“Ultimately the greatest reward is yet another blank page.”
People have grand, great, generic dreams. Examples would be to attend a good school, have meaningful work, raise a happy family, or contribute to nation building.
And then we have dreams that are so specific that no substitute will do. Pass the entrance test of XXX University, for instance, become an executive in YYY Corporation, occupy the post ZZZ in a specific town or government office.
For those who have committed their lives to writing, there could be some concrete forms of validation. See one’s byline in AAA publication. Publish BBB number of books (under one’s name, not just ghostwrite them). Get the much-coveted PPP award.
The latter happened to me this year, and the awarding ceremony – yes, I got to doll up, hobnob with the greats, get up on stage and pose for pictures – was held last Friday.
And because this award has been my dream since childhood, I imagined that the awarding night would be some sort of turning point in my life. I marked it on my calendar early on. I counted: how many more “sleeps” before the red-letter day?
As it drew near, however, I found that nothing much was changing.
On Monday, as was customary, I rose at dawn to do some writing for a consultancy project. And then I took out the trash which had mounted because I had missed the previous night’s collection schedule. I cooked Baguio beans for lunch but the beans were still tough. I set up a doctor’s appointment for a wrist injury. I did some newspaper work, and then I stepped out to pick up the Filipiniana dress I had dry cleaned for the coming occasion.
I was up early again Tuesday, hitching with a colleague from Quezon City to Makati for a journalism event. On the way home I asked to be dropped at the university church for some quiet time. I had planned to work at a coffee shop but realized I had forgotten my chargers. I did the usual desk work, and then as a reward got a massage at the spa next door. I kept sneezing during the massage it was embarrassing.
I did not hold class Wednesday morning, because my students were on writing break for a paper. Instead I interviewed, via Zoom, a group of court employees – sheriffs, stenographers, clerks of court, one of which had herself become a judge — in Batangas. They reminisced about their time with their previous boss, with whom I had a book project. My older son treated to lunch at a restaurant, and the shrimp sinigang and tres leches sponge cake were so good I was not able to go to my doctor’s appointment. Later I took an Ikot jeep with my younger son, who dropped me off at my building, where I had an evening class, before going back to his dorm at the other end of the metro. Cute reversal of roles, I thought.
Thursday, on my way to interview another source for the same book project, I got lost. I had to take a pedicab to get to the right building, and it was a wonder I was not late. My daughters, who had been nagging me to get my brows, lashes, and nails done for the following day, told me I should head to the nearby mall after my meeting. I did, too, but just to buy notebooks and a bowl of noodle soup. And then I went home at once, because a deadline was looming. And besides, my right wrist was acting up again.
And then it was Friday.
My girls both filed vacation leaves at their respective offices so they could “attend to Mom.” That morning they convinced me to wear, instead, my go-to black dress, bespoke, done by a seamstress in Kamuning. They were shocked to hear I still needed to meet my class. When I got back from school, they were already prepping. They rolled their eyes when I said I still needed to open my computer.
We had drawn lots weeks before because I was only allowed one guest to the ceremony. The second daughter won, and she was already glammed up by the time I started getting into the dress. The others would drop us off at the venue, take photos, and then wait for us somewhere until we could join them and celebrate.
Everything after that was a blur. I only remember waking up with a hangover.
So that was the Big Day, I thought. It did not quite stand out as much as I imagined it would. I still worked a lot, ran into mishaps, did my chores, risked missing deadlines, got plagued by my body’s wear and tear, and fussed about traffic. I got caught up in the mundane. I still doubted myself and believed I just got lucky.
My expectation that everything would get a glow-up because of the prize was not quite true. I was instead seized with the need to work harder, write more, and do better. Ultimately, the greatest reward is yet another blank page.
adellechua@gmail.com
