CONFESSIONS OF A SUCCESSFUL BUM

Nothing can be more depressing than sitting on the couch in front of the television, while waiting for the latest showbiz chika from Tita Cristy. I call this moment “the 30-minute coma” – a condition which allows your brain to go dead, blank, moribund or be completely anaesthetized (no Novocain needed) but only for half an hour. From Monday to Friday, I sit there, in the exact spot where I sat the day before and imitate the dead.

Nothing can be more profound than this, I say. This beats slaving in the office, wearing three-inch heels from eight to five, I say. Watching Rosanna Roces badmouthing Aiko Melendez is definitely more exciting than listening to your boss spewing invectives at you, I say. But when the last of them artistas say their goodbyes, and the credits flash before the screen, I snap back to life. And what a life, it is.

The day I left the province for the City of Man(ila), I promised to myself that I would go back home with success written all over me. Now I am what you might call a successful bum.

My day starts at 11:30, just before “Eat Bulaga” (or “Sang Linggo na po sila” – I change channels from time to time to avoid the network war). After my morning Coke, I read the papers to update myself on the latest travails of Erap and to see if any new bank had been robbed (you never know, the Kuratong Baleleng or what’s left of it might make a comeback). And then lunch, followed by a series of TV shows and soap operas with nothing but the usual stories of girls with pathetic fates, with names like Ana, or Mara, all reminiscent of Flordeluna.

Everyday is just like the day before: sleep, eat, watch TV, with an occasional variation like reading a trashy novel, or making telebabad with fellow bums. But basically, everything’s routine. Everyday and everything amounts to nothingness.

My mother asked me recently what my plans were. I looked at her for a long time and shrugged – a typical bum gesture. Bahala na, ewan, that was my response after four years of college.

How I wish my life stopped in Grade School, when “career” and “goal” were words one encountered only in Spelling Bee contests. I call some friends from High School and either they ask me what I’m doing (meaning where do I work and how much do I earn) or they’re too busy to answer the phone, please call some other time (meaning get on with your life). What keeps me sane is sometimes seeing some college friends in the mall looking just as forlorn and lost as I am. And from the looks on their faces, I know they are as successful as I am at bumming.

I am still young. I still have so much to do, to see, to dream about, to wish for. And yet when I wake up in the morning, and I am alone, I do, I see, I dream, I wish and I feel –nothing. Questions usually crop up during moments when I don’t have the answers: Why did I ever go to college anyway? Was studying in the best university in the country –as an iskolar ng bayan, yet—worth it? Was wasting my parents’ money and leaving my simple home for the atrocities of the city worth it? Why is it that I cannot seem to find my place in the sun? What will I be when I’m 50, and will I like myself then? What is there in this life but fancy cars, a huge house in a posh village, a fat bank account, a monogamous husband, beautiful kids and trips to Europe? Who wouldn’t be happy when they have all these? And, yes, when will I find a job that I like, where I can flourish, be contented and respected, while making a huge stash of cash?

These are the questions a bum confronts everyday. These are the questions I and thousands of other young men and women ask. Young men and women who studied in very good schools, and with above average intelligence, pleasing personalities, humor, wit, and very supportive families, and yet forced to remain at home, clutching the TV remote control like a lifeline.

Is it our fault that we have become too idealistic for our own good? Is it our fault that we cannot find a job worthy of us—and the hundreds of isaw, frat wars, endless registration hassles we had to go through for four years? Is it our fault that we have but pain and frustration? Is it our fault that we are what we are now? Or can we blame the system, or the government, which cannot even provide for its people, especially the young who have so much to give?

I don’t know. The junk food I’ve been eating while chewing on the latest showbiz chika must have dulled my brain. Maybe I and the rest of us bums deserve to be living in this brutish, jobless nothingness. Maybe, we young people are just plain lazy, contented with the fact that our parents provide for us even after college. American society would cringe at our dependence. Maybe parents should begin kicking their kids out on the day they turn 18. Who knows, the country’s economy might improve a tad.

But again, no. I would be the first to pack my bags, and I was never good a packing.

It is sad to be a successful bum. Contrary to what others might think, I am not having a grand vacation. There is so much loneliness here, and yes, regret, always regret. It approaches with twilight, and comes with mourning, mourning for another day that is ending with nothing happening (June 24, 1995)

by: Joanne Marie Combong Young blood

Can so relate right now… took much effort to retype it from an old The best of Youngblood book.