13. courage

they say courage is not the mastery of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.

it's been raining steadily today, just rain and not a lot of wind, which i guess is actually a blessing since it was supposed to be signal no.2 in metro manila according to news reports. (but wait, didn't ondoy start innocently enough the same way, raining and not letting up for hours?) i am reminded of a similar rainy afternoon a few weeks ago, an incident that was over quickly but is now one of those i would label "defining", in terms of what courage actually demands of a person and what it means to be brave outside of books and make-believe worlds.

this rainy afternoon saw me at the foot of the mrt cubao station, having just climbed down the steps on my way to visit allison. the sight that greeted me as i rounded the corner was of a man, middle-aged, in a white shirt, sitting on the ground. he was picking himself up from what i had thought to be a simple slip on the wet ground, when suddenly the color red was made liquid and dripped, and irrevocably colored one of the puddles by his feet.

confused (or in denial?), i thought, did he buy pig's blood, maybe? he was holding a white plastic bag which might have been something he bought on an errand.

it soon became apparent as he woozily stood up that it was his own blood dripping to the ground, his own blood from the cuts on his face and arms. i stood there, paralyzed but for my arm which was snaking its way into my bag as the only thought that came to me was to get alcohol, give it to him, get the dang alcohol.

but my fingers refused to cooperate, i couldn't get the bag open. helpless, i looked around for sympathetic faces, authority figures, someone other than me who could possibly help. there were a lot of people there, it was cubao after all, but they were all looking too, mirroring what had been my own transfixed gaze at the man.

with a jolt, i realized that now he was shakily making his way toward me, holding on to the railing of the fx terminal where we were at. i panicked, moved away, and he slumped against the side for support. finally, someone asked him, "ano pong nangyari sa inyo?'

and the bloodied man pointed to the spot where he was, said someone had pushed him and he slipped. after which, he started moving again, turned left away from my vision, and i walked away as well.

i was shaken, not so much from the gross reality i had witnessed, but from the part of me that was exposed because of that incident. i had always prided myself in believing i was, if not good, then a decent person who was educated enough to do something helpful when the occasion called for it, and not whine and complain as the filipino, it is said, is wont to do.

yet i wasn't able to do anything for that man. the simple truth is that i was scared. i was mastered by my fear.