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.       

   

     

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry”

Remember the film, Love Story of Erich Segal in the 70’s? 

Hey, those of you who belong to my age bracket :)

It is here where I got this title, immortalized through the years. I did not understand its meaning then. It really did not strike a note within me. Now the context was revived when a friend connected with me through Facebook - wonderful technology!

That was in the late sixties. I was a personal witness to the beginning of her love life. Then we parted. After 50 years we were communicating through Facebook. She told me of the great loss of that love. It seemed only yesterday as the cliché stated.

My friend’s name was Nelly. She was a year my senior. While I was in college a friend introduced her to me and we created a bond that of siblings.  In our simple ways, we used to stroll down the city streets during our free time, talking, giggling while a man behind us would silently follow. She introduced him to me as Vermie. She denied he was her boyfriend but one look at Vermie showed he was a subservient lover patiently longing for Nelly’s one sweet glance.  Nelly would insult him, said nasty remarks which were made out of fun and we both laughed. She had underestimated Vermie’s capabilities of being a husband, nevertheless they got married. I thought then true love was to insult someone as what I observed. I was innocent about it, since I was not seriously in love with someone at that moment.

They lived in Cebu with her husband’s family. She was pampered by her husband, she later said. Every time a marital conflict ensued which was often times caused by Nelly, Vermie would fall down his knees telling his wife, “I’m sorry”.  But there were times he would comment that life was unfair because he would always be sorry for the faults he had not made. Nelly would arrogantly reply, “Don’t expect me to tell you I’m sorry for my faults”.  After three children they migrated to Manila. From there, Vermie was lucky to apply for the US, a luxury of employment at that time.

He worked as a Certified Nurse assistant in the US until he became a green card holder. This means now, that he could petition her children to live with him but not his wife for one would be a US citizen first before he could invite his partner. He would regularly place a call to Nelly to talk about the problem but what he would get was scolding and nagging. That was already rooted in   his wife’s veins. Finally, came the advice of my friend to her husband. “Follow what everybody has been doing to petition their family. Get married to a US citizen so you could be one too”. Still a very subservient husband, Vermie followed   his wife’s advice.

Words spread in Nelly’s workplace that the couple was divorced and that Vermie traded Nelly for another woman. Members of her family were mad of the set up.  But Nelly stood as firm as a rock in her decision. She said this would be another test of Vermie’s sincerity and love to her.

Luckily President Reagan announced the Amnesty program. My friend’s husband used to be a shy, silent man but this time he gathered all courage he could borrow and face the immigration management. Some of his friends were afraid to come out for they were afraid the immigration would find out they were illegal workers in the country and they would be sent home without question. Vermie told his story honestly and when he was granted all documents to petition his family, he felt like a “cock with its first spur!”

He couldn’t wait for his flight back home and so could his family. On the day of his arrival in the Philippines, Nelly and her girls were all excited to meet the long absentee man at the airport. One by one passengers disembark and happily ran to the waiting arms of their loved ones. Nelly scrutinized the passengers, confident that anytime Vermie would emerge smiling. But the din of the throng of people inside the airport subsided and no trace of Vermie appeared. The nagging thoughts of my friend started to escalate and anytime all “hell would break loose.” They went home helpless, dejected and hopeless.

When the door of their house opened, who did you think they saw? Vermie who just entered that door was laughing excitedly hugging his brood one by one. The clouds of uncertainty were lifted for this family and finally a good life in the US was granted.  Most of Vermie’s co-workers were not able to petition their spouses but he did.

Travel to different parts of Uncle Sam’s country made life exciting and every day was a promise of hope for a better life. But Nelly’s treatment of her husband didn’t change; albeit  her husband  was still madly in love with her.

Vermie was hooked to playing Bingo. He did not mind the doctor’s warning that his sugar level was shooting up.  He was given medicine for his maintenance which he often took for granted. The day came when his diabetes couldn’t be controlled and the ending was the amputation of both legs. Nelly took care of him as a dutiful wife.

The church organized a program on reaffirmation of marriage vows. While Nelly was dressing up Vermie with his best suit for church the latter asked, what’s up? Nelly explained to him that there would be a program in church. Vermie was aware of the activity when Nelly marched beside him down the aisles with other couples while he sat on a wheel chair pushed by his granddaughter. On their seats, the husband asked the wife if the latter was not ashamed of him since he has no legs. The first kind words Nelly whispered to him was,” How could I be ashamed of the man who sacrificed his life so we could be here in the U.S.?”

The month after the reaffirmation of their marriage vows, Vermie died.  It was only then Nelly felt the whole heavens crushed down on her. It was only then she knew how much she loved him and regretted she had never said it.  For two years now she was mourning of the lost love.  She has never told Vermie she was sorry but deep inside her was a feeling of deep love. Why did that feeling of love gnawed inside her after Vermie was gone?

“There is a time in one’s life that one cannot understand physical pain when he is still in the robust of health; rejection when he is still powerful and in the company of friends; loneliness, when loving arms still surround him. For one cannot see the stars when the sun is brightly shining.”

This was what Nelly felt after the loss and even if she did not tell Vermie she was sorry, she knew deep inside her was a love that has made their union survived until its golden years.