Roughly Four Years Ago

Valedictory Speech

It was choice that brought me here. Destiny might have allied with my actions but as how such a word is defined by my own principles, my fate of finally being here in cold palms but in ardent spirit was all because of what decision I chose. . . and that is far beyond what the supernatural can encompass. It was through efforts, through dignity, through hope --- such human incentives that drove me closest to where I thought triumph seemed unreachable. And I share the moment with you --- to those who have ears that are willing to listen and eyes that are yet to open.

*Greetings, Blah, Blah, Blah…*

Life is a relentless battle --- an epic of failure and submission balanced by one’s own endeavors of struggling hard in reaching the sweetest success. It is an endless story to which only death can punctuate. But for as long as the body endures, so must the soul and the passion.

To my fellow graduates: recollecting June 2002 from the past would bring memories of how we were as freshmen: uncertain of what was in store for us in high school. And now, here we are, after a few years of such a molding enterprise, groomed at last to caress that precious sheet of diploma --- a proof of us being victors of our enamored alma mater!

Indeed, we made stories. We penned tales that are a forever keepsake to our hearts of what true high school life was indeed all about. There were times of embarrassments that never fail to put a blush on our faces; unforgettable conflicts and upheavals that prompted us to be at our strongest; moments of heartaches and “heart-makes” that inevitably trapped us into momentary dilemmas; and instances when we had to laugh at the top of our lungs because of some friends’ gag shows. Failing times were, as well, evident; they were like a hundred arrows to counter. . . However painful, they have nevertheless metamorphosed us into the well-armored warriors that we are right now. And bringing out the human in us was indeed the essence of having been high school students of the magnificent Zamboanga National High School West!

We may forever reminisce the moments when we had to dash with time just to anticipate the dreaded due dates of requirements and paper works demanded from us by our mentors. What can I say? It was in high school when I first met overnight stresses, early morning fatigues, afternoon exhaustions and working holidays! The sleepless nights and tedious days almost consumed our vigor completely and the inexorable toil lured us away to the edge of chaos --- almost sabotaging the fleet and making the protagonists barely resist.

It was in high school when I learned oblivion and kept my idle head whirling in motionless pondering. Such were times when staring upon the heavens in darkness played as the only resort for wandering psyches like me. Such were times when giving up seemed unavoidable, and evading the combat in disconcerted aura seemed to be the only elixir that would ease the entire burden. The relentless hard works, the anomalies of expectations, the empty dining table, Papa in hidden anxieties of hunting the next meal, Mama on overseas lands weeping in painful solitude, the girl who never took notice of the boy’s affection, the love that seemed fleeting from one’s very own grasps --- they were all but a tempestuous wind in a stormy scenario gone berserk lambasting the feeble light of a struggling candle. And the candle personifies us. Furthermore, it is self-evident that indeed once, the wind almost blew the light away. And all he could do was play naive while she who was more vivid wept in silence.

Resentments were then winning the fight and downgrading the esteem that frustrates the person. The trials were indeed the antagonists of the story, our story, and it hindered us from emancipating our tired souls from wandering aimlessly in search for something we are yet to know. And we were but ruined souls then.

For a moment, I found myself shut in pandemonium with no passion left but timid existence of someone else’s persona whom I thought I never knew. Along came the heroes of the tragedy: the tutors who seemed indifferent yet empathic in mysterious ways; the faces whom you call friends who listen upon however insane words you utter; the good Samaritans who linger right before your very eyes that were, all this time, blind to see the aids of such wonderful people; the family that had defied every frustration that burdened you. They were there. They always were. And tomorrow will not forestall them from loving you forever.

And this is when I say “thank you” to those spirits who have guided me to fulfillment. To my advisers who were all appreciative and undeniably supportive in their own peculiar ways, you were all I needed when everything else turned to gray. To my SSC classmates, thank you as well. You have indeed made a person out of me! I have drawn so much strength from you when my blue sky was at its absence. The gladness that I possess right now of having to find you in the multitude will last a lifetime in my heart. The Special Science Class will always be in my heart. To all of the teachers that had taught me and enlightened my perspectives towards aiming for excellence, I give you my heartfelt gratitude. Thank you very much. And to my Mom, who has always been my inspiration and my driving force amid all the pains and turmoil that came to pass, maraming salamat. You and Papa always were the shaft of light that peered through my darkest days and ferried my hopes of seeing joy in the midst of pessimisms. Papa could have been so proud of me and wherever he may be right now, this exaltation is for him as well.

