Last week I went swimming with a few of my high school batchmates. (I’m still trying to get used to saying “batchmates” instead of “schoolmates”.) My summer has generally been warm and languid, so I definitely welcomed the opportunity to take a dip in the pool and catch up on things with my friends.

We spent much of our time talking about college—the subjects, the schedules, and the ways of life that we will have to get used to once classes begin. Some of us are going to Xavier University in Cagayan de Oro; others, to MSU in Marawi and Iligan; at least one will attend Silliman University in Dumaguete; I and three of my classmates will go to UP Diliman; two of my classmates, to UP Manila. It’s a full-blown diaspora.

Wherever we will go, we will inevitably change; meeting new people, making new friends, and adapting to new places will definitely do that to you. I wonder what our reunion ten, or five, or maybe even two years from now, will look like. Will we still laugh our asses off to no end, or will we just stare blankly at each other, making small talk and thinking, “I used to go to school with these guys. What happened?”

People change. I know I will. If I took a picture of myself today and looked at it a few years later, I would not be able to recognize myself. What more with my high school friends? Everything stopped at Graduation Day; our latest memory of each other will be the hugs and the youthful smiles we exchanged before we set off our own separate ways. When we see each other again, we will not know what to expect, so we will expect for nothing to have changed. But that won’t be true. Everything will have changed.

The last thing I will remember of some of my friends is an evening spent in our classmate’s house, belting songs from our parents’ heyday. During our reunion, we might hit the karaoke again, or take another afternoon dip in the local swimming pool. Bob Ong said it well: we might be able to revisit the places and sing the songs of our youth, but we will never be able to visit the time again.

Forgive me, Mother Earth, for I have sinned.

From 8:30 to 9:30 PM on the 28^th of March, 2009, while countless other people in the same time zone as me switched off their lights to show their support in the fight against Climate Change, most of the lights in my own home were brightly lit.

My parents were enjoying a healthful dinner.

My brother was, as always, glued to the computer screen, playing games.

I, on the other hand, had decided to shut off my laptop, turn off my study lamp, retreat to my bedroom, shut off the light, and listen to music on my iPhone.

That was my Earth Hour. Far from the pitch black of other people’s homes.

I know there were many people who did switch off their bedroom lights—maybe even the lights throughout their homes—last night, but in their daily lives neglect the issue of Global Warming.

I’m proud to say that I try my best to fight Climate Change every day in every little way I can.

I may not have turned off all of my house’s lights tonight, but I’m still crusading against Climate Change.

Still, to my children, and my children’s children, and to my grandchildren’s grandchildren, accept my apologies. On the night of March 28^th, 2009, between 8:30 and 9:30 PM, I lacked the guts to even make my entire house go pitch black. Switching off my lights for 3,600 seconds was all I had to do to prove that I cared for you, but I couldn’t do even that.

Accept my apologies, too, on behalf of the people who may have shut down every electronic device they had and dimmed or turned off all of their lights, but who still leave trash on the sidewalk and use smokebelching vehicles everyday.

*****

The point of all this rambling is this: 8:30 to 9:30 PM on March 28, 2009 was Earth Hour, when people were encouraged to dim or turn off their lights as their vote for Mother Earth.

RJ Marmol put it best: this wasn’t an effort to save electricity, it was an effort to save Mother Earth.

And the effort to save Mother Earth doesn’t comprise entirely of flipping your lights off for one hour on just one day of the year. The effort to save Mother Earth is an unending process that needs as much participation as it can get—not just for one night, but for every day of our lives.

If you participated in Earth Hour—whether you participated by cutting off power to your entire house or just by shutting down your workstation—you have my deepest gratitude. But please, let every hour of our lives be Earth Hour, and every day be a day for the Earth.

Pick up that piece of paper on the curb.

Don’t toss that plastic bag anywhere but a garbage bin.

Tell your friend to stop using that gas-guzzling, smoke-belching SUV of his.

Ask your office management to cut down on electricity costs.

Flipping off your light switch is a start, but it isn’t enough.

Think about it this way: when you turned off your lights during Earth Hour last night, you ignited your Climate Change fighting-engine. Don’t ever let that lose power.

*****

My house may not have gone pitch black on the night of March 28.

But because I care for the generations that will follow—because I know they’re counting on us to make their world livable—because I know that their lives will depend on what we do or don’t do today—I strive to make every hour of my life an hour for Earth.

I hope you do the same.

[Photo credits: Hyperscholar]