WHEN DESIRE CEASED TO BE A DREAM

The year when Australian government offered to assist basic education in Mindanao I was privileged to work with them as a trainer for school administrators. I was so impressed with the organized and result-oriented  conduct of the training which lasted for a year and sessions were divided into cycles. I have to abide with the set standard and it was a memorable learning experience for me.

I loved to listen to the melody  and lyrics of Australia’s patriotic song which was regularly sang after the Philippine national anthem as a signal to start the day’s activity. I even learned it by heart. I wished I were a painter so I could paint fair Australia based on the song.

When the Aussies started "folding up their tents" I was informed that trainers would be invited to Australia for an immersion in their educational system. The decision would be up to our division leaders. I was ecstatic because of an ardent desire to see that country “girt by the sea” as their song says. Unluckily, I did not get the slot. It was given to someone who was not  a trainer even for just one cycle. I felt betrayed and need an explanation but I got only silence, silence and more silence – like how I  kept my desire within me and remained a longing forever. The trainings I underwent propelled me to a higher plane in my career. That was great comfort anyway!

God closed the door but opened a window to Australia for me which was exactly fifteen years after that betrayal. I joined the board of a credit union after my retirement and the 2014 conference for World Council of Credit Unions in Gold Coast, Australia was my passport. When my visa was approved it was not euphoria that I felt but a calm and dignified feeling of another travel as I have travelled to some Asian countries and Europe years before this. So the journey began!

After nine hours flight from Singapore the plane hovered above the land down under and the pilot announced “cabin crew, prepare for landing!” Is this for real  or a nightmare? I answered my own query with the spirit of doubting Thomas.

Half believing, I joined the queue at the Gold Coast Exhibition and Convention  Center, brushing elbows with Aussies, Americans, Africans, Asians and other delegates from 49 countries worldwide to claim my  passport to the convention.

The Australian hosts who to me looked more Irish were so friendly, charming and pretty  ladies, smart and gentle  men.

I was jolted from my stupor when at the opening night, the song "Australia  let us rejoice" was sung. When the note struck the highest on “Advance Australia Fair” I was convinced, I realized my dream. The appearance of an Aussie cowboy who sang “Waltzing Matilda” with concise presentation of the history of the song nailed me to my realization. I went out to see  what was described in their beautiful song.

Home girt  by the sea!

The group assembled the following day at Kurraw park just as the sun was peeping above the horizon by the sea for a “fun run” as one activity of the conference. The long stretch of white beach which looked like part of a girl’s full balloon skirt with the blue sea as its wide girt or belt was so impressive. The  wide hem of the skirt which was actually the land were tall buildings which stood proudly in Gold Coast  dubbed as the surfers paradise.  

We have much land to share...

A friend of mine who worked in Brisbane offered to tour us to that city where business was in flourish. We experienced the ride in the tram to the bus station and took the bus to the train station. The train brought us to Brisbane and a friend’s car drove us to Mitchelton and Stafford heights. Before we reached those places we drove uphill to Mt. Coot Tha at sundown. I viewed the  inhabited place as signalled by the glow of  lights and perceived a long stretch of land which was dark as a wide unoccupied territory! We stayed overnight in a calm and peaceful nook in Stafford. I learned that Brisbane was the most populous city. But during the day, people didn’t pour out of the city  streets as  what I saw in other Asian cities. More room in Australia for hard workers.

Advance Australia fair

At four thirty after the day’s session we went out for some last minute shopping. To our dismay most shops closed at five in the afternoon and would open at nine the next day on time for the opening of our day’s session too. We have to content ourselves with just walking around the place in the evening   passing by bars and cafes, and we observed that these people have enough time to entertain themselves. The bars and coffee shops looked like a conference venue because of the presence of people in their formal suit as  they talked, laughed and enjoy each others company! The systematic approach to their work during the day enabled them to wind up freely in the evenings.

