Sloth

Zodiac says I should have a clutter-free room. As a Virgo, I’m supposed to be an organized individual who values order and spotlessness. I figure astrologists owe me an explanation because as far as I remember, I never had a clean room. As a kid I ignorantly believed that it’s OK to leave soiled clothes, toys, and food wrappers strewn all over my bedroom.

It dawned on me that being a slob—in my case at least– is not something you can outgrow. Growing up just makes you smarter, and being smarter means you can justify your own laziness. A friend back in high school dropped by to borrow a book and when I led him into my room he asked me what it was like to live in a dumpster. I casually answered that it was normal for guys to have messy rooms. When I asked him if he regularly cleaned his room and he answered yes, I looked at him with a puzzled look on my face and said: “Really? What a ‘girly’ thing to do.” Obviously it was a pathetic attempt on my part to avoid admitting I was a lazy slob. I wasn’t ready to admit that even if my life depended on it, I wouldn’t clean a room with the dimensions of a broom closet.

Many years ago, my cousins Chris and Stephanie visited the Philippines from California for the funeral of my maternal grandfather. As kids, we enjoyed each other’s company while playing in the park and having picnics at the beach. But my most vivid memory was the time Chris was looking for his slippers under our couch and exclaimed: “Hey what’s all that junk under there?” He was referring of course to the assortment of useless stuff I stashed under the couch, stuff that hopelessly begged to be doused with gasoline and burnt to a crisp. I answered Chris’s question with a sheepish grin and a shrug.  

I am writing this in a new desk I bought a few months ago. The desk sits snugly in a corner of my room, a space that used to accommodate what resembled a big, misshapen, green mound. The great, green mound consisted of old pillows, empty boxes, a broken microwave, and several baskets of faded clothing, all covered by an ancient, dusty curtain. The green mound is now gone, replaced by my desk. But now, inanimate spectators crowd around and behind me: the old pillows, empty boxes, broken microwave, and baskets of faded clothing. They eerily look over my shoulder as I pound on my laptop.      

Perhaps procrastination is the best compliment to laziness. For what can be better than putting off for the next day (or the next couple of days, or even the next week) something you can do today when you’re too lazy to do it? 

Back in college I remember writing a term paper for a major subject the night before the scheduled deadline of submission. The project was assigned to us a good two months in advance, and during that time I never set foot in the university library even once to do research. I never attempted to scan my books. I didn’t even sit down to write a rough draft. When I finally decided to start writing, it was already around 10 pm in the evening, I was stinking drunk, and with barely nine hours to work.

I don’t remember now how I managed to finish writing everything, but I did. It took me countless mugs of coffee and zero minutes of sleep to get the job done. I wasn’t proud of the finished product, but at least I had something to submit. I half expected a failing grade but in the end I was pleasantly surprised that I even got a decent one.

My professor approached me after grading the paper and he said that I did a pretty good job, adding that he would have given me a better grade if I started working on my paper a little earlier. He told me he’d been teaching for the better part of his life and that he could spot a good but hurriedly-written paper (an oxymoron?) a mile away. He asked me why I started working on the project late. 

I tried to tell him that I once read an article in some science magazine that the human brain secretes a certain hormone when one is under stress and this hormone stimulates creative thinking. I decided against this, however, and kept my stupid mouth shut. Being a procrastinator didn’t get me a failing grade but being a wise guy might just have done the trick. I decided not to push my luck. 

And I proudly procrastinated through college: Instead of studying for quizzes and exams at home at least a day in advance, I hurriedly skimmed through notes and textbooks on examination day while riding a jeepney to school; in speech class I didn’t write my speeches beforehand and instead bluffed my way in front of the class by spewing gibberish; in our final exam for gym class, I made up a dance routine in 10 minutes flat and tricked my group mates into performing the travesty in front of our teacher and classmates. The list is endless. 

I was able to get away with everything so I never thought of reforming myself.  

But now I think it’s time to reform and stop procrastinating. It’s also high time I ended my laziness. And I’ll do just what my father did when he kicked his cigarette addiction: quit cold turkey. I never did believe in withdrawal symptoms anyway.

 

I’ll quit some other time. Tomorrow sounds good.

Winners and Losers

“Where to?” asked the cab driver as I buckled up in the front seat. 

“Cebu IT Park. The Skyrise Building,” was my sleepy retort. “And please step on it. Take the coastal road. I’m running late.”  

The taxi sped towards the city. The radio played love songs, the air-conditioning was just right, and the air freshener smelled good– the canister told me it was apple scent. Tired and practically sleepless the night before, I was on the verge of dozing off.

“Have you heard of the Mayor’s plan to put up a sign in the coastal road a la Hollywood? Sounds like a waste of taxpayers’ money to me.”

“Yes I know that.” I snapped back. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. In fact, as much as possible, I avoided conversations with taxi drivers.  

