I was surprised how being in a higher education program for a field that requires almost no physical engagement at all in its activities (MS CS), has made physical labor a feeling terribly missed. All the work I’ve done in a long time was done by my mind. Algorithms, Logic, Mathematical Induction, Programming, Lambda Calculus, Research, Scientific Method, Cognitive Science, Behavior Detection and Modelling, Bayesian Knowledge Tracking, Linear Regression, Data Mining, Validation, Correlations, Simulations, all are pretty exhausting, and sometimes exhausting is an understatement.

But last night the ceiling of my room collapsed. An architectural flaw is my guess; I don’t know the science of Civil Engineering. The good thing about being the son of a Civil Engineer with a construction company is you get to be a laborer - for free! No sarcasm, after days and days and days of making a slave of my mind with the cumbering language of logic, I’d love to do some physical labor. My body’s in its prime and my dad’s body isn’t, so I’m the one who carries the cement, the 16 gallon paint buckets, the bricks and whatever stuff he buys from his suppliers for the company’s projects.

Another advantage of being a son of a civil engineer with a construction company, is in the unlikely event that your room’s ceiling collapses, one of his carpenters come the very next morning to fix it. The carpenter, with his experienced hand, did the technical stuff of breaking down my ceiling completely so he could build it again, I did the peripheral stuff. I was a real laborer for free, and boy I enjoyed it.

In Don Bosco they used to say that “getting your hands dirty is a requirement”. We used to tinker with electronic devices and make stuff of our own. We used different kinds of saws and files and sand papers and drills. We used soldering irons and resistors and made electronic circuits. We cut and shaped wood and different kinds of metals. We made keychains out of plastics. We made AC-DC converters and metal miniature air planes. And yes, our hands were all dirty after it all. And we were full of sweat too. Sometimes I wonder, if my dad didn’t turn out to be a manager, wasn’t able to manage a construction company, and we couldn’t afford an education like the Ateneo, my mind wouldn’t be doing the work as it does usually. I’d be doing something like I was doing this morning - construction. It’s in my blood I think, my father’s side is a family of carpenters and engineers. My father’s the only one who has a son in a good college. I wonder if I wasn’t that son, maybe I’d be in a field involving mechanics and physical labor, in structures and spatial analysis.

Instead I’m with logic. And I guess I’m very thankful for that. And a lot of things. Thankful that my room was the only one affected, that my little library survived unscathed (and my books are very important to me), that I wasn’t already lying in my bed when it happened, and I got the beautiful experience of “getting my hands dirty” again. It’s an idiom, and I know bourgeoisie friends would shake their heads at the thought. But boy after hours of laboring, I was a mess - the carpenter and I were covered with sweat, rain, grime, dust, torn off paint, grains of cement, scratches, and everything. And I felt wonderful and tired. What care can I give to those rich kids who think getting their hands dirty is a bad thing, and that physical labor is something unthinkable. 

A shower, the constant drone of raindrops, a hard day of labor, and that cool breeze on a rainy day. My room’s still a wreck, and I don’t know when I’ll get my room back. But I’m happy.