Deadlines

I've been working very hard these past few weeks, working to a deadline, and the experience is leaving me with very mixed feelings.

When I retired ("oh, you're too young to retire") before we moved here I took off my watch and have never put it on again. Nor do I intend to ever wear a watch again. Apparently this makes me extremely hip as Number 2 Son informs me that no one of his generation wears watches anymore. No need if you're tethered to a cell phone.

Also, in the time I've been here, the only deadline I've had to worry about is catching the next plane to somewhere.

That's changed.

Last year I took a Philippine history course through an organization called Museum Volunteers of the Philippines. Every Wednesday morning from September to April. It was great, I loved it and made a ton of new friends. In fact, I loved it so much I volunteered to come back this year and lead a section of the course. And therein lies my current dilemma.

My volunteer job is actually very similar to the recent work I left back in Canada. I need to design the program, research the content, prepare and deliver some presentations, choose the guest speakers, decide on and source any videos, assist the students with their own presentations (each student has to choose a topic, research it and present to the class - last year my topic was General MacArthur) and generally make sure the section goes smoothly. And since I really liked my work back then, it is definitely not a hardship, au contraire.

But taking a break from my life as a dilettante (living my life's ambition) and having to be a responsible human being working to deadline has been a shock to the system.


The section of the course I'm responsible for is called The Independent Period, which runs from the end of The War in 1945 through to 1986 when Ferdinand Marcos was deposed and sent into exile in Hawaii. I'm really enjoying learning about all this. I vaguely remember images of opposition leader Benigno Aquino being shot the minute he stepped off the plane, returning from exile in 1983. I remember Dictator Marcos getting turfed out and the palace being stormed in 1986, and I think everyone knows about Imelda and her thousands of shoes. But that was the extent of my knowledge and I certainly had zero understanding of it all.

One of the many things I like about studying this part of Philippine history is that it is close enough to contemporary times that - some - of the people are still around to bear witness. I've even found serendipity. A few weeks ago, at a time when I was deeply immersed in reading about the Marcos years, I walked into my pilates studio, passing a bodyguard who was waiting outside the front door, to find that one of the Marcos daughters was there - our appointment times must be in sync because I see her now every week. Then, later that same week, I walked into my elevator and was face to face with the Marcos son and his bodyguard. We had a very pleasant conversation on our way down to ground level - he and his family used to live in our apartment and have now moved to another unit upstairs.

Big city, small town.


I was also talking to my Tagalog teacher this past Wednesday about the Marcos martial law period. He had been a student at the time. He had been at the 3-day People Power uprising, when thousands upon thousands of citizens faced down the military and forced Marcos out of power. He described the events for me of those days - the fear and the exhilaration.

He also told me about his older cousin. She had been a writer and activist in the early 1970's, openly critical of Marcos and his government and what was happening in the Philippines at the time - poverty, corruption, injustice (sounds familiar today). She was one of the many thousands of people snatched by the Marcos enforcers and imprisoned and abused. Later the family found that she had been murdered by them.

Desaparecido.