10/31/2007

Dirty Finger

We trekked to the polls—husband, two sons, and siak (Ilocano term for “me”). I have a dirty finger to prove it.   

 
If you're unfamiliar with Philipine elections . . . after casting one's vote, the election officials pour a drop of indelible ink (which washes off after two weeks or so) onto your point finger to prevent multiple voting.

On election day such as this, I remember my father. He drummed into my and my siblings’ head that, “voting is our birthright as citizens of this country.”

Since voting runs in my blood, I might have passed it on to my children. Or they might have inherited it from my husband who believes that the primary duties of citizens are to pay their taxes and vote.

This election time, we voted in barangay (community) officials—the people who make our small community a safer and healthier place to live in.

For me, it was an exercise as important as presidential elections. We were electing the people we hobnob with every day. Just a phone call away, they will help solve our day-to-day problems (garbage, vandalism, robbery), and maintain our equanimity.

The windows of heaven poured down the blessings of heavy rainfall the night before. But on cue, the downpour stopped when the polls opened. Naturally, we walked on mud and sludge.

On our short drive home, we had dirty feet and dirty fingers. It was perfect. It was another day of grace.

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