A mother's legacy (part 2)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

Bridging the distance

I will sleep early around nine in the evening. By two or three in the morning, I will wake up to answer the phone. I will be talking to my mother from overseas until early in the morning.

Thanks to technology, it was as if my mother is just in some other Philippine Island who calls me up as often as she misses me. Back in the days when having a phone inside your house was for the rich and famous, I had to contend myself to the weekly phone calls we make from a payphone around 30 minutes away from our house. In due time, I learned not to cry so much over the phone and began to talk sense to my mother. It was the only way aside from the letters that took years to arrive.

In the year 1993, about a month after my mother left, an Uncle died. Another uncle collected me with my other brother from our house and off we went to the airport to attend the wake. At that time, there was this popular advertisement about calling the States, and at 10 I thought calling my mother was that easy. For some reason, I saw the payphone at the airport as a way to talk to my mother, dialled the number without the slightest idea how to even call her. I remembered being scolded by the operator on the other line. I was so scared and did not tell anyone, I just missed my mother badly.

When I lived at a house that has their own telephone in High School we had more opportunities to talk a lot. She tried very much to be updated with everything that was going on in my life. She asked me about crushes, about things in school and my other activities. I know it wasn't the typical way of being parent to a child, but I think that was the best that she could do to at least continue to be part of our lives. In time I did understand why we just have to be phonepals, it was the best that we could have to remain a family.

I guess the hardest that my mother was faced then was to make me understand the so many issues that hounded our family that she left unexplained. Leaving me at ten, much of the problems in our family was like a haze, it was unclear and very confusing. My mother understood and really did try her best. Her answers to my questions, although hurt me a bit, was something that guided me growing up. For some reason, her stories had so much effect on me that it shaped the kind of person I am now. From the phonecalls, the letters and to the voice tapes that I was sent all of it had some kind bearing in the way I took things.

I will not wish the kind of childhood and bonding I had to be the same as that of the children I will be having. Although I do not exactly agree with my mother's decision at leaving us so that she can provide our financial needs, I know that she did everything she had to give me and my other siblings the best life she wants. Hers is an example of being undaunted by circumstances and deciding to pursue everything possible for the people that she loved. For how she was, she taught me the value of love that never ceases. A mother's love that is felt even beyond great distances. A love that will continue to endure despite of the many things in this world that will hinder such devotion. I guess that is what love is.

to be continued...

A mother's legacy (part 1)

(Note: This is part of a series of stories dedicated to my mother who passed away last 13 April 2000. Her birthday is on April 27th)

A Normal Life

I can vividly remember that day. That was 15 December 1992. My day was normal. I woke up early in the morning, took a bath, change into my school uniform, ate breakfast and then waited for the bus that will bring me to school. But it was not normal, something was going to happen that day that will change my life forever.

I have just recently realized how my childhood was different from most of my peers. Although it would seem that all of us were the same when huddled up in one bunch, I was not like them. For starters, I come home from school with just my aunt in the house and wait for my mother who was to arrive sometime before eight o'clock. I did not know where my father is exactly he just comes and then disappears. When I was in grade 3, I remembered how amazed I was to discover that my classmates did not have the slightest idea how to cook rice. For me then, it was normal, I knew how to cook rice long before I started using ballpen in school. It was normal since I usually arrive home from anywhere I go without adults to feed me so I have to do something. I thought then that it was perfectly normal to use baking soda instead of toothpaste in brushing my teeth only to realize now that it was only because we did not have enough money to buy one. My childhood wasn't what most children my age where experiencing at that time, but I was happy, that was normal for me.

Back then, I was marveled by the many stories that my mother told me. She told me about how as a young girl, her mother (my grandmother) would sew a piece of cloth to her dress and put her in a bus going to a city about 3 hours away. She will then be fetched by her eldest sister, remove the piece of cloth from her dress using shears and then put her back to the same bus so that she can go home. She later revealed that the cloth contained her sister's allowance for the month who was then studying at Dumaguete. She also told me about how much our grandparents wanted us to have lots of mangoes that they sent us bundles of it. I remembered how she will carefully arrange these mangoes inside the room which will eventually occupy around half of the room (that was how much mangoes we were sent). She will later tell us that since we can not eat all of it we might as well sell it. There is also this story about how the vegetables sold in farther Marikina Market is much cheaper compared to the Market nearest to us (that was Masinag Market). The story would then lead to the conclusion that we can make some money if we buy vegetables from Marikina and sell it around our neighborhood at a price almost the same as the one in Masinag. She marveled me with how nata de coco was made by making lots and lots of it around the house. Again, since we can not possibly eat all of it, we might as well put it inside small bottles and then sell it. My mother had so many stories that can occupy me for hours. I consider these times some of the best memories I have with her.

