Manong Janitor

one of the best lessons i learned came from a simple man, a worker of his own right, with his dignity and masculinity and chivalry and magnanimity intact, his heart unfilled with the evils of attrition, always gaping on hope, on what he gives and hopes to give. it is a sheer slap on our faces for talking and thinking too vainly and losing our hearts in what we thought of as our means of reconciliating with the truth. we find the greater truth when it survives the evils of our small obscure painful worlds. we find it unperturbed, and almost always, hopeful, undeceiving, not expectant of praise, quiet and even time cannot break the ardor of its will.

i pondered long on the nature of his scrubbing, his brooming, his collection, his predisposition to speak in a tone that seeks respect for what he is about to do and i thought no, God, give this man more than what i can ever achieve in my life. good men of good measure that awakes your soul from what you perceived as already dilated but truthfully in stupor, deserve more than any praise i could ever write in this note. the world is so overrated. when you see your kind in perpetual service neither mocking or a even a third of your pinky, shamed from the gross mechanics of his duties, whatever it is you think you deserve more, will be lost along the grains of dust he whiffs like virtuous magic.

and yet, you do not demand a man to work harder any more than you do.