I have a beautiful friend in a coma, which I guess I didn’t really comprehend the gravity of until I got to the Philippine Heart Center today to visit her. Neurological ICU.
What it’s like.
What it’s like to touch someone you know, looking at her motionless body - wondering how deep the thoughts run in the recesses of her mind - trying to comprehend that at one point, her heart had stopped. That machines were helping her to keep going.
Coming to terms with the fact that you’re not a doctor, that you don’t understand, you can’t fix it, you can’t rewind, you can’t talk or pay or apologize or negotiate your way out of where she is.
Sitting there in silence, until Banj softly tells me “talk to her”.
I can’t, because I’m confused and choked up, and if I try to speak, the tears will fog my glasses up, and my hands have been sanitized, so I won’t be able to take them off and clean them.
I can’t because the mask I have over my mouth makes me even more unintelligible than I already am.
But I know he’s right. And so I start softly - saying hi, it’s me.
I massage her swollen limbs. Fix her hair. Readjust the wet towel on her forehead.
And the more I talk, the more brazen I get, cracking jokes - telling her it’s Fashion Week next week, and that she better wake up because our manager is going to kick her butt if she doesn’t.
But that really only makes me cry.
And then I try to tell her that if she’s tired, it’s okay - rest. But not too long. Her two little children don’t know what’s going on - they think Mama is modeling somewhere.
And then I stop.
Until Banj makes a noise, and I look up to see him staring at the monitors.
“Keep talking”, he says. “Her heart rate went up.”
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I have a beautiful group of young kids under my tutelage. Filipino, creative, visionaries - which I guess I didn’t really understand the gravity of until I got them all together for a meeting today.
What it’s like.
What it’s like, looking out at their faces, knowing they have no idea what impact they are capable of making on society. Artists, DJs, skaters, bikers, photographers, filmmakers, designers, musicians, painters, performers.
Seeing the future pan out in super high speed. The possibilities for these influencers, the core of the energy source, the youth, this group - the ones that will soon dictate the beat.
One of the graffiti artists wasn’t there for our meeting. He lies in a hospital bed, fresh from surgery intended to mend his fractured skull. The artists fell two storeys. He was filming a crew member throw up a piece in the middle of the night. The roof he was standing on gave way.
What we are willing to pay. The price of passion.
Boom Dayupay talks to my group of kids. I see him divulging decades of hard-earned knowledge and experience, understanding that this is the passing of the torch in some respect. The point where value comes in not having done something, or in the accolades, but in the solace that is carried in teaching and sharing.
There is some lecturing, from me mostly. About the disciplinary stuff. Punctuality, professionalism. And though I hope they hear me, it is the look in their eyes when they hear words that empower them, that makes me swell with confidence. As Banj talks about the responsibility of saving the “magic idea” that so often dies within the confines of a dreamer’s bedroom because of lack of drive. As Boom talks about spark, and capturing the essence of creativity. The kids - they keep straight faces, but I can see their souls beaming.
“Keep talking”, I want to tell the guys. “Their heart rates are going up.”
—
I have faith.
That Christine will fight from wherever she is, to come up and back into her body. To claim it, and take control of it. To fill her limbs and face with life and expression.
As I have faith that we all will.
I am beginning to recognize that the sharing of all of this…movement, passion, communication, feelings — that is life.
So I will keep talking. I will keep writing. Because though it’s easy to become listless and self-absorbed, insecure and unmotivated — you never know whether or not something you’re sharing is pumping life into someone.
—
That was today.
I hope to have good news for you tomorrow.
Goodnight, world. May your steps be guided and firm with faith, whether or not you see what lies ahead.
-s.
I was having a conversation with a friend of mine the other day about her not being sure whether or not she believed in Jesus. Religion has, and will always be a sticky subject, and to be completely honest, I haven’t gotten all the technical wrinkles ironed out for myself yet either.
But at the very core of things, I’m an advocate of faith.
And of spiritual maturity.
And though this video does make mention of Christ, perhaps you don’t need to believe in Biblical stories to appreciate existential beauty…and the artistry of (a visually supplemented) spoken word.
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Thank you to one of my readers <biancamatic> for the video. I love that you knew to send this to me.