When I went back from school that day I was already in tears. I directly went into my mothers bedroom to find out that it was true. Her clothes and most of her things are gone. On the desk was a piece of paper with my name written on it and she said:

"I do not know how to say goodbye. I thought that if your day will be the same as it always have been you will not really feel bad about me leaving. Remember that I love you always and that I am doing this because of that"

That day my mother left for the States. She wasn't lying when she told us all her stories, those were all true. What she did not tell us was that we were broke. That she can not provide us with enough money to send us to good schools and raise us to have good lives. Selling mangoes, vegetables and nata de coco were all her attempts to be able to provide for us financially. She practically took advantage of any money making opportunity she placed her hands on but to no avail life was just that difficult and she can not afford to see her three boys suffer.

Now as a young man, I can just imagine how hard it must have been for her to go through all that and then finally leaving us. As a young boy then, I did not understand why my mother had to go to a distant place while all the mothers of my friends where at home. That was a story that my mother can not convince me to think that life was indeed normal for us. I knew then that something must be wrong with my family.

A week after, I went to a payphone (this was a time when not many houses had their own telephone lines) and cried my heart out to my mother. I was ten years old and for the first time I realized that my life was not as normal as I thought it was.

to be continued...

A love letter that is not to be read yet.

I was watching this movie the other day and it kept me awake until 1 in the morning. The movie was about two people who met each other by some twist of fate, experienced a very romantic chemistry between them and then decided to just leave it at that when they came back to their different places. They came from different countries and they thought that if they continued to contact each other, they will lose the magic that they had when they were together the first time around. I hated that the movie had to end that way although I think it's very possible that their fears might be true.

I am quite sure that I will not find myself in the position of the couple since I was always a risk taker. But watching the movie and understanding that the first of the couple is not remotely possible, there was this uneasiness inside my heart. The truth is, I have seen many couples who just "lost that loving feeling" through the years. I remembered someone I knew who was so in love with this person to the point that even when we were together, he can't stop talking about this girl. Fast forward to 5 years after, they got married had a son and now they hate each other guts. Looking at their situation their was the extreme side of a long pole that spells the difference of love and hate. But then I also remembered how my parents were. I remembered trying to find my own solution to their problems so that when my time comes I will not repeat their mistakes. I decided to always remember the time when I first fell in love with the person.

Today, I could say that I am in a state that somehow sings to that tune. I do not wish to put the details but I am just saying that I am, from the deepest chambers of my heart, in love. Now after watching the movie, and having the same fear as the characters of the movie had, I decided to write my feelings for this person for me to always remember it. I have no intention to have her read this yet but I just want to record it. So I am writing her a letter that is not for her to read yet. Here it is:

"I am troubled as I write this letter. I am troubled not because I do not know what to write but because I am not sure if now is the time that I should express this. I am troubled because to admit my feelings is a risk that I am not exactly sure that I am ready to take. But I guess I will never be ready and the uncertainty will always be there, what is certain and will never change will be the feelings that continues to occupy my soul.

I have always believed that things do not happen by accident. We live our lives doing what we do and God manifests himself as we go along meeting accidents that we never really understand. Meeting you was one such instant, when without the understanding of the whole situation I knew that it was God’s way of revealing himself to me. The magical moment that lead to this very conclusion was something that changed my life forever. The emotion that has filled my heart caused me to appreciate the beauty of life which just renews my spirit with each passing day.

