This Old Man

There's this Old Man from our neighborhood whose steps are like of a baby's.

Step, step. step, step. Pause. Step, step, step. Stop. Step, step. step, step. Sigh.

One, two, three, four, five up to twenty steps and yet he's just half way across the street, which people usually cross in three or four easy strides. Whenever he wants to sit, he has to lean on a tree, or on a lamp post or has to get a good aim and pray that his butt reaches its destination safely. (Or something like that.) I once asked Momsie about him and she recalled that this Old Man suffered from a stroke, which affected his motor skills.

The first time I took notice of this Old Man was during Popsie's wake. When everybody else was busy betting for their numbers on the Terembe table or was busy cracking pumpkin seeds, or was busy refilling their glasses with the blushing horse, he was there in his uncoordinated stance, clumsily cleaning tables, arranging chairs and offering more pumpkin seeds to crack to Pops' mourners. He touched my heart, he did. But I was so busy that I soon forgot about him until I saw him recently, not on our streets but in Quiapo. He was there, really! He was bravely waddling his way through the busy streets of Hidalgo. Doing the steps he has memorized since God-knows-when while dodging pedicabs and horse manure.

I know it's pathetic to draw courage from someone else's pain but forgive me if I already did. I am currently unemployed so I am also in pain. Sheesh, what a bad joke. I am sorry. Escaping from too serious topics about me is part of my personality, I'm a Scorpio, you see.

Old Man, you would always be part of my inspiration. Thank you.

But seriously speaking, I think I'm just like him. Clumsily waddling through life's manure. (Oh, hello euphemism, I missed you!) Pausing, stopping, sighing to breathe whenever I can so I won't find myself in the deeper compost of more sheeeet.

Or maybe I'm just making excuses. What the hell--? Whatever.