The driver nonetheless continued to talk about how he thought the mayor acted like he owned Cebu. He proceeded to enumerate several incidents to prove his hypothesis. One incident was the time the mayor shooed away fish vendors from a wet market because they came from a neighboring city whose mayor was his rival, another was when several stalls near Sto. Nino church were demolished at the mayor’s orders, and last was when a well-known journalist who was notorious for criticizing the mayor was barred from covering the Sinulog festival inside the Cebu Sports Complex. After narrating these incidents, the driver asked me if I remembered them.  
 
Of course I remembered. Even though those incidents happened a few years back, they were well-reported in the local newspapers. What he said piqued my interest. I sat up. 
 
“And,” he continued. “He even has the tendency to rule with an iron fist. But even though he acts like a big bully, he hasn’t done enough to curb crime here. Good thing the vigilantes are doing the job for him and his useless police force.” 
 
“You approve of those guns for hire?” I asked. Although, quite surprisingly, a lot of people approved of the vigilantes—even some members of the media— I didn’t think killing criminals was the best solution.

“Yes,” He answered. “Anything to curb crime here.” 
 
“Killing muggers or snatchers will not solve anything. It’s a crime itself. And are you sure it wasn’t the mayor who ‘inspired’ all those vigilantes to execute all those alleged criminals?” 
 
“Not really.”  He answered. He was whistling a tune that drowned in the music of the radio. I couldn’t understand how he managed to keep a cool composure amid the morning rush hour, where scores of vehicles clogged the road and made driving a tedious– even hellish –task. Harried-looking students, office workers, and other commuters littered the sidewalk, anxiously flagging down jeepneys, buses, and taxi cabs.

“Well, if you really eschew iniquity, then you should abhor every form of violence.” I said. 
 
He shrugged.

”I want to ask you a question.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Who did you vote for mayor in the last elections?” 
 
“Tom Osmena.” 
 
Osmena is the incumbent mayor of Cebu who ran for a second term and won. Strangely, I wasn’t surprised at all. I expected the answer. 
 
“I’m sure you knew of his reputation, even before the elections. Yet now you are complaining that he’s a bad mayor. Then why did you still vote for him? Why didn’t you vote for his opponent in the first place?” 
 
“I didn’t think his opponent was any better. But more importantly, I voted for Osmena because he was the popular choice. I didn’t want to waste my vote.” 
 
I laughed. “But now don’t you think you wasted your vote even more? You’re close to calling the guy an asshole, yet you are one of the reasons he won.” 

What he told me mirrored a disastrous mentality inherent in the Philippine voting public. Filipinos vote for popular or winnable candidates (like actors or former basketball players, and even powerful but incompetent incumbents) instead of qualified or credible ones. During the presidential elections where former actor and deposed president Joseph “Erap” Estrada won handily, several of my friends had told me that they were planning to vote for Erap. When I asked them why they didn’t vote instead for the more qualified candidates, they answered – quite increduluously, in fact – that Erap was leading the pre-election surveys and the other candidates were eating his dust. My friends would rather vote for a popular but unproven candidate just because they perceive him as winnable.  
 
The song “Simply Jesse” was playing on the radio. I winced. I hated the damn song. I asked the driver if I could change the station. He nodded. 

I was fiddling with the controls when a dog darted out from nowhere. Cursing, the driver turned the steering wheel sharply to the left. I saw a brown blur zip past the passenger side: we had missed the dog by inches. But now, driving in the opposite lane, we were careening towards an oncoming truck. The taxi swerved back to our lane and the driver shook his head. I slumped back on my seat. 

“Damn strays.” He said, visibly shaken.  

“That was close.” I agreed.  

“Do you mind if I smoke?”  

“No,” I said. “Go ahead.” 

He rolled down his window and took a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket.  

“Do you want one?” 

“No thanks, I quit years ago.” I said. 

“Good for you.” 

We approached a bottleneck several meters down the highway, and traffic ground down to a crawl. An overpass came into view and the driver read aloud something scrawled in bold letters across the bridge-like structure. 

“Another love project of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.”  

He laughed aloud mirthfully, in between puffs of his cigarette. I laughed with him. 

I complemented his sarcasm with a question: “Are you satisfied with the job the President has done so far?” 
 
He smiled and seemed to be in deep thought.  

“Let me answer you this way,” he finally said. “Since she took over, prices have gone up, especially rice and gas. And the peso is at its lowest. Now I have to work doubly hard, but I can even barely make ends meet for my family.” 

“Cebu was the number one supporter of Macapagal-Arroyo during the last elections. Do you think she deserved all the support?” I asked. 
 
“Honestly, no.” 
 
“Have you heard of the latest issue the president is facing?” 

“The issue about bribing congressmen? Of course. It’s in here.” He tapped a newspaper resting on the dashboard. 

“Well, what do you think? Do you think she’s guilty?” 
 
“Maybe. But who cares? Everyone does stupid things nowadays. Especially public officials.” 