Unemployed citizens were given monthly benefits by the government as what I learned from my friend who have long stayed in Australia as patterned from the practice of the United Kingdom. It has advanced greatly from the time the toilers developed the land out of nothing. Now a beautiful place where there is enough food and opportunity for everyone.

I did not regret I visited Australia late in my life. Instead  the experience hit a spiritual note for me to ponder. If one has a strong faith in God’s proper timing, our desire would cease to be a dream!

Memories That Linger

Jim Reeves, the gospel singer, described memories as precious in his song:

                              Precious Memories, how they linger 

                              How they ever flood my soul,

                              In the stillness of the midnight

                              Precious memories come home!

Vignettes of the life of my brother kept on unfolding before me especially when I read his lovely daughter Joan’s fond remembrances of him.

L - College days at the University of Mindano / R - On our trip to MVC

My brother and I grew up together. He was two years my senior. I was the eldest girl with three elder brothers in a row where Ed was the third. I was next to him. My brother never hurt me physically but we always argued, maybe because of our different roles in the family. He was fun loving and playful while I was house bound and work oriented. What with five younger siblings to look after. Later I was made to believe that work was also play while for him play was play and fun was no formality. There was the rub!

Finally we agreed on one thing. I was ten, he was twelve when we migrated to Mindanao. My father organized a church and he needed new set of singers. The lot fell on us. We both have alto voices but we agreed that I sang the soprano while he sang the alto. Our voices blended perfectly well if our minds met.  

We became classmates in high school. He was one of the male trios who sang in our convocations, “Once there were Greenfields“, as their favorite song. Teenage girls swoon over them but their crush was our young English teacher whom they often visited. Until we reached college, he was still a member of a quartet.

My brother was an artist, I was into other arts. No wonder our temperaments always clashed. We have common friends in our younger days and the same experiences of difficult times kept on coming back until we each have our families. He said it would never happen to his family.

We always had misunderstandings but it was easy for us to make amends. When he met the girl of his dream, I was the first to know it, since he came to the house and informed me of his plans. Our children became very close friends. They were like brothers and sisters too.

Months before they left for America I stayed with him and the girls. He talked of his fears and insecurities and his most happy moments when he was young. Then we cooked the favorite recipe of my mother which was nothing but simple vegetable. He was fanning himself because it was so hot and exclaimed, “oh, If I could go to the states to follow my wife, I would never return to this place!” He made good his promise. He never did return home since then! He met his fate in a foreign land. 

His lovely daughter Joan Corneta wrote on memories of him.

My dad Ed Corneta was not only my protector, my provider, and my guide but also my friend. One of the memories that forever linger in my heart was the sacrifices he made to take care of his family. His devotion to us when he retired is so valuable to me. He showed me how to love my own family unconditionally and to take care of them to the fullest.

My fondest memory of him was our conversations about everything under the sun; from school, religion, politics, and current events to my crushes. During my college years, our subjects of conversations grew deeper. It was more about life, death and changes as we anticipate our big move to Chicago. There were nights that we shared a drink or two and sang the karaoke without the microphone since we didn't want to disturb our neighbors. One of the songs he always sang was the, "Impossible Dream," from the musical play "Man of La Mancha". As I played that song in my head over and over again like dad used to sing it, I know in my heart that nothing is impossible in this world to achieve. Dad taught me to believe in myself and to always be strong. I may be a cry baby but deep inside I am as strong as steel because of his love and guidance. The entire song tells the life of my dad.

He always told me, "We only pass this world but once. And time is fast running out." I carry these words in my heart every day. It's a reminder that keeps me moving on and living life to the fullest.

Joan and her Dad in Chicago

A Poignant Story of a Lost Love

I lost my sister-in-law just two weeks ago. She was a part of our life since she married our eldest sibling in the family. I felt how my brother and the children  went through after the loss. I planned to publish my eulogy on this blog but  prudence dictated it’s too late praising a dead person. So I put aside my literary skill for sometime.

