Little boy no more

Last night, I noticed that my boy's voice cracked while giving instructions to his dad about a video game they were both crazy about. I really did not mind it when I again noticed that his voice is now a bit deeper than before. Then it dawned on me, "OMG! He is slowly turning into a man! My little boy no more!"

I stared at him, this big bundle of joy who used to be curled up under the baby blanket as I hummed a lullaby. He is taller than me now, after only 12 years (he's turning 13 on February 5). Still fascinated with cars but no longer the little toy ones he used to have several years back. It's now racing cars in video games. He no longer clings to my arms whenever he learns that I will go to the mall. He prefers to stay home and play basketball with his set of friends, thank you. I can no longer kiss him goodbye in front of his classmates. "Sa car lang, mama!"

I feel that I am slowly, slowly losing my boy to the adult world. I know  I still have around eight years before that  happens but I am beginning to feel the loneliness. Last night, I really hugged him tight. I had to. For tomorrow, he may prefer some other arms to hug him tight by then.

Cold January mornings

I don't think I will survive in the icy USA or any other part of the world where there is snow. I think I'm going to freeze there to death. 

This morning, I found it difficult to get my ass out of bed. Reason: I was freezing underneath two blankets and a comforter. And it was only 22 degrees outside. My son knocked twice to wake me up. The third time he was already starting to nag. "Mama, late na ako! Bumangon na nga kayo dyan!" Kayo meant me, Patricia and Andrea. That was 6:15. He was already ready for school by 5:45. I grudgingly got up, bringing the two other "women" with me. The two did not want to take a bath. "Mama, malamig..." Me, I lingered in the bathroom, conditioned my mind that it is Monday today and I should not be late for the office. Maybe I lingered long enough. I was midway bathing when I heard the car go vrooom-vrooom!!! I hoped my husband comes back for me. Thankfully, he did.

Haiti earthquake

My heart and my prayers go to the people of Haiti. With the magnitude 7 earthquake that hit their country yesterday, many of them lost their homes, their properties, their families, their lives.

The pictures all over the Net say more than the printed words of the news. Port-au-Prince, Haiti's capital, lie in ruins.  Thousands died and thousands more are feared death beneath the concrete structures that have collapsed as search and rescue workers pile dead bodies on top of another. Corpses are being pulled out from underneath the rubble. People cry out for help to be rescued. Survivors grieve over lost families and friends. Rescue workers frantically search for survivors. 

Vewing the pictures was very depressing. Mabigat sa dibdib. It's never easy to lose the things you worked for and the people you love. I can never approximate the grief that the survivors feel.

May God who created everything take in heaven all those who died from the tremor  and place them by His side. May no earthquake of this magnitude nor lesser strike again in any part of the Earth. May the people of the world be unselfish in helping the Haitians rebuild their nation and their lives.

Postscript to the Maguindanao massacre

A small portion of Maguindanao, just a stone’s throw away from where the boundary of Cotabato City and Maguindanao lies, was my childhood playground. I wasn’t born there but my family lived there for more than a decade. It was there where I played patintero, taguan and tumbang preso with the neighborhood children. With them, I climbed aratiles trees, caught dragonfllies and picked gumamela for Flores de Mayo. During summer, we would venture near the bank of Rio Grande where several mango trees bore sweet, golden yellow fruits which we would devour to our hearts content. I walked everyday, from our house to my school which was about a kilometer away. But it never was tiring. I had friends who walked with me and we endlessly talked about crushes and proms and projects as we crossed Quirino Bridge. We would go to church every Sunday and attend religious processions. I never got scared of bombs or kidnappers. At that time, the bombs were in the boondocks of North Cotabato. Not in Maguindanao. Not in Cotabato City. Not anywhere near I lived.

And so that morning when I awoke to the news of the Maguindanao massacre, I cried. I cried because I could not believe that the place so dear to me and which gave me many happy memories has become a killing field. I cried because I could not comprehend why people kill to ensure their hold to power. I cried because the victims were innocent people, unaware of the fate that awaited them when they joined that convoy to the Comelec.

Fifty-eight people, mostly women, died. Shot at close-range. Mercilessly killed. Raped. Shot again when they showed any sign of life. Buried in waiting graves.

I cannot imagine the panic and the terror that they felt from the moment they were accosted to that fateful second their unforgiving killers riddled their bodies with bullets, the anguish of their families, and of the children left motherless because their mama happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I hope that the victims will find justice, and I hope they find it fast.

I hope that the perpetrators and the masterminds will find it in their hearts to admit the crime and face the harshness of the law.

Most of all, I hope that peace will find its way once more to the rich and beautiful province of Maguindanao so that its children will once more be able to climb aratiles and mango trees, cross Quirino bridge and play around the neighborhood without fear of abduction and helplessly dying from high-powered guns of barbaric people.