Apung Belto

Apung Belto is now in his nineties. He was admitted to the hospital after a fall, resulting in a hip fracture. He recently underwent what they call *open reduction internal fixation* for his hip, and I’m his Physical Therapist (hey, there’s nothing wrong with promoting my profession). Speaking of which, I should mention that Apung Belto used to be a journalist, back in the days of "nineteen kopung-kopong," and, man, he is one learned man.

One time, he started complaining about how bad the hospital staff was, and I made the mistake of judging him. "You’re an opinionated man," I said. *Man, I shouldn’t have said that.* I really shouldn't have.

A few days after his surgery, I managed to get him up despite his barrage of protestations. When he was well enough, he beckoned me to sit by his chair, close the door, and then... he spoke. What he gave me was more of a lecture than a conversation.

He sat in his chair with newspapers spread in front of him. I still can’t believe that despite his age, he doesn’t need glasses. He reads and interprets what he reads more sharply than many learned people I know.

"To begin with," he said, "I am not opinionated, I present facts. I used to write for the papers in our country. So don’t be surprised, and don’t ask why I have all these newspapers in front of me. I can still read, y'know. Once a newspaperman, always a newspaperman."

"I don’t really know if my thoughts will matter to you, but is it just me, or are Filipino newspapers becoming propaganda machines? There’s this one paper that’s *so* focused – and I mean really focused! – on tearing down *The Politician*. Then there’s another paper, full of praises for him. And then, there’s this so-called investigative magazine that seems to be hiding in the bushes all the time, like some cat scavenging trash bins at night... and voila! Out comes a magazine that specializes in garbage. It’s one of those paparazzi-type rags, just waiting for you to make a mistake, hoping you'd drop your pants – and then, *click!*"

"This never happened in my time. When I was young, journalists didn’t dare mix their personal opinions with their reporting. Opinionated thoughts belong in fiction or literature. We might have reservations about this or that, but those were always expressed privately, or reinterpreted through fiction."

"Reporting the state of affairs, whether opinion or news, was always presented with a balanced perspective. If one person accuses another, I wouldn’t dare publish that accusation without getting the other side's rebuttal. That’s democracy."

"Now, let me ask you, what’s your opinion about what you read in the papers, Alex Maskara, my PT?"

I shrugged. "Apung Belto, I don’t give a shit. Journalists can write whatever they want to write, just like I can write whatever I want – though of course, they’re getting paid by the public, and I’m not."

"Bingo!" Apung Belto exclaimed. "That’s the key. There’s a difference between getting paid to write and writing for yourself. If you’re a newspaperman, you’re paid to present news, and it’s your responsibility to present that news in a balanced way. Why? Because for every reader who agrees with one side, there’s another expecting to read the other side. At least in fiction, readers won’t buy your stuff if they don’t like it. But to be one-sided and call yourself a journalist? That’s an abomination in my book. You’ve crossed over into propaganda – like an advertising machine. It’s unfair to the public to promote your personal agenda in the name of journalism. Those agendas should be expressed in non-paying forums."

"Like blogs?" I volunteered.

"Yes, like blogs. Blogs are neutral ground, especially since readers can respond to your posts. That’s where you can push whatever agenda you want. But when you write for public consumption, and you’re getting paid for it, you have to be as balanced and objective as possible."

(Here, Apung Belto paused, as if reminding himself of something.) "If I were to blog my thoughts, they wouldn’t matter to you or to anyone else."

"Why not, Apung Belto?"

"Because after ninety years on this earth, the only thing that matters is how honest I am with my feelings. What matters is being true to myself – not adjusting my feelings based on what society thinks. That’s probably why I survived as a journalist. I removed my feelings. To me, a stone is a stone. If it hits the water, I report how the stone hit the water and how it caused waves. I wouldn’t dare talk about the stone and ignore the wave."

Apung Belto wanted me to stay with him a bit longer, but I had other patients to see. I didn’t agree or disagree with him because, honestly, I didn’t care.

I’m a working man, paid for my services, and those services are meant to produce results. If I listened to every patient’s complaints, they’d all stay in their beds, dying one by one. Anyone who's had orthopedic surgery doesn’t want to be touched. But I push them. I *force* my way into their lives because that’s my job, and that’s how I get paid. I *know* they’ll die if I don’t move them.

And in my private time, when I write and blog, I express my thoughts the way anyone does. I’m free – and irresponsible. No one’s going to die if I write something that isn’t exactly “right.” It’s the responsibility of those educated and tasked to write for the public to improve society through their work. If they think being propagandists is the way to save the country, so be it.

Because in the end, all my writings and thoughts will become irrelevant. That’s life. We all turn old and irrelevant.

What matters is my sincerity in what I do today – to grow old and die with a smile on my lips, knowing I gave the best I could, even if it’s never enough.

It will never be enough. And that’s okay. It’s always okay with me.
2024-11-11 11:26:04
barrio