Bonifacio and His Unfinished Revolution

This is slightly delayed, but about two weeks ago, November 30 to be exact, the Philippines commemorated the birth of the Great Plebeian, Andres Bonifacio. What struck me about this annual holiday is that it was hardly mentioned in the news. Yes, it was a holiday, which meant no work and no classes. Other than that though, hardly anyone remembered what the celebration was all about.

I know not too many people know about this, but the life and death of Bonifacio has always been shrouded in mystery. And for reasons only history knows, his heroism has consistently been chopped down to pieces as time passes by.

The youth of today is probably unaware that unlike Rizal, Aguinaldo, and other Filipino heroes, Bonifacio's remains are still unaccounted for, more than a hundred years after he was executed in the mountains of Cavite. His attempts at freeing our ancestors from Spanish cruelty were constantly belittled, and often allowed to be overshadowed by the many victories of General Aguinaldo during the heat of the revolution.

In countless commemorative acts, Bonifacio was often left in the dark. And even the few memorabilia that were supposedly made in remembrance of the Supremo were taken away from the man. Who could forget the original five-peso bill in the 70's which carried his picture, only to be rivaled by a similar note which had the image of Aguinaldo?

Then, by some stroke of mystery, Bonifacio's bill was stopped from circulation, leaving that of Aguinaldo's to have the field all by itself.

Then, the powers-that-be appeared to have realized the mistake and decided to produce five-peso coins bearing Bonifacio's image. But this did not last long, for Aguinaldo soon came into the picture again, coming up with his own five-peso coin.

Then in another stroke of feign genius, the Bonifacio-bearing five-peso coin vanished from monetary circulation, and Aguinaldo again crowned himself king of the coin kingdom.

In between, there was also a short-lived two-peso coin that supposedly carried the face of the Katipunan founder, but this too disappeared from circulation for unknown reasons.

Today, Bonifacio's face has to content itself to the much smaller ten-peso coin. Few people, however, could hardly recognize him. Not only is his image too small, Bonifacio has to share space with another local hero, the Sublime Paralytic, Apolinario Mabini.

It was said that Rizal's image was placed in the one-peso coin because our early officials wanted a national hero that everyone can afford to hold. It was also said to be the case with all the other Philippine coins, but with the obvious exception of Bonifacio whose memory and heroism seems to be undergoing continuous and systematic execution.

Some historians believe that Bonifacio continues to be slain up to this day. With all the things that I have seen, I could hardly disagree. Yes, there are monuments and statues that have been erected in various places honoring the Great Plebeian; yet, they can never hide the way he has been treated both then and now.

The next time you get to hold a ten-peso coin in your hand, stop awhile and try to look at the picture of this man whose personal revolution remains unfinished.

A Long Stretch of Road

Several years ago, during a job interview, I was asked a question that proved quite profound. The question was: if you were to describe your life in just one sentence, how will you describe it?


I never realy cared to remember the answer I gave to the interviewer. But, in the last few weeks, after going through a difficult and personal life experience, the question came back to my mind: if you are to describe your life in just one sentence, how will you describe it?

In a single sentence, I would say my life is a long stretch of road. And as I travel across this road, I get to meet people, many of whom I get to hurt; while others get to hurt me in return.

Getting to hurt people was never intentional on my part. In the same way, I know now that people who get to hurt me never do so deliberately.

Still, there was pain inflicted, and many times, this same pain can linger inside, causing haunting heartaches and even untold hatred, emotions that can lead you to feign a smile while tears flow unceasingly from the most fragile portion of your heart.

It is only in letting go of the pain and embracing forgiveness that you will find inner peace. Sadly, as I look back at the road behind me, I find that I have allowed the tears to continue swelling while seeing the road before me as only stacked with more uncertainties, and more of the same unpleasant experiences. That thought, I realized, has kept me from seeing the end of this road and I know that it will still take several more twists and turns before I see a change in the road patterns or even a crossroad.

One faint hope gives me a smile, though. The hope that at the end of this long stretch, I will find my Maker waiting for me with a smile on His divine lips, telling me I have done well, and that He is pleased to know that I am finally coming home.

Something for the Homeless People

Last night, as I was riding in a bus on my way home, I saw two homeless persons sitting on the sidewalk and staring blankly at God knows what. They look hungry and cold, as most homeless people do.

At about the same time, the bus TV (yes, it has one) was playing the video concert of British singer Phil Collins. He was performing the song 'Another Day in Paradise'.

