IN A STROKE OF A
MOMENT
At some point
in time in your life, you’ll face a defining moment.
It is either you define the moment,
Or the moment will define you.
Kevin Costner (Tin
Cup)
-----
Daylight. Six hours and a quarter after
midnight. The glass-top of the table seemed colder than last night. You are
flat on your back, arms extended towards the side. Palms facing heavens. In
repose, quite an impersonation of a crucified Spartacus. A wry smile accented
your face. You always do that. You smile in an almost obligatory fashion right
after your senses get on-line with reality again. As if just the feel of your
own self breathing is tantamount to the
discovery of the wheel. A reason to smile. You felt like the night went by so
hastily. The dark side of the earth caught light again in a single hush of
time. One time, dark. Then, scintillating light. All in what seemed to be just…
a moment. Your desk was
last night’s bed. The Yellow Pages was a
pillow. Last night was good. Friday nights are often so. Grupong Pendong
wrecked your eardrums with their repertoire of makabayan rock ‘n roll. “Bagyo,
Bagyo” was in continuous playback in your sleep, like an avatar dominating the
realm of your dreams. Three bottles of beer and local music. Damn good. You
prowled the streets afterwards aboard Salamander, the car that had seen better
days. Windows rolled down. Smog in your face. The center drawer was drawn and you
fumbled for the cigarette. A lighter too. In a devil-may-care stride you went
out to the balcony. You nestled upon the casing of an aircon external
mechanism. You combed your hair with
your fingers, left hand. You lighted the
cigarette firmly tucked between your teeth, right hand. Multi-tasking. You
always do that. You are fond of doing things simultaneously. What was it you
said about that task-juggling habit? You wanted to save a few moments? You closed your eyes as the
tar-laced smoke mixed with the morning breeze and filled your lungs. An
aftertaste of familiar bitterness was persevering on your palate. (Palate? Or was it from somewhere deeper).
The nicotine accented it for awhile then metamorphosed it into a grand,
congenial feeling, like a walk in the clouds. One time, bitter. Then, the taste
of grandeur. All in what seemed to be just…a moment. You opened your eyes and
gazed due southeast. You have to look up now. You vantage point from the third
floor of NEDA has lost its prime characteristic as a vantage point hence
vantage no more. The building has risen fast. T’was like only yesterday that all
that was there was a billboard sign that said “On This Site Will Rise Astoria”.
You like looking at the workers up there, balancing on a knife-edge between
wage and final literal plunge. But that’s not what you really enjoy
seeing. It’s the sight of people. Flesh.
Skin. Bones. Expending energy to play an indispensable part in the rise
of a structure. People in the act of
creation. A visual stimulation that builds up an upcoming intellectual orgasm. That thought is giving you that wry smile
again. For days turning into weeks and months
you came out here in the balcony, officially for a smoke, unofficially to
witness a creation. One time, just a concept on a billboard of wood, galvanized
sheet and enamel. Then, a tangible structure of concrete. In a little while it
will be homes to families and business addresses to corporations. All in what
seemed to be just like…a moment. In its final state you intend to rejoice
of its usefulness, utility being your
ultimate measure of a thing’s right to exist. You regard of yourself as the
chronicler of the days and events that has passed and transpired. Chunks of
time that are but mere parts of a process. A process that will lead to change.
You like that. There you are with that smile again. You always do that. The prospect of change
always effect the breaking of those lips into a wide, slightly deformed smile
in a programmed fashion. Something like, if X, then Y. Dynamism. It gives you
happiness. You are incapable of sitting still for ten seconds. A young man in a
hurry. You are inertia in motion. Yes. Motion. Action. All in your effort to create your moment? Last Puff. The cigarette butt kissed the
concrete, instantaneously followed by the sole of your boot. The ember that has
served well your palate was extinguished and had lost its prime characteristic
as an ember, hence, an ember no more. Inside yourself is an inner Astoria. A
building of ideas. Its walls, posts, railings, balustrades, windows…all ideas.
As its foundation lies a principle. Eleven months now, the 26th
level is almost done. Could’ve been all done by now had you not been shot twice
this year. Burning lead. In the dead of the night. Pierced your wooden heart.
Two small holes. One after the other. Two streams flowed in and flooded 26th
floor. Must’ve been tough luck that yesterday, while Pendong was bludgeoning
your senses with G#s and Es and Fs and
Ams and C#7s, a string of reason came about and interrupted your thought
processes. It sealed both apertures and
assured you that civil works will be completed as scheduled. You realized that
every lead that has mangled your mortal body is a lesson learned, learning
being a part of that inner building process. Some lessons are learned hard, but
are learned nonetheless. T’was like only yesterday when all was
there was an inner billboard sign that said “On This Principle Will Rise A Good
Man”. Six years and twenty now. All
seemed to be just like… a moment. How could a moment be so long? But then again, how old is the universe? It is
that smile again.
