Are We Dead Yet?

The world was supposed to end yesterday.  Harold Camping said it would. 

It’s Sunday and I’m posting this so I don’t think it did.

On the day the world was supposed to end, I sat at the office working on stuff that would never, ever contribute to world peace.  Or help bring back ecological balance.  Or arrest poverty.  Or even help ease traffic in the city by just a teeny-weeny bit.

And while I sat there amidst the piles of paper that are exact duplicates of piles of paper in another office in another country,  I listened intently for that first, almost imperceptible crack that would herald a major, mega-mega earthquake, or the first pitter-pat of rain that would come before an  Ondoy multiplied by a million times,   or a screeching in the distance followed by loud explosions – oops, asteroid drop.

They never came. 

In fact, the day was so – well, ordinary – that I managed to finish so much work in half the time it usually takes me, giving me a few hours to mull over my (as of yet) insignificant existence and motley contribution to what we call “humanity”. 

I started by mulling over what I would do if it became apparent that the world was indeed going to end.  Here’s what my brain came up with:

I would try to get home. 

If Chicken Little came running into my office declaring that the sky was falling, I would want to be crushed by it while surrounded with the people I love.  I’d run, jump, skip over debris and bodies, swim against a roaring current, march valiantly against violent winds just to get home and be with my family.  Being found buried under piles of useless paper and concrete is not my idea of a graceful death.  Besides, who would yell at my kids and tell them to stay indoors and quit playing tag with the fiery hailstones falling from the sky?

b)      I would tell everyone I love just how much I love them – and everyone I hate exactly how I feel.

It would be liberating to just go up to someone I totally dislike and tell them to their face: “The world is ending and you s*(&ck!”.  But then knowing how I am, I’d probably just watch the earth swallow them up, a cigarette in my free hand (one hand will be clinging to the tree branch that’s keeping me from falling down the hole with them  – don’t ask me how I got the cigarette lighted, okay?).   However, saying that to them at that exact moment may not have the impact I’d want – they’d be too busy trying not to get killed to care.  Wasted energy.

So,  after much thought, I’d probably just go with a group hug and tell everyone I love just how much they mean to me.  And maybe promise my dad that I will finally quit smoking.

c)   

       If, for some strange reason, I survive, I will curb the attempt to think that I must have a special purpose since I was spared.

Putting too much meaning into the random luck of being missed by a meteor or a falling wall could get me into a delusional state preventing me from doing work that must be done – like helping everyone else who survived live a little longer.   Thinking I’m special because I was spared won’t do much when everyone else is thinking the same.   Someone needs to take out the garbage. 

d)      I’d stock up on painkillers – if I can find them.

I’m a patsy for pain. I can’t stand it.  'Nuff said.

e)     I’d find a way to stock food and water.

Wouldn’t last long without these now, would we?  But just thinking of having a diet of corned tuna salvaged from whacked out cans for days makes me cringe.   I’m certainly no Marianne Rivera.   

f)      If it’s safe (meaning there are no zombies walking around waiting to turn me into dinner), I’ll take a walk around our neighborhood.

Might be a good idea to check which of my neighbours made it.  After all, when the zombies do come, we need to fight them together - unless of course they’ve been turned into zombies themselves.

I think it would be good to know who I will be living next to post-apocalypse.  It would also be a good time to get organized and come up with ways to ride out the early days together.

g    I would go check which of my books made it.

When the sky falls, I assume the Internet would be wiped out.  And the books I have hoarded all these years would be even more valuable to me.

Find a quiet spot to sit and thank the Universe for all I have – no matter how little it seems.

I may have lost my home, my possessions, and other stuff I’ve kept all these years that my grandma used to point to and say “Apo, you can’t take those with you when you die”.  But I would still have my family (there is NO WAY I would let anything happen to them) and I’d still have my wits about me and most importantly, I would still have faith and hope that all this is temporary.

The world didn’t end yesterday.

Now get back to work.