Saturday, July 15, 2006

On fighting...

My hero...

The late Prof. Araceli Juliano would define life as a constant struggle against atrophy. That was 15 years ago, during our class in Nat. Sci. II (Biology). It was the first question she asked on our first day of class. A lot gave so profound meanings about life. She ended all answers with that precise definition. So blunt yet so true. Several years later, she succumbed in defeat in that struggle.

Everything is prone to deteriorate. Unfortunately, that includes us. To rot is our destination. Eventually. And as we live everyday, we tend to improve, fix, and do damage control to whatever part of us that is bruised, fearing the very fact that things can actually get worse. Yet the Annie in us continues to sing that tomorrow, there will be sun. It is with this optimism that we actually triumph. Winning continuously until we wear out.

I got to accompany my dad last Friday to the hospital for his biopsy. And in doing so, there were a lot of things I got to know and understand-- aside from the meaning of biopsy. When I was growing up, I saw him as the invincible Tatay. It was a different person I saw last Friday, someone vulnerable, someone more human and ironically, someone more alive as his battle becomes more visible. My sister told me that he has problems with his prostate- very common with males of that age. Yet no one in the family would actually label it as cancer. I remembered when my aunt had a brain tumour, in front of her; it was never called a tumour but just a bukol. Matter of semantics, small thing that can actually have great effects on the person who is the main hero in the fight for life.

My dad entered the operating room this morning. Same operating room where my aunt entered three years ago. Auntie is now in the province, helping my mom while my dad is here.
No traces of that so-called bukol.

I had this experience of shedding my defences yesterday to reinforce his. A bag of blood. Right now, I still have that feeling of unbearable lightness. I was told to drink a lot of liquid to regain what I lost. The Annie in me sings that song now. And I know, knowing my dad, I don't have to wait for tomorrow for the sun to rise.

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