Many things can change in one day. Imagine then the slew of changes in 1,095 days, since the last Manila International Book Fair (MIBF 2019) was unceremoniously halted by the pandemic.
The early days of Covid-19 forced me to do nothing but write (three books*), read, solve puzzles, watch feel-good videos, listen to music, chat with friends and family on social media, watch the flowers bloom and the birds fly, and attend memorial services—often simultaneously online.
Meanwhile . . . many got the virus (including our whole household); those who were fortunate to get a room in a hospital languished and expired there. It would have been so easy to curl up, cower in terror, and cry, but the presidential campaign was a shot in the arm, a surprise grace.
It brought joy and renewed vigor for ideas, projects, and collaboration with former colleagues here and abroad. Passion for a rosy future was ablaze once more.
The kakampink period was a season of hope.
Alas, the election outcome, which many believe was a massive fraud, dashed that hope.
Then the announcement came: MIBF will happen this year!
That disoriented me big time. In years past, I’d shop for new outfits, and plan my daily trek to the venue (from opening to closing time) months before the event. There I’d walk around ceaselessly with my sister Aie or my friend Yay, hunting for books, stopping only in my publishers’ booths to sign my books and chat with readers till the last day, up to the last hour.
This time around, Tony and my sons reminded me a million times to be careful, bring my vaccination card, observe social distancing, handrub with alcohol often, and never take off my mask.
On the day of my book-signing assignment at the OMF Lit booth, I snatched Tony’s pink sweatshirt from his closet, donned my most comfortable jeans, and didn’t bother to wear shoes.
Those were wise decisions. I was unaware (because I lived in rubber flip-flops at home) that my foot malady has worsened; I would never have walked one meter in shoes without writhing in pain.
For one hour, I signed books fiercely and vigorously, then headed home. Why didn't I go around as I used to? Perhaps the virus took a toll on my body; or age is rearing its ugly head; or the inertia of rest had my system resting still; or health protocols and family's strict warnings have prevailed.
Whichever. I must have run out of gas.
These big changes in three years addled my brain, but enriched my heart. Now these verses in Scripture are more meaningful than ever:
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