Cynicism in the face of iniquity and massive corruption has been the scourge of Philippine society in recent years. Filipinos once rose to heights of heroism after staging two popular and bloodless revolts (or more popularly known as People Power revolutions) that overthrew two tyrannical presidents — one a dictator, Ferdinand Marcos and the other a plunderer, Joseph Estrada — in a span of less than two decades. I was barely a toddler when the first People Power happened, but as a teeneger, I remember vividly the second People Power. However, peoples’ lives, especially those of the poor, have not improved despite these two uprisings, which resulted in a collective “People Power fatigue”. This fatigue has been more evident the past few years as evidenced by the refusal of the people to take to the streets despite serious allegations of graft, corruption, political killings, and even electoral fraud leveled at Macapagal-Arroyo.    

After Erap was overthrown, Macapagal-Arroyo, the vice president at that time, took over. Before her term was over, she vowed not to run again for a second term, because, according to her, she would just sow divisiveness. She added that it would be better to focus her energies on working for the unity of the country and pave way for genuine progress. But alas, she turned back on her word and ran for reelection. That presidential election was the most bloody and bitterly-fought election in decades, with election-related violence soaring to unprecedented levels. Poll watchers, mostly underpaid public school teachers were gunned down by armed thugs for refusing to hand over ballot boxes. Macapagal-Arroyo herself was caught in a wiretapped phone conversation that was leaked to the public. She was heard requesting then Commission on Elections (Comelec) Commissioner, Virgilio “Garci” Garcillano, to ensure that she win by a million votes over her closest rival, Fernando Poe Jr., Erap’s best friend. What was infamously known as the “Hello Garci” scandal ensured Macapagal-Arroyo’s victory but it also sowed massive unrest among the public. Unlike Richard Nixon who resigned because of the Watergate scandal, Macapagal-Arroyo did everything to cling to power, jailing those who protested her illegitimate rule and silencing her critics in the media. Since her reelection, the Philippines has been the most dangerous country for journalists and activists, with close to a thousand killed in the span of three years. She has also made the Philippines the most corrupt country in Asia, according to a survey conducted by the Political & Economic Risk Consultancy (PERC). 

“By the way, who did you vote for president in the last elections?” The driver asked.  

“Raul Roco.” I said. 
 
“Why him?” 
 
“Well, I voted for him because I thought he was the most qualified, even though he was not the most popular.” 

I remember the first time I voted, which was in the last presidential elections three years ago. A first time voter had to go to the Comelec office to register, and I dreaded the thought because I knew of its infamous reputation for incompetence. I went to the Comelec office on a Saturday and it was a terrible ordeal, to put things lightly. There were two long lines of people that snaked around the length of the building and as I made my way to the end of one of the lines, I could hear grunts, complaints, and groans of exasperation emitted by the sweaty and fidgety bodies around me. After more than five hours, while still standing near the end of that slow-moving line, a Comelec employee emerged from his office and announced that we should all go home and just return the next day. According to him, it was impossible to register all of us before the office closed for the day. The crowd shouted expletives at him, and not a few people threatened him bodily harm. The Comelec employee was pleading to the angry mob to calm down when I left in a hurry, fearing a full scale riot was about to erupt. I was finally registered the next day, but not after a full agonizing eight-hour wait. I swapped stories with friends who said their ordeal was worse than mine. Some needed to come back two or three times before they were registered. 

Because I was put through hell just to get registered, I vowed to make sure that my vote in the elections would not be wasted. But more than that, it was the country’s situation that made me decide to choose the most credible candidate, and at that time it was Raul Roco, a lawyer, senator, and former head of the Department of Education or DepEd. Before Roco’s term, the DepEd was notorious for coddling corrupt and inept officials. After Roco took over the DepEd, he turned it around and made it one the most honest and credible government departments in the country. 

I threw the question back at the driver: “How about you, who did you vote for?” 

“Macapagal-Arroyo.” He smiled sheepishly. “Well, we’re here.” 
 
I was so caught up in the conversation that I hadn’t noticed we’d arrived. I looked at the meter. It read a hundred and twenty pesos. Before the increase in fare, it would have only cost me less than a hundred bucks from our house to the office. 
 
Fishing some bills from my wallet, I paid the driver and told him to keep the change. He thanked me. I barely gave tips but this was an exception. Because of our short conversation, I realized something important. Candidates do not win because they are winnable. Winnability is just a state of mind. If people do not vote for a candidate, he will not win; if people vote for a candidate, he will win. It’s as simple as that. But somehow this simple equation cannot be grasped by voters—including the taxi driver, who might have unwittingly contributed to his present situation where he now needs to work doubly hard just to put food on the table — who choose to jump on the popularity or winnability bandwagon. And this irresponsible thinking has serious consequences, especially for the poor.  

The responsible vote especially counts for those who live in the slums of the city, for those who find it difficult to eat three square meals a day, for those who panhandle in the streets unmindful of the sun and rain, and for those who toil day and night without getting their due. For the relatively well-off, it may be a simple matter of being laughed at, or ridiculed because of voting for an unworthy, unpopular, or unwinnable candidate. For the down and out, it is not just a simple matter of winning or losing: 

It is a matter of life and death.