Youngblood
It's a new season
By Rianne
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:48:00 03/18/2008
MANILA, Philippines--We were 15. We were walking out of the campus when someone told me he thought I was very lucky. He was comparing me with other people and he knew I had no problems except for little things, such as hiding my childish infatuation from a classmate.
Everything seemed so rosy. I had a very close and loving family. I didn't lack anything financially. I had good grades. I was pretty much living a very normal life waiting for my dreams to happen.
Well, don't people say that handsome babies grow up to be not so good-looking while not so cute ones grow up to be beautiful? That's me basically.
My dad died of complications from diabetes before I even turned 18. We never expected it. In fact, my mom even went to work that day and I was left alone with Papa in the hospital. Seeing Papa deeply and painfully breathe his last alone in the room and being the person whom the doctor confirms the bad news with, I thought that was already the hardest thing I could ever suffer in my entire existence on earth. I was my papa's girl, you see, and I grew up dreaming with him of many things, one of which is becoming a lawyer. I haven't even begun my second year in college when he left me cold in that bare hospital room with a lifeless body.
Life went on though. I even attended summer classes and my classmates were amazed at how I handled the loss. One of them told me she admired me. She noticed the joy inside me amid all the pain. I knew there was still a lot of other things to be thankful for. I knew I had a good life ahead of me.
We managed pretty well, anyway. I graduated from college and got a good job. After a couple of years, my mom became successful in subtly coercing me into fulfilling Papa's dream of myself becoming a lawyer. I thought that it was hard to argue with a dead man so I tried my so-called "luck" in law school. Besides, I wanted it as a young child anyway.
After learning of my resignation, my boss' wife congratulated me. She said I was so lucky to have qualified to enroll in a good law school. So life went on.
Little did I know that the nine years after my Dad's death was a period of preparation for worse things. Last summer, my mom got election-related death threats. She was not a politician. She was a simple government employee, who had to faithfully fulfill the duty of keeping the ballots safe.
I was quite unfazed. I felt that I had some sort of immunity already. When Papa left us, I was so sure I would be spared from another family member's death. Besides, my grandfather just passed away the other year. Surely, my mom would grow old and enjoy the company of my children. Surely, our plans of traveling in Europe together and her ballroom dancing plans at my wedding reception would come to pass.
I was gravely mistaken. Am I still lucky? Not when a man riding a motorcycle fired several shots at our house on the eve of the elections. Not when close-in security had to stay in the house or go with us to church or eat with us in our favorite restaurants because my mom's life was in danger. But I thought that was just a phase. Maybe, my mom had to experience VIP treatment once in a while.
I was wrong, in fact so wrong. My whole life crashed when they murdered her, right in front of our house.
I was in my room in the dorm preparing for a midterm exam when I got the terrible news. She was about to go to work when a man approached her and fired a gun at her chin at close range. It was that fast. It was that simple. Ten hours earlier, we had just been talking.
I went home unaccompanied and had to sit through the whole trip crying in my seat. I didn't even notice if the other passengers gawked at me or if they heard each telephone conversation I had to make. I didn't care if the bus didn't take my usual route and had to stop over in the airport in Pampanga. It was better to watch the small planes taxi in the runway than to arrive at the morgue, to feel the cold and stiff body of my beautiful mother, wearing her Monday office uniform stained with red blood.
Now, I'm waiting for people to tell me again that I'm lucky.
Or aren't other people feeling lucky when they think about me? Because they didn't have to go through the same painful events I had to go through. One of my so-called friends sent me a message and told me that he can only imagine what I'm going through. He was so right and maybe that is why he barely noticed me afterwards, when I thought I needed all my friends.
But I'm trying to have my life go on.
I do cry a lot and I do have a lot of sleepless nights thinking about Papa, Mama, thinking about how I will walk down the aisle without anyone giving my hand away to my groom, thinking about law school graduation without the person who sent me to school, thinking about having children without grandparents from their mom's side of the family.
Maybe people expect me to hate the murderers from the gut. Maybe people expect me to strategize a plan of revenge. Maybe I am intelligent enough. But I am not that person.
My mom and dad raised me well, I never felt I lacked love in my life. This is why I know that a life full of hate isn't life at all. Maybe this is why they say I am lucky.
Why would I care about them? Do they care if I cry myself to sleep? Do they care if I blog instead of study just so I can get my feelings out? Do they care if I have recurring bouts with self-pity because I don't have a mother or a father? Do they care when loneliness envelopes me like crazy? Do they care if I miss them?
Never mind if lawyers don't want to take my mom's case for fear of reprisal. Never mind if lawyers don't want to help us find justice because of all the political color. Never mind if a person I respected told me that there's almost nothing I can do to make the situation better.
I guess I'm not really lucky. What's luck anyway.
We make our own decisions. Yes, there are things totally beyond our control. But I still believe that everything happens for a reason. My God is just. So why should I darken my soul with anger? My sister and I prayed for the gunman and what a relief it was.
Sinners go to hell, anyway. My mom, who gave her life to Jesus, is now walking on streets of gold. Someday, I hope to meet her there. A lot of people love me. I don't go hungry.
Yes, I'm still blessed. Even if circumstances say otherwise. I have faith, a new season is coming. Lucky, you think?
Rianne, 27, is a student at the UP College of Law, in Diliman.
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