The People Who Inspires Me

We are told: everyone has his own story to tell. So we have to listen to everyone because they have different stories from us.

Let me share you two different stories of people from whom I learned so much.

Three years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to know that a self-confessed drug-user and bum would have more sense than an average “successful” yuppie. I have known him a few years back but it was only three years ago that I’ve known him really well.

We were in an after-fiesta drinking siege with mixed friends of balikbayans and childhood chums. I was seated next to Glenn. Glenn was complaining about the loud rock music and was asking the host if he could change it. The host had no other disc available so I got my own and brought a mix of love songs and some old standards. Surprisingly, Glenn loved my selections and I realized we have the same taste for music. In the course of the “tagay” and buntings, Glenn shared about an aborted relationship that produced a daughter who was staying with him. It was actually triggered by the song “She Believes in Me”. I thought: the girl is very lucky to have a man as sensible as Glenn. I actually envy the girl to think she was known as a dancer in girlie clubs in Clark.

Glenn was also complaining that the line-up of activities for the fiesta had been the same: basketball tournament and other shallow entertainment fares. I asked what he would have wanted if he were in-charged. He suggested what I have wanted myself: cultural shows like poetry writing, singing and other literary contests in the vernacular to develop a sense of pride of the local culture among the youth. I promised to do that once I would be asked to chair the committee.

Glenn had been enrolled in one school after another and would shift from one course to another. During that conversation, he confided, he wanted to be a teacher. Hurray, I said, I hope he will enroll in Education course the very next semester. But he can’t, his father have been fed up with him because of his constant change of courses and decided that he will not be sent to school anymore. If he wanted to, he would support himself.

Glenn and I have been communicating since then asking significant developments from each other’s lives. He became a taxi driver. He told me that his professional passengers are delighted that he could speak English so articulately.

Glenn is good looking. No wonder, he had been into many relationships. But he admitted, he was not boyfriend material because he was not capable of having long-term relationships. His reason: he doesn’t know what he was looking for. And just when he was ready to settle, the girl turned-out to be less than ideal. Many people raised their eyebrows when they learned of Glenn’s relationship with the dancer (me included). They claimed; Glenn had lost his taste for chic women. Glenn admitted, he wanted the relationship to last and even defended the girl to his friends. His family did not seem to mind whomever girl he was with; they’ve been used to his different women.

Glenn is a product of a broken marriage between a womanizer father and an absentee mother. His father’s current lover is of Glenn’s age while he only have vague memories of his mother whom he have not seen since his adult years. His father had been living with different women so Glenn had different “step-mothers” all the time. In all those women, he did not feel the genuine love and affection of a mother. For his part, he had also been with different partners mostly with short-term periods. In all his relationships, he was always hoping that she could be the one. But he failed. While sharing this, I felt the hollow vacuum in his soul, the emptiness that he felt even with the grin on his face.

I have not seen Glenn for a while but I learned he is still a taxi driver.

The other person who inspired me is Jorge. I have met Jorge only once but he left an indelible mark on me. I met Jorge through a former DJ-friend. He was her avid listener and caller. Later on, they become friends and Jorge would persistently invite her to their house, which she later accepted. She learned that Jorge is wheel chair-bound and his constant companion is the radio. I tag along with my friend in one of her visits. I have spoken to Jorge on the phone once hence the invitation. I observed during the phone conversation that he is a cheerful person.

When we finally met, we had an instant connection. As if reading the questions on my mind how he got invalid, Jorge casually narrated the accident that led him to the wheel chair. He was with friends when the car that his friend was driving had an almost head-on collision with another vehicle that left one of his friends dead on the spot, and him invalid. Miraculously, the other friends had only minor injuries.

He cursed the accident that made him immobile from waist down. He could barely move his left hand while his right was in perfect condition. At first, he was in denial and most of the time questioned the wisdom of God.

Before the accident, Jorge was a restless fellow. He was very competitive in ball-game sports. In his own words, he was a happy-go-lucky person and couldn’t stay in place for a long time. He parties all night as if there was no tomorrow. He showed me his old pictures with a tinge of regret. He was a third year Physical Therapy student when he met the accident that changed him totally.

In his depression, he discovered the power of the pen. He turned to drawing, sketching and writing poetry and discovered that he has creative talent. He realized one thing: God had spared his right hand because He wanted him to be an artist. He added that maybe God wanted him to be “still” and re-discover his God-given talent.

He found an excellent outlet for all his frustrations in life: he turned to painting and poetry. His artworks showed his excellent talent. The first few works reflected his depression. He also showed me his pre-accident-days works and I observed that his favorite subject is a solitary man on the shore looking wistfully at a distance. I commented that his early artworks were a premonition of what was to happen in his life. He thoughtfully agreed.

According to him, his condition at present was far better than what he was right after the accident. He could already feel sensations on his lower body, a sign that his therapy had worked miracles. He strongly believes that his condition would improve through therapy. He endured the 20 hours travel to Manila from his hometown in Samar for his regular therapy. During the first time that he has to travel, he was completely immobile and was crying because of helplessness.

Now, he speak casually about the accident and even have a characteristic cheer that is very surprising for a person undergoing a crisis that he is in. During our visit, he even sang his favorite videoke ditties and requested us to sing also for which we obliged. His family does not treat him as a helpless case although he calls for his siblings if he had to use the comfort room but he does not rely on them completely. He can move around the house in his wheel chair and requested for his family not to treat him as invalid. He needs understanding not pity, he said.

I was not able to visit him again because I decided to leave Tacloban shortly after. There are times when Jorge pop-up in my mind as a symbol of courage when I have my own low times. As an outlet, I regularly write in my journal anything significant that happen to me or when I am lonely.

I would not be surprised to read in the papers that Jorge’s artworks would win awards. I just regret that I was not able to go back to get what he promised me: a framed artwork of his.