Stopping

There is a remote mountain community I regularly visit a few hours north of Davao City in Mindanao, Philippines. To get to the community one has to ride a motorbike or a habal-habal (aka skylab) for 30-40 minutes and cross two rivers.

When we got to the river a habal-habal carrying a big load of firewood had gotten stuck and was starting to fall over. The person driving the habal-habal I was on stopped and said, "We'll help first." I got off and sat by the riverbank. The driver was having difficulty keeping the motorbike upright as the firewood had started to disloge and he only had a little boy, around eight years old, as a companion. From the other side of the river a man driving his own habal-habal also stopped, got off, and went to help with the stuck habal-habal. The three men and the little boy worked on re-arranging the firewood and pushing the habal-habal.

I watched silently and thought about how in these mountains stopping is so commonplace. And I thought about how, in the big city, we glorify our busyness that stopping has become such a rare thing.

We find it hard to stop and sit and be with another person without fidgeting and looking at our watches or mobile phones. We find it hard to stop and take in the beauty that surrounds us. We find it hard to stop and think about what we're doing and why we're doing it and who we're doing it for.

Busyness can sometimes be overrated. Sitting by the riverbank I couldn't help but ask myself, "When was the last time I stopped for someone/something?"