Apocalypse now

The future once looked so bright. You know bubble homes, wheel-less cars, robotic butlers and silver outfits...the Jetson’s portrait of progress. Now when I think about the future, I want it to stop at the present because this is as much as I am willing to take. To surmise the course of events shaking our world seems only to expect the worst. To preserve whatever quality of life we have left seems only possible through hostile tactics. There are no easy solutions and the consequences are bitter. Each day it becomes harder to wake up and listen to the monotoned newscasters narrating the demise of our so-called civilization. I feel numbed. But then what other options are there? It’s a search for equilibrium and balance, incongruously attained (though questionably) through deliberate discord.

Finally, the Philippines is out of the shit list because it was not included in the SARS-infected countries list. This incidental (and very fortunate) status, I think, is taken the wrong way. As we all know, the Philippines has an impressive collection of awards such as being one of the most polluted, the most heavily-trafficked, most corrupt, and let’s just throw in having an anemic treasury account and a gargantuan debt to the World Bank that not even a dozen U2 Drop the Debt concert series (a movement of U2 to contribute to paying off Third World debt) can relieve (OK, a minor exaggeration). What I’m saying is from what I’m seeing – aren’t we being a little smug about being on the right side of the tracks for once?

Filipinos have a reputation of being a footpad worldwide. I mean let’s not kid ourselves. As much as I am proud of being a Filipino – people can’t help but have an unfair and miseducated idea of what we’re capable (and incapable) of doing, generally speaking. We are known for being cheaters, swindlers, and more so, we have good and cheap prostitutes. This time, a boon to our resumé – we’re SARS free! Although empathy is there with utmost sincerity, we breathe a sigh of relief that it’s not us.

But wait, wait, wait. Each day, the numbers get higher. Expats and travelers flit in and out of the country with some invisible excess baggage. One day (knock on wood), we may just climb up to the list. Then what? This is why sometimes I just want time to stop. It seems selfish and trite especially in such trying times. But honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to really absorb the day when we all walk down the street, 10 feet away from each other, with gas masks. The first horse of apocalypse has made its appearance.

And when the time comes, instinct tells me that we will hoard masks like we did during the Pinatubo tragedy, leaving many to make do with newspapers and old shirts to cover their noses and save their lives. Instinct also tells me that Alcogel sales will shoot up and air kisses will be a must. Instinct also tells me that politics and all the red tape that tie our government will not keep our leaders’ eye on the ball and will not attend to the matter at hand with the prudence and attention it needs. Aside from the predictable effects of the virus, what else are we not thinking about?

There is a rather disturbing, underlying factor that will reinforce something that has been around for a long time ever since the Spaniards forced the natives to join in the first mass in Limasawa. That is reinforcing the distrust that we have with one another. And now even with little things, in the back of my head, will I always think twice before kissing a friend or shaking the hand of a stranger. I will now be a prisoner of doubt and suspicion.

We’ve reached a point wherein it’s a part of life to submit your personal belongings to a metal detector wand, have yourself frisked in the mall, take your shoes off at the airport, wear masks in a plane – this abnormal routine has become so eerily normal. What has become of our time?

I will remember this time of my life when bombs detonated with the frequency of a senator getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. When armed men strolled our streets assaulting my privacy. When someone can’t even sneeze without arousing suspicion. When celebrities with B-movies tucked under their belt once ran the country. When I or my loved ones could potentially (God forbid if it escalates to that level) be incubated in an isolation chamber. The movie that once made our skin crawl and hearts palpitate has become the reality we live in.

This is where I live and the time I live in. It is the world’s exodus from the PC generation, a verbose and repressed era of unspoken ugly truths. We live in a strange time. And in living in this strange time, we are not making like a Coca-Cola commercial and joining hands. Instead are rubbing ourselves silly with Alcogel and crossing our fingers so we don’t sneeze.

The ugly truth has come out. We have a war that is humanized by warning people to head for the bomb shelters because their homes are about to be blasted and quite possibly them, too. Fear of contaminated doorknobs and towels has become the norm. Distrust has become a way of life.

We live in a time where truth is not synonymous with goodness. Half of the world is preoccupied with the war; the other half is preoccupied with disease. Which direction do we choose to go against the grain?