Infinity plus 1

I woke up to sad news this morning. My former Math teacher and class adviser in junior high school passed away.

The details of his passing are still unclear as of this writing. From what I initially heard, his body is already showing early signs of decomposition because he had been dead for 2-3 days when he was found inside his condo unit.

This teacher was notorious for being strict. Unfortunately for me who’s struggling in his subject, he’s never short on the insults and the name-calling. I will never forget how he once threatened me; that he’ll throw a stapler right smack on my forehead because I was having a hard time solving an equation on the blackboard. (Do that at this day and age, and that will be enough to get him to Raffy Tulfo’s show.)

Except for when I was already in college, I was never, ever a teacher’s pet. When I look back and think about why some teachers didn’t like me back in high school, I honestly can’t find a justifiable reason. I mean — I know I might have been talkative in class, but I was never rowdy or unruly; I might have been a slacker at times, but I was never irresponsible; it may look like I was cold and indifferent, but I was never disrespectful.

Maybe it has something to do with how I come off to them. Perhaps it’s my overall mien that made me somewhat unlikeable to some members of the faculty. 

Then again, compared to other teachers who hated me just because, sir would only lose his cool on me during his class. And I really can’t blame him if he flips out on me. My brain cells usually go kaput when I am asked to solve an equation in front of the class.

I understand even then that his anger is more of frustration, especially when he knew I am pretty good at most of my subjects (and an academic scholar even). When the bell rings signaling the end of his class, nothing becomes personal. As a matter of fact, he’s particularly nice and fair to me. 

This sets him apart from the other teachers who resort to berating a pupil beyond the usual teacher-student interaction. Bully teachers criticize you not because you are struggling on the subject or for having bad behavior, but just because he or she doesn’t like you.  

I see nothing wrong with having a strict teacher if the purpose is to build up the student to be better. That’s how sir was to me. His approach may be to instill fear but it worked in earning my respect. It’s no wonder why despite his notoriety, he is well-loved by his former students.

Through infinity, sir. Rest in Peace. 

Potent

If you openly cough and sneeze around me without covering your mouth and nose, know that I will let you see that I’ll cover mine. I will let you know I’m utterly disgusted; I will let you feel that IT’S NOT OKAY.

Simply put, why would I even care if you get offended when you were the one who’s reckless and insensitive in the first place?

I took a jeepney ride to work one morning. This lady seated next to me had been coughing and she didn’t even bother to cover her freakin' mouth. Not an “excuse me” even. She just hacked for a good two minutes like she’s a cough and cold machine indiscriminately firing virus at us.

Because the jeepney is almost packed, the most I can do is to shift in my seat, take out my handkerchief (I always have one) and cover my mouth. The lady noticed my uneasiness and my not-so-amused face, but that didn’t stop her from barking some more. I seriously think she’s well aware that I’m bothered based on my disapproving looks, but I think part of her wanted to be stubborn and show me (or us) that she can be obnoxious and she doesn’t care.

I was so baffled at her lack of concern for the people around her in such a cramped space, to think that she looks like an employee in one of the buildings in Makati, so I assume she’s educated. I mean, where is her etiquette?  Even my four-year-old nephew, with his short limbs, knows how to cough inside of his elbows.   

***

I don’t get sick very often, but early this year, after watching the Chinese New Year festivities in Binondo, I caught one of the worst cough and flu ever (that is, even if I get the yearly flu vaccine). It was so bad it took me several weeks before I can fully recover.

I believe I got it after using a crowded public restroom inside Lucky Chinatown mall. I remember that while waiting, there’s this lady behind me who had been sniffing and coughing. As it looked like she’s a senior, I let her use the toilet first and then followed shortly afterward. 

Use your imagination.

I’m one who washes her hands thoroughly after every trip to the loo, but maybe the virus that got me (or I got) was airborne. Just thinking of this made me wonder how many ended up with the same symptoms considering that there’s so many of us in that very crowded room.

Infectious diseases unheard of decades ago, are on the rise. Viruses are more potent; outbreaks have been very common that some are even fatal. I go home to two little kids and an almost octogenarian mother. I don’t want to be a carrier of a virus that I may likely pass to them.

It’s hard enough to get sick but at least I have leaves that I can use and I have a comprehensive health plan paid for by my company. But that’s not the case for some of my other family members. If they get sick, it would spell a lot of trouble. And I’m not just talking about the hospitalization and medication costs, but more about their overall well-being.

So yes. You can call me squeamish or “maarte”, but if you don’t take steps in making sure that we won’t get what you have, be ready to see the disgust on my face. If you even dare call me out for behaving as such, then be prepared to hear my bitchy tirade on why I think you don’t have basic manners.     

And you can be sure I practice what I preach. When I have the colds or flu, especially if it’s severe, I call in sick and stay home. I don’t take mass public transport. If I’m well enough to come to the office but still coughing and having the sniffles, I make sure I have my face mask on, a bottle of alcohol and wipes within arm’s reach.

