Dear Sun

Dear Sun, thank you for shining on me today.

Sun rises in the island city of Samal, Davao del Sur.

When you leisurely peeped in my window this morning, your vibrancy warmed me inside and woke all my slumbering senses.

Water hyacinths open up to the early morning sun in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato.

The moment you wrapped me with your light, I allowed myself to melt like the last winter snow softening into dew kisses on leaves of trees. 

I felt my skin opened up with your affectionate embrace like the rousing petals of the blooms in the garden in spring.

The sun paints the morning sky in Tagbiliran, Bohol.

Oh how pleasurable you are when you slowly lighted up the cerulean blue of the sky with your radiance! I knew then that my day would be complete even if the cottony clouds linger to soak up the splendor of you or even if it rains.

The scene before the sun sets in Kiamba, Sarangani.

Because just when the last of your golden rays bled and gave in to the shadows and the beautiful mystery of the night, remember that somewhere here, beyond the horizon you so loved to come home to, there’s a dreamer who longs for you.

Boys watch the sun bleed before finally fading into the horizon.

Until tomorrow.

The Dream Catcher

I heard his soft footsteps when he approached the hard unforgiving couch where I laid pretending to be asleep. My anticipation heightened when he slowly drew nearer like a cat on a hunt. I closed my eyes tightly, took a shallow deep breath and prepared myself for one of the most awaited sweetest moments of my childhood.

He picked me up carefully from the couch and I tried my best not to gasp. The familiar scent of him, a clean mixture of early morning dew and the breeze blowing from the sea filled my lungs and I found myself drifting slowly to sleep. The short distance from the couch to our bedroom seemed like eternity and I cherished every moment cradled in the warmth of his chest and the safety of his strong arms.

I felt the familiar texture of the mosquito net touching my feet as he lifted it up. Our bamboo bed melted into the luxuriously-soft mattress in that story of the Princess and the Pea when he put me down into it with intricate care. Cautious not to let the cold of the night’s mist seeped in, he wrapped me up to my neck in a blanket. Then when he was sure that I was settled in, his ritual began.

He tucked the edges of the mosquito net carefully into the mat. Then, in the darkness of the room he switched on his flashlight and tuned his ears to the buzzing of any mosquito that got in. I could hear him swat them one by one and when he thought his movements started to disturb us, he would pat me and my younger siblings on our side and brought us back to sleep.

I remembered how each night, I would drift off to sleep peacefully and woke up every morning from beautiful sweet dreams. 

Tacloban Moving Forward in Pedals and Wheels

With prices of diesel and gasoline hiking up from less than a hundred pesos to three hundred pesos a liter, survivors of supertyphoon Yolanda or Haiyan in Tacloban City found their way back to the power of the pedal to move from one place to another in search for food, water, shelter and missing loved ones. 

The day we arrived in the city on November 15, I couldn't help but notice the number of bicycles in different sizes and styles flocking the streets side-by-side motorcycles and cars which rely mainly on fuel. In this phenomenon caused by the drastic change of climate because of the excessive burning of fossil fuels, I hope that people in the whole world will see how important it is to reconsider their lifestyles which caused the death and suffering of the most vulnerable. 

Tacloban Rising from the Rubble

I came here expecting the worst and I did see the worst. It was early in the morning of November 15 when we arrived in Tacloban City, one of the most devastated places ravaged by supertyphoon Haiyan or Yolanda that fateful day of November 8, 2013. In the light of the day, the devastation was indescribable. 

The houses, overturned cars, debris and trash all fell into a huge pile of rubble. Cadavers in body bags lined down the streets as hoards of frenzied people pass by. Everything smelled of death and decay. It was a week after the typhoon's landfall and the situation remained depressing.

However, as we went around the city, I saw signs of both desperation and hope. We found a group of people waiting in a makeshift tent along the road with a signboard expressing their need for food, water and clothes while on the other side of the city, people were lining up to get their relief goods from the government and humanitarian organizations. In a nearby community, some were already rebuilding their homes with materials they picked up from the rubble. In Brgy. Magallanes, we already heard the giggling and laughing of children playing. 

Reminiscing our experience with tropical storm Sendong back in 2011, I know how important it is for the survivors to tell their stories so that others may know what they had gone through and what their hopes and aspirations are in the coming days and in the future.

The Waray emotionally shared their experience of the typhoon and I listened and struggled, not only to understand because of the language barrier but mostly in keeping my emotions at bay. Most of them lost their homes and family members and as they recounted those moments, I couldn't help but wonder how they remained strong. Asked how they will move on in the future, one of them said, "Babangon kami (We will rise); showing how their spirit is beginning to soar again. 

This was enough to keep me hopeful and inspired that we will be able to send help in anyway we can to our people in Tacloban City and to help them move valiantly on. 

To help, join us in our solidarity and support to the survivors of typhoon Yolanda, please reach out to MiHands (Mindanao Humanitarian Action Network against Disasters):

Tri-Peoples' Organization against Disasters (TRIPOD) Foundation, Inc. 

