Growing up, I've always been aware of him, but honestly never really thought much of what I knew. I have known the basic premise of his life, mostly his death, the fact that the first female president of the Philippines was his wife, that the very eloquent and spritely lady I've been seeing in funny movies with Rene Requiestas as a kid and later in various talk shows and other movies was his youngest daughter, and the fact that he was the face of the 500 Philippine peso bill. That last bit of trivia I learned and never forgot because I lost a quiz game at my old school. Why? Why a money question?! I never even had a 100 peso bill to myself even at Christmas! I hate you, bonus question!
I could've won!
Anyway, I digress.
The Hope in Hope
Something in me wants to tweet Kris Aquino and tell her how much I admire Ninoy, but I probably won't. Ninoy was from a time before mine, a man I did not know personally and with whom I really do not share acquaintance with at all. And I do not feel confident in my knowledge base. I never knew the man. I only knew of the man.
I don't know much about politics, and I don't really plan on pretending I do. I do understand it to a point, realize fully the messy and potentially dirty aspects of it, and I am not naive enough to say all politics equate to bad politics. But Ninoy's story really struck a chord in me. I genuinely admire the man. The little that I know feel to me like a significantly pertinent little.
I talked and heard of his assassination, I knew of the decades of Martial law. But there really is a difference in living it and hearing or knowing of it, isn't there? I feel that difference now. Like I have no right to any of this because I can only speculate about how painful a time the Martial Law Era must have been. I will never really know what it was like. I was not there. And that in itself is the real blessing though. A blessing I feel undeserving of in a way. It has become a kind of guilty appreciation. Guilty because he didn't even get to experience it but he sacrificed so much. The one man who deserved to have a taste of what he had been fighting for had none of it. And I grew up having all of the fruits of his sacrifice.
I feel so small, and yet so big. Big enough.
I could be the single vote to tip the scales of an election.
A mere mouse could be a friend to a soul in isolation, I could, too.
All my fears seem so fickle... So arbitrary to living.
Ninoy gave it his best and it sparked the flame that burned in people's hearts. Spare me the politics of it all. The bottom line for me, Ninoy gave me something nobody can take away. A sense of value. Even after he's been gone for, 26 years this month... He continues to foster hope. The younger generation seems indifferent now, at best. The dark times, though very real, has become mere textbook fodder. Some even consider it as propaganda. But the fact of the matter is, Ninoy was a hero. Well, at the very least, to me. If not for paving the way to this dictator-free life I live, for inspiring me to be a better person, for reminding me the value of the spirit and belief, and for teaching me to appreciate the things that I have.
No comments:
Post a Comment