When I opened my Facebook page, I saw selected pictures from the just concluded event, but I was attracted to a post by my nephew who seldom use this technology as he was busy with his ever growing business. The picture was  so dramatic and meaningful as the shades of color were in contrast yet unified in effect. Who did the shot? I asked. “I did Auntie”, was the bashful reply. Of all the many pictures posted, this has caught my attention. I started to write about the scene but I suspected there was a story behind these all. I texted the youngest child, the one  cradling a phone close to her ears in the picture and she told me that even if she was attending the graduation ceremony of her daughter, she was going through pictures of her mother in her iPad and how she was in a hurry to go home to visit her grave. My eyes were blurred with tears and I lost all words to describe her  feelings so I stopped writing and did something else.

Three days after, the eldest child, the one lighting the candles in the picture  told me the story behind the shot. She was telling it over the phone miles away and I just imagined the physical distance but the emotional closeness was evident between us. She was leaving for Canada the day after the picture was taken. My brother told her that he was going to visit th e grave of their mom. She and her sister won’t allow him to go since it was getting dark and he was prone to danger because of his unsteady steps due to a stroke. He was insistent, so the children accompanied him to the Divine Heritage cemetery.

There he bared the story of a beautiful dream  and told the children that their mother was  now in heaven.

He narrated that while he was fast asleep alone in his room he saw a bright light  and his wife  appeared in a white flowing dress as though floating on a  white foamy cloud. He saw my father who died fifteen years ago now dressed in white and heard him excitedly say, “Rachel (my  sister-in-law’s name) so, you are here!” She replied, “yes Papa”. Just then, the minister who officiated their wedding forty nine years and two months ago, the old time friend of my father  also came out in white apparel and greeted my sister-in-law. “Rachel, You are   also here!”, “Yes. Pastor!”. The three of them just walked in and out of the room without even acknowledging the presence of my brother. My brother felt dejected and out of  place as not one of those whom he loved and respected ever knew his presence and how he wanted to be a part of  that  meeting.

The pinkish light of the sunset was invaded by darkness arrogantly displaying a monochromatic effect, then there would be one color – black. The candles were lighted and the place grew bright. Darkness, ”where is your sting?”, but that was only temporary. Soon the sun would completely disappear and the candles‘ light would no longer glow. My brother was aware of the changing colors of his surroundings, surely he has not reached the realm where his wife now belonged. How could they have met? He was still with his children and siblings  who supported him in his grief.

He must have been reflecting on their love together. My brother was not so demonstrative of his love nor of his grief that  he could laugh and make funny remarks during the wake. Many said he welcomed the loss of his wife. But why did one of his children saw him cry before the coffin of their mother in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep? Was that not love? Did he not grieve over the loss of that love? Did everyone see what was in his heart, knew his feelings, fathomed his emotions?

When the Shah of Jehan built  a white marble mausoleum, Taj Mahal for the tomb of his most beloved Persian wife Mumtaz Mahal, writers described it as a monument of an eternal love. It took twelve years for thousands of artisans and craftsmen to build it. It has become one of the wonders of the world. Would love be demonstrated in a display of wealth? How about those artisans and craftsmen who sacrificed in their labor? Did they not love because they cannot offer such grandeur? Love may not always be demonstrated in our own terms.

Love is in the heart. It is not shown in material things, not interpreted by beholders. My brother has loved and others may not see it. But he longed to be in that meeting of people whom he loved.

Would I meet  them there too, when I reached  that realm?

WHEN THE FOUR GENERATIONS MET

The past is  not so distant...the present is an assurance...the future albeit a dream is hope fulfilled 

...when the  generations meet.

My mom’s family was closely knitted. Her siblings were my parents too. My mom must have been the apple of their eyes because her family took care of  all her children. Their home served as our home and ours was theirs too. It is said that home is the “place where we are loved the best but grumbled the most”. I only experienced the first condition but never the latter with my auntie Prina who was seventeen years my senior. Now the only survivor of my mom’s seven siblings. She is  85 years old.

