DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
Remembering to forget
Sunday, 10 25, 2009
When I left for Kyrgyzstan last month, a friend of mine, Dan Pinto, gave me a copy of 60zens: Tips on Senior Citizenship. I told Dan he needed the book more than I did, since he’s already at that age where he deserves discounts on the basic necessities of his former wildly (mis)spent life. Nevertheless, he insisted on me taking it, saying it would keep my nights in Bishkek, the capital city, warm.
The past weeks have filled with me with nothing but icy gloom whenever I log on to the Internet and read about the miseries of people back home who have been hit by “Ondoy," “Pepeng” and “Ramil.” This is a tragedy of such proportions it makes a grown man cry.
So I turn to laughter to dry my tears. It is something we are good at when the chips are down or when we feel we’ve been handed the wrong end of the stick. From the time of the Japanese Occupation down to the Gloria Usurpation, we have employed humor and laughter to dull the edge of oppression and misery that have been inflicted on us, whether in the form of natural disasters or man-made catastrophes.
We have not lost that capacity for laughter, especially when the joke or the tragedy is on us. Very KhalilGibranesque. He once observed that one’s laughter is merely one’s sorrow unmasked, and that the very well from whence one’s sorrow rises is often filled by one’s tears.
Indeed, the book has provided a warm chuckle on nights as I sit in solitude in my UN quarters while a fierce, chilly wind blows outside. The author, who has had previously six serious books to his name, has taken an about-face in his usual themes and has come up with a volume that threatens to give those of Bob Ong (bestsellers among the younger generation) some stiff competition.
As its title suggests, the book is a humorous compendium of tips and verses about diversions, chores and joys in old age, in order that a senior citizen could avoid being retarded while being retired.
Somewhere in the book, Jun Balde says that he had wanted to write another book, entitled 1001 Things to Remember If You Have Alzheimer’s Disease. But how could one still remember if one already has the disease? Translated freely from the original Pilipino, here are the first 10 of Jun’s 1001 Things to Remember:
1. Your name, face and sex. It’s going to be a big problem if you can’t answer questions like “What is your name?” and Where do you live?” I recommend that you have your name tattooed on your palm. If your palm is big enough, include your address, telephone number and e-mail address. This way, you can easily see the important data about you. It is also important that you know your own face and sex. You might be horrified if suddenly you can’t recognize the man in the mirror whose hair and teeth you are combing and brushing, respectively. It’s going to be a big headache if you are no longer sure whether what you’re going to wear is an undershirt or a bra, a pair of briefs or a pair of panties, a condom or a tampon.
2. The name and face of your wife. It’s important that you know who your wife is. Except if you want some variety. But it’s doubly important that you know who is not your wife, in order that you may not come to any further aggravation and grief.
3. Where you stash your bankbook and other important documents. The more money you have — for instance, you are as wealthy as Jamby Madrigal’s aunt — the more important it is that you know where you have kept those papers hidden. All things considered, you won’t be kept hostage or be poisoned by ambitious relatives if they are certain that Alzheimer’s has not totally erased your memory.
4. Which floor in the parking building you parked your car in. List down this information on a small writing pad in your pocket. Dan once could not remember where he parked his car in the seven parking levels of the RCBC Tower, that he spent several hours on foot looking for it at each level.
5. The containers of the ingredients of your favorite recipe. Label the containers of your favorite condiments. It’s dangerous if you can no longer tell the difference among salt, sugar, baking soda, shabu and rat poison.
6. The proper storage for things. It’s going to be a disaster if you keep the telephone inside the freezer; and the book, in the oven. Equally catastrophic is if it’s lye that you pour into the wine decanter, or Vulcaseal that you apply on your toothbrush.
7. The pills that you take — lest you start gulping down Midol and Diatabs instead of the maintenance pills for your high blood pressure. And although the various pills that you’re taking are color-coded, you still need a reference chart — so you could know which is Viagra and which is Ecstasy.
8. Personal hygiene — especially when you start losing control of your bladder and bowels. It is also important that you know to which part of your anatomy you apply toilet paper, put a condom, or insert cotton buds.
9. The time of day. Don’t leave the house in the middle of the night and tell your folks that you’re going shopping or golfing. Except if there’s a Midnight Madness at Greenhills, or a night tournament at Intramuros.
10. The last thing you were doing. So that you could know what has to be done next. Like, after decapitating a chicken, are you going to cook or surrender to the police? Remember the story of the old geezer who found himself on a bed, beside a lady, and with his pants halfway down his knees? The poor man couldn’t decide whether to take off his pants or to put it on, or whether he had already done the dirty deed or was just starting to go at it!
Despite the biting cold here in Kyrgyzstan and the gloomy conditions in the Philippines, I am glad that I still receive heartwarming messages from my family and friends — one of them goes by the name of Loren Legarda — who tells me to hang on, finish my job in Kyrgyzstan and go back to the Philippines to help in whatever way I can. The situation is not entirely hopeless, and I’d be very willing to do my part. As long as, once in a while, we all could laugh about it.
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