How do you live your ‘dash’?

Listen dear folks, I have a ‘five-year’ plan. I am giving you advance notice to include my 50th birth anniversary in your travel calendar." It was an amusing if not crazy idea. In five years, when she turns 50, my balikbayan friend would return to Manila for a combined reunion/mabuhay celebration with close friends from Manila and those who are based abroad.

Her friends in Manila would serve as her co-hosts by opening their homes to her foreign friends and in return, her overseas friends would bring something unique from their home countries as token gifts to their hosts.

This was her dream – a renewal of love and good wishes among her family and friends, on her 50th summer.

But like all well-thought-out plans, things fell apart. The timetable went haywire. There were family upheavals, unexpected and unbudgeted expenses, sickness, death not to mention natural disasters, including the World Trade bombing, etc. In the end, she called it off. Although disappointed, she was quick to accept that things were beyond her control.

I wanted to console her and give my two cents worth so I suggested a more personal and cost-saving celebration. Why not a once-in-a-lifetime dream voyage with her husband on a luxury liner? She would not only save on expenses but be pampered hand and foot on their second honeymoon. She replied, "It’s not the same."

In this age of prudent spending where one needs street-smart logic to stretch the budget, why not? With a sigh, she replied, "But, what about my ‘dash’?" She sat down and explained.

"There was this poem that someone sent me...

"A man stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on her tombstone, from the beginning to the end. He noted that first came her date of birth and spoke the following date with tears. But he said what mattered most of all was the ‘dash’ between those years (1900-1970).

"The ‘dash’ represented all the time that she was alive on earth. And now, only those who loved her knew what that little line was worth. For it matters not, how much we own – the cars, the house, the cash; what matters is how we lived and loved and how we spent our dash."

I think my friend was making a serious and conscious effort to make up for the daily grind imposed by husband, family, career and the community.

Like her, we fill our waking hours with things to do that completely overwhelm our thoughts and push us to go chop, chop – in a non-stop whirl. Exhausted and completely drained, we forget to smile, to have fun, to pause and pray, to offer a word of thanks.

On a recent trip to Singapore with my three-year-old grandson, I made a firm promise that this time around, the whole world could pass us by and I would remain unmindful of it. I will slow down and let this little boy "lead" me. I will see the world as he sees it, at his own pace, his own time.

The result? It took us an hour to walk the whole stretch of Orchard Road because every five or six minutes, he would stop to check his "shadow." He wanted to know why his shadow grew or shrunk whenever the sun "shifted." A caterpillar crossed our path and he stopped on his tracks hoping it would turn into a butterfly. A snail did the same thing so we sat on a public bench to wait for it to shed its shell. He looked up and asked, "Why can’t he leave his shell behind?" And I replied, "Because he’s like the turtle, he brings his whole house with him." He suddenly laughed and exclaimed, "Like you do, Nonna!"

I ate what he ate (pretzels, five flavors of Danish ice cream, and fried carrot cake dipped in chili sauce, etc.) When he switched to toasted seaweed and yogurt followed by fresh fruit jelly, I wondered why my stomach grumbled while his remained still. When we rode the cable car to "Sentosa Island," I screamed when he screamed but mine was borne out of sheer fright while his was clearly out of unabridged delight!

He was thrilled when the zookeeper wrapped a yellow albino python around his neck. When he saw a peacock, he followed it to a corner and begged it to spread its magnificent feathers. He sang with the orangutan and took pictures of the seahorse, the preying mantis and the fireflies with his toy camera. When a whiff of cool air blew on my face, I remembered a line from my friend‚s poem: "Would you need to slow down to consider what’s true and real, to try and understand the way other people feel?"

At a Royal Ballet’s performance of "Ulysses," the well-heeled patrons were toasting champagne with caviar while two friends chose to stay in their upper balcony seats. One pulled out a square dish covered with aluminum foil that contained banana cue, deep-fried and smothered with brown sugar. They both laughed at the "silliness" of it all. How can one reconcile the luxurious environment of the stately theater against the plebian fare of fried bananas? Again, the poem came ringing in my ear: Should we take time to appreciate life’s little pleasures, remembering that this special "dash" might only last a while?

An aunt was known to hoard things and keep the best things for a special occasion. When her daughters checked her cupboard, the white linens had turned yellow and the silk obi material that she collected and bought in Japan smelled of camphor balls and dead mites. She had silverware, crystals and fine china stored in her French cabinet that were never brought out, never used – all waiting for that "special occasion" that seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer as she grew feeble and old.

Well, her daughters took care of that! They threw open the door of her house to her hand-picked family and friends for an impromptu "auction" of her heirloom pieces. Only one rule prevailed: "Whatever you’ve won in this auction had to be used immediately – never to be stored!" Everyone jumped with joy as they scrambled to out-bid each other. (The token money raised was donated to her favorite hospice care). The enthusiasm was clearly infectious because everyone was happy to honor the "conditional" sale. Imagine going home with the "loot" that one can pass on to their daughters and granddaughters – not to be stored – but to be used immediately?

A father and son kept arguing about how the business should be run. They were both short-tempered and too proud to admit that on given times, one made more sense than the other. When the father suffered a stroke, the son withdrew to the woods to examine his thoughts and meditate. When the father came home, they both made an unspoken vow to meet more often – this time not to talk about business but about their relationship. Slowly, they relaxed, eased up and renewed the love and loyalty one always held sacred for the other.

Again, the poem came to mind: Should you be less quick to anger and show more appreciation? Should we love the people in our lives more and treat them with kindness and respect?

The message of the "dash" was simple. Whatever good or happiness you can do, do it N-O-W, as in today, this hour, this minute. You never know how much time is left for you to make amends or alter situations.

My friend went ahead with her 50th birthday celebration. It was a lot simpler and scaled down with only her Manila-based friends and family in attendance. It turned out to be just as much fun and meaningful. When she left Manila, we returned to our daily routines with a promise to keep the "dash" alive.

It is not easy. Now and then, the "dash" slips and gets buried somewhere in my "tie-a-string-round-the-finger" list. But whenever I am faced with a situation where I am made to choose between a life of love or a life of fear, my friend’s poem, like an echo, resounds, "When it’s time to read your eulogy and they recall what you’ve done in your lifetime, would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your ‘dash’?"

We have an awe-inspiring task to fill up that little line in our lives.