...the past is not so distant

It  was a luxury to send a child to college in the fifties but my aunt from a poor family was a “colegiala”, a spanish term for a college student. Every time she  would go to her boarding school she always dropped by the house to see if mother needed help. She would fix my hair, my things and send me off to my grade one class. I had a secret admiration for her. She was my role model because whatever she wore would always fit her to a T. One of the best dressed women of her time, my aunt has a great influence on my grooming. I  was always  interested about her  that I never blinked an eyelash  every time grandma talked about her.

Who would ever thought that this prim and proper lady during the second world war survived the ordeal of hibernating for weeks inside a fox hole covered by twigs and leaves? At mealtime a faithful brother would just pull a rope to signal that food will be slowly dropped inside. Why? I asked. Because the Japs ran amuck when they knew they were about to be defeated by American soldiers that they vent their anger on poor Filipinos. So wherever they went they killed  poor farmers, raped the girls, made pregnant women’s belly as fulcrum for their seesaw, grabbed babies and threw them upward as their flaming bayonets waited for the babies’ descent. That was a horrible event that they hid my  teenage aunt inside that hole.

This experience made her strong, courageous and unruffled in the face of uncertainty. At that period, girls were not meant to do boys’ jobs but she did.  Once she was stung by a hungry bee, she followed with her gaze where the bee was going. Then she saw a beehive on top of the coconut tree where the bee entered. She cursed loudly, got dried twigs, lighted them and climbed the tree like a pro. The bees hurriedly left their beehive, not because of the fire  but because of my aunt’s wrath.

She finished her course through the support of my grandparents and a little help from mother too. Then she found her way to the capital city of the Philippines. I was in grade three when I started writing her letters as mother prodded me to do so. She was generous with her praises about my new found literary skill which made me think I was already so good that I wrote more.

Then she married a Colonel of the  American Army and they resided in the US. Our communication never stopped. She was still an understanding aunt who never forgot what my siblings and I needed. We always think of the good life she was enjoying as gleaned from her pictures that my siblings vowed to experience such life too. It was  that positivity in her which my siblings and I  were not aware had already been rooted in us.

...the present is an assurance

Generations pass like leaves  that fall from the tree. Each season new life blossoms and grows benefitting  from the strength and experience  of those who went before - Heide Swapp

My mother encouraged me not to give up on my studies whatever the odds. It seemed there was no other role model she could think of but her sister. My aunt’s  experiences  and her continued pieces of advice served as  guide  on my daily walk with life. With a very strong support from my parents and the spirituality they have impressed on me it seemed that what I aimed for had been so easy to reach.  There were many traits and ways in common with my aunt and I, my uncles told me that. I got her height, her poise and the husky  tone of voice. I utilized mine to  great  advantage and it added to a new dimension in my career.

I got married and raised  a family  but my aunt never  tired of communicating. Sometimes through my mom and oftentimes directly to me until the day my mother died.

Heirlooms we don’t have in our family but stories we got plenty - Rose Cherin 

This time  our topic shifted to my family especially my only girl  whom she knew was the pet of my mother among her grandchildren. She grew up to be a dainty and sweet lady and I always supplied my aunt with pictures of my daughter during the time facebook was not yet the “in” thing. She was so feminine and partly dependent that I never thought she would venture to places far from home.

But the strength of character from generations which has  slept within her  soon awakened and she was able to migrate her family to a European country to the delight of my aunt.

...the future  albeit a dream is hope  realized 

My dream of stepping on this historical land  of the United Kingdom was realized when my daughter  invited  her  father and me for a visit at the time she would be giving birth to a third child. We all expected that we would  have a girl in the family through my daughter. It was an amazingly exciting experience when my grandson  broke the news at midnight that his mom gave birth to a baby girl. We  went to the hospital early in the morning and found my daughter and the baby girl doing just fine. Cameras flashed right and left and in a second her pictures occupied the facebook page. My relatives and friends started to press like and a new face book celebrity was born!

