Here she was, peacefully retired, free from migraine and acid reflux, waking up any time of day or night, receiving her SSS pension, augmented by freebies from three sons, and doing the one thing she has always wanted to do if she had the time—writing.
Time she finally had.
No need to dress up, smudge eye shadows, blow-dry hair, meet with staff, evaluate output, and be nice, exceedingly nice.
Charmed, comfy life. Like peacefully waiting for her flight home in the departure lounge.
That was upended one day in October 2021, as the pandemic lulled. She rushed back to the ticket counter, changed her flight for a war zone, braved the air pockets, seized the seat of an adventurous youth.
That one day was when VP Leni announced her candidacy for the presidency, and the retiree is moi.
I refer to myself in the third person because I can’t slip back to where I was ensconced anymore. Not yet anyway.
That change-of-flight took me to a place I have never been before: a political campaign.
What pushed me?
HOPE. I had hoped that this country, which has been flogged fiercely by foul language, curses, EJK, arrogance, inefficiency (especially during the pandemic), and cover-ups of suspected anomalies (i.e. Pharmally), could morph into a good place, if led by honest and hard-working leaders who demonstrate good values.
PINK campaign it was called, because the team had an eight-pronged workable platform toward a rosy future.
I got reunited with old BFFs and met new pals as we worked harmoniously together, financing our own expenses, wearing different hats but heading toward one direction. It was exhilarating, but bloody.
In the workplace, not even the meanest meanies ever cursed or wished me dead.
“F%#! you, go home to China where you will be with murderers like Mao.”“I hope you get cancer and die! $%#@”“Madumb, the color of rose is red, not PINK.”Plus many more unmentionables.
Grace held me (us) up.
The result was even more bloody. The team that offered hope was assigned low numbers, a twisted plot that will never be unraveled.
And so I grieve. But this heartwarming art work by Tarantadong Kalbo unites those who stood up; it’s comforting. It is now my screen saver.
I am concerned, however, about the youth (my nieces and nephews included), whose love of country was ignited. Now with eyes wide open, they educated the uninformed, ran errands before, during, and after rallies, under the heat of the sun, often without meals.
Because their hope was dashed, will they still feel the same way about future elections? Will they still rise as they did for PINK?
As soon as I get back to the departure lounge, before my last boarding call for my flight home, my prayer would still be for the younger generation to keep that kindled light for our country burning, glowing in the dark.
“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” (Isaiah 60:1 NIV)
Photo credits: New York Times for the crowd shot; the rest were borrowed from the "Umingan for Leni" FB page
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