The gift of selflessness
It is not every day that one will give up one’s comfort and joy for someone else. It is not every day that one will let go of one’s dreams so another one will fulfill his. It’s not every day that one will turn down an opportunity for someone to gain it. If that is not selflessness, what is?
It is always around this time – when I see students excitedly preparing for their graduation day – that I remember vividly how, once upon a time, I became a recipient of one’s altruism. I could have not achieved my dream if it were not for the selflessness of my eldest brother, Kuya Ronnie. He could have grabbed the opportunity to pursue college (courtesy of my Tita Itang, my mother’s elder sister) but he sacrificed his chance and became a factory worker after finishing high school so his four younger siblings could go to school. My allowance in college came from his weekly earnings in the glass plant section of Asia Brewery in Cabuyao, Laguna. Nothing would be practically left in his pocket – except for a few coins that would be his fare money – after his salary was divided among us. And he never complained. When he lost his job, even if he was working for that beer company for about 10 years on a contractual basis, he found means to see our family through. He welcomed odd jobs to add to the family kitty. He would brave Laguna de Bay at the crack of dawn to fish and help my parents to farm in the afternoon. Always, always, he never complained even if, at the prime of his youth, his varicose veins were starting to snake their way from his feet to his almost alabaster white legs. Because he was always out in the sun helping my parents to secure that we would have food on our table, his fair complexion turned tan. When he burnt his skin – we were all born fair – only then did I realize that it was okay to be dark; that there was nothing wrong to be brown; that dignity is not dispelled by the color of the skin but spelled by the color of the heart.
My first lesson about being selfless I learned from my brother. To this day, he does not mind not having entered college as long as he knows in his heart that he did the right thing – turning down a slice of opportunity that was knocking on his door. He could have been practical and bite the carrot of knowledge dangled in front of him. My fate could have been his. To this day, he does not regret his decision to pass up that chance that could have carved his destiny. He shows no signs of insecurity. He contents himself by relishing on vicarious experience. Simply put, my joys are his as well; my discoveries of the world are his travels to the earth he oh-so wants to uncover. (His life now revolves around his family and his backyard goat farming and soon he will help my father in raising cattle.) When I finished college, he was very happy and excited as if he was the one who would go up the stage to receive the diploma.
The joy of giving is one precious gift my Kuya taught me. What better way of teaching me this value by him becoming a living example. No matter what I do – no matter how much I try to repay him – I just simply know that nothing, not even the wealth of the world, will compensate for what he had given me. Indeed, there’s nothing greater than the gift of one’s self.
If it were an artwork, the image of selflessness would depict an abstract portrayal of life where the lines and colors of joys are mistakenly interpreted as sorrows. If it were a song, the melody of selflessness would reverberate the sound of hope incorrectly and incoherently heard as mimic of lamentation. Selflessness is the soliloquy of love.
In a world where much premium is put on material things, it is always a breeze to think about those who have helped us become who we are today.
The future, the past and the here and now – these are the elements of time that come to mind when I think of scholars who are readying themselves for their graduation day to receive their diplomas, their passport to achieving their dreams.
The future, the past and the here and now are what my Kuya gave me when, once upon a time, he prevented success from knocking on his door so I would reap mine. Without a diploma to boot or to show his batch mates who have become professionals, Kuya remains proud of what he did. If there is a school that gives a degree to those who have sacrificed their own comforts for others, I am sure my Kuya will be one of those who will receive a Ph.D. diploma.
The future, the past and the here and now were what my Kuya lost before, and which I have been giving back to him now. And never will I complain.
(To the many Kuya Ronnie’s in this world, thank you for your altruism that paves the way for our lives to be a walk in the park. To the new graduates, please help in making a better – not battered – world. Soon, I’ll tell you more about the joys of giving and the joy of surprising people. For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. You may also snail mail me at R. Oca cor. Railroad Sts., Port Area, Manila. Have a blessed Sunday.)
