The Last Page

I’m getting old. Frankly, I don’t care. Adding up more years to my age would only make it official… that I’m old. I suspect I was born with an old soul. A soul that carried remnants of memories of its past life and infecting mine with that of its own. My salt and pepper hair now has more salt than pepper and seems to start further up my forehead-- a forehead that had feigned a receding hairline long before that line actually moved up. My eyebrows now have more errant hair making it bushier and had accented the arch giving my face a stern somewhat snobbish almost devilish look. Generally, my whole face is drooping and converging on my chin. My ears that seemed to have stopped growing when I was probably nine now looked too small for my head especially with the added bulk of sagging face muscles. My eyes had bulged out more than before and betray how much time I actually spend reading in poor light. Under the eyes are permanent eye bags that seem to be in direct competition with my bulging eyes. Eyeglasses are still perched on the ridge of my nose-- with the distinctive downward nibble of flesh at the tip which gives me a vague hawkish profile.

When I was a young boy, an aunt took me for a drive to Cavite. "We're going to see a Shaman" she said. She said she'll ask the Shaman's help to get back money embezzled from her. The Shaman was at the dining table on the kitchen. He was a wiry old man and looked more like a sabunggero than a medicine man. He smelt of coconut oil. In the middle of the kitchen is a well with water that changes color each time a bucket was scooped from it-- I wasn't impressed, Dada could do it with just a drop of food coloring. There were a number of people lined up to see the old man. Most had brought a bottle with them and would ask for a cup of the colored water before they leave.

After my aunt's turn, we got up to leave. But, the old man waved for me to sit down with him on the dining table. The old man whipped up a big sheet of manila paper whereupon he wrote and drew symbols. I warned me about women when I grow up, but I don't remember what about women I should be careful about. He also warned me about riding jeepneys. He said he'll give me a good oracion to utter just before I get into a fist fight. The old man wrote several oraciones that he said I should utter in case I find myself in any of the circumstances he warned me about. Then he rolled up the brown paper and handed it to me. Then, as I stood up, he whispered to me my age when I would die.

From that day on I became obsessed with my death. I began to have a recurring dream that when I go, it’s going to be on a cool afternoon. I’ll be waking up from a catnap on a wooden bed. There will be a big calendar on the left wall. Beyond the foot of the bed there would be a big window that would let in the cool breeze. A slight drizzle would have just eased up and the breeze will be flavored with the smell of freshly cut grass. White light shines through the doorway on the right. Then I would close my eyes.