And now, the story has to find its end and bring us soaring to a much more realistic plot: a new chapter where a pot of gold would no longer suffice the craving but freedom from the superficial that have been faltering within us through all these years. Having to reach the finale of this journey is not merely on what records you’ve established; it always was not all about excellence for not all can strive enough for some prestige and recognition that are expected from them. It was more of the betterment of the psyche. . . of the person whom we see in front of the mirror. The moments we have cherished for the last four years or so in Zamboanga National High School West were not learning alone, it was the inquisition per se for the profound that is beyond what the periphery can offer. It was all about personhood --- to genuinely feel the downsides of life but wrestle with them with perseverance and rise from the ashes like a phoenix in blazing fire. We were fashioned not only to be students who aim for profession but to be significant and life-changing humans for this whimsical world. So let us prove them right, that we, the newly directed souls of that proud school by the sea are about to make a difference on the surface of this planet. For all this time, we were forged to show the world some love.

Thank you and congratulations, co-graduates! Kudos to all! Viva Zamboanga National High School West!

***

Funny how things turn out today. I had dreams and thought I could fulfill them, but what I see now in all of what I wove in this college era is how not-even-close-to-less-of-a-better person I have become. My last four years cost me nothing sublime and life-changing. My only way back to that summit now, amid this discord, is redemption. Still that humongous question segues: Paano, Kim? Paano?

Beautiful

Beautiful, he thought. He gazed at the rolling sheet of seawater as it hit the boulders beneath him. The clouds overhead brewed while the obscured sunset sipped into the hazy sky. There was a slight breeze coming from across the sea, an oddly taciturn overture of an approaching storm.

He stood next to the young girl, Maia, who was mounted over a four-foot tall rock and was amusing herself with a rag doll he has sewn for her a couple of days ago. Apparently enthralled by the doll which she fancily called Oliver, Maia finally stopped whimpering about home and her daddy --- at least for two days now. As the sunset diminished to make way for the night, hard rain poured. Just several minutes before the drizzle, the two were already back to the old cabin settled not a half-mile away from the shore; this is where they have been taking refuge for the last six days.

The cabin was small, had two stalls --- one served as a kitchen, the other for sleeping --- and was practically rickety and timeworn. They were clearly far-off even from the outskirts of the nearest city, inaccessible to necessities of living. He slid open one of the depot drawers in the kitchen situated behind the cabin to scan for some noodles he could cook for supper. His two-dozen eggs supply ran out the other day, so did the poultry meat and beef he bought from a distant town which is a three-day hike away from their location. His attempts of casting fish-lines to hook some edible species of marine life from a brook nearby seemed futile. He wasn’t worried about getting starved to death; he’s used to such a kind of life after all. It was Maia’s could-be predicament he was fretting about. His concern for the youngster seemed requisite. “Just one more night, just one more night,” he murmured.

Maia played with her Oliver on a table placed next to an open window near the door. The wind sprinkled in some of the rain from the outside. The oblivious five-year-old continued playing.

The crackling of some old wood getting burned in the kitchen could be heard. By now, he has found, alas, just a couple of noodle packs, and began boiling water.

“I’m hungry,” Maia’s feeble voice muttered from the other room. “Is there food yet?”

“In ten minutes, there will be. Be patient now.”

“I miss Daddy. You prom…”

“Just twelve more hours, Maia. You’re going to see daddy soon. Trust me, “ he snapped as tactful as possible, cutting her sentence short.

The conversation was abridged by a brief silence from the other room. Puzzled, he peeked to see what could have caused her muting. She was looking out the window; the rain was gradually ceasing. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“How long is twelve hours?”

“Well, that’s about as long as you sleep after eating your meal tonight till you wake up first thing in the morning,” he ascertained.

“In the morning?” she echoed.

“Yes, now quit asking the same questions over and over. Clean up and get ready for supper.”

He was nine years old when his mother died. He never knew who his father was, had no other family to go to and so, grew up as an orphan along with his younger sister and brother. As eldest, he fended his siblings against the animosities of life in the urban. He really never got the chance to know what it was like to be in school, socialize with peers or have a grade school infatuation. As far as his memory permits, he grew up thieving from people strolling in busy markets and streets, scavenged on pileups of scraps to find leftovers to feast and pocketed coins tossed to him by pitying strangers. He did everything it took for them to survive, shot an old lady at the age of sixteen for bucks in her purse, sodomized faggot after faggot for money and new pairs of jeans. Now a grown twenty-two-year old man, outliving life’s adversaries with deceit and felony, he felt… ironically living a dead man’s life, disgusted of his remorse and his decay. He believed he was a rotten corpse except that he was animate, and sane.

After dinner, he sat next to the sleeping Maia, who falls into slumber right after finishing her noodles. He grabbed on his knapsack, foraged into his stuffs and took out old photos of him with his family. His eyes glinted with sadness as he stared at a picture of him and his brother, Raul. It’s been three years since Raul got killed in a melee. While attempting to tone down a flared-up argument between two of his gang-mates in a party, he was stabbed by accident. Raul died amid the merriment of his sixteenth birthday. He died young, and unprepared.