I remember the exact moment when you were in your deep sleep early one morning. The sun barely creeping, I was tired from doing the newsletter the night before. As if nature was conspiring to create that instant, the sun’s rays were like a spotlight that pointed directly to you. In your slumber, you had an aura that evoked magnificence that revealed a beauty more than your angelic face, a beauty that revealed the very nature of God himself. My eyes started to get misty knowing that I am witnessing a miracle. I knew then that my life has changed forever because of you. This letter will come to you in due time. This is a testament of a heart that love has touched, a love that only the heart understands… a love that is divine. The future is uncertain but the future always reveals the truth. It always hopes for the better, always perseveres and always believes. I believe in the wonder of God. I believe that just as how the events unfolded, I am also believing that however things will come, the love that I offer you will manifest its sincerity, its honesty just as how all true love manifests itself. I believe all this for in the end love only endures as long as we believe in it. I love you from the bottom of my heart and everyday my heart only longs for you".

That's it...

Our episodes of immaturity

I was browsing through a friendster account of a friend I had since long time ago. I just recently found her account and so I took the time to just browse through the many pictures she uploaded since I have not seen her since 2005. The thing that strucked me was this big picture she used as a background. It was a picture with her now husband or soon to be husband (I do not know really since we have not talked). It dawned to me how things have changed in the past years. I was contemplating how life has been evolving into more permanent and serious things from long ago when all we had are just dreams.

In the not so distant past, when all we think about are things that could give us the fun that we want in this life, it was as if life was pretty easy and the worries where not that important. For myself, I have lived my life hoping that the good things will come yet not really making serious consideration on how this things will become a reality. It was as if I wanted something to the tune of happily ever after without really trying. I could remember all my childhood misdemeanors and wonder now why on earth was I able to think of doing those things?

In another friendster account of someone I know back in high school, there was a series of pictures with her in famous landmarks all over the world. Not that I envy her, but I kind of tried to remember how she was in the days of immaturity and try to connect those memories to the person that she is right now. My answer was -- I do not know. And then there was this query from a friend asking me how on earth was I able to think of going to PMA when I was simple "kulisaw" (I do not know the exact word in tagalog but its more like UN-PMA). Coming to think of it, its a wonder how kulisaw people like me, will go through a regimented life as a soldier. And its not just me or my other friend, there are so many others that I begin to wonder how each is connected. I wonder whether or not there is some sort of cause and effect to the things that we do in our life. Is immaturity simply a period in everybody's life or doe it have some bearing in the kind of person we will become?

I go back to my stint as class president when I was in second year high school. I wasn't really class president material. Back then I had insecurities that was so evident, I can even say now that I did not have that much to claim for myself. The reason I became class president was that we impeached our original class president (that person by the way is now doing good as a flight attendant also flying across the world) and I replaced her for the mere reason that I had the guts to speak out even to our teachers when the class is in some kind of trouble. Ironically, I now belong to profession where speaking out is taboo unless asked to do so and misbehaviour is met with hard and swift punishments. If we try to see the connection of the two, there is basically NONE. So again my original question.

But looking at that experience now and my present state, I could say that it really does have this some kind of cause and effect relationship. For one, I wasn't entirely successful in defending my class since many of our misbehaviours have been punished in some way. By the time we were moving to third year, more than half of my classmates have been kicked out of my school, it was a good thing I was spared. Also, I realized that it wasn't more of the misdemeanor or being class president that was important at that time. In fact, I did not put that position in the yearbook when I graduated simply because I was afraid that my classmate whom we impeached will also put it in her yearbook. Comparing the two of us with her angelic face, she is more believable to hold such position. But really, the more glaring reality was that it was my time to shine. Although it was more of doing mischief, I had that opportunity to be a person that people depended on and I loved it. In the next coming years, I no longer engaged in so much mischief but concentrated more on being a dependable person on something that I am good at doing. I went into Debating, joined a Political Party in our Student Government, immersed myself with Scouting and got involved with so many other things. I may not have been a popular kid back then, but I guess I was doing something that I knew I was good at and I loved it. Looking at it now, I could say that the effect is the person that I am now. I may not be the really best person at what I do but I know I am doing something I know I am good at.

Well, I do not wish to debate whether or not I am really good at whatever it is that I do, I can just say that I try to be one very hard. I just want to say that at some point in our episode of immaturity, back in the days when all we wanted to do was something that was fun, we found things in this life that make us go alive that just defines the person that we will become. It is not a question of whether or not we have been good through and through but in the end it is always about the person that we are now, whether we are good or BAD. Somehow there is a link to all these things until finally we are able to understand our dreams and work towards achieving these dreams.

