Ruby: A Tale of Two Women

Dolor is a Spanish word which means pain, grief, or sorrow. Its plural form is dolores, and it is said that a woman bearing such a name is bound for many heartaches. Indeed, in the past week, that is pretty much the feeling or sentiment prevailing among the residents of Dolores, Eastern Samar. The cause for such overwhelming sorrow is another female name, Ruby.

It’s unfortunate that such a lovely and seemingly innocent name could cause this much grief to an entire rural community. The people of Dolores are hardly heard of, especially when it comes to controversial issues. At most, they are quiet but hardworking, typical of people living in the countryside where major political scandals can hardly be discussed given the more serious problem of where to get the next daily meal.

Yet, Ruby has found Dolores to be the perfect albeit unwilling target of her wrath which she has since unleashed in several other largely rural areas. Why she has done so remains unexplained and unacceptable especially for the people who were directly hit by her fury.

For many ungodly hours last week, Dolores and her inhabitants were beyond the reach of human help. The enterprising members of media though have found ways of getting through to them. This allowed the public to get a first-hand glimpse of the kind of destruction that one woman’s wrath can inflict on those who dare stand in her path.

These days, Dolores continues to grope through the pile of debris that Ruby has left for her.  Damage all across the town can easily reach hundreds of thousands even as the more painful process is dealing with the loss of innocent lives.

Ruby has already left, surprisingly showing significant weakness after dumping all her raging anger on the hapless Dolores. There is simply no place for sorrow during this most joyous season of the year; unfortunately, Ruby found it fitting for Dolores to live up to her name.

The Ghost of Bonifacio

Yesterday, the nation commemorated the 151^st birth anniversary of Katipunan founder Andres Bonifacio. As has always been the tradition, controversy reared its ugly head again as we pay tribute to one of the Philippines’ original heroes.

As the actual manner in which he died remains shrouded in mystery, still another issue has come out regarding Bonifacio. This time, his actual birth place is being debated upon. Many prominent and esteemed historians tell us that the Great Plebeian was born in Tondo, in a street that is now home to Tutuban Station. This is the reason a statue of Bonifacio was erected in the area.

Unfortunately, just like many other things about Bonifacio, this information about his birth place is turning out to be nothing but a big lie. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the government itself, courtesy of the National Historical Institute, now referred to as the National Historical Commission of the Philippines, has allowed itself to be part of this continued distortion of historical facts.

A recent news article that appeared in Inquirer.net entitled “Andres Bonifacio: A monument of lies”, showed that Binondo, and not Tondo, was the birthplace of the Katipunan founder. This fact is contained in “Andres Bonifacio y El Katipunan”, the first biography of Bonifacio written by Manuel Artigas which came out in 1911.

How and why this mistake was committed remains unexplained, but what is more troubling is the fact that prominent and respected figures were the ones who committed them. Even sadder is the fact that owning up to the mistake has not been made to date.

Should it come as a surprise then why a growing number of Filipinos have come to view national leaders as a bunch of 4)@$##u @$$313@@!!@!!!?

One reason why the Philippines remains a poor country is because we have yet to learn from history. The case of Marcos is a glowing example.

The adage “those who refuse to learn from the lessons of history are doomed to repeat it” might eventually hold true in our case….unless our leaders make the needed correction.

Family Distrust

The sense of family distrust is uncommon, but it does exist.

A few days ago, options for my cancer-stricken mother were discussed during a serious family meeting as the possibility of an operation was highly likely. An option that was considered is the possible sale of the ancestral home where the family is currently living in.

This was what my mother previously wanted, a desire which my sister-in-law communicated to me and my wife, saying the idea was good as there will be money to finance my mother’s possible operation. The remaining proceeds can then be equally divided between me and my brother as per the explanation of my sister-in-law; an idea that we nodded in agreement, but adding that the final decision remains with my mother. Little did I know that hiding behind this issue is family distrust.

A week before the meeting, my brother-in-law who flew in from the US along with my elder sister, suddenly asked me why I was seeking my share of the possible sale of the ancestral house, an act which I strongly denied doing. My mother asked me the same question the next day during a separate talk where I could sense an air of family distrust in her tone. Nevertheless, I denied the accusation, adding that it was my sister-in-law who opened the topic about proceeds from the possible sale.

During the meeting, which my sister requested, she asked me the same question. I and my wife stood by my original reply despite the air of family distrust hanging above my head. Ultimately, though, my sister-in-law admitted that she initially brought up the issue but clarified that it was innocent talk.

Despite the clarification, the meeting continued and soon became a family trial with me and my wife standing as the accused. Various actions that we were doing were brought up, with my sister pointing out that these were not benefitting our children. I will not go into the details of these supposedly non-beneficial actions; suffice to say that ever since I was a kid, there has always been this awkward family distrust towards me.

The problem with my family is that ever since I can remember, I was hardly listened to. Given my physical condition (I was a polio victim), they have this preconceived notion that my views were not worth considering or at most filled with flaws.

As I grew up, I learned to keep things to myself and would often shut out any idea slowly developing in my mind. I have come to accept, with great disappointment, that no one in his right mind would ever look into its possible merits, assuming there was any.

It has often been said that when push comes to shove, you can always turn to your family. My family has proven to be different. I grew up in an environment where you are solely responsible for everything that you do. When problems crop up, you are expected to find the solution yourself.

Under this set-up, I have learned to be independent in many things, even in doing hard and difficult school assignments. Seldom do I ask for help from my family as I will only be turned away, saying ‘you’re a bright kid, solve it yourself’.

Unfortunately, this often comes at a price, because given my limitations, I often falter when attempting to accomplish something. Those are the times when my parents would come to learn of my failure and emphasize the fact that this should be expected from me. I guess that’s where this family distrust somehow developed.

I am now trying to raise a family of my own composed of a loving wife, three beautiful daughters, and an only begotten son. At times, I would see them, especially my two older daughters, trying hard to work on their assignments on their own, and memories of my painful childhood years would flash back in my mind. That’s when I would come near and help them out, telling them that they can always come to me if they need help in anything.

On a regular basis, I give them all a hug, giving them the assurance that I love and trust them. In doing so, I am hoping that family distrust will be non-existent in my family, and my kids, when they come of age, will not have to remember a difficult childhood where trust is hardly extended.