In the midst of his nostalgia, Maia flinched and moaned, probably because of a nightmare. Caressing her back gently to pacify her, he got Oliver and placed it beside the young girl. She reminded him of Rebecca, his sister. He loved her dearly, and protected her like nobody else could. Scarred by his brother’s devastating death, he swore not to let anything happen to Rebecca. She’s everything he has --- his life, the last of his family. He took out a pile of sheets from one compartment of his bag, ventured his eyes on each copy, pondered… and wept quietly. “It will be alright, Rebecca. Be strong for Kuya now,” with a breaking sob, he whispered.

A quarter past six in the morning, he stood out of the cabin. The sky was scattered with carroty tint, the indigo twilight ebbing dramatically. The ground remained soaked with last night’s rainfall while zephyr saturated with morning dew blew on his being. He took a long, deep breath and, with smirk on his face, tucked in his .45-caliber pistol to his side.

“Where’s Daddy?” queried the newly awaken Maia who stood by the doorstep of the cabin, rubbing her eyes with her right hand while Oliver clung on her left.

“How was your sleep, little Maia? Were you having nightmares last night?” he asked smilingly.

“I’m hungry,” she retorted, innocently snubbing his question.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re daddy’s gonna be here momentarily. He should be bringing with him something for you to eat. Be patient now, Maia,” he told her.

It wasn’t long enough when tires of a meandering car in the woods resounded from afar.

With a sudden gush of ambiguity to his next move, he went towards her and grabbed her near him, his composure filling up to the brink. “Daddy will be here any minute now… Did you enjoy camping with me, Maia? Tell me,” his lurking panic blended well with every word.

“A bit,” she stammered as though uncertain. “It was fun playing with Oliver. Can I keep him?”

“Sure, you can. I made him for you. Take care of him now, okay?”

“I sure will,” she mumbled, faltering for some millisecond. “I feel sad.”

“And why is that?”

“You sound like you’re leaving.”

He smiled, patted the top of her head and said, “You miss daddy, right? Now that camping’s done, you can go back to your home and be with him.”

“Can’t you come home with us, then?” Maia asked.

“Maia,” he sighed. “Remember my sister, Rebecca? You remind me of her, but my sister needs me now more than anyone else. Right after I talk to your daddy, I would have to go back to my home, too.”

“But...”

Knowing he didn’t have much time, he cut the talk short. “Listen, be a good girl now. Kuya will miss you. Do exactly as I tell you, okay, Maia?”

Reluctant, she nodded.

“Go downhill, straight to where we went playing yesterday. You’re daddy will be coming for you there. Don’t go anywhere else. Don’t go near the shore. Sit on top of that boulder you sat over yesterday,” he told her carefully. “Play with Oliver and wait till daddy comes to fetch you.”

Sobbing hesitantly, she paced towards him and threw her arms around his thighs. “I’m going to miss you,” she cried, profusely.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” he firmly said to her. “It’s been nice camping with you.” Stricken with dread and confusion, he didn’t know what words to say. All he could think of was that time was running out. “Go!” he exclaimed, his voice breaking. “Go now, Maia.”

Still in reluctance, she let go, held on the ragdoll he gave her and headed downhill towards the coastline. He watched her scurry, to the wood teeming with thick fronds of Palmera bushes, and never turned away till she was out of his sight. With Maia finally invisible, he pulled his gun out and lingered on the front porch of the cabin, now alone beneath the six thirty daylight. His eyes were streaming tears. For some reason, he felt deserted. He felt sorry for Maia; he felt sorry for him. He knew, from the start, that this was a mistake, but mistakes like this seemed the only way… the only way for corrupt criminals like him.

Seconds later, the car arrived, its sole passenger stiffened in stealth. He got out of the vehicle, a decent-looking guy in his mid-forty’s with a satchel --- his fingers carefully clasped around its handle. “Where’s Maia?” he yelled.

He stood up, walked teasingly towards the visitor until he was barely a couple of yards near to him and pointed his gun to the other’s face. Wiping his tears off with the sleeve on his other arm, he grinned. “Money first, then your little princess.”

“You son of a bitch,” the young girl’s father burst, his voice shaking. “I don’t see her anywhere! I need to see if she’s alright. I did what you asked me to, got 2-million from my savings and told no one about this!”

“Oh, she’s alright. You’ve got to trust me now,” he mockingly replied. “Just hand me the satchel before I run out of temper and blow your head to kingdom come.”

