Written by Jon van Wyk
As I stepped out of an ancient jeepney at Subic Bay, the salty air mingled with the scent of the tropical foliage and scattered debris covered in a thick, choking layer of mud.
I had travelled from Hong Kong the day before, on a mission, not just to deliver provisions and supplies after a spate of recent typhoons, but to connect with those in need, a group of nuns and their patients in a palliative care unit, part of a run-down barrio just outside of the city.
The unit was a humble place, its bare concrete walls made alive with colours painted by the hands of volunteers. Sunlight poked through holes in an ancient alsonite roof, and large windows let in a cool breeze, their glass replaced with chicken wire long ago.
Inside, I was welcomed by the soft laughter of the nuns as they tended to their patients. Their faces radiated a pure kindness and warmth, a stark contrast to the inevitable sadness that persisted outside the walls of the building.
I waited at the entrance awkwardly at first, a little out of place as the obvious foreigner wandering into a realm of so much suffering and pain.
Agnes, the Mother Superior, arrived in a flurry of black vestments. Sensing my discomfort, she beamed at me and took my arm.
“God will show you your purpose here” she said, as she guided me along her rounds.
As we moved through the unit, I was drawn to an old woman lying in one of the beds. Her frail, skeletal body was a testament to the battle she had fought against a long illness, but her eyes still sparkled with life. I approached uncertainly and gently took her hand. It was soft and leathery, a reminder of days long past, long-lived years – both bitter and sweet.
Her name I learned, was Maribel. An interpreter told me that she had spent her life caring for others, a true matriarch of her family. As she spoke in whispers, I followed the beautifully Spanish accented English of the interpreter closely, hanging on her every word. She shared tales of her youth, growing up on a farm and of the enduring strength of human connections in her village.
I heard how she had joined a resistance group fighting the Japanese in WWII, smuggling. food and water to injured American GI’s. She had fallen in love with one of them – a blonde boy named Johnny. Despite her best efforts to help him, he died of Malaria in the brutal conditions of the POW camp near her village.
The interpreter told me that she had never loved another man from that day on. In the silence that followed, I saw single fat tear roll down Maribel’s cheek as she drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the effort of recalling her sorrow.
As the days passed, I would sit by Maribel’s bedside, holding her hand, humming music, and feeding her mashed bananas. One afternoon, Agnes stopped by. She looked at me with her beatific smile.
“I see you found your purpose“ she said. After a moment’s hesitation she added, “You know that she thinks you are her Johnny -come back for her, don’t you?”
Later that evening, Maribel’s breathing slowed. I felt the weight of the moment overwhelm me as I looked over at the nuns, who quietly filled the room with an air of reverence. Hot, wet tears welled up in my eyes as she squeezed my hand tighter, and in that moment, I understood the utter fragility of life.
I watched as Maribel took her final breaths, her face turning to gaze up at me with a serene expression. Just before she slipped away, she made a heroic effort to whisper, ‘Johnny,’ with her last breath. As her hand loosened its grip on mine, I felt a wave of stillness wash over me, a profound realisation that love and compassion can transcend the pain of mortality.
In that moment I realised that this was the essence of peace – an acceptance of life and death, along with Maribel’s unshakeable belief that God had a joyful reunion planned for her in a better place.
“She’s at peace now,” Agnes said, embracing me solemnly. I nodded, weeping uncontrollably.
As the nuns lined up outside the unit to farewell me the next day, I took Agnes’s hand, kissed it and pressed all the pesos I had with me into it, asking for her blessing.
“Maribel has already given it to you my son,” she replied. “She has shown you the meaning of peace. The more you share it with others, the greater your own peace will become.”
As the jeepney jolted away down the dirt track, I turned and caught a last glimpse of the nuns waving farewell through the swirling dust of the tires.
“Did you have a relative in there sir?” The driver asked politely.
“Just an old friend,” I replied. “She was my teacher.”
Album of the month
“X&Y” by Coldplay 2005
For this writer, X&Y is unmatched in Coldplay’s discography. Blending inward looking lyrics with atmospheric and intricate melodies, the album achieves a profound emotional depth, effortlessly capturing the zeitgeist of the early 2000’s.
Standout tracks like “Fix You” and “Speed of Sound” showcase the band’s ability to weave memorable melodies with poignant storytelling, connecting with listeners on multiple levels, able to move them to a mindful state by the sheer beauty of sound become emotion.
The album’s production values are characterised by lush instrumental layers and ethereal vocals, the perfect embellishment to Chris Martin’s heartfelt lyrics. While a departure from previous albums for some, X&Y remains a powerful testament to Coldplay’s genius, solidifying their status as one of the 2000’s most memorable bands.