PARADOXICAL

The lady who lived across my place was fidgety, telling her kids inside the house to switch off the noontime TV show and call the Fire Department. She was panicky because her son, fresh from roving the streets, just called out to her, “Ma, there’s fire in the neighbourhood, down the next block.”

I was, of course, just as panic-stricken overhearing it. I thought it meant I had barely enough time to save anything except the essentials. What to do, what to do? Which items to save? God, what is happening? Help!

I managed to think despite palpitation and blood pressure. Let me see: The house I lived in was not mine, so I could afford to lose it. I surprised myself that I could let go of everything else so quickly. It might be because I was protecting myself from having a hypertensive attack. Still, I made sure I clung to the barest essentials anyway. And I decided that the most important objects were things that seemed to be of little consequence: my wallet, my folder of personal documents (because applying for copies was horrifying), ATM card, office ID, cell phone, my digital camera (just because it is new and portable), and the shirt on my back. If my world must burn, then the rest could go burn.

Echoing my lady neighbor’s fear, I felt my chest having some mild pain due to imagined heart congestion. I bet my pulse was double its normal rate, and I could feel it. This drove me catching my breath. After I hastily gathered what I thought to be the most important things in my life, I locked the door and went out to join the neighborhood in witnessing the public spectacle of fire blazing.

Along the way, I came across three male neighbors on their way back from the scene with a dismissive face each. A good sign, I thought.

Then I heard firetrucks blaring from a distance. By the time I reached the main street of the village, the smoke had thinned out, according to witnesses, changing from dark black to whitish gray now. The fire, now successfully abated by the fire volunteers, turned out to be quite far from us. It struck another place, the shantytown across our place.

I thanked God my place was spared again. Every year, there is such a threat in this cramped village neighborhood.

As I stepped back into my place, I thought about the great dread the families affected must have gone through. While hoping no one was hurt among them and praying they would survive this tragedy, I tried to console myself with a mental debate: Since they have even lesser in life than I do, death and destruction of property would be nothing to them. Nothing to lose, so to speak.

Maybe this is a wrong and potentially offensive assumption, even without me meaning any offense. Maybe the loss is even more major because it means losing the only thing they have. That's what I learned from the depressing Italian classic movie The Bicycle Thief: the bicycle owner never rejoiced at his little big tragedy.

I don't know the answer to this puzzle, but I am left with the strong suspicion that much of it depends on the heart of the individual person. I've met wealthy people who seem unattached to material luxuries; in contrast, I'm amazed at how poor people can't let go of certain terribly ugly material things, either for sentimental reasons or for lack of choice. In a destitute man's home, every single item is not an accidental material but an essential; not one item is there for luxury.

In my own experience, I've seen how letting go can be two things at least: I can let go of something because I get tired of it after satisfying myself with it for so long. I can also have the capacity to let go of something I longed for but never had, but only under three certain conditions: a) when I get tired longing for the unattainable, b) after I have adequately grieved the fact to begin accepting my misfortune (instead of not grieving then repressing, which ends in unresolved issues), and c) when I finally learn to choose to be happy and peaceful and complete even with my lack.

If these three conditions are fulfilled after each life's conflagration, I move on, able to let go without sourgraping.