Yesterday marked my seventh year in blogging.  Though the last couple of years have seen off-and-on entry making (more off than on), I have never thought of quitting my passion for writing.  Yes, the phenomenal rise of Twitter and Facebook brought about the age of microblogging (which I am also guilty of), but I try to make sure that once in a while, I speak my mind in a way that requires more than 160 characters long.

 

And what better way to have an anniversary entry than what transpired this weekend.  It’s an emotional roller coaster ride of some sorts, as in just a span of hours, I was witness to both a funeral and a birthday celebration.

 

Last week, the father of one of my childhood friends died of a heart attack.  It comes as a shock to us in the neighborhood as last we saw him, he was healthy and had no signs of illness.  Our families have long been friends as they live just across from us.  He, along with other family patriarchs (ours included) pioneered our neighborhood in the late 70s.  I visited the wake this past Tuesday and me and my childhood friend had a long talk.  It was more on catching up since we haven’t spoken to each other in ages, mainly due to our careers being prioritized.  Yet, whenever we do manage to see each other across our own house gates, we never fail to say a quick hello.  I know my friend is the strong, silent type (just like me since we were born just two days apart), but deep inside I know he’s an emotional wreck.  I spent a good hour and a half at the wake after coming straight from work to show my support to a friend and family who has been nothing but good to us.

 

Saturday morning was the funeral.  Again, coming from the office, I went straight to the cemetery since I knew I won’t be able to make it in the final mass at the chapel.  I arrived just in time as I waited near the cemetery entrance and the funeral procession pass by.  I can see the grief by the family members as they walk behind the hearse followed by cars of relatives, friends, and other neighbors.  As we reached the final resting place, emotions grew more and more somber.  I’m unable to remember the last time I attended a funeral, and the one thing I feel uncomfortable about it is all the emotions pouring out as the coffin is opened one last time for the immediate family to see the deceased before it’s laid in the ground.  It is during this time that my eyes well up as I share in the family’s grief, and this one was no different.  I’ve known the man ever since I can remember, and though I don’t really see him that often, his presence across the street will be missed.  As all the ceremony and formalities ended, I went over to the bereaved family.  I first came over to my friend and shook his hand.  I didn’t say anything, as I knew that no words are worth saying at that time, and that my presence there was enough.  After staying for a couple more minutes as my mom and other neighbors were talking, we went home.

 

After getting a few hours of sleep, it was time for my uncle’s 69th birthday celebration.  It’s not a lavish celebration, just a simple gathering of close family over food, and of course, booze.  What’s noticeable in this one though was how few we have become ever since some of my cousins have left to live and work abroad.  Just a couple of years ago, whenever one of us would have a birthday, it was a big reunion of some sorts (not like it’s a reunion everyday since we always see each other).  We would be the life of the street, as the air is filled with stories, jokes, laughter and music.  Though it has mellowed down over the course of time with family members leaving left and right for greener pastures, what was important is the presence of the people who were there.  In a couple of weeks, another uncle will be turning 70 and another celebration will take place.  Most likely, the people who were there this past Saturday, will also be the ones who will be attending that gathering.  Those celebrations are one of the things I never really grow tired of.  On this weekend’s party though, I somehow controlled my alcohol intake since I still have a report due the office that I had to finish; and I had to make sure I was still in the right frame of mind when I finally finish it.  We ended up before 11PM and helped clean up.  I went home–a little bit tipsy, but happy nonetheless–and was able to properly do, finish, and submit my report via email.

 

As I laid on my bed to end the day, I took stock of everything that has happened in the past 24 hours.  One is a blanket of sadness due to death, and the other, a vibrant air of happiness in a celebration of life.  Life and death.  It couldn’t be more simpler, nor more complicated than that.  And if you look objectively at it, one does not outweigh the other.  They are simply canceling each other out.

 

So as I celebrate another year of blogging, I am reminded of the simplicity and complexity of life, and how we write our own stories by the things we do.  Some may be good, others may be bad, but we are all reminded that whatever we do in this life, all of us, eventually will reach that place where it all ends.  Sounds morbid to some, but this is just a small reminder that how we live our life is up to us.  Enjoy it, dread it, whatever you want to do with it, one way or the other, we’ll all get there.  As for me, I’ll continue to be who I am, being a witness to the journey of life, writing everything that comes to mind.  It may not be as best-selling material as big name authors have, but it’s a perspective I can call my own, wherein I’d like the whole world to see and take part of.