To The Tito I've Never Known: Musings and Stories on the National Day of Mourning

Today, over sandwiches and coffee, I talked with my Nanay for a bit about what it was like back then, and why she had so much fear towards Muslims. 

It started a few hours ago, when we watched a live broadcast of the necrological services on TV. Nanay, (actually my aunt, but she practically raised me, so I call her so) a frail-looking but still surprisingly strong woman of 60 years of age, had such strong reactions against the encounter but I couldn't help but ask myself why. She told me herself a few hours later over merienda that when she was a child, her brother was ambushed and kidnapped by Muslim raiders in the mountains. My Tito bebot, the Tito i had never known, never came back down since.

It's all the more heart-breaking as she recounts and goes into more detail: they moved to Cagayan from Dumingag in search of a better life. They left my Lolo behind to tend the animals and the house while her sisters and my Lola stayed for a bit at their uncle's house. My Tito Bebot (Nanay's and my father's brother) subbed in one of the logging companies because one of the workers fell ill. 

"Tatlong logging na truck ang sinunog nila." Nanay recounts as she begins chopping up carrots. "Ang uncle ko, 'yung tinitirhan namin, siya ang nag dri drive nung isang truck. Sabi ng mga nakabalik, patay daw kaagad ang driver kasi naglaban. Yung iba, kinuha nila at kinidnap sa bundok," she says while setting the carrots aside for later. She grabs the cabbage and starts methodically chopping again. "Ang tatay mo, yung kapatid ko, nag wiwild na noong madaling araw kasi nakainom siya at wala pang kapatid namin. 'Yang tatay mo kasi tahimik lang magalit yan, pero nagagalit talaga. May dala syang gaas at paakyat na ng bundok. Iyak ako ng iyak - sabi ko sa kanya alalahanin nya si mama, kasi dalawang anak pa ang mawawala sa kanya." 

She recounts that she ran after my father in the wee hours of the morning and grabbed him tight. In my mind's eye, I see them as adults, the way i've always known them, but I know that is not the case. I begin picturing them as the youth they probably were, running through dirt roads, possibly barefoot. The one in the lead holds a canister of gas, the one trailing behind calling his name. I think of my father, a tight-lipped man in his 50s, running uphill to impart the inferno in his soul to the mountain.

But what can I do? I shiver in my seat and stir my coffee some more, feeling useless. 

"Humingi sila (ang mga Muslim) ng ransom na 3000 pesos. Nakaipon kami ng 2000, kakahingi sa mga iba pa naming mga kamag-anak, doon sa logging company, pati na rin sa mga madre na kakilala namin, pero naka-2000 lang kami." They gave them between 8 AM to 3 PM to get it all. They failed to get 1000 more, and snap. Just like that, lives were lost. 

She adds, "Sobrang hindi kami makakain pagkatapos noon; masyado kaming nalungkot. Ang mama ko iyak ng iyak. Hindi naman mapakali tatay ko (my lolo stayed at their ancestral house to tend the animals while they were at the city) kasi pakiramdam raw niya may nangyari. Sabi nya, hindi raw siya makatulog, at parang may humihila sa kanya."

"Lumuwas sya at hinanap nya kami - wala pa kasing selpon noon, kaya hindi nya kami nakita kaagad. Nakarating siya alas tres ng hapon, nakita nya lang kami mag aalas diyes na ng gabi."

"Naka dungaw ako sa labas ng bintana noon, at inaalala ko ang kapatid ko ng makita kong may naglalakad na dalawang tao. Yung isa, babae. Yung isa, kamukha ng tatay ko - naka cap tapos parehas ng lakad. Saka lang ng tinuro nung babae yung bahay ng mamukhaan ko ang tatay ko; sumigaw ako tapos tumakbo para salubungin sya sa daan. Nagiiyakan kaming lahat sa kalsada. Sabi ng mama ko sa tatay ko: 'umiyak ka, umiyak ka!', kasi namumula sya at nahihirapang huminga." 

"Nung gabi na tapos tapos na kumain, sinusundan sundan ko lang sya kasi baka umakyat din ng bundok, tulad ng tatay mo, Daryl,' she recounts, glancing at me. "Nung patulog na, sabi ko 'akyat ka na tay, tulog na.' Ang sabi niya sa baba nalang daw sya matutulog. Doon ko na sya  nakitang umiyak." 

***

Watching the news an hour ago just makes me mad. Mad at the president who can't stop milking and glorifying his surname, mad at the VP who refuses flat-out to attend senate probe hearings, even at the mayor who actively supports an all-out war campaign, but most of all mad at the tremendous loss of life on both sides. War is simply the ugliest and the most abhorrent invention of man, and I hope now, more than ever, that we achieve peace.

But then again, I don't know. Hearing all of this just made me sad. I never knew that tito, but nanay says that he was the one who usually helped lolo with all the mechanic stuff. After he was gone, I suppose my father took up the hammer and did all of the jobs in his place. 

Speaking of, my father never talks about this. Nanay says because he's still hurting, and I believe that. It's been years, but they never even saw the body, nor the place where he was buried, if he was buried at all. This is the first time I'm hearing all of it in detail, and it just puts recent events into a weird shade. I'm still glad of the peace talks and everything, but quite frankly, I just hope the killing stops and this tito I've never even heard of until now would come in knocking through our front door. 

For now, I'll content myself by saying this: Tito I've never even met you, but know this please; you are still remembered and you are still loved. Goodbye, and I sincerely hope you are happy wherever you are.