37 Tulingan St. Usman Subdivision, Bagua 2, Cotabato City 9600 Maguindanao

email: tripodcc@yahoo.com

Telephone No.: 064 421 1369

Ranaw Disaster, Relief and Rehabilitation Assistance Center (RDRRAC)

Door 2 Maca-agir Apartment, 6th East Rosario Heights, Tubod, Iligan City, 9200, Lanao del Norte
email: rdrrac_inc@yahoo.com

Telephone No.: 063 223 3171

The Hearts of Paris: A Reflection on Love

Chains and padlocks are displayed at the railings of the bridge in Pont de L'archeveche, Paris.

I chanced upon this bridge when I was strolling with friends in the city of Paris. It is popularly-known as the Lovers’ Bridge where a multitude of padlocks of different sizes, styles and shapes was attached to the metal railings of the bridge. For lovers who pledged their love to each other, the padlocks symbolized their eternal and everlasting love. Throwing the keys to the river Seine after represented the unbreakable bond between them.

But is this really what true love means? Can a padlock embody love? If taking its figurative sense, does undying love entail one to be endlessly devoted to someone? Does it also mean that love is too powerful to be broken?

I don’t believe so. A very special friend told me this sometime ago: Love is one great adventure. You’ll never know how it starts or how it ends. You have no control of the other person because to love someone is to love the freedom he or she possesses as an individual.

As for me, I don’t set out in this world to seek love that I locked up. I am constantly smitten by people who love their individuality: those people who love themselves first and most. These are individuals who know what they want and know how to get it, those who speak their minds, those who influence and make change, those who confront challenges and realities. They have their own dreams, hopes and aspirations and they keep on moving day by day to make these happen. I love them because they are the ones who inspire me to open my mind, boost my capacity to learn and encourage loving myself more so that I could love others freely.

As love is an adventure, one must also be confident in his or her capability to cope with its twists and turns, ups and downs and the whole 360-degree pivots and dangerous backflips. One of my favourite authors, Paulo Coelho wrote, “Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused.” Therefore, we must be able to embrace love in all its fragility and its constant risks. And above all, we must understand that at the heart of loving is freedom; the liberty to be ourselves. 

A father and his daughter checks out the various styles, shapes and sizes of the padlocks at the Lover's Bridge.

Weekend with Bernie: A Peek to my Peoples' Revolutionary Past

The warmth of the late afternoon's sun filled the living room as we lounged in the sofas and stretched our legs. It was the second day of our visit in Brussels but the summer heat and the tropical plants in the terrace made it feel like we were still in the Philippines. I would sooner find out that my country was very present in this home through Bernie.

Bernie was the "blonde white woman" as she called herself, who welcomed us in her beautiful home filled with memories of my country. And I was the Filipino who hailed from Mindanao who came to this foreign land  for the first time in my life. Two individuals from very different backgrounds who came to understand each other through one passion.

"What do you do?" This was the question I usually get from people who met me for the first time. The answer was always the same: I am a peace advocate working for a peace movement in Mindanao. This is true and I stand proud every time I say this. But that afternoon in her cozy living room, Bernie followed her question by asking me what I love doing as if she felt that there was something missing in my answer. "I love telling stories through writing and photography. It is my passion", I told her. Suddenly, there was spark on her eyes and a glow on her face which started a bond between us that I will always cherish.

Bernie used to be a photographer and a documentary film maker. And one of her memorable experiences was covering the Philippine People Power Revolution from its conception and birth in the 1980s. Soon she was opening up drawers filled with photos of the most inspiring event in my people's history that began in 1983 and commenced in 1986, the year I was born. 

As I was looking at her photos, I felt the blood pumping and rushing to my head. For the first time, I held historical images of that significant time when my people reclaimed their power to overthrow a dictator and build a just and democratic Philippines. 

The strength of the images of social movements when they filled the streets of Manila in massive demonstrations seemed to creep beneath my skin and to flow in my blood. I was completely overwhelmed. And each photo, Bernie patiently told me the stories behind. These were stories of courage, of perseverance and of solidarity to break the chains not just from the tyranny of the ruling master but mostly from the hegemonic system that oppresses and enslaves people.

This peek at my people's revolutionary past was important for me. As part of the generation who was born to a society where my rights and freedom as an individual were secured by those who made it happen, I have so much to give thanks to them. But I also have a great responsibility of sustaining the genuine gains of that revolution, however it may have turned out in the process. It is my heritage and it is also my task to continue struggling for emancipation and liberation. This is my revolution.

To the First Man I Ever Loved

For teaching me how to push and pedal
and for turning a blind eye when I sneaked out with your big old bike,
thank you.

For taking me to magical places by reading stories with me
and putting me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch,
thank you.

For comforting me when I was crying because I turned into a woman
even though you didn't have an idea how that really felt,
thank you.

For taking with me that bittersweet journey to my university campus
and for telling me to be strong when I kept calling home,
thank you.

For letting me learn from my mistakes and make my dreams come true
while being a great source of strength and understanding,
thank you.

For believing in my capacity to think and do the best for me
and for patiently allowing me to search for myself in this world,
thank you.

For your kindness, patience, humility and endearing love
that have always made me the learning woman I am today,
thank you, Papang.

To the first man I ever loved, Happy Father's Day!