My nephew with cerebral palsy passed away yesterday. I was able to meet him just a few days before. When I first saw him I thought I was looking at an infant, and I was shocked to learn he was three years old. I am thankful for the brief time I had with him. I wish I knew him more, but then again I wish I knew them all more.
My dad’s sister ran towards and embraced me by surprise as my attention was directed towards a carabao grazing on some grass. I had no idea who she was, but she looked at me and said that she remembered me. Tears filled her eyes as she went on on how long it was since the last time she saw me, and how I use to speak Ilocano back then when I was a toddler. Of course, I did not remember any of this. I did remember a slight feeling of familiarity and a tinge of deja vu towards my surroundings.
Many more family members greeted me on the path to our family’s tiny village. Children took my hand to their foreheads as I were the Pope. The dialect switched from Tagalog to Ilocano, and the cousins that greeted me earlier in our hotel came out to greet me again. They took us to a shaded patio where they set out a table with various types of Filipino food. They had slaughtered a pig for the celebration. Since I do not eat pork, I refrained from their chocolate blood pork pudding known as dinuguan. Instead, I tried some of the rice cakes and vegetable pinakbet.
It was a very touching family reunion. My dad tried to hide his tears behind his glasses, and he joked on how he had to pass gas when in reality he was hiding the emotions on his face from the rest of the family. It has been over twenty years and more since we were last there, before I joined the military. Last time we came we were on my uncle’s land which we heard he had to sell to send his daughter abroad in hopes that she would find a better life and bring back money to the family. I was saddened by the news of him selling off land that had been in the family for generations, but I understood his destitution. I doubt he got the amount the land was worth, since the land is prime, green, and close to the river.
The last time I was there I promised myself I would return and do more. I tried to prepare for the trip, and I brought things I thought would be helpful like solar powered lamps. However, I don’t think it’s enough. I know it’s not. I find myself making the same promise again.
I want to set up a business there one day and have my relatives manage it to help pull them out of poverty. Meanwhile, I am setting up a scholarship fund for one of my cousins who wants to go to school for Criminology to be a police officer. Although I am not fond of his career choice, I understand that it is considered to be a respectable position. I told him that I would pay his way through school, but he had to maintain good grades. Maybe I will come back one day when he graduates, if I have saved enough by then.
Later in the trip two cousins accompanied us back to Manila where they worked as housekeepers. We took them to their first buffet at the mall. My dad’s side is very humble, and it humbles me to be in their presence. Since this trip, my perspective on life has shifted once again and I feel the value of living, not for myself, but for those in need. I need to make due on this renewed vow.
I reflect on how selfish I have been wallowing in depression. First world problems are nothing compared to the problems of those living in the poorest conditions, yet the people here are happy and rich in their hearts. I will bring that richness back home with me, and hopefully it does not disappear. If I have learned anything from this trip, I have learned to count my blessings.
