Walks of life
Walking for one hour every morning has been part of my regimen since my open-heart coronary artery bypass surgery in 2007.
Aside from being the cheapest form of exercise (all I need is a good pair of walking shoes and comfortable clothes), walking has given me countless benefits. Today, my doctor tells me that my heart is stronger and that my cholesterol and blood sugar levels are all well within acceptable limits. Indeed, I feel generally much better and younger than my 72-year-old body. I have maintained my weight at 135 pounds, down from 155-160 pounds prior to my surgery. My waistline also stays at 32 inches, down from 33-34 inches.
More important, even at my age, I feel more zest for life now as I have learned to slow down after so many years of employment. As a result of all this, my senses have become keener and I now notice the colors of my surroundings, hear the song of the birds, smell the freshness of the crisp morning air, and feel the soothing warmth of the rising sun.
Yes, I have learned, as they say, “to stop and smell the flowers,” but I have also acquired the habit of smiling and greeting the people from varied walks of life that I meet in my daily walk. People like the other seniors in our neighborhood who walk in twos or threes, chatting about the latest in politics or teleserye in town. Beautiful characters like the young men and women who walk or jog around trying to keep fit and pretty.
There, too, are the matronly ladies who walk their dogs for their morning ritual or push a grandchild’s carriage to catch the morning sun. And there is the mysterious-looking elderly Chinese woman who walks by herself with a rosary in hand.
But there are also ordinarily unnoticed people from other walks of life that I meet in my daily walk. People who teach me that walking means a different thing to them. People who probably would have taken other paths, much better paths than the ones they now tread, had they been given a choice.
There is “Lily” (not her real name), a young mother, maybe in her early twenties, who greets me without fail with a smile as she walks her eldest child to school that is more than a kilometer away. She carries in her right arm an infant and leads with her left hand a 3-year-old boy who tries to keep pace with her. Her eldest, a 5-year-old boy carrying a school bag, follows behind her. I meet them as I start my first round of walking and meet them again some 30 minutes later.
I often wonder how this young mother must be coping with life. I can only guess that with a husband as sole breadwinner, she is saving whatever she can, so she walks her son to school instead of taking him there in a tricycle. In the process, she also gets to take care of her other children and assure them of her protective love. That, for me, is her life’s walk.
Another walker who has caught my attention is the magbobote-bakal-dyaryo (junk collector). I chanced upon him one day and tried to keep pace with him as we conversed. He told me to just call him “Boy.” And so I decided to remember him as “Boy Kariton,” to distinguish him from the many other “Boys” that I know. I learned that he has nine children, the eldest two in their early twenties (both married), and the youngest two years old.
He and his family used to live in a compound of informal settlers near our subdivision until they were relocated to San Jose del Monte in Bulacan. He keeps coming back to our area to pick up recyclables in garbage bins and then sell these to the junk shop. This is the only work he knows, he tells me. Boy has since become my regular visitor at home to pick up the recyclables I collect and save for him.
The vendors of taho (soya food) and puto (native rice cakes) are the other walkers I meet. I cannot make small talk with them, however, because they walk faster than me in order to make more sales (“para po makarami”), I am told.
Lily, Boy Kariton, and the street vendors are the people I walk with almost daily. Like me, they are characters in the drama of life who take to the streets and walk even before sunrise. But then, there is a whole lot of difference between us. I walk for leisure while they walk almost as a matter of survival. I walk for health reasons, while they walk in order to earn for their families who may not have anything to eat for the day. Carefree, I enjoy my walk, while they walk with a burden literally on their shoulders as they carry their wares of puto or taho, or in the case of Boy Kariton, as he pushes his wooden cart, in their daily walks of life.
Today, I dream of being able to tell my grandchildren someday before I take the final walk of my life that I have walked, not with heroes or with celebrities, not with the high and mighty, but with simple folks who, come to think of it now, also walk their talk.
What is your walk of life?
Danilo G. Mendiola, 72, is a retired administrative and human resources manager. He and his wife now do volunteer church work in their parish in Quezon City. They have four grown children.
