammy" year of 1996.

Here I was in a room dominated by cautiously happy, celebratory survivors; they may be clutching at straws, they may be delaying the inevitable, they may really be cured, but for whatever reason, they felt as one in this room–and I didn’t. All I had running through my mind were the musings of "Why it had to happen the way it did"; and unfair as it was, there were shades of "Why them, and not my Mom or Mom-in-law here celebrating surviving?"

I’m not that "manhid," I knew it was wrong to think that, but I can’t deny it crossed my mind. Scary, so I left as politely as I could. This isn’t really going somewhere in terms of great revelations; other than that I still miss them. Time doesn’t heal, it just numbs.

Kara deserves all the help we can muster; along with the others who work in the foundation, they’re providing a really useful service. Sharon Cuneta was on hand to provide support and visibility to the cause. Whether it’s the pressure of modern living, stress, pollution, or a combination of all of the above; there are lot of people falling victim to cancer. The work of Kara and the support groups represented are going a long way in making those who have fallen victim feel a little less alone. Find a way to help them.

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E-mail me at: peopleasia@qinet.net.