Unleashed For Me

Again, I craned my neck from where I stood just to check whether he was there. I had this feeling that if I did not then he would vanish. But there he was in his favorite white shirt which he wore only on special occasions still as personable as he used to. He had not changed much in the two years I did not see him. He looked tired and older but still dashing. He was not being himself, I could tell it. I knew him as a man who was at his best when not alone. Talking to people was his passion. I heard people back home say he was one man who if left in the company of mutes would inspire the mutes to storm the haven of the gods demanding that they be given back the voices they lost. It was torture seeing him tongue tied. Everyone around him was engaged in animated talk but he just sat in silence not even turning his face to look around. He lost his voice and seemed uninterested to find it. He loved crowds. Crowds were his stage but not this one. These people had spent enough money to feed a whole town for days just to dress up for this day. What seemed to be someone else’s private driver, who failed to get the instruction from his master that he could leave and did not have to wait, would not merit their second glance. There was no guessing how he felt. I knew it. I was there once. I wanted to go hug him if only to reassure him everything was going to be alright but I could not. We were on strict notice to stay where we were. A few more minutes and the ceremony was to start.

Someone nudged me to get ready. It was time the procession got moving. I felt my knees wobble. This was not just another ordinary walk we were taking. We were walking to mark the end of a phase in our lives. I was heading the march. The symbolism was not lost. The pack that once excluded me was going to follow my lead. I looked back to check whether everyone was ready. I gazed in awe at what seemed to be a scene that came alive from the canvas of a great master. Everyone looked radiant and beautiful. They looked so angelic in their immaculate garbs. The light cast by the burning candles in their hands can not rival the glow in their faces. Everybody nodded as we looked at each other. We were ready. The lights went off. The music played. I started to walk.

The events unfolded fast the way I recall it. I heard my name called. I walked to the stage all trembling. I gave an address for which I spent lots of time each night rehearsing. Finally, it was over. I could not even remember now what was it that I spoke about. But I clearly remember, people giving me a wild applause. I must have done something great to deserve such an approval. I looked at my friends, they were all smiles. I was no longer shaking. I was feeling like I could sparkle. If I could freeze a moment in my life so I could savor it again and again, that was the moment. It was our graduation day. I had just delivered my valedictory address and got an ovation. I heard someone shouting my name with glee. It was my dad. His face was beaming with pride. The crowd could not resist but pay him notice. I could not have been more happy not only for myself but also for my father. He did not lose his voice. He waited for the right moment - his daughter's own moment, to unleash it.

Bridging The Difference

That day was a nightmare. That is what I remember. The first day of school and there I was lost in the midst of girls my age chattering like mad about their exploits during the school break just over. I wanted to keep attention away from myself but attention was precisely what I got. How could I not be noticed when I stood out like a rag doll among well coiffed girls all smelling so sweet. I wanted to run out of the room as all eyes riveted on me. I could tell by their looks they were wondering whether I wasn't lost. Avoiding their gaze, I looked down as I walked at the farthest end of the room to take my seat. The nightmare was to go on. Each student was asked by the teacher to introduce themselves as soon as classes started. When my turn came, everybody laughed loud when I told them my name. It was like I just told them a funny joke but it was my name they found funny. Everyone one else sported surnames that sounded foreign courtesy of the colonials that ruled the country in the past while mine couldn't sound more native. That moment on, I was marked as different from the rest.

I was indeed different in many ways and my schoolmates made that very clear. Back then missionaries run exclusive schools for the elite and my new school was among the best school for girls in the country. It was no wonder that to the wealthy students that patronized it, I was an eyesore. They called me the mountain girl which meant I come from people who lived in the stone age. My people were of course much more civilized, they treated people like people but of course they did not know that. They also referred to me as the nuns' servant. There was a ring of truth to that. I lived with the nuns and did housework for them. In exchange, they sent me to school. Branding arrogates to the brander some power. By branding me as a servant, the girls in my class also arrogated unto themselves the right to treat me as one. I was every body's maid. I must have detested the role but I remember playing along. I guess I was trying hard to be one of them.