“No!” the father’s voice echoed in outrage. “I trusted you like my own son, Rey, gave you a job and entrusted my daughter’s safety to you, you snake!”

“A snake’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. Just give me the money, Mr. Chua.”

“I know about your sister’s condition, Rey. Just two days ago, I went looking for her at your place hoping she could help me out. I couldn’t find her in any of her residential addresses,” he uttered in sudden, grave words.

Stunned, he lowered his gun like a furious lioness appeased at the sight of her lost cub. “You’ve seen her? How’s Rebecca?” he asked him.

“You didn’t tell me she needed help, Rey. We could have brought her to a better hospital. I hate to break this to you, but…”

“You wouldn’t help her, Mr. Chua,” he mocked him. “I know you won’t. All you ever thought was getting every cent you could loot from your filthy syndicates. A heartless monster like you wouldn’t…”

“Rebecca’s dead! Your sister is dead, Rey!” Mr. Chua burst with resentment.

Pierced with an unforeseen force, his heart shattered in disbelief. He didn’t see this coming. Too soon, he thought. Not yet, he bargained. Too soon, too soon… the words resounding monotonously. Vaguely comprehending the light of Mr. Chua’s words, he cried. So hard. His eyes drowning to a sorrowful cascade of tears. He cried like a child losing grip of his balloon as it flew away to the distant clouds, away from his view. He cried like he has never cried before, blaming himself… knowing he was unable to retrieve what will forever be gone, and lost… knowing he won’t be able to see that face again, or hear her frail, sweet call on him, Kuya, my handsome Kuya.

“Take that, back,” he recoiled in skepticism.

“She was dying, Rey. The can...”

“The doctors told me she had one more month to live!” he roared with sheer grief. “I just needed the money to make them cure her, and I can still save her if you give me the money now!”

“No, Rey, you can’t! Not anymore! She would have not wanted you to do this. It’s too late now,” Mr. Chua snarled. “Her cancer was irreversible. Just give up, Rey. Just give up and give me back my daughter, for God’s sake!”

Overwhelmed with anguish, Rey rushed towards Maia’s father, grabbed the bag and wrenched it off his grasp. Stunned by Rey’s actions, Mr. Chua attacked the young lad and yanked his gun which the other clutched firmly in his fist. Struggling to detach the gun from Rey’s grip, Mr. Chua rammed his knuckle against Rey’s gut, knocking his hold of the forty-five. Mr. Chua quaked with tension as he hastily reached for the gun on the ground. He crept towards the gun, lay on his back and pointed it aimlessly to the perplexed Rey. Averting his enemy’s next action, Rey threw himself over Mr. Chua, roughly grasping on the gun’s trigger. In a vicious tug of war, the two men wrestled for the pistol.

Then, a gunshot.

***

The sea was different on that same morning --- still, placid, quiet. Maia kept seated over the boulder distal from the shore. She’s been playing with her ragdoll for the last hour. The sunbeam peaked on her face, her eyes glistening with delight as she played with Oliver on her lap. Suddenly, footfall crushing over thick fallen foliage from the trees behind her came approaching, limping towards Maia’s unguarded back. Someone was coming. Turning to her backside away from the blinding light of the sun, she browsed the area for any living creature. From the bushes came out a familiar silhouette.

“Maia,” said the approaching man. “It’s me.”

“Daddy!” Maia exclaimed. She jumped off the boulder, Oliver falling from her lap, sprinted towards her dad but cringed at the sight of blood streaks on his shirt. “Why do you have those, Daddy?” she curiously asked.

“It’s nothing, my baby. Come to Daddy now. It’s time to go home.”

“How about Kuya Rey? Have you talked to him? I told him to come with us but…”

“No, I guess he’s not,” he faltered in saying. “He told me that you’d be here. He said he was sorry for everything.”

Maia stood still, clueless and bewildered.

“We need to go now, Maia. It’s time to go home,” Mr. Chua insisted.

Maia felt something was wrong but couldn’t fathom the depth of her worry. “Okay,” she sluggishly answered. “Let me just get Oliver.”

Maia went back to the four-foot tall boulder and picked up Oliver from the ground.

“What is that? A doll?” her father, behind her, asked.

As she was picking Oliver from the pebbled earth on which Rey stood just roughly a day before, she glanced at the sea one last time, bizarrely serene… but morose. The far-flung strips of clouds hung near the horizon, the sky bluer than any of the morning skies she has seen for the last seven days.

“Yes. Kuya Rey made it for me… a few days ago… on his birthday.”

The seawater rippled from afar, the reflection of the sky scattered by the waves. She smiled while gazing upon the picturesque view of the rocky shoreline. Mystified by the scenery, the five-year-old girl sighed, and whispered to herself… “Beautiful.”