AS I write this, I am still in shock from the news about a lovely young woman I went diving with in Fiji in 2019, and who died suddenly of a contracted disease. She was in a relationship, doing a lot of good work, and with so much to look forward to. Now, she’s gone, irreversibly, permanently.
At the Piccolomini Library inside the Cathedral of Siena, Italy
It’s been a very good year for me professionally, with work never ending, thank God, and providing so many opportunities for income and experiences. I wrote books, produced a magazine, edited, interviewed, played with words, and was crazy productive. Just when I thought I wouldn’t set foot in Europe again for a while (not in my budget), I was invited on a two-week coverage that took me to some places I had only dreamt of, which was quite the gift.
Another milestone this year: I became a cat mama for the first time in my life, after a lifetime of living with dogs. It took some learning, but the rewards have been truly priceless, and Yoongi, our three-legged baby—he survived being run over by a car before being brought to the PAWS shelter—is now one of the lights of my life.
I did feel stressed and burned out sometimes from work, since I obviously don’t have the same energy I had in my 30s or even 40s to deal with demanding colleagues, pull all-nighters, and still think straight. But I managed, which allowed me to afford my main vice, scuba-diving. I was even able to mark my 60th year underwater in Panglao, Bohol, a perfect celebration.
I will miss my dear, wacky Tita Mecing.
This year, though, the same friends and I experienced tremendous loss, as a member of our dive tribe, a pillar among us, died so suddenly, we still haven’t wrapped our heads and hearts around it completely. And within the same week, a very dear aunt, Tita Mecing, my mother’s younger sister, she who was also like a mother to me, passed away. She had always been vibrant, funny, and wise; next thing I knew, she was ill and wasting away, and because of miscommunication (or simple inconsideration, perhaps), I wasn’t informed and didn’t get to say a proper goodbye before she was cremated. It still grates on me to this day, but it’s a lesson learned, and I’m not dragging the resentment around with me. Well, it was a year of valuable lessons, anyway, on where I stand, who I can completely trust, and who is primarily responsible for watching my ass (hint: it’s not anybody else I know, promise). Truth surfaced many times, and it required some adjustment to come to terms with.
So 2024 was about big wins and painful losses, and how they somehow co-existed in an almost continuous, seamless flow—the good with the bad, the painful with the joyful, the wise with the idiotic.
During my diving friend’s wake, I told our group I wanted a T-shirt with the words “Carpe diem” (Seize the day)” printed on it. No, it wasn’t a Robin Williams original from Dead Poets Society, although it was wonderfully appropriate in that film. The term was first used by Roman poet Horace in his Odes between 23 and 13 BC: “carpe diem quam minimum credula postero,” literally translated as “pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the next one.” In short, live now, because you might not get the chance you think you will always have.
To be sure, my body has been more frequently reminding me of my “perishability,” as our senior yoga teacher Jawahar Bangera reminded me when I did miserably during a yoga workshop at the beginning of the year; some poses that used to come easy had become excruciating, a huge blow to the ego, let me tell you. In fact, after 18 years of teaching yoga, I took a break this year from teaching—I felt I didn’t have the right at that point—and regular classes, and learned not to feel guilty about it, as I opted to do things gently on my own, while still trying to figure out where to bring my practice next. (I’m still working on this.) In yet another blessing, I had my gall bladder removed—in the nick of time, it turns out, because the darn thing was leaking and was filled with what looked like “wet sand,” my doctor said. I didn’t have a clue, and was just dealing with hyperacidity—which, in a recent episode, made me more dizzy and nauseous than I had ever been in my life, I thought I would have to run to the ER.
Carpe diem. Do it now, because the future is never really promised to us, and some of us (especially those who steal from their fellowmen, ahem) act like we will never die and can still pull strings before God, or abuse His mercy. (Read: Steal now, He’ll forgive us anyway. Really?) My aunt’s death left family saddened; my diving friend’s demise left us in shock, and she probably didn’t get to leave her affairs in order. I’m thinking of Floy Quintos, a titan of Philippine theater and a friend, who died right before his last play, Grace, was to open early this year, and how much more good work he could have done, if he had a year or two.
Thank you, 2024, for giving me my cat, Yoongi.
Carpe diem. Use the nice plates, wear the good clothes, put on the fancy watch. I just had to have my father’s heirloom piece repaired because the screw came off, probably stiff from lack of use, an expense I could have avoided if I opted to carpe diem. As I ranted over the watch getting broken, I merited a serious stare from my cat Yoongi, my new reality checker, who seemed to be telling me, “So your watch broke. I have three legs. And your problem is?”
Of course, there are caveats. Don’t be stupid; don’t spend all your money in the name of seizing the day, then end up impoverished with no house, no money to live on, and no health insurance (or you’ll die even faster, in this country), and you end up relying on your relatives to keep you alive, horrors. Keep the big ticket items covered, but don’t scrimp on a special meal, a happy weekend with people you love, that gorgeous bag (that doesn’t cost the quarterly budget of a rural barangay), or most important, that experience. Because really, they count more than stuff.
Oh, and give some of your money away—enough of it. You’ll know, I guess. Your not-so-much might be very much for others. I once gave the girl who sells buko juice in my nearby supermarket P500 for being my suki, and for always smiling—and she cried, for God’s sake. “Makakatulong talaga po, Ma’am,” she said. I still think about that, and she was on my Christmas list this year.
Just last November, on the last dive trip we took with my much-missed friend, my buddy and I were swept away in a scary current, which I wrote about here . Like I said in the essay, I didn’t feel it was my time, maybe because I asked Mama Mary to keep my mind clear and hold us safe. One day, though, it will be my time, whether sooner or later. While I have ceased to be afraid of the end, I’d like to be able to say that I did not waste a single moment of the life God gave me.
So that’s my mantra for 2025: Carpe diem, without being stupid about it. For those of us who believe, there will be a glorious afterlife to look forward to. In the meantime, life itself is a glorious gift, and it would be an utter shame to waste it. Let’s make it mean something, for ourselves and for the others we can love and help.
So this 2025, seize the day, hug your friends, eat (a little) of that lechon, buy that lipstick, kiss your dog or cat—and in my case, look that tiger shark in the eye. But leave enough money in your bank account in case you still end up in a rocking chair. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, friends.
