Pillow Talk

    Re-publishing a 19-year-old article:

The switch was just turned off as the last of the senior facilitators went out of the room. Their voices trailed off, leaving the inside of GPL seem like an abandoned cemetery at midnight. Not a sound was heard, not even the whisper of a lost wind. I just waited for the signal and suddenly, it came:

    “Okay, fellas, coast is clear!”   

   And all of a sudden, the once somber room turned into a milieu of excited pillows chatting simultaneously of the day’s events. Well yes, you read right. The pillows of GPL. You know, the green ones and the red ones you use? Well, here we are! Alive and kicking, I mean, lying, sharing what we somehow did to all the individuals we encountered. But tonight, I just observed my fellow pillows. I’m getting old for these things. I am tucked up in the corner of the simulation room, hidden behind the mess. I used to be bright red but that was history and my insides are shamefully sticking out and my zipper’s not functioning anymore. I smell awful and I am in dire need of sewing. I am in the top list of those which are better off discarded. Pathetic, right? But I don’t see myself that way. Next thing you know, I may be another heap in the trash. In fact, I could die, or should I say, be discarded, happily.

    

    

You might wonder how a rot like me could have the audacity to admit happiness. If I’m just naïve, I’d complain about the consistent punching and the mixture of tears, sweat and other excesses which I won’t dare mention. The kicking and the awful smell we accumulated are but a part of us as our foams. It really doesn’t matter. What really matters is what has been poured out with the tears and sweat, the tightness of the hug, complimenting expressions and realizations, the simple beauty of awareness. 

    Even if I would be of little use now that I’m old, it brings contentment for me to know that somehow, I brought out my purpose to comfort them. Irony strikes hard when you’re alone. I cannot look but I can see. I’ve encountered a lot of people and there are those that I really strain to look out for and see. I see people having hands yet some find it hard to reach out. I see people having eyes but find it hard to really see and would just merely look. I see them having ears but they find it hard to listen. I see them having feet and they find it hard to move on and eventually they get stuck. I see people with abilities and they find it hard to use. I see people with lips and they find it hard to say anything. I can sense feelings but most of them are not acknowledged.

   It’s a shame really and it’s pretty ironic to see them having those, while I am here, wishing I could have arms to hug them back, to have lips in order to speak, to have it all in order to fully bring out my purpose. I wish people could just appreciate their gift of having hands and a heart to comfort people as well as themselves, even without or assistance because we can’t just be there for them always. After all, in reality, after hugging us, they’d leave this room and face the world on their own.

    Suddenly, we heard footsteps. Before we know it, it was another school day. The switch was just turned on and the pillows resumed their usual silence and immobility. It would be another day of bringing out our purpose. I’ve never been exposed to the outside world but one thing I realize, it must be harsh with all the feelings inflicted in these persons’ beings. But beyond the world’s harshness, beyond an individual’s mask and façade, I’m proud for them, old pillow as I am, because at a point in their lives, they chose the opportunity to get to know themselves better. 

   I’m proud of GPL for behind the antiquity of its facilities, the noise of the air conditioner, the old smelly carpet, etc., here lies the privilege and chance for people to become human beings. I’m proud for the facilitators who are my partners in actualizing our purpose. And I’m proud of us, pillows, because no matter how many batches of facilitators will come here, we are still here, reminding them of their essence that would always remain with them and with the students and with us. The then-dark room is now filled with students and at this moment, I hear Glenn say, “If only these pillows could talk………” I just smiled my old pillowy smile and muttered, “Oh Glenn, if you only knew……”

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Dedicated to all facilitators of the Circle

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