I suspect I’ve been infected by one of the flu-like viruses currently surging in China, though our own Department of Health (DOH) insists there’s no cause for alarm. In other words, there’s no pandemic, no epidemic, and no new or old variant of COVID-19—just human metapneumovirus (HMPV). Our medical authorities seem intent on downplaying its severity, reminding us that we’re simply in flu season, an annual cycle.
It will take a long time before I can trust the DOH again. During the pandemic, corruption tainted every major expense—from overpriced COVID-19 tests and vaccines to the misuse of PhilHealth funds for emergency medical supplies that were never even utilized. And to think the pandemic was also used as justification to borrow trillions more in debt.
But I digress from my own insignificant health issue to one of the greatest plunders our country has ever seen—one I’ve grown tired of hoping will be resolved. Instead, I’ll focus on HMPV, which has been wreaking havoc on children and senior citizens, causing flu-like symptoms that linger for weeks, even months. Not deadly, if we are to believe the DOH, but apparently not serious enough to warrant a national awareness campaign on prevention and treatment.
In other words, we are on our own. Filipinos must seek remedies wherever they can, hoping they don’t stumble upon something effective yet unlicensed by the DOH and FDA—lest the source be legally harassed. I remember the first year of the pandemic when, despite offering no curative solutions, the DOH and FDA were quick to discredit alternatives like Ivermectin, which pharmaceutical giants disapproved of.
To help myself, I left the unhealthy environment of Metro Manila for a few days and retreated to the foothills of a majestic mountain. I hoped the fresh air would help, even though the high humidity wasn’t ideal. Still, the much cooler climate—ranging from 18 to 25°C—helped my body recover, while the quiet, only occasionally broken by distant crowing roosters, soothed my mind and spirit.
But like many Filipinos who know their health fares better outside the country’s urban centers, my options are limited. I am no billionaire. And as a senior citizen, my body is more exhausted, and my life savings, like those of many others, are not limitless. That means returning to a polluted metropolis, taking solace in the company of my grandchildren, and bracing myself for the hyperactive noise of traditional and social media—both of which seem to be a curse on any senior’s pursuit of serenity. Like a rocket that has wandered into deep space, I must now prepare for re-entry.
Life on Earth for a Senior Citizen
What is life like for a senior citizen like me? For someone deeply concerned with the socio-political landscape of the Philippines, full retirement is out of the question. The nagging thought remains: Have we done enough? The answer is usually no. Then comes the harder question: What can we do with the lessons we’ve learned—mostly the hard way—and how do we pass them on to younger socio-political advocates?
At the same time, life urges us to let go—to turn inward, not in a selfish way, but toward deeper self-reflection. Yet this is no easy task. We have spent so much time immersed in the noisy, external world that detaching from it feels unnatural. And it’s even harder to step away when the causes we have fought for remain vital to building a better society.
Should advocates simply abandon the struggles they’ve dedicated decades to? Would focusing on the spiritual—on possible life after death—be a distraction from making life better for those still here and those who will come after us? Or is it possible to balance inner contemplation with meaningful advocacy?
A Collective Responsibility
As much as I acknowledge that the state of our country is at a low and fragile point, I also know that the answer isn’t me—it’s us. A national dilemma requires collective effort, where each person contributes something better: better behavior, better productivity, better vision. Only then can we shift the national trajectory. The odds are against us because reversing a bad pattern is always the hardest and most painful task.
But this realization brings me peace. I cannot carry the burden of change alone because the problem is collective. Yet I also understand that even small, personal efforts—if successful—contribute strategically to the whole. The challenge is not to do it all, nor even to do too much, but to trust that every seemingly small contribution matters. This is the secret sauce of democracy.
I have taken a brief yet powerful respite in an environment that refreshes me—where the air is pure, the waters are clean, and solitude offers a healing magic. That alone is a great blessing. I wish the same for others, wherever they may find their own places of refuge.
A great journey beckons, and we must face it with courage and strength.