This wee creature must have a magic of pulling her roots to visit her. My sister from Italy came, one from London followed but the most surprising visit of all was  that of my aunt from Florida who ably came with a relative to meet us. She told me, she never thought all her life I could travel that far. It was a nostalgic meeting. My daughter spread out a wide mattress in the living room  for everyone to sleep on for the night but instead we talked, laughed until the wee hours of the morning. My aunt said, this was how my grandmother and her relatives were doing while visiting when she was young and how she hated it because it disturbed her sleep.

As she excitedly hold my granddaughter I saw a mirage of my mom holding the baby. She called her Princess Caitlin, her little Irish girl who will be a princess someday. Her presence showed me how a long journey we have made and yet remained  unscathed  until the day we met. She celebrated her birthday with us and promised that if God would grant her another five years of a productive  life she would invite us to Florida, all expenses paid to celebrate her 90^th birthday.

My granddaughter is now assured with the help of God that the roots she came from would  see her through  all difficulties  as she makes  her own life under the sun. This was the prayer for this wee creature...when the four generations met.

10 Things I Learned from my Mother

(Guest Post - This article is written by the Blog Author's son)


They all say "Mother knows best", well here are my Mom's greatest hits...

1.) Vocabulary - part of my English vocabulary came from my Mom. I was too lazy to read books and refer to the dictionary back then since they were just too bulky and heavy and most of the time i did not really understand them. So every time i had homework i'd be, "Ma, what's the meaning of this?", "how do you pronounce this?", it was very convenient and she always had answers to everything in terms i would understand. I thought she was the absolute truth in the English language that time and i never really bothered to verify them up to this day, so whenever a native speaker would correct me, i'd say, "nope, nope, your wrong, that's not what my Mother said!".

2.) Public Speaking - if American Idol has a Public Speaking version then i would be that naive kid bursting with potential who always auditioned every season and my Mom would be the one hovering behind me during interviews. She trained me so hard in it as if the apocalypse in the future would be a battle of wits instead of mass destruction and this was her way of preparing me for survival. She would get me into Declamation parts in school programs, Oratorical bouts in our community and even Child Preaching contests at church. I did not memorize common pieces, i did not do "alms, alms give me a piece of bread...", I only did originals, written entirely by her. I memorized them in no time, delivered them convincingly, cried in a snap of a finger and roared if i needed to. I was that annoying little star child in the family who everyone pretended to like but deep inside you wanted to drop kick every time he opened his mouth.

3.) Style - I had worn plaids and paisley shirts before i could even pronounce them. I had rocked a pair of fuchsia and tangerine pants before i could spell them. That's how colorful my childhood was which was very odd for a kid growing up in a small town where nobody gave a damn on such things. I was the blank canvass of my Mom's creativity. She never bought us clothes most of the time since she made them herself. I think she probably dressed me in almost all themes conceivable, from the roaring 20's to the psychedelic 70's, the dapper colonial cool to the futuristic space suit, even as a caveman, she had everything down pat up to the last detail. Every time we went to the big city, she normally would not take us shopping for clothes, instead we went to those big textile shops filled with towering rolls of fabric, she would stay there for what seemed like forever and bought yards and yards of cloth, i would pass out in a corner and by the time i woke up, she's not yet done, she's Project Runway personified.

