Wasting away--

I was on my way to a mammogram this morning. The rain underlined the fact that I was not too enthusiastic about this appointment, as it were, I have been putting it off until I realized that the referral might expire if I did not do it soon.

The city is awash with gold and yellow chrysanthemums, lush and freshly planted, a true reminder that Fall has come upon us. In the Philippines, my mother used to plant chrysanthemums from seeds. They bloom unpredictably as the Philippines do not have four seasons. Well, maybe it does. Rainy, Dry, Hot, and Ber Season. The Ber season is from September through December, or the “brrrr” season. The Philippine seasons may be described as rainy, hot, muggy, and mosquito-ey season. The plants thrive all year, blooming in beautiful intense colors, with bright green leaves after the rain and grayish green patina from the dust before the rain.

I arrived at the clinic on time. The technician did not smile once. She would not make eye contact when I stood up after she called my name. I was thinking that maybe she was already guilty of the pain she was going to inflict on me. And painful it was.

I found her monologues annoying. She positioned my left breast against the plate (that looked like a paper cutter to me)and pressed the bejeesuz out of it. “Alright. Hold your breath for me. Okay, step back and let us see what we have here.” Right breast, now pressed against the guillotine. “Alright. Hold your breath for me. Okay, step back and let us see what we have here.” Can we be done already? Do you have other lines, lady? Four shots with four exactly the same sentences, uttered by the unsmiling technician. Then I realized she was not addressing me; that she was saying these lines over and over again every single day to every woman who comes to surrender her breasts. I stopped listening. I felt sorry for the robot lady. I went to my own universe where mammograms are so yesterday’s procedure.

As soon as Ms. Personality took the last shot, she invited me to “Come and let us look at the picture together.” What picture? There was an image that looked like the black hole, outlined like some constellation, peppered with little white specks. Those are pictures of my breasts? They were not photogenic at all , so why did she not just say, “Your suffering is over, go in peace.” Was I supposed to say something like, “Gee that is nice, I want 1 five-by-seven copy? And can I have them matted and framed?” I did not say a word and stood there like a moron, deliberately staring at some pink pencils, as a form of passive aggression. She did not offer me a pencil and I did not take one.


Then she smiled. I glared at her. I’d be damned if I would thank her for having my breast flattened like chicken breasts on a plexiglass cutting board. Sorry, lady, this was not exactly my idea of an early morning activity. She wished me a good day, I thanked her (for my good day, not hers) but I did not return the wish. Hell no, if she did not think I was worthy of her smile earlier, who the hell was she to expect one from me? So I exercised my freedom. Freedom of expression. That expression this morning was ungratefulness. I left in a hurry and walked back to see the mums once again.



Decades ago, I met a Japanese woman at work. Mrs. Ito was an elegant woman who dressed immaculately. She spoke English with a beautiful melodious voice. I arrived in Washington, DC during the Fall. I told her how beautiful and lush chrysanthemums are in the States and I have not seen them in yellow or gold color. Mrs. Ito told me that here in the States, they are grown in nurseries and people just plant them in their yard during the mums’ season and afterwards, they die or they are dug out and replaced by other plants.


Indeed, it was Mrs. Ito who broke the news to me that the mums I see during the fall are temporary. As I admired the mums by K street this morning I was sure that they will not be there in a few weeks. Most everything here is disposable.
Mrs. Ito told me that this is a wasteful country. Indeed, if the car radio is not working, they replace it instead of fixing the broken part. If the vacuum cleaner is not working, it would cost more to repair it so people just buy a new one. Why fix a watch or a dishwasher when you can get a new one? Why stay married to a person who has gone past his/her useful life when you can get divorced and get a new one? This is America, you have freedom of choice- to decide to keep the old or get something or someone new.


Thirty plus years ago, when I made a choice to live in this wasteful country, I said goodbye to my childhood where banana leaves and twine are used to pack a nice picnic lunch; I said goodbye to my teen-age years in muggy and noisy and politically unstable Manila. Change for me and in me was inevitable. I was fully immersed in the US by the time I was in my late twenties. This is where I voted for the first time and this is where I became self-reliant for the first time. Many milestones in my life happened in this country.


My full immersion in disposable USA is nothing unexpected or truly dramatic. I just went with the flow. I throw away struggling plants and buy new ones; I buy more when I could not find the thing I am looking for and throw it away when I realize I do not fancy it after all. I became accustomed to disposing whatever does not suit my need anymore. I own up to my wasteful contributions. I wasted smiles on people who would not smile back; I wasted my heart and my mind on people that did not return my love; I wasted words on people who are too stubborn to understand, my efforts on endeavors that were fruitless, and wasted my time on friendships that turned out to be untrue. In the US, I learned not only to dispose of things but also of relationships that are making me unhappy. I learned to take back as much as I give. I learned that I will be subjugated only if I allow it.



Even today, I allow myself to absorb more, to learn more from people and experiences and in the process, I become stronger in my beliefs. No more wasting. My best friend has a mantra she made up. One day, she said, “Kung ayaw mo, huwag mo…” This can be literally translated as “If you do not like it, don’t” Indeed, a true form of self-preservation is not to waste any of your resources on something you do not like.


As for where the mammogram fits in this diatribe, I will offer that I think I started with the premise that I considered it was a waste of my morning. However, I could not discard it like common rubbish. The chrysanthemums that are bright and lush are a reminder that nothing stays the same forever. Even their brightness and color will fade in a few weeks and go to waste, discarded and forgotten.



As for me, I continue the rest of my journey in life, and as I do, I will take great care to cherish and preserve the friendships I have forged, keep the love I have for those who matter most to me, and use the knowledge I attain to widen my point of view. I will continue, every moment, to end each of my profoundly outrageous thought with peals of silent laughter, wasted in some corner in my brain.