I keep my distance. When they get close enough, I let them know that I’m sick and I don’t want them to catch what I have. In short, I care for the people around me. So much so that I do the necessary measures to make sure I won’t transmit what I have.

Sadly, not everyone thinks the same. There are people who — when they feel miserable and sick — would like others to feel it too. These are the kind of people I would gladly punch in the face if I could.

Levels

I’d like to think years of one’s life as “levels” in a game. The higher the level, the higher the character progress — every level unlocked, the more badass you become. When you think of years as levels, it can take off that terrifying feeling one would normally have as he or she approaches another birthday. Your age — to put it simply, becomes some badge of honor.

I am about to unlock Level 43 of life in a few days. As far as badasses go, I think I have paid my dues and can already consider myself much better than when I was younger in handling whatever life hurls at me. I am at a point where I am the best version of myself.

For one, I stopped giving a f*** about many things. People who knew me since my early twenties can vouch that I was one who worries, complains and reacts too much about practically everything. I tend to burden myself with trivial things that don’t matter; I get triggered by current issues, social media posts, perceived inconveniences, and off-putting remarks.

Now, I hardly react impulsively. Even if I have an opinion on most things, I learned that it’s not always necessary to let people know about it. I have gotten calmer and more at peace with things that would otherwise provoke me before. I hardly participate in casual debates and arguments because I feel it’s no longer worth my time and energy. I’m getting too old for drama and petty issues.

On the contrary, while I may not volunteer my thoughts and views that much anymore (especially on social media platforms), but I developed a shorter wick when it comes to dealing with people with an attitude. Now more than ever, I have no reservations when calling out belligerent drivers, rude service crew, nasty coworker, etc. 

Let’s just say that I now know when to shut up as much I know when to speak up.

Like, how just recently, I confronted an officemate who told a friend of mine that I applied for a newly-opened position but didn’t make it. She even had the nerve to assume why I *didn’t* get it. If this happened to me before, I would just have chuckled it, to keep the peace, especially that the rumor wasn’t true anyway (not true as in I haven’t applied for any position for about four years now). But now I can’t seem to let something malicious like that to pass without me telling her that it’s not okay.

This may sound arrogant, but I also stopped striving to be liked. I have accepted that no matter what good I do, there will always be people who won’t like me. By taking this to heart, I stopped doing the extra mile just to please others. With it, I no longer need to explain myself all the time.

For most of my life, all I wanted was to get along with everybody. I cared so much how people see me, so I put up with a lot of things including bad behavior and treatment towards me. I even compromised my own beliefs and values in the process. When I hit forty, that went away. I have stopped making all the adjustments just to get other people’s approval. It has become more of love me or hate me and whichever they choose is just fine with me.

I have distanced myself from a lot of people who no longer serve me. I’ve learned to set boundaries because I finally now know what I want and what I deserve. After all, I always believed that how you are treated by people depends on what you allow them. Right now, the total number of people taking advantage of me is reduced to zero.

Don’t mistake these realizations as apathy. If for anything, it made me value the people who matter, however few. I nurture the real relationships I have remaining;  I have realized the importance of quality over quantity especially when it comes to friendship. I may have very few friends but I know that they are the best.

Not giving too much f*** made me more forgiving; to not hold grudges against people who wronged me. I no longer dwell on the things I lost—or of the past. When one accepts that people and things change, gratitude is easier.

Almost instantly, I have also become more forgiving of myself. I used to beat myself up for all the mistakes and failures I have in the past, including the wrong people I let in my life. That’s the thing about forgiveness: If you can forgive other people, you become as compassionate to yourself. It can become a part of one’s self-healing.

I also no longer compare myself to others and have accepted that we live different lives and timelines. That we have different priorities and opportunities. In reality, no one can really dictate how one should live another’s life. Some marry by 25, others by 45; some can get their dream jobs at 30, while some start their own business by 60. If I time my life based on how my contemporaries are doing, I would only be resenting my own existence. It’s also good to know that not everything I see on Facebook and IG is real and must be envied. After all, most of us post only the good stuff we want others to see.

But the most surprising lesson I learned about the accumulation of years is the understanding that I still have a lot to learn  — as opposed to what others think that age gives you the superciliousness of being an insufferable know-it-all. If for anything, getting by these levels humbled me a great deal. I have become more self-aware to realize I wasn’t the hotshot that I thought I was—and that it’s okay.

While being forty doesn’t make me an expert about life in general, it’s good that I’m learning a lot as I go through my fourth decade. Every year there’s something I view differently and it’s refreshing.

I believe that aging, so much so like death, is a debt we all pay. One day the physical and physiological changes will get the best of me. Time will come when I can no longer use the phrase“Older and wiser” any more than “Older and weaker”. Maybe when my cognitive deterioration starts, I’d probably morph to the grumpiest version of myself.

But until then, unlocking levels doesn’t sound that bad, right?