Te - Balikbayan Magazine

“Someday, I tell them, you will read
about this day in your history books. I
want you to remember what it was
like rst hand.”
the presidency and vice-presidency, is suddenly heartened by the
walkout of 29 COMELEC computer technicians. I cry with joy
and clap my hands for those brave young men and women who
dare to defy the dictatorship.
It is February 23, 1986. I wake up to the call to go to EDSA to
defend Ramos and Enrile, who have defected from Marcos. My
husband is on business trip in Cebu—where incidentally Cory is,
safe in the company of the nuns. I want to go to EDSA but do not
have the means. I want to do something but I do not know what
or how. I walk to our parish church. It is not really that far, but it is
the rst time that I go there on foot, my head in a whirl, my heart
racing with excitement and fear.
Monday, February 24. My husband is back, and together we
go to St. Paul. It is practically a ghost town. Some parents have
not allowed their children to go to school or anywhere else. Other
students and teachers and Sisters have gone ahead to EDSA. We
decide to go. We cannot park anywhere near, for the sea of Filipino
humanity has grown in the past two days. We station ourselves
near the VV Soliven Building and are soon caught up in the spirit
of the crowd. It is a glorious feeling of oneness, of being truly
and simply Filipino under the skin, despite dierences in age and
stature and calling. I see renowned personalities mingling with
masses. I see our St. Paul Sisters; Fr. Horacio Rodriguez of Colegio
San Agustin and some grade school teachers; Esty Juco, fellow
teacher and tireless street parliamentarian, with her colleagues, like
Chino Roces and Rene Saguisag; a very young Gretchen Barretto
and her sisters and parents; and a host of fellow Filipinos.
I am proud to listen to the voice of June Keithley, and I remember
her as a high school student who was forever reading and who
must have imbibed the values of courage and patriotism partly
from her readings. Whenever someone on stage starts singing
“Bayan Ko” and asks the crowd to join, we all do, with hearts nearly
bursting with emotion. “Ibon mang may layang lumipad. Kulungin
mo at umiiyak. Bayan pa kayang sakdal dilag. Ang di magnasang
makaalpas,” voices breaking, tears streaming unashamedly, mainly
because almost everyone else was crying too.
Tuesday, February 25. We decide it is safe enough to bring
the children along. We also bring a radio to keep track of what
is going on. I realize it is not easy to handle three small kids and
a rather large radio in this situation; but I do not regret having
brought them. Someday, I tell them, you will read about this day in
your history books. I want you to remember what it was like rst
hand. ey rise to the challenge and behave their best, holding on
to either parent to avoid getting lost, straining to see Enrile and
Honasan. ey pass right in front of us, and we want to touch
them in gratitude but are awed by what they have achieved for the
country.
On our way home this evening, we hear the news of the Marcoses
leaving Malacañang. At home, on television, we see the crowds
climbing the walls of the Palace as if to reclaim it for the people.
e Nation has breathed a collective sigh of relief and whispered
a collective prayer of thanks. Later, the APO Hiking Society will
sing “Handog ng Pilipino sa mundo, Mapayapang paraang pagbabago.
Katotohanan, kalayaan, katarungan, Ay kayang makamit na walang
dahas. Basta’t magkaisa tayong lahat,” and again I am moved to tears.
Fast forward. I am watching a program in school and some
young teachers, having been assigned to depict the EDSA
revolution, are singing the same song, and I am near tears again.
But I look at the faces of the young teachers and I realize that the
song does not—cannot—mean to them what it meant to us.
It seems I have never cried as much for our country and our
people as I am now. At the same time, I have never felt such joy,
such love, such pride in being a Filipino.
balikbayan February – March 2012 49