4.) Travel - I travelled a lot with my Mom back in the day, mostly to visit my grandfather who lived in another city. It was a kind of traveling where convenience was not a part of the journey, not even a destination. Underdeveloped roads paved with nothing but deafening screeching and halts, open-air busses stacked with people in various positions imaginable and a steady ventilation of dust and black smoke or puke if you get lucky, such simple joys of 3rd world travel in the 80's. Despite these circumstances, my Mom navigated through them like a pro especially the terminal scene; no ticket booth, no lounges and no lining up to get to the bus, commuters simply scrambled like rats toward the bus door, some would hang in there even if the bus was still in motion and would not let go until the bus stopped. What Ma usually did was to steer clear from the chaos and looked for an open window, dunked my brother in and instructed him to lie down on the bench and pretend to sleep, by that we were guaranteed a seat before we even got in. No wonder I eased through the backpacking scene without any issues or major adjustments, not even that life-changing eureka moment 1st world travelers usually had when they discovered a totally different world outside their comfort zones.

5.) Waking up Early - whether it is a school day, church day or laundry day there was no extended rest for us weary and sleep deprived, we were on a mandate to wake up early. It was a definite no no to let the sun shine on us in bed or we'd burn like Vampires from my Mom's wrath the moment she stormed inside our room and got us out of bed. She pushed us to lead an active lifestyle, get into sports and explore the outdoors instead of marinating on the couch at home which we usually did. Me and my brother had our first ego-bruising experience every time she would bring up her brothers as an example of a what a young guy should be, big, strong and functional as opposed to us being pale, frail and physically useless.

6.) Organic Food - before the Organic food movement became sensational mom was already on it. She was so devoted that we were placed on a very strict diet at a young age. Local fresh produce, less meat, more fruits and vegetables all sourced from our local farmer's market and by Farmer's Market it's not those hip markets we have in big cities today where produce is sold at ridiculously high prices, it's a market where the produce you buy comes with soil and sweat from the actual farmers selling them. It was a simple twisted time when fresh food was ultra cheap and processed ones were a luxury we can't afford thus they were banned at home; no colored powdered juice drinks, no canned goods, no hotdogs and no sugary snacks, basically all the good stuff. It felt like my birthday party every time i would have a small portion of corned beef or tender juicy hotdog or even a sip of Eight o'clock juice drink. Tonsillitis was very common among my siblings that time as we normally force-fed ourselves with all the sweets we can find before Ma got back home from work.

7.) Literature - most kids were cradled by the warmth of Disney's manufactured happy endings from the bed time stories they heard from their parents. Mine was a bit different, it was more of a cold feeling from the mystery, depression and even the macabre of Silas Marner, The Cask of Amontillado and The Pit and the Pendulum. I don't know why but this was my Mom's usual repertoire every time she tucked me to bed. I wasn't really scared nor traumatized nor did i turn into a cold-blooded psychopath since i never really understood what she was saying at that time and i was normally off to dreamland by the time she started with Shakespeare.

8.) Reading - we did not have local cable TV at home when i was growing up in the 80's since according to Ma, what we got on TV was second hand information, we have to read books instead. We'd be flooded with different kinds of books at home, some interesting, some not, especially the ones without pictures. Even though i showed interest in books early on, i was still itching for TV, i was so enamored with TV shows and TV ads that the first time i sat through a full TV programming at our neighbor's place, i was glued, shows after shows and ads in between, i watched them wide-eyed and speechless despite the blurry black and white reception. I stayed there the whole day and never left until i heard my mom shouting my name in the dead of night from our house next door. 

9.) Herbal Medicine - my mom is not a big fan of commercial medicine, for common colds and flu we don't normally go to the pharmacy which was ironic since we got tons of them in our town. The staple medical remedies at home were Eucalyptus tea, Carrot juice, Radish juice, "Kamonggay" juice, "Guyabano" juice, she likes  to juice anything, if she could take the juice out of her herbal books, she probably would have done so. She put us on a steam bath as well, not the posh one but the one where we were covered with a blanket while we crouched on top of a huge steaming pot filled with herbs, twigs and roots she gathered from some mystic mountains nearby, we're like a hippie family without the musicality. 

10.) Of course these are just a small fraction of the things i learned from her that i would NEVER change. There are way bigger and more important things i can't forget which i don't need to indicate here as they are the obvious reflection of the man i turned out to be today and words are not enough to express how grateful i am to have her as my Mother. 

