As of today, I am 2/3 of a traitor that St. Peter was.
I have committed the act of betrayal twice and I could nearly hear the cock preparing his throat as I move closer to making my third. So I write my confession in this blog. Hoping that by my admission on one, the cock would not crow on me.
I attended a two day seminar last week, it was conducted by the Canadian Immigration Integration Project –CIIP. CIIP is a trial project funded by the Canadian government to increase the success of integrating immigrants into Canada. I guess I should consider myself lucky for being one of those selected to participate. It was a great source of information and good practical advises as well on any worries plaguing the minds of would be immigrants. And since the lecturers were Canadian Filipinos, the sessions were filled with humorous stories related to immigration/cultural differences/bloopers, that only the Filipino creative minds could think of.
At the end of the first full day session, we were given a sheet which has the lyrics of Canada’s National Anthem below. And we were asked to stand in front of the Canadian flag and sing along with Celine Dion’s rendition of Canada’s National anthem.
O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
The “O” got stuck in my throat like a big Oreo, I nearly choked. I couldn’t bring any of the words to my lips. My chest got stiff like an over blown balloon. The ducts in my eyes were full and ready to open at a slightest trigger of a switch.
I felt the surge of all the memories of the 36 years of my life in this country – the Philippines,
the land where I was born, where I grew up, where my great great grand father had swam to bring our family’s generation into to seek refuge from war, the land where my father died, where my memories and people I love are.
I am leaving her - my country, waddling, perhaps drowning, in the middle of the rising tides of poverty, of political instability, of an uncertain future.
I hear her cries of help. She looks at me with her sad eyes, tattered clothes, hungry child on one hand, the other, balancing a heavy basket of bananas on her head, partly to shield her from the heavy rains but mostly hoping someone would buy them so she and her child would eat tonight.
She wades through the flooded streets, through the black polluted waters, through the chaos of cars, jeepneys and buses all caught in the traffic maze.
She is tired, her burden heavy, black smoke from the big buses blurs her face, hairy men with long dirty nails stand by, ready to pounce and grab her beautiful frail body.
She sings to me with her soft, sad, haunting voice, the last lines of her song – “Buhay ay langit sa piling mo. Aming ligaya ng pag may mang-aapi, ang mamatay ng dahil sa iyo.”
I hide my face in disgrace.
I could have continued working with the universities; I could have helped improve their lab’s technical capabilities in science/engineering, I could have continued doing my share in having products manufactured here and not in China, I could have helped train our workforce to be better than their counterparts in other countries, I could have continued volunteering to teach public school children on using computers…I could have, I could have, I could have.
But I wouldn’t be. I am leaving.
I am a coward, a traitor.
Jose Rizal would have spat on my face.
You were a bundle of energy when you came,
Barely weaned from your mother’s milk,
My house was too small for you,
Front and back, front and back you ceaselessly ran.
You liked the muddy earth,
I had to pour concrete to keep me sane;
You liked pounding on the wall, as a swimmer would kick the first end of his lane,
I had to build another wall to keep you back;
You wake me up at night and my baby too,
And wreaked havoc in my garden, there isn’t much you didn’t do.
But like a couple, we blended well,
You were a worthy friend;
Never wavering, never heavy,
With your ferocious fangs, you let everyone know you got me covered.
You patiently obliged my wicked streaks,
Lindberg- the superdog! I yelled, as you trotted proudly with your cape in the rain,
You never failed to greet me with excitement,
Even when I couldn’t reciprocate.
You sat by my side, during my darkest times,
A silent friend, an unmoving rock,
Your brows twitched with understanding
Listening quietly like a sage.
Now I touch your head, more bones than flesh,
Weak but ardent still,
Loyalty shines brightly in your eyes
I asked for your pardon, I asked for your wish,
Will you meet me there when it’s my turn?
Your eyes kept staring, as your lungs stopped lifting,
Your heart weakly beats the last rhythms of your life;
Thank you Bergee for having been in mine,
Thank you for leaving this dent in my heart that now ebbs with pain,
I miss your barks, I miss your howls
The house is too quiet without you.Lindberg "Bergee": 11/13/2000 - 11/19/2007
I am always amazed with all the “unknowns” out there that we, even at this age and time, still haven’t grasp. We may have thought about the possibilities and have the numerous hypothesis on the how’s and why’s of those “unknowns” but still, we don’t have that level of definiteness of knowledge and proof that makes us certain about it as we are of our knowledge that the earth is round today.
