At four in the morning, long before the first jeepney rattles down the road and before sleepy mothers begin boiling water for coffee, the roosters are already tearing the silence apart with their proud and stubborn crowing. I have heard that sound all my life, and yet I still do not completely understand the world that produces it. The older I grow, the more I realize that human life is built not only on answers, but also on mysteries that sit quietly beside us at the dining table, follow us into church, lie beside us in bed, and stare back at us from the mirror.
Some questions are simple on the surface but become bottomless wells once I begin thinking about them seriously. Why do cocks crow at dawn? Science says they possess internal body clocks so precise that even artificial light cannot completely fool them. They are tuned to the coming sunrise like tiny feathered prophets waiting for morning. Yet that explanation, accurate as it may be, still leaves me strangely unsatisfied. Why should an animal feel compelled to announce daylight as though the sun itself needed a herald? Every barrio in the Philippines wakes to that ancient cry, and somewhere in that sound is a reminder that nature has rhythms older than human civilization. The rooster does not know astronomy, does not own a watch, cannot read a calendar, and yet it obeys time better than many people who wear expensive wristwatches.
Then there is the question that many societies still whisper about awkwardly, sometimes cruelly: why are some people attracted to their own sex? I have heard all kinds of simplistic explanations from people pretending to know everything, but human sexuality has never been simple. Science points to a combination of biology, hormones, genetics, and environment. Psychology adds layers of identity, emotion, memory, and desire. Culture piles on judgment, expectation, and fear. What fascinates me is not merely the existence of same-sex attraction, but the intensity of humanity’s reaction to it. Across centuries and continents, people have loved differently despite punishment, ridicule, and rejection. That persistence alone tells me this is not some shallow invention or passing trend. Human longing is too deep and stubborn to be reduced to gossip or slogans shouted by self-righteous crowds. The heart is a complicated organ; it pumps blood, yes, but it also drags entire civilizations into endless arguments.
I have also spent many years wondering why men and women, though equally human, can seem so different in body, instinct, and behavior. Biology offers obvious explanations involving hormones, reproduction, chromosomes, and evolution. Testosterone shapes one set of tendencies; estrogen shapes another. But human beings are not laboratory diagrams. Society trains boys to harden themselves and teaches girls to carry emotional burdens gracefully, even when exhausted. Men are often praised for aggression, while women are expected to make patience their full-time profession. Then, strangely, both sexes spend half their lives misunderstanding each other. A man can love a woman deeply and still fail to understand why she cries quietly after everyone has gone to sleep. A woman can spend decades beside a man and still wonder why he hides his pain behind silence rather than speaking honestly. Perhaps the greatest irony is that humanity survives only because of the union of two sexes that perpetually puzzle each other.
And what about hair loss? Why do older men commonly lose hair while many women their age retain theirs longer? Again, science has its answer: male hormones, particularly dihydrotestosterone, gradually shrink hair follicles in genetically susceptible men. It is ordinary biology. But emotionally, baldness is rarely “ordinary” for the people experiencing it. A receding hairline can feel like nature’s sarcastic little memo reminding a man that time is undefeated. I sometimes laugh at how civilization sells shampoos, oils, vitamins, and miracle cures as though mortality itself can be massaged away with enough coconut extract. Men joke about baldness to hide insecurity, the same way Filipinos joke during storms to disguise fear. Humor becomes our umbrella against truths we cannot stop.
Other mysteries haunt me in quieter ways. Why do human beings cry when overwhelmed by joy, grief, anger, or even relief? Tears seem terribly inefficient if survival were the only purpose of life. Why do memories become sharper at night when the world grows quiet? Why does music, which is merely organized sound waves according to physics, possess the frightening ability to resurrect dead emotions? A single old love song can reopen entire decades buried inside the chest. Then there is sleep itself: every night consciousness disappears for hours, yet we accept this strange daily surrender without panic. If a cell phone suddenly shuts down for eight hours without explanation, we would call a technician immediately. But human beings collapse into unconsciousness nightly and call it perfectly normal.
Even animals deepen my confusion about existence. Why do dogs remain loyal even after being neglected by cruel owners? Why do cats stare into empty corners as though they perceive worlds hidden from us? Why do birds migrate thousands of kilometers without maps, airports, or GPS signals? The more scientists explain nature, the more astonishing it becomes. Knowledge does not kill wonder; sometimes it enlarges it. I have noticed that truly intelligent people often speak with humility because they understand how little humanity actually knows. The loudest fools are usually those who think every mystery has already been solved by a Facebook post and a loud opinion.
As I grow older, I no longer feel embarrassed by unanswered questions. In fact, I distrust people who claim certainty about everything. Life is not a courtroom where every mystery receives a final verdict before sunset. Some questions remain hanging in the air like the last notes of a kundiman drifting through an old wooden house at dusk. Perhaps the wiser approach is not to force quick answers out of every mystery, but to remain curious without becoming arrogant, skeptical without becoming cynical, and amazed without surrendering reason. The rooster will continue crowing tomorrow morning, whether I fully understand it or not, and maybe that is precisely the point: life keeps singing its riddles long before humanity learns the words.
