Tweet Have you ever felt such deep emotions for a place that holds a big space in your heart that you could hardly breathe as you try to put down your feelings in writing? I have always been fond of my birthplace, my hometown, Zamboanga City, ever since I was young. I always sat down with our elders during reunions and intimate family gatherings just so that I can hear about the stories from old. I loved listening to my parents, relatives and their friends as they retold again and again their fond memories of the place they called their true home. I took their stories, plus what I have learned of its rich and colorful history and combined it with the little of what I remember and made them my own memories. You see, I did not grow up in Zamboanga City. A couple of months before I turned two (2) years old, my father transferred us, his family, to Manila to pursue a career that he had started to build in Zamboanga City. Ever since then, we lived in Quezon City, transferring from one rented place to another until finally, after a couple of decades later (give or take a few years), my father was able to provide us with our own house, our home away from our true home.
The first time I went back to visit Zamboanga for vacation was a year or so after we transferred to Manila. Being so young at that time, what I mostly remembered then were the fun times we spent playing with our cousins, or going to the beach or eating delicious seafood and fruits that were abundant in Zamboanga. The 2nd time I went back for a visit was ten (10) years after the first. By this time I was older and a bit more matured to take in more of what the city offered. I remember feeling envious of my cousins who lived there their whole lives. I told myself that I would persuade my parents to let me go home every summer after that so I can experience more of the city. But due to reasons not worth mentioning, I never went back, that is not until after almost two (2) decades. We went home to attend the wedding of one of my cousins. It was my shortest visit out of the three as we only stayed for a little more than a week, But what struck me most this time was that it was a lot smaller relative to what I remembered it to be and from what I heard in stories. Don't get me wrong. Zamboanga City is big. But if you measure it in travel time as you go from one place to another, the distance between places were a lot shorter than what I was used to here in Metro Manila. This only added to the growing affection I had for the city that I hardly knew personally. Almost all of what I held dear to me about the place came from the stories and old pictures that my parents and relatives treasured. This did not stop me from loving it more and more. I was, and still am, proud of my roots, my heritage. All this time, even when I lived most of my life here in Quezon City, I never forgot my native dialect. My parents made sure we never forgot Chavacano, a mixture of Spanish, Visaya, Tagalog, Subanen etc.
Now, Zamboanga City is under attack by rebels who aim to take freedom away from my fellow Zamboanguenos and to establish the city as part of a different republic. Hearing about these rebels who came in with show of force: shooting at civilians as well as soldiers protecting the city, burning down houses and establishments, snipers shooting at firemen as they try to put the fire out and holding hostages and using them as human shields, have riled me up so much that I could hardly breathe. I realize now that it was my anger that triggered my recent asthma attack. I can't sleep. thus I am still writing this until the wee hours of the morning. But what riles me the most is the way our government officials, both local (Zamboanga) and national, and even most of the media covering the crisis, are trying to downplay what is happening in Zamboanga City. They keep saying that the situation in the city is under control and everything is back to normal but the truth is they have not done anything that will end this crisis as peaceful and gentle as possible at the soonest possible time. For one reason or the other, the country's highest official has been quiet about this crisis, leaving it to his cabinet members and aides to try and control the situation. Today is the 5rh day, what is taking them so long to get this situation under control for real? What does it take for them to act immediately to end this senseless violence that is being inflicted upon my people, my fellow Zamboanguenos? I may not be physically affected as I am living all the way here in Metro Manila, but my heart is breaking as I see my hometown being destroyed and the inexplicable suffering that my people are going through. If only my health would allow me, I would be there to help my people, even if I have to put my life at risk. I want our future generations to have our beloved city in their care, rather than having it placed under the rule of undeserving people. Yes, they are my people for I hold them dear and very near to my heart, for they are as much part of the roots that I rightfully claim, being the proud daughter of my Zamboanga Hermosa.
Friday, September 13, 2013
An Open Letter to the President of the Republic of the Philippines, Benigno Aquino III Re: The Crisis in Zamboanga City
Tweet
Dear Mr. President,
I write to you today as I listen to news about my beloved hometown, Zamboanga City. I am Kathrina Abrera Libarnes, born to parents who both came from the City of Flowers. I was born there in 1973 but my family and I moved to Manila before I turned two (2) years old. I've spent 38 years here in Quezon City and with regret I have only gone back to Zamboanga City for vacation three times in all these years, each visit with more than a decade in between. But this does not lessen my love for the city where I was born and for the people in it. This is where my roots came from, with bloodlines stemming from 3 or 4 generations before mine. I even have granduncles, paternal side, who served in the government, both local and national. One was even an esteemed senator who served the country before my time. Thus, my ties cannot be easily broken even though I personally do not have memories of growing up there. I must admit that now, as my family and I listen or watch the news about the attack in specific areas of Zamboanga City, I would often turn to my Mom and ask her if she knew the place and if they where near the areas that I was familiar with or near the areas where we have relatives still living there.
I am aware that my hometown has undergone a lot of hardships from the time before I was born up to more recent times. If I remember correctly, just a few years back, armed men also caused panic in one of the villages, a bit far from the city's center. Insurgents have also tried to instill fear among our people by planting and blowing up bombs in key areas of the city. Not counting the invasion and colonization of other countries, this is the first time that a group of armed rebels attacked our city with the intention of "liberating" us from the Philippine government. One of their goals is to take over our city hall and raise their flag and make Zamboanga City part of Bangsa Moro Republic. Unless we have been duped by our government, hiding the fact that Mindanao has become Bangsa Moro Republic, I believe that we are still part of the Republic of the Philippines and that I am still Filipino and not a foreigner in a land where I have lived and pledged allegiance to all my life.
