Dreams

I woke up with the loudest horn I have ever heard in my life. I was running, behind me were Spanish
guardia civil shouting, “Pilibustero!” The scene was full of grass as tall as me, I was wearing tattered
clothes and there is a wound on my side. On my head is a farmer’s hat, a rattan woven hat that is
dilapidated. Inscribed are the letters KKK. I ducked on the wood in front of me, dodge a fiery bullet on
the left side of my head and returned fire to my enemies. But was shot on the back, it felt so painful, as I
lost my consciousness—the hat I wore flew by the rushing wind and fell down on the pile of grass.

It was just a dream. An alarm woke me up, today is a regular day. Working as a bank consultant, I will
wake up 7 am, take a bath and drink my morning coffee. Travelling in my Toyota Vios from Manila to
Makati, stupid drivers and pedestrians not knowing where to cross were one of the greatest frustrations
in life. I will always roll down my window and utter loud cussing words to the most stupid people. Of
course, they don’t complete my day, my work is full of money grabbing and greedy people. Asking us the
consultant to create policies and memorandums to increase the income and make stockholders happy.
Money really makes people crazy and for us consultants it is what gives us sustenance and luxury. As
dusk sets in, I went back home. No more party and having fun for me, I would rather stretch my body on
my bed linen and sleep.

I removed my clothes, say my evening prayers and close my eyes.

---- Then I was running.

Martial Law

Daylight find its way in the canopy of the sky. Nana as always prepares the morning food of the family. A
family of five, four boys and my Nana. Although we are not gifted by the Mighty One of a princess, He
really favored my father as he is glad that three boys will carry his name. My mother stretches her hand
reaching the sky, the subtle cracks of her bones signifies that she is ready to start her day. She put the
flour in the bowl, then eggs, salt, water, and yeast. Mixed it with our wooden spoon, and patiently waits
for the yeast to do her work. Then finally, put the lump of dough in our brick oven.

As she waits in the oven, she stars to brew the coffee. Kapeng Barako is my father’s favorite, he never
drinks instant coffee, because he believes that it is filled with chemicals. The morning newspaper is his
command to us every morning, my elder brother will always wait to Kuya Peping to pass our house.
Kuya Pepe is the town’s delivery guys. This is the normal lifestyle we had before we went back to the
province.

But this event, it is different.

Papa is a military man. As a typical member of the military, he has this signature tiger-look. He told us
that this is his only means of livelihood to support us other than being a farmer.

Nana woke me up, on the break of dawn. Usually, I will always wake up with the glorious smell of fresh
cooked pan de sal and sound of my father’s dismay on the paper. Last night, he talked with mother
regarding something and after, she never spoked with us. Father is working in the Philippine
Constabulary, a very proud military man, a man of integrity as his co-officer will always brag about him.
He is strict to us, he always tells us that “wala kang karapatan na sumagot sa amin ng Inay mo, and
karapatan mo lang ay sumunod (You don’t have the right to complain, your right is to follow us).”

My clothes were already folded, my favorite pillow was inside the rattan bag and my newly shined shoes
inside. Normally, the family will prepare a vacation a week’s time because of the tightness of the
family’s income. Frugality and thriftiness are vital values for us to survive, gladly we are proud Ilocanos
which are infamous for being “kuripot.” Father is wearing his soldier uniform, and outside waiting is the
army truck. Papa kissed Nana and told her that we should stay in the province until everything will be
back to normal in the city.

Father is talking with three men. Living in the barracks we knew how the marines work. They are always
stationed in Mindanao because there is were insurgents dwell. He told us that the rebels were
demanding a separation from the Republic and luckily he was a PC and not them. Mother always have a
peace of mind that Papa will not be called to war.

But this is different, the battle-tested soldiers are talking to Papa. Usually, he will not look worried, but
this time his eye lose that tiger-look and his hands are holding his uniform tightly. He looked at us one
last time and hugged us tightly.

Three years, we last saw Papa. He never sent letters to us, but mother stood her ground to remain calm
and patient. From time to time, soldiers will go to our sitio but they never bear news regarding Papa.

Eventually, my Papa returned home but he never spoke to us what transpired to those years and never
read the daily newspaper and drank his Kapeng Barako again.