I had a recent brush with one example of an “unknown” which had intrigue me the past month. It was on the distinct feeling that there is some force in the universe out there that is influenced by our minds. And that maybe we could actually make things happen to us by our thoughts. I of course know that this is true at the conscious level, but to have it happening at the subconscious level is another thing. A good example of this is serendipity, which is defined as the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely. It is finding something that is useful to you without you looking for it. (Taking note that if one finds something he/she is actually looking for, it no longer falls into this description.)
I was nearly falling asleep on my bed but was trying to do a quick sketch of a picture in my mind before I doze off and risk forgetting it when I wake up in the morning. It was a picture of a lot of umbrellas (top view), and the monotony of these umbrellas is broken by a single woman looking up at an angle towards the side of the viewer (nearly but not entirely looking at the viewer). See pencil sketch image below. I couldn’t get the right angle tilt of the woman’s head and facial expression and after several tries, had decided to drop it off for later when I wasn’t too sleepy.
I forgot to get back to it but after a couple of weeks, while browsing an airline brochure magazine which came in the mail, I was surprised to see a picture of a painting of umbrella tops in the magazine which was very much similar to what I had in mind. See cut off Art today picture below. (And if I had gotten around to painting it, it would have looked similar to it except for the woman’s face glancing back at an angle).
I was much more surprised when on the weekend later, while reading the Sunday magazine which came with the newspaper, I happened to see another photo showing the top of Iraqi Shiite women that had a single woman, looking back up and facing the viewer at an angle. It had exactly the right angle and facial expression that I had in my mind but had trouble reproducing on my sketch. The coincidence of me seeing these two pictures given the image I had in my mind and was trying to put on print was amazing!
Needless to say, thank God for the “unknowns”! Life as we know it would be a rather boring existence without them. No more scientists probing underwater or in space, no more mysteries that spark the imaginations of artists, no more quests for discoveries of unimaginable treasures or valuable truths, no more serendipitous delights such as this example above.. just boring (however definite) facts.
I’d consider this year’s Halloween as Julia’s first. Last year, she was just 6 months old, mostly spent it sleeping, so it doesn’t really count. As foreseen, we ended up going to one of the biggest malls in the country – Mall of Asia. We figured, the bigger the mall, the better, as they might have more Halloween events given the high audience potential. They did have the mall trick or treat event in which children in costumes could freely roam and approach any shop to ask for candies. And at 3:00pm, they had the Nickelodeon Halloween show featuring Spongebob Squarepants and Dora. That sounded like fun at first but when we approached the Music Hall where it was to be held, it just burst whatever dream bubble I had in my mind. Nickelodeon character decorations, loud music, toy booths, a paltry horror house, lots of people in costumes selling stuff, little children everywhere – I am reminded of that fun place the fox used to lure and trap Pinocchio and the rest of the little children. What was I thinking? We left for home before the show even started. (And I’m glad Julia was too young to complain.) Spongebob Squarepants and Dora for Halloween? – that is where I draw the line.
But we did end up having a memorable Halloween and to my surprise, it happened in our own backyard. (Lesson: Never think that Halloween is always greener at the other side of the malls.)
We ended up strolling around our subdivision later that afternoon, passing by our neighbors’ houses. We saw an old lady lighting a candle and trying to make it stand on the steps leading to her house.
“Why are you lighting a candle in front of your house?” we asked her.
“This is for my dear late husband who is buried in Marinduque. The province is too far for me to travel so I am just lighting my candle for him here”, she replied.
I nodded in agreement. I thought it ridiculous for the dead to only see candles lighted for them on top of their tombs. Their ghosts, if they are in our world these Halloween days, most likely would get bored sitting around their tombs all day and since they could most likely “apparate” anywhere, they logically might hover near their still living loved ones, in this case, the old man’s wife.
“For whom is that other lighted candle over there?” I asked, pointing to the single lighted candle in her dark house.
“Oh that one, I’m trying to save on my electricity bill”, said the old lady with a toothless chuckle.
Later that night, we found that most of the houses in our area had lighted candles in their front steps. Most were from far provinces like us, who couldn’t go home to be at our loved ones tombs. It was a peaceful thing, seeing the candles flickering in the night, welcoming the spirits that may roam and letting them know that we still remember. That they mean as much to us now as they had when they were living. And we honor the time they had spent in this world.
We lighted four candles in our steps, one for our dads (my husband’s and mine), one for our great great grandparents/great grandparents/grandparents, one for our uncles and aunts and one for all the rest of the souls who are still stuck in purgatory.
Julia had fun with the candles, and I felt connected with our small community, with the age old tradition, with my small family and with the spirits of the past. We have not forgotten.
