92

My lola turned 92 last Monday. 92. Wow. I will not hope nor dream that I would ever reach such a ripe age. Unlike my grandmother, my lifestyle is much more, let's say, liberated. And yet, I wonder... "What would it be like to live the kind of life she lived? Would I be happier?"

I would certainly be healthier. Haha.

I imagine how uptight and conservative her life has been. I recall how she would tell me that when she was young, the only time people saw her was when they went to church. His lolo, Don Gil, would pick them up in his karwahe (yes, an actual carriage complete with a horseman) and that's when they get to go out. Everyday, at 4pm, they would open their windows and watch the world outside. Wave at passersby perhaps, and maybe even look down upon suitors. This account alone is proof enough of how different the way things were before.

My lola turned out to be a very strong woman despite the rather "demure" way of life she got used to. In so many ways I am like her and yet in so many more ways I know I am not. My life is far more complicated than hers was, yet I know she went through her own obstacles and fought her own battles. If I were to have lived in the era she lived through, I would most probably turn out not far from the way she did.

But I am of this generation. One that is a hundredfold harder to live through than theirs was. Perhaps, I am in no position to complain. Many of us complicate our lives unnecessarily, our ambitions are higher and our contentment is harder to reach.

I am now 21. Far from old. Far from wise. I am almost sure I wouldn't live to be 92. But I hope I will do my lola's heritage justice in my own way while I am alive.