On turning 36

This is an intermission on the Escritor series. I hate the verbosity of justices. The readings are killing me. Nonetheless, I break that series to post for the record that this week I'm officially 36 years old.

No big resolutions for me, except perhaps to follow the advice of 94 year old Raffy L., a client of mine, on how to live long. "Don't eat too much," he said as he munched a spoonfull of sisig over bottles of coke. If that is not expert advice, I don't what is.

Rizal died before the age of 36. Bonifacio died at the age of 34. So if both were to continue their lives today, I'd be older than them. I'd tell Rizal to work on his English and Bonifacio to brush up on Sun Tzu. This way Rizal can drive his translators out of business, and Bonifacio can find out how to win a revolution.

I used to regret that I did not become a rock star. But I'm thinking, on or about this age, rock stars fade away and become drug junkies. So if I became a rock star, I'd probably be hooked on cocaine by this time instead of coffee. I don't know which drug is better. But at least coffee is not illegal. Now, I can stop regretting. Although, I don't regret that I used to regret not becoming a rock star. I still hope that one of these days, I'd learn to play the blues scales.

A friend was president of a large chain of computer schools at this age, and another was head of a multi-billion government corporation and eventually became Secretary of Agriculture. Advising them on the legal side of things, I agonized when both will eventually get driven out of office shortly thereafter. But both were able to bounce back from their predicaments and head bigger organizations. They inspire me to carry on.

But every now and then, I think of building a farm, planting coconuts, raising goats, and working on food security. I sure could use a lot of those free time in between planting, tending the farm, and harvesting. My books are all works in progress, and this blog is perpetually behind. Certainly, slow clocks and wifi on the beach could make a lot of difference.

When I was 18, I thought that people aged 36 have less possibilities. They're closer to death, if not already dead, they have less talent and less employment options. But today at 36, I'm guessing maybe possibilities are just functions of imagination. Perhaps, age should be measured by one's capacity to imagine. My theory is if I could imagine my life many years hence, I am perpetually young. Ha ha! Have I discovered the fountain of youth?

Negative. Someday my body will break down and my imagination will turn to senile dementia. Imagination gives me hope. But to keep things intact at 36 and many years hence, no better way for me to live but on 94 year old Raffy's sage advice,

"Don't eat too much."