| Clark, Angeles City |
Sometimes, I have a strong feeling that Joni Mitchell is punishing me.
I am inspecting the turfs peeking out from the narrow crevice beneath the fence when I hear her voice breaking the fragile afternoon air. It is so pure, so divine, yet intruding and somehow imposing. I am in no mood to entertain any uninvited thoughts. But in all its subtlety, Joni’s timbre throws a powerful punch at my still yawning spirit, commanding my mind to make a U-turn to the place intimate to me, to the time when clouds were ice cream castles in the air. In an instant, I find myself in a garden at a bend in the river, examining the sprouting Bermuda grass while having a conversation with my grandmother.
Have you been kind? That was my grandmother, her croaky voice harmonizing with the burble of the water below. For a five-year-old kid, it was a kind of no-brainer question, a question seemingly tossed out of compliance, a question I had routinely answered whenever she was around. I surveyed her face raw with sunburn, which to my mind resembled the field she just checked across the garden, and responded with an instant nod and a reverential hush afterward. I was half-expecting follow-up questions, some proof or receipts she naturally demanded, but instead received a peck on the forehead. I heard her throat-clearing that hinted the rush of litany on the significance of being kind and its consequences – narratives based on her experience, anecdotes of her friends, or stories she could relate to the necessity of possessing a fountain of virtue. Before she got to utter her preface, I deluged her with an account of all the kind things I did, the good deeds that would secure glasses of coconut juice as hard-earned rewards.
Have you been kind? That was my grandmother, popping the query again more than thirty years after my last glass; her voice never changed, except for the buzz of excitement kindled from seeing me again. To some degree, I should not have any difficulties responding considering the barrels of coconut juice I consumed in my youth. But I just stood before her, with a freezing brain and a head that was too stunned to budge even the slightest nod. That time, all I could see was the empty glass that once held the juice. And all I could do was reply with a pregnant pause at the heavily loaded inquiry.
To be the receiver of that question these days is to be in an interrogation room, where each word matters. As one matures, it has become a question that requires some time to think things through, whether its motive is sincere or not, because it puts the integrity of the responder to the test. It has become a question that forces one to be honest because it does not fall for half-truths or white lies, only the truth solely accepted by one’s moral compass. It has become a question that returns unannounced at the devil’s hour, disturbing peace, guilt-tripping, whether one answered truthfully or not. And in some ways, it has become a question that stirs the still small voice.
It is giving in to Joni’s voice so persistent in breaking through the thick wall of consciousness.
Over the years, I have seldom run into that quick moral fiber check. Perhaps, that question is specific only to the children, whose brains have become the glass overfilled with righteousness or attributes or anything adults have decided to pour into them. Perhaps, that question is no longer applicable to adults, who are still figuring out if their glass is half-full or half-empty. Maybe, the teachings about kindness have become vague as one grows up. Or maybe, people just get tired of practicing kindness in a society that has become weirder and weirder each day. There could be a long list of other reasons but one thing I can recall is that being kind is like what is stipulated in the equal opportunity statements of the companies – it knows no age, race, color, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, marital status, disability, national or ethnic origin, and citizenship.
In the corporate world where I have spent most of my adult life, I have never been asked if I have been kind. It is probably because the response will not merit any points in the measures of success in a customer service business. Agents get rigorous training on soft skills with the primary reason of improving the customer satisfaction rating, a business key performance indicator. Leaders undergo training on interpersonal skills with the primary reason of enhancing their competencies to drive people on the ground to hit the customer satisfaction target. The management team supports these trainings with the primary focus on the returns of investment. Yet, being too soft is a hard no, a potential risk because the management team equates it to complacency, to leniency that might impede the company from amassing a substantial fortune.
I remember the time I got summoned to the principal’s office, the interrogation room of the corporate world. My case? I was accused of being too kind, of having a cotton candy personality. I did not get a glass of coconut juice, but an earful of what seemed to be a stern warning. The resolution? I was required to undergo on-the-job training under my boss on becoming a tougher leader.
Kind people, which I am not, always get the burden of explaining, adjusting, straightening their lives out, and never the other way around. It seems that some see it as a liability. The way I see it, the problem lies not in the attitude but in how one perceives the importance of being kind. Jacinda Ardern, New Zealand’s prime minister, has shown the world how to combat the seemingly-unconquerable Covid-19 with leadership that puts kindness at the core. Suho has proven that he is not just the prettiest in the sea of the pretty faces of KPop when he has led his equally talented EXO members in bringing in waves of songs and performances to new heights that have revolutionized the music industry. He has done it not with a tough but with tender love.
I understand why some people don’t give themselves away because, in our society, being kind sometimes comes at a price. Such is the case of Patreng Non, who got vilified by none other than people in power after sparkling kindness through the community pantry, of Dr. Naty Castro, whose kind heart drove her to serve the poor in the outskirts only to find herself languishing in jail sans a single complaint, and of Zara Alvarez, who was gunned down in the dead of the night for seeking justice for the oppressed. Being kind is never wrong. The people who try to stop it are.
Kindness, people should realize, is not a ribbon that one can just tie up in one’s pandora’s box. It is not a tagline or a sound bite or a role to play. It is an act.
Joni Mitchell’s voice might occur to be punitive sometimes. But it is a necessary disciplinary action to remind us that there was a time when our innocent selves exactly knew what kindness meant.
Images from:
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/29/arts/music/joni-mitchell-archives-early-years.html
https://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/art/2021/07/732_288968.html?WA
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