The cross over
By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries

One of my philosophies in life has been this: always look at the jungle, not just at a tree.

I always think big, dream big, and work for big things. My idea is simply not to amass big things but to convert small things big, at least, for my life. I never had considered small things as irritants or nuisances. For me, there are always bigger opportunities from small things or small endeavors; there is always a mass of opportunity from a single mess.

Along with other migrant workers, we converted small dreams into bigger ones – and we are slowly making reality unfolding. When we crossed the borders, we knew it would be hard but since we are looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, then it was just as easy as drinking water every morning.

Things became different now, so to speak. We have to make the life of the contract we inked shorter by taking each day at a time.

Lately, I received a call from a fellow contract worker who has just arrived from vacation. He narrated that his wife underwent breast cancer surgery and that she is scheduled to undergo a series of chemotherapy.

As he went on, the thought of undergoing the scalpel’s edge made me sick; and the idea of chemotherapy almost blew my mind.

In a controlled emotional tone, we conversed. We exchanged thoughts about our leaving the country and family and the consequences for a bargained high pay. He tossed one great idea this time: don’t surrender.

Just a snap: this man used to be as tough as one could think of a good old days “bad boy.” He was very optimistic and full of vigor and vitality. He can handle street fights; he is a certified martial arts belter.

When he talked, I was surprised at what I was hearing. He changed enormously. This time, he spoke of compassion, love, family, and strength. He was so compassionate that despite his heavy loads this time; he still would want to carry mine. He offered help amidst human helplessness; he talked of hopes amidst despair. He spoke more than words could mean; he saw things beyond walls.

During our talk, I realized I was not alone in this far-flung, foreign kingdom. Instead of me giving him pieces of consolation, it was him who did. Recovering from loneliness and grief, I still managed to compose myself and started to accord inputs, the way I used to do to the members of our church about ten years ago.

He is no different from others. His case is as classic as any Shakespearian novel; his story is as vivid as the waters of the oasis in the desert.

My colleague, you or anybody – there’s no difference. He speaks of life; you do and I do, too. Once in his life he took two steps backward in order to gain a step forward. I did this once lately. My final cross over was so painful but I had to; crossing over, though how difficult and painful sometimes, simply has to transpire.

Along the way, somehow he missed one keel; and he would want to remedy it. My colleague is taking once again two steps backward just to move forward – this time, with clarity of purpose, soundest of reason, and freshest of vitality. And I, too, will.

One can never take a big leap forward unless he takes two or three steps backward. Remember, an arrow is shot by pulling the string. It is after pulling that the arrow finds strength and gets to the best place.

We all experience the same thing. We are pulled down by all circumstances; drifted back immobile. Life has always been this; and it will always be the same unless we cross over. After the pull, for sure, you will land on the best place reserved for you.

Crossing over for us migrant workers is not that easy; it is a choice by heart. This has never been a choice by chance. That is why; we always pull the string no matter how inelastic this string is just to make small things big with compassion.

Published, Dumaguete StarInformer, 09 November 2008, Sunday Issue.