WAITING for FATHER

A rustic simplicity of life and a sense of family togetherness are luxuries that most of the present families cannot afford.

The blazing rays of the summer sun, slowly fading in colorful hues were gently wafted beneath the horizon. The envious dusk seemed to pull the remaining light downwards so it could claim its throne. Out there in the field, the fowls chuckled as they followed the trail homeward. My teenage elder brothers saw to it that the farm animals were secured inside the respective fences. Soon the dusk triumph and darkness enveloped the place.

It’s worship time, but where is father? Mother heaved a sigh as she understood her children’s questioning look. She had that feeling of helplessness without my father around. Suppose he would come home without rice? She knew he did not have a single cent when he left home that day but somehow she was hopeful he could make another loan from his Chinese “suki”. He used to sell his produce to this businessman every harvest.

This happened in the 60’s in my hometown in South Cotabato, Philippines. There was massive rat infestation and locust plague all over the place and what the farmers saved for food could not see them through another harvest. The hardest blow fell on our family as there were fourteen mouths to feed.

I could still recall the day when a dark swarming cloud of locust headed toward our rice plant as the family was having lunch. We knew from experience that once the swarm landed on vegetation it would be a disaster. So we left our food on the table and all together rushed to the field.

My father and brothers waved the scarecrows up high, others made noises by beating cans, my sisters waved white diapers over their tiny heads while mother prayed so loud but her voice was drowned by the shouts and laughter of my younger siblings as they danced among the furrows. Slowly the dark cloud changed direction and spared our rice plants. Was our number a threat to the locusts? Mother was thrilled to see the black heads of her children bobbing up and down the field as they danced and giggled on their way back home. We raced back to our food with our dogs and cats who did not betray us during the battle. What a lovely sight!

That was a harvest ago and food supply has run out. Now this hilarious group was waiting for supper in sepulchral silence. Not even my eldest brother who used to tell endless tales and brought down the house with our guffaws spoke that moment. The second brother who initiated the building of our big bamboo house by the riverbank stayed mum in one corner. My sisters who teased the younger siblings to tears feigned sleep. They must be tired of tending the farm animals.

My thirteen-year-old brother sat at the foot of the stairs listening intently to the rustle of the leaves, a signal that someone was coming.

But it seemed nature has joined us in waiting. All around was stillness beyond compare. Not a breeze softly blew to stir the bougainvillea leaves that draped the window boxes around our dining room. The cascading foliage was as still as the cactus plants in tiny terra cotta pots which mother placed on every square of the wall divider. She loved her plants so dearly next to her family whom she was afraid would go to bed hungry that night.

I approached the table to adjust the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. The small siblings   sprawled on the shiny bamboo floor beside mother who was nursing the baby raised their heads to see if I placed something to eat on the table. In silence they accepted there was no food.

Just then my brother announced with glee,” Father is coming, I hear the leaves rustle!” His excitement died out when mother reprimanded him not to be so excited not until he made sure that father carried a bundle on his head. In a flash, he disappeared into the dark as he knew his way even if he closed his eyes. In a second I saw him coming out of the thick foliage of the corn plants carrying with him a bundle and the dark figure behind him was holding paper bags, which I was sure had some eatables for us. Father never failed to bring home something to eat if he went to town.

I made the fire, poured the rice on a clean big pot, felt the precious grains as I washed them thoroughly and started cooking. Everyone came to life. The small children were giggling as their sisters tickled them. The youngest child climbed on to my father’s lap and all of us sat on the floor facing him and listened to his experience of how he managed to get his cash advance despite the long queue of starving farmers. My father was a good storyteller who could inspire us that all was well. The aroma of the newly cooked rice and some fish for supper fueled that inspiration.

Our voices blended in a song of thanks during our worship hour and the waiting has ended in a beautiful note.