by EMMANUEL R. FERNANDEZ
It
is 10: 37 PM, on the 30th of August 2005, the second to the last night of
summer, and I am lying in my bed trying so hard to go to sleep. But the harder I try, the more sleep eludes
me. I feel like a little boy who has
already counted hundreds of sheep yet still feels wide awake despite his closed
eyes.
It
should not really surprise me why I cannot sleep tonight. This particular working day didn’t go very
well. It was one of those rare days when
you drove home from your office and wished you could just keep moving farther
and farther away and finally escape from it all. If the office were a boxing ring, today’s
fight had been unusually cruel. The
blows I had to take were rather hard; and the punches I myself gave---intentionally
and otherwise---only left a bitter taste in my mouth afterwards. By mid-afternoon, I found myself (so to speak) untying my
boxing gloves in disgust. I stood up
from my swivel chair and took an aimless, solitary walk in the park a few
meters away from where I worked. Barely had
I breathed the fresh air I craved when I realized I had to go back to the ring
for another scheduled meeting. And the
ruthless games of power that had to be played across the meeting table made me
wish I were elsewhere… anywhere but
there.
It
is 10: 56 PM, on the eve of summer’s last day.
I toss and turn in my bed, praying that sleep would finally embrace
me. Realizing how determined sleep is to
make me a loser in its game of hide-and-seek, I rise up, switch on my bedside
table lamp, and begin to read. But my
mind soon sees through the trick I am trying to play on it. I put the book away, switch off the light
and resume my hopeless quest for sleep.
It
is 11:10 PM and I wonder: What has gone
to the heads of these young people? Everyone
else in the neighborhood is trying to get some sleep. Yet all of a sudden---here they are, singing
and laughing as though the day has just started. Yes, I know, I know… These teenagers are in
the neighborhood piazza where one can do what one wants---but not at this time
in the evening, for goodness’ sake!
Could some “responsible citizen” please get up and remind these kids of
older people’s right to rest for the morrow’s battles?
The
“responsible citizen” doesn’t get up.
Having no choice but to bear with the youngsters’ unwelcome sound, I open my eyes in the darkness of my room and
try to make out the lyrics of their song.
It is an Italian song. I can
hardly understand its words. But I soon
realize it is a happy song, for after every line or two, someone bursts into
laughter and is quickly joined by the others.
Another song is sung, then another, and yet another. And, always, laughter pops up like a bottle
of champagne in between the singing.
Wasn’t
there a time---many, many years ago---when I myself was young; when, like these
young people, all that my friends and I cared about was to play our guitars and
sing, regardless of where or when---or how we sounded? Wasn’t there a time when, like them, all
that mattered to me was the here and now?
Not tomorrow. Not even
yesterday. Wasn’t there a time when I
couldn’t understand why older people should give so much importance to
achieving success, attaining power, gaining fame and accumulating wealth? Their preoccupation with such matters looked
ridiculous to me then. Alas, here I am
now breaking my heart and head over things I used to consider not worth the
bother at all! Something must have gone
wrong somewhere along the way. At some
point, I must have started believing older people’s lies about the importance
of making a name for oneself, of leaving one’s mark in the world, and of
winning grown-ups’ wars at all costs.
It
is almost midnight, on the 30th of August, in this Italian neighborhood
thousands of miles away from that small town in the Philippines where I spent a
good part of my youth. I am still wide
awake, even though the young people must have grown tired of singing and
laughing and have probably gone home, for I no longer hear the sound of
them. I rise up from my bed and look out
my window… and I soon realize, in spite of everything, what a beautiful summer
night it is! Si, che bella notte
d'estate e davvero!
In
a few hours’ time, regardless of whether or not I can still manage to sleep, I
shall have to drive back to that “boxing ring” I left in disgust several hours
earlier. But, though back in the ring, I
shall no longer have a prizefighter’s heart.
For this penultimate night of summer has made me a lover of life once
more.
