Let's get Physical

It all started when my college Physics teacher was alerted by my roving dilated pupils during a surprise quiz. Suspecting me of copying from my seatmate, our prof, the kind man that he was, chose not to reprimand me or make me stand in a corner.

Instead, he asked my "cheatmate," Jason, to move away to another desk — the teacher’s desk, no less.

So as Jason scribbled away the secrets of the universe in front of the entire class, I was left to stare into the black hole that was my blank 1/4 sheet of lined pad paper, contemplating what it would be like to take this Physics class again the following semester, and again, and again, and again, until I became so immersed in the subject that I would eventually take my place in that teacher’s table.

I then firmly resolved to never let that happen.

A few weeks later, I found myself in the quadrangle sitting next to Jason again, this time doing the favorite Atenean pastime, people-watching — you could say we were studying "Physiques" — when we spotted Prof. Physics bounding toward us. Since Jason was his current pet and I was his current pet peeve, he smiled and sat down with us for a chat.

Professor, it turned out, also taught Physics to my mom’s brother eons before. Really smart guy, that uncle of yours, he told me, just like Jason over here.

To which I sheepishly said something like, "Well, I’m really no rocket scientist, sir. I’m just a Communication major. I’m supposed to be an expert on things like Vilma Santos‚ acting technique, hehe."

I then continued with a Vilma Santos monologue. "Sir, why is it like that? Why does an idiot like me have to understand Physics? What does it have to do with my life?"

There was a pause, and then my professor did it. I don’t quite remember how or why or what triggered it, but he just did.

He just began spewing lines from Cyrano de Bergerac—you know, that French play about a writer with an enormous nose who was in love with a girl named Roxanne. My jaw, as well as Jason’s, succumbed to the law of gravity as we heard this.

My Physics professor did a Vilma right back at me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

So, I just clapped.

Well, life went on after that, and all our potential energies turned kinetic, so to speak. I barely passed Physics; Jason got an A. Jason went on to become a corporate whiz kid; I, a dilettante. Or, in physics terms: Jason went on like Newton and as apples kept falling on his head he immediately understood why they did; and I went on like Juan Tamad, wondering why it took forever for guavas to fall into my waiting mouth.

Oh, how life went on. In physics terms: At times it was a surprise quiz, other times it was a lab experiment.

I learned how to spell the word "vicissitudes"; I had my share of highs and lows; I knew joy one moment, and the next, I knew pain. In physics terms: What goes up must come down.

I discovered karma and the cosmic boomerang; I reaped what I sowed; what went around, came around. In physics terms: For every action there is an opposite reaction.

I experienced inertia; I got inspired, and then I got dispirited; I oscillated between bumhood and workaholism; I went on what seemed like endless vacations at times and relentless stress at others. In physics terms: An object at rest or in motion remains at rest or in motion unless acted upon by an external force.

And when things got even more complicated, I also began to feel like: I am but an atom. My protons and electrons are always in repulsion; I’ve had my nucleus broken time and again; I’ve merged and broken up with other atoms; I never seem to have the right number of neutrons; when will I ever belong to the right molecule?

So in comes the Theory of Relativity: It’s really all a matter of perspective, dear.

When you see life as a natural science, you do realize that you can’t cheat your way in or out of it, unless you want to fall into a black hole. You can only learn it the hard way, and your own way. No copying!

All this takes on a more poignant glow now that I myself am a teacher, like Professor, and a writer, like Cyrano, with a topsy-turvy life to rival Vilma’s. If only old Prof could see me now.

But I never did get the chance to bump into dear Prof again; instead, it was dear Jason I bumped into last week.

Naturally, after all the initial shrieks and hugs and "What happened to your goatee/beer belly/ex?", Jason and I got started on our crazy college days, and I asked him if he remembered that morning when our professor sprang his surprise soliloquy on us.

True to form, Jason did — in fact, he had taken the entire thing to heart. Shortly after Prof made that speech, Jason actually ran to the library to look for it (this was pre-Google).

And then and there Jason repeated each line to me, not as grandiloquently but just as sweetly, eight years after that unforgettable morning:

"To walk in my own way and be alone, free, with an eye to see things as they are, a voice that means manhood — to cock my hat where I choose — At a word, a Yes, a No, to fight, to write, to travel my own road under the sun, under the stars, nor doubt if fame or fortune lie beyond the bourne — Never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart; yet, with all modesty to say, ‘My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.’"

I was floored; I finally understood. For a moment again, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

This time, I cried.

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