Finally, maybe I am just lucky. In reality, there is no way of predicting whether or not one action that we did before will result to something good even if that action was good. The thing that is very glaring and certain is that we are responsible for the person that we will become. When everything has been said and done, the person that we are is entirely our doing.

Combat Life Saver

There are several things that I learned about myself in the past week. One: I can be a human pin cushion (as in literally); two: I know how to insert a 6 inch tube inside the nose of a person; three: if in case I do not become a soldier, I can be a nurse and then finally: I'm loving the Army.
I spent the last week going through the different skills that we will need when we become Officers of the Philippine Army. While I was bored with tracing all the streams and roads of Olongapo in a piece of plastic acetate for our Advanced Map Reading Class, there was some kind of thrill when we finally had our Combat Life Saving Instructions. Yes, combat life saving, some kind of first aid in combat situations.

The good thing about the enemies of the state is that they seldom inflict that much damage on our troops. In instances where our military units have been at a disadvantage, it has been mostly due to compromises brought about by sympathizers who give information to the enemy regarding our soldiers. In most cases, our casualties are due to improper handling of situations that need immediate medical attention, that is first aid. And so, there goes the reason for studying Combat Life Saving.

Most common cause of death is excessive bleeding which leads to loss of blood and shock, and then the improper handling of fractures. Another consideration is the safety of our men. I mean, a soldier will be more confident fighting side by side with you if he knows that you can take care of him in case he is wounded. And so I begin to tell my story at learning to be a Combat Life Saver.

As in all First Aid instructions, we had to go back to the ABC's 0f first aid-- the A being Airway or simply making sure that the airway of the patient is clear. I was told that in some cases when a soldier is hit blood blocks the air passage of his body. I was taught some ways to make sure that the airway of the patient is clear and the most exciting of it all is the procedure where a tube called nasopharyngeal is inserted inside the nostril of a person. I was a bit shocked seeing the pictures of the procedure being done not knowing that in a few moments I was to perform it to my classmate.

I started with putting on the gloves, making sure it remains sterile. Then I put lubricant to the "thing" finally beginning to hold it in place ready for insertion. Slowly, it makes its way inside my classmates nose while the rest where looking at the reaction on the face of my "patient." First obstruction and I can see my classmate flinch clearly there was some kind of irritation (or maybe pain). I pulled it back a little, some wiggling action and then it continues to slide. More flinching coupled by a few gasps from the spectators around me and finally its in -- all 6 inches of it. If inserting it was a bit hard, removing it was a breeze, its just pulling it out, no elaborate procedure and then we switch places. I was to be the patient this time. I really should have pictures of that tube inside my nose. Well, that was my first discovery.

In my youth, I once spent a whole day in a hospital bed with a dextrose plugged to me. I never imagined that a day will come that I will be the one to "plug it in." The thing with me is that I am not really that afraid with blood. I remember the time when my niece had a serious cut on her foot and it was oozing with blood. The other adults in the house were screaming at the top of their lungs while I was washing the wounded foot with soap and water, putting some improvised dressing and then sending her to the hospital for stitches.

Again, in front of me are my devices. A needle that is to be attached to a dextrose and my classmates arm. After finding a prominent vein, I took my aim and then blood starts to ooze out of my classmate's arm. I never realized how strong blood flows inside our vein. It was a good hit the first time around and then it was my turn. It was my time to be the human pin cushion.

If I wasn't that terrified with blood and piercings, my classmate was. I could see the needle shaking as he aims it at my arm. When it finally gets in, he seems hesitant to push the needle further inward. First hit, even if around 2 inches of the needle was inside my skin, there was no blood coming out. Second, my arm had a bulge near the point of insertion (which was a sign that something was wrong). Five needles and an already painful arm after it was in, much to my relief (whew!!!) I came back to my room that night wondering why I allowed my classmate to do that to me. Well, I guess that is just how it is.

I really wish that I had pictures of that experience. It may sound weird but going through it kind of allows me to see myself at a level I have not seen myself before. I did not know I had the guts to actually do those things. I now wonder why some of those in the medical profession have not mastered doing those procedures when we practically went through a crash course in performing those. I learned that the only limitation we can have is somewhere between our ears. If we just try doing it, we can be successful.

Next week, we will have the more fun stuff, we will have Close Quarter Battle. I guess that's it for now. I love you people...