Monday, November 12, 2012


These past few days, I haven't done anything cool enough to talk about. That's sad, right?

Anyway, let me just talk about something I've done this morning. It's nothing death-defying, okay. I just ate TAHO. Period.

You might be thinking to yourself now, "who cares about you eating taho, anyway?". Well I care. You care too, that's obviously the reason why you're still reading this blogpost.

Okay. Let me begin..

During my break earlier, I went to the pantry to buy coffee. Then I saw Manong, the lolo who sells Taho. He was standing in a corner and was looking at every person who comes in, hopeful that they will buy from him. So I felt myself feeling the same feeling everytime I see him in that corner, I decided to forget coffee and buy Taho instead. Well, here I am-- you have one customer here.

As I walk toward Manong, he was staring straight at me. I smiled as a confirmation that I'm buying, then said to him, Yung dati pa din, Manong. He immediately ducked to scoop some of the white stuff (soft tofu with the texture of silky custard). Tanghali ka na Manong, ah, I said as he added the arnibal to the cup using a thin metal laddle. He shyly replied, Oo, nanakit kasi ang likod ko kanina. I watched him add the tapioca pearls on top, while unintentionally picturing him carrying his taho container/buckets.

I was surprised to realize that I have been thinking too much again- and getting teary-eyed. Manong was already handing me the clear plastic cup brimming with the succulent dessert. I accepted the large cup and paid him P20 for it. After thanking him, I slowly made my way out of the pantry. Before I was able to stop myself, I looked back at him, and at the same time, felt the same strong emotion which always prompted me to buy from him everytime he's around.

It's just plain and simple; I have a soft spot for the elderly. When I see elderly people toiling in spite of their age, my heart breaks. When I see old people eating and traveling alone, I feel lonely for them. When I pass by peasants, I can't stop myself from feeling bad about their family not being able to provide for them anymore. Yes, I am that soft, the mere thought of a lola walking alone crushes me.

I was once able to talk to an elderly gentleman who lives in a retirement home in Australia. As I listen to him talk about his family, I was able to grasp how lonely he is. He said he wanted his telephone line transferred beside his bed so that it wouldn't take him a while to answer when his family called. He said he usually misses the calls because he can't get to the phone immediately, and his relatives are usually too busy to ring more than once. I spent several minutes inside the ladies room after talking to him-- I couldn't keep myself from crying.

On several occasions I think of my grandparents whenever I see old people. I guess that's one of the reasons why I'm easily affected. I miss my grandparents. I wasn't the best granddaughter in the world and I have broken their hearts more than once, but I love them. I wouldn't want for them to be subjected to any difficulties, because they're old and very fragile now. I would definitely give everything just to be able to support and protect them. They were my fortress when I was a young child, I would like to be one of their strongholds now that I am older.

Taho, you want?

Great, I'm getting dramatic here. Going back to Manong and his taho. I don't really like taho that much. Infact, the only reason why I'm buying is because I want to be able to help him. That P20 can mean a lot to him more than it can ever mean to me.

Everybody gets old. Sure. But I don't think people my age can imagine themselves forty-five years from now. If only they can, then they would probably have soft spots for the elderly as well, and a lot of my colleagues would be buying Taho from ManongCome to think of it-- have you imagined how you'd be when you're old and arthritic?

As for me, I don't want to grow old alone. I would love to grow old beside someone who will love me 'til our last breath. I want someone to hold my hand during my last minutes on earth. (Great, I'm really getting dramatic here. This paragraph isn't even supposed to be here.)

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