Phil Collins composed and dedicated the song to all the homeless people all around the world.

Was it mere coincidence the song was playing when I saw those two homeless persons on the street that night?

We often think of them as unsightly, smelly, and at times dangerous people, which can be understandable. Yet, they are not really different from the rest of us. They are still breathing, living human beings, who, by some strange and perhaps wicked twist of fate, underwent one or two harrowing experience.

Who knows if what they went through and continue to go through will be the very same things that some or all of us may someday go through as well?

It's a bit far-fetched of course. But you have to admit that fate can be very cruel every now and then. With that in mind, how certain are we that we will not suffer the same fate as these homeless ones?

I'm supposed you're thinking now that I'm part of some non-government organization. No, I'm not, and just like those homeless people, I too have my own monsters that I have yet to deal with. Even if I wanted to, I could not really be of much help to them.

So what's the point of writing about them? I don't really know. Maybe it's just my own lilttle way of helping each one of us realize that homeless people do exist and they continue to grow. While life opportunities abound, very few are being presented to them, not even a small shelter to spend the night in. Maybe we can start from there as our initial assistance.

An excerpt from Phil Collin's song said it aptly: "...Sir, can you help me? It's cold and I've nowhere to sleep. Is there somewhere you can tell me?"

Business Day for the Dead

Yesterday, me, my wife and two daughters, along with my mother and my younger brother, visited my late father's grave. I'm not sure if this is done worldwide, but here where I live, it's called All Saints' Day/All Souls' Day, the time of the year when the locals troop to the cemetery to pay their annual respects to their loved ones who have gone on to the next life.

About four decades ago, this special day used to be observed solemnly. Silence was supposed to be a key element, with only the utterings of short prayers slicing through the stillness of the day.

Today, however, silence has become an absurdity when the locals celebrate All Saints' Day/All Souls' Day. In practically every cemetery, whether public or private, the sounds of laughter, of lively chats, of food being eaten, even of unplanned quarrels, could be heard. And the strange thing about all of these is that they all have become part and parcel of the celebration.

In every corner, there are stalls that sell almost every kind of food that you can think of, from biscuits to hotdogs. Even popular food chains have found cemeteries profitable business places during this time of the year.

All Saints' Day/All Souls' Day has ceased to become so. These days, I refer to it as Business Day for the Dead.

THE OGRE THAT NEVER DIES

The following is a paraphrasing of an old tale written by an anonymous writer and should particularly interest those who have plans of running for public office.

THE TALE OF THE OGRE THAT NEVER DIES

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a village that was tormented by a huge and ugly ogre. Everyday, the ugly ogre would go down to the village from his home in the mountain and take away the villagers' food and other belongings. Those who resist were either killed or swallowed alive.

Not a few people tried to come up with a plan to kill the ogre. Men of great strength and skills would go up the mountain to attempt to kill the beast. All of them would no longer return to tell of their story.

Still, the villagers refused to lose all hope. Two brothers, in fact, trained long and hard so that at the appropriate time, they would both go up the mountain and kill the ogre together.

Alas, when the time did come, the elder of the two brothers refused to take the younger one with him.

"You need to stay", he advised. "If ever I fail to return, you can train further and then go on and avenge my fall".

The young man did as he was told. Silently, he watched his older brother as he went up the mountain, uttering a short prayer that he will return the morning after.

But return the older brother did not. The entire village mourned his death, for he was considered strong and capable of defeating the ogre.

Yet, his death served to fuel the younger brother's resolve to kill the ogre. He continued his training, and in time, he became as strong and as skilled as his late brother.

When the time came, the younger brother went up the mountain. There, he came face to face with the mighty and ugly beast that was the ogre.

The two fought long and hard, with neither gaining a distinct upperhand.

Eventually, fatigue caught up with the ogre. With one strong blow, the young man was able to bring down his monstrous opponent.

He drew his sword one last time. As he was about to lunge his bladed weapon to the body of the beast, he saw the ogre's face changing to that of his older brother. Instinctively, he dropped his sword and came to his brother's aid.

"Well done, my brother," the ogre said in between gasps of air. "I can see that you have trained well."

"How did this happen?" the younger brother asked in disbelief. "Why...what.."

"You see, my brother," explained the ogre. "The true enemy is not the ogre who lives in the mountain, but the ogre who lives inside you."

"I don't understand..."

"Be strong... for now you are about to face your true enemy - yourself. The real test is not merely defeating the physical ogre, but defeating the temptations that will cause you to become the ogre that you have always hated."