Elroy Rendor

I woke up this Sunday in the same way you probably did—with an aching body longing to return to the bed. Before “work-from-home” became a thing, I was already in such an arrangement when I got back to the country in 2018. You can just imagine how good I must have felt to finally return to the opportunity to get out of the house and work in a dedicated office space, have pantry conversations, and brainstorm in person—all while in observance of health protocols. But I realized that my body is no longer as young as it was as I experimented where to best come from during “work-from-office” weeks. My place in the metro does not have a work shuttle route but my parent’s place in the province has. This meant I had to wake up earlier to catch the shuttle and re-experience the long commutes back home, and my body certainly did not miss this. 

I wrote that with a sense and admission of privilege, not of an astutely class-oriented reckoning, but of cognizance of being in a position to have a job, have a job that provides a shuttle service, and have the luxury of choosing where to best reside for work. And yet I wish to share with the Sunday anxieties of the office worker who are not 100% fully working from home. How much of the day can I spend “doing nothing,” to getting chores out of the way? How much time do I devote to personal growth, to simply connecting with friends and loved ones? 

In 2017 (a year that sounds like a bygone era defined by peak productivity), The Guardian aptly asked, “Who killed the weekend?” In my youth, the weekend meant hearing the mass at the mall before the shops formally open, then spend the rest of the day in the shopping center. It made sense as my parents were busy the whole week and it was the only time to dine out. We also had to routine trip to the National Bookstore, 50% buying for what is needed for school the following week, 50% window shopping with the trivialities we now associate with Shopee or Lazada. As we grew older, weekends meant the mass at the local church, lunch based on the market’s catch that day, and lazily doing what we felt like we had to do—sometimes frantically catching up with work to stay on top of the next week. The Sunday was the calm before the storm that is Monday.

In 2020 C.E., or COVID-19 Era, it was no longer the decree to consume nor to be productive that killed the weekend. It was the New York Times’ turn to ask, albeit rhetorically and with a how instead a who, in “How Quarantine Killed the Weekend.” Quarantine made us spend almost every day as we have spent our weekends. As a WFH person before the C.E., this was something I have always dreaded. The act of commuting was a ritual of separating the home from work. No matter how much someone loves their work, the bedroom is a space for winding down, to encourage sleep, not a space to continue thinking things through. Enjoying working from home also presupposed you get along with the people of the household, that boundaries are respected. It has been the perfect recipe for anxiety. 

No wonder people turned to new ways to organize or spruce up their homes. As we spend more time in our homes, the domicile act of attending to our spaces formerly reserved for the weekend has been a daily endeavor. 2020 saw the mass embrace to being plantitas and plantitos, to D.I.Y. home repairs, to decluttering. I have been a long-time student of minimalism, though not a good follower, and the new era meant contending with stuff—from the physical to the non-physical. It’s great to listen to how Josh and Ryan of the TheMinimimalists.com have their lives together; it was also great to binge-watch Marie Kondo’s Netflix series. If I were to survey my room, find the things that no longer spark joy, and realize the amount of time it will take to sort these out, not only am I thinking of organizing my home, but I am also looking at how I spend my weekend. Enter, the tantum quantum—the less discussed cousin of magis and cura personalis.

In the Foundation of the Spiritual Exercises by St. Ignatius, it is written that “We are to use them in so far as [tantum quantum] they lead us to our last end, and be rid of them in so far as [tantum quantum] they hinder us in the pursuit of the end for which we were created,” when referring to the right use of creatures, or—if I may liberally expound on—of activities and things. Before intentionalism and minimalism became part of our everyday parlance, tantum quantum has been a guiding principle on letting go of people, things, and activities that hinder us from the greater facets of life not in a utilitarian manner, but an act of indifference and non-attachment. It is tantum quantum that binds the intentionalism minimalism with the new age pursuit of happiness in KonMari by juxtaposing my intent with a purpose larger than myself. 

By pondering about tantum quantum, the question is no longer about what it is that could be done on a weekend, but what brings me to our greater purpose. From deciding how much time is dedicated to different activities, to what items I bring into my life, it is hopefully intent and purpose that shapes the weekend in the everyday. It means saying no to say yes to more important people and opportunities, and organizing my time and things accordingly. It means to be thankful for the time how certain activities and things allowed me to weather difficult moments, and, in turn, move forward onwards this new chapter in life. It means weathering and attending to my aching body to have a weekend aligned with a greater purpose. 

How about you? How is your weekend shaping to be like?