I counted the days and longed for the school term to end. I was so happy when it did. I wanted to go home. There was nothing more I wanted to do but go home and be with my family. But my sister and I had to work for the nuns during the break. I had no choice.

I remember intensely praying each night that the next term would not come but it did. Again the princesses came back and so did I, their lady in waiting. Everything was going to be a replay of the previous term or so I thought if not for our new classmate named Eva. She was the senator's daughter. She moved in from another school for reason I could no longer remember. Eva was not like the other girls. She always wore smile on her face. She did not throw her class into any one's face. She was the first one to call me by my name in a way that was full of respect. It sounded musical then. She was such a well raised girl. She was the school's little miss congeniality.

I would skip the long story on how it happened but Eva and I became good friends to the chagrin of the other girls. She told everybody each time she had the chance of how her father gave high regard to my people. She also told them her mother had high respect for people who worked hard for their dreams. She must have exaggerated it, as children often do, but I knew her intention was to get the other girls thinking and it had the desired effect. From then on, things began to change. Eva started calling me Juls (it sounds icky now but it sounded good then) and everybody followed suit. The girls even apologized for mistreating me. The servant girl is now their friend. No, I did not become one of them. We were still different. I was still the mountain girl who had to work as help to the nuns to get to my dreams. Young as we were then, I believed we saw the silliness of hate. Our young minds may still not be able to comprehend how hating others who were not like us got rooted in our persons but we were certain we had to learn how to bridge those differences.

Packing Up And Moving Out: The Story of My Life

My life is a story of packing up and moving out. I was only ten the first time I left home. I could still recall the tears rolling down my mother’s cheeks as she packed my things in a nice little trunk. I and my sister Maria were to leave for the city the next morning. We should be thrilled. Every child in the village thought we were lucky. It was everybody’s dream to see the big city. That night before we left, we tried to talk our father out of his decision to let us study under the missionary nuns in the city. We told him we would rather study in the local school, having studied there for the past three years. We did not want to leave our friends. My father dismissed as silly our protestation. I saw my mom shake her head as father tried to convince us everything was for our own good. I knew she understood the torment we were going through. I guess because women invest much of their lives in caring and nurturing they understand the pain involved in uprooting yourself from what I call your world space. That evening, my sister and I cried ourselves to sleep.

My father was right about the big city. It was a beautiful place where lights danced at night and people never went to sleep. He was also right about big stores where we could find plenty of chocolates and toys. I smile as I remember that each time I pass those stores, I could not resist dipping my hands into my pockets trying to search for some coins I know were not there. I wasn't alone longing for what I can not get. The picture of dirty-faced kids in tattered clothes just staring at the candies with their sunken eyes and protruding bellies being shoved out by the store's security guard is still etched in my mind. I remember writing to my parents about these children. I guess even as a child, I was already puzzled as to how a place can shimmer in such glitter and look so alive while its children roam the streets wearing empty looks in their unwashed faces.

There was something on those dirty faces that I found disturbing. Back in our village, as kids, we got dirty playing and having fun or helping our parents in the farm but always it was a nice excuse to go to the river for a long fun filled swim. Folks in our village encouraged children to play and enjoy themselves. Getting dirty was fun. I guess that was how we were able to develop strong immune systems as then it was rare for children to get sick.

My dad told me I was going to love watching the sunset in the city. I thought that was silly. Sunsets just come and go as sunsets did in my village. What was to love about it? No, it was not silly. Watching the sunset by the sea which fringed the city was an experience of a lifetime. The breathtaking show of the sun changing its hue as it was devoured by the sea still play on my mind. The sea by itself looked enchanting. It was hard to resist its calls for one to go naked and play with its waves. I remembered the children. Did they ever receive those calls? I wonder.

Badge of Honor

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Healing the Bruises

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