Today

Today, upon waking up, I will find myself in my father’s hammock, going up in the air, throwing my cares to the wind. Most likely, because it’s exactly 35 days to Christmas, the breeze will be nippy and it will blow to my face sweet nothings that I will not mind. Or maybe I will. I will just swing myself up to stillness. I will just allow the himbaba-o tree, under whose branches my father’s hammock is tied to, to witness my calm surrender to the day.

Today, though perhaps later in the day, I can choose to sleep — or at least take a nap — in my father’s hammock and allow the birds to serenade me. I enjoy the company of my feathered friends at home, most especially of this one particular little lone bird with a colorful tail and a beak as orange as the setting sun. That bird has suddenly appeared and nestled atop the himbaba-o tree a few months after the passing of my father. There are weekends that I don’t see it. But I am certain today, that winged creature will make an apparition.

Today, I will politely and lovingly ask someone in the house to bring me my breakfast in my father’s hammock. I will relish my Spartan meal of fried rice, tomato-and-onion omelet, tinapang tunsoy, sweetened plantain and camote. For a change, I will drink coffee. I have stopped drinking coffee since I was in Grade 3. I don’t know why I stopped. But today, I will ask for kapeng barako. I will do what I used to do when I was a kid — mix some coffee with my fried rice. When I do this, I will feel weird again but I will also feel high. Childhood memories are a balm to my soul. In days when I want to feel refreshed, all I had to do was close my eyes and think of childhood thoughts that made me happy before. Those thoughts still make me happy now. So, today, I will promise myself to always make it a habit to reconnect with the child in me. Because I know, that rascal in me will make the adult me live longer and happier.

Today, as I swing to mid-air in my father’s hammock, I will not take my life seriously. I will laugh out loud. I will talk to myself — aloud. I will surely get some curious remarks from the people in the house. I will just allow them to wonder what the hell is happening to me. They will definitely think I am weird, worse, they will think I have gone nuts. I love it when people think I’m different. Normal is boring. Very boring. So, today, I will ask myself questions — anything that pops in my mind. I will also answer them. Aloud. The witty side of me will take center stage. Or better yet, I will debate with myself and the rebuttals will emerge from the topic I will give to myself. I read a book a few years back that advised geriatric patients to always keep their mental faculty keen and active by debating with themselves to defy Alzheimer’s. At 40, I’m far away from being geriatric but I always keep in mind that an active brain isn’t the breeding ground of Alzheimer’s disease.

Today, I will read a letter or two from my loving nieces and nephews. They always come to the house for Sunday lunch that extends to dinner. They know that today is a special day. So they have made a special card for me. I will read these cards while I rest in my father’s hammock. The letters I will read are peppered with “Thank you’s” and “I love you’s.” I have made it clear with my nieces and nephews that the most important gift I want from them, besides their love, is a card or a letter. I am an insecure Papa Büm. I want, from time to time, to be reassured of their affection for me. And I want it written. So on occasions like Christmas, Valentine’s Day or my birthday, I receive cards and letters from them. I guess they got my humor, too, when one time they wrote me a touching letter on Independence Day.

Today, of all the days of the year, I will be most thankful — to the Guy Up There, to my family, to my friends. The fact that I’m sitting in my father’s hammock is already a salutation for all the beautiful things I have learned from my loved ones. I will miss my father all the more today. But I will be pacified knowing that from way up there, he’s wishing his Junior all the best. I’m sure I will cry today.

Today, armed with my journal, I will write 40 things I like about myself, 40 things I don’t like about myself, 40 things I love to do, 40 things that make me laugh, 40 people I will entrust myself to, 40 lessons I learned about life, among other 40 things that matter and do not matter. All these I will write as I sit comfortably in my father’s hammock. 

Today, I have not planned anything but just to enjoy the day as I sit in my father’s hammock. Happy thoughts will fill my mind. As I swing myself into mid-air, I will sing. I love to sing. The wind will also sing with me. The butterflies, my constant companion at our backyard, will dance albeit fleetingly. The narra tree, which sheds its leaves come “ber” months, will be the dignified witness to my enjoying the day. The forever-abloom rows of violet hibiscus in our garden will provide the extra rhythm as their leaves rustle to every whim of the wind. Everything will be coherent to me as I sing — the past, the present, the future. I will enjoy the day.

Today I will feel extra special. I owe it to myself. I will give it to myself.

Today is the day.

(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.comor my.new.beginnings@gmail.com. You may want to follow me on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday!)