This is not about Christians vs Non-Christians or Catholic vs Muslims. Zamboanga has been, for the longest time, a place that has nurtured and celebrated the diversity of culture, beliefs and traditions of the different people that has called it their home. Throughout the years, Christians and Muslims have lived side by side, though with some personal spats and misunderstandings, and call each other brothers. This is about aggressors, fully armed and ready for battle, who has the intention of taking our freedom away. Others outside Zamboanga City may think that we are over-reacting, thinking that this is only a small group and that our government forces can quash this crisis easily. Then again, Mr. President, with that exact point, I counter and say, "Precisely, it is a small group but why then, after four (4) days (five by the time this open letter gets out) the situation is not yet contained and controlled?" How many more lives, civilians and soldiers/policemen alike, should be taken? How many more houses/establishments/livelihoods be destroyed before appropriate actions are implemented to stop this madness? If you are serious in nipping this in the bud, why send an insufficient number of half-starving, zombified due to lack of rest, with insufficient arms and gears, soldiers during the first few days? Why have we not heard from you directly, seeing only your cabinet members and aides? I do understand that you are delegating responsibilities and as you don't do the dirty works in most cases, but don't you know how much your people would like to hear assurance coming from you that you will not let our city be taken by force and be separated from the Philippines?
Ever since I was matured enough to think and speak for my own, there have been a number of issues that our country has caused discord in our ranks but I have never been more vocal in raising my own thoughts and views until four (4) days ago, when my hometown was attacked. I fervently pray to our Father in Heaven, through the intercession of his Son, Jesus Christ, and through our Mother, Mama Mary, to guide you and the rest of those involved in this situation to do the right thing by us. You have reiterated time and again that we are your bosses. We ask you to stand up and and take charge and be responsible for the safety of your people, and for bringing back peace and order to our beloved Zamboanga City.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Kathrina Abrera Libarnes
Dear Mr. President,
I write to you today as I listen to news about my beloved hometown, Zamboanga City. I am Kathrina Abrera Libarnes, born to parents who both came from the City of Flowers. I was born there in 1973 but my family and I moved to Manila before I turned two (2) years old. I've spent 38 years here in Quezon City and with regret I have only gone back to Zamboanga City for vacation three times in all these years, each visit with more than a decade in between. But this does not lessen my love for the city where I was born and for the people in it. This is where my roots came from, with bloodlines stemming from 3 or 4 generations before mine. I even have granduncles, paternal side, who served in the government, both local and national. One was even an esteemed senator who served the country before my time. Thus, my ties cannot be easily broken even though I personally do not have memories of growing up there. I must admit that now, as my family and I listen or watch the news about the attack in specific areas of Zamboanga City, I would often turn to my Mom and ask her if she knew the place and if they where near the areas that I was familiar with or near the areas where we have relatives still living there.
I am aware that my hometown has undergone a lot of hardships from the time before I was born up to more recent times. If I remember correctly, just a few years back, armed men also caused panic in one of the villages, a bit far from the city's center. Insurgents have also tried to instill fear among our people by planting and blowing up bombs in key areas of the city. Not counting the invasion and colonization of other countries, this is the first time that a group of armed rebels attacked our city with the intention of "liberating" us from the Philippine government. One of their goals is to take over our city hall and raise their flag and make Zamboanga City part of Bangsa Moro Republic. Unless we have been duped by our government, hiding the fact that Mindanao has become Bangsa Moro Republic, I believe that we are still part of the Republic of the Philippines and that I am still Filipino and not a foreigner in a land where I have lived and pledged allegiance to all my life.
This is not about Christians vs Non-Christians or Catholic vs Muslims. Zamboanga has been, for the longest time, a place that has nurtured and celebrated the diversity of culture, beliefs and traditions of the different people that has called it their home. Throughout the years, Christians and Muslims have lived side by side, though with some personal spats and misunderstandings, and call each other brothers. This is about aggressors, fully armed and ready for battle, who has the intention of taking our freedom away. Others outside Zamboanga City may think that we are over-reacting, thinking that this is only a small group and that our government forces can quash this crisis easily. Then again, Mr. President, with that exact point, I counter and say, "Precisely, it is a small group but why then, after four (4) days (five by the time this open letter gets out) the situation is not yet contained and controlled?" How many more lives, civilians and soldiers/policemen alike, should be taken? How many more houses/establishments/livelihoods be destroyed before appropriate actions are implemented to stop this madness? If you are serious in nipping this in the bud, why send an insufficient number of half-starving, zombified due to lack of rest, with insufficient arms and gears, soldiers during the first few days? Why have we not heard from you directly, seeing only your cabinet members and aides? I do understand that you are delegating responsibilities and as you don't do the dirty works in most cases, but don't you know how much your people would like to hear assurance coming from you that you will not let our city be taken by force and be separated from the Philippines?
Ever since I was matured enough to think and speak for my own, there have been a number of issues that our country has caused discord in our ranks but I have never been more vocal in raising my own thoughts and views until four (4) days ago, when my hometown was attacked. I fervently pray to our Father in Heaven, through the intercession of his Son, Jesus Christ, and through our Mother, Mama Mary, to guide you and the rest of those involved in this situation to do the right thing by us. You have reiterated time and again that we are your bosses. We ask you to stand up and and take charge and be responsible for the safety of your people, and for bringing back peace and order to our beloved Zamboanga City.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Kathrina Abrera Libarnes
Monday, March 25, 2013
a year has passed .......
(Note: I first wrote this a month after my father's death but it was too painful for me to finish it and it was left untouched in the draft box until today.)
A year ago today, my family and I, along with our closest relatives, took turns keeping vigil over my father, who was then fighting his final battle. A couple of days before this day, he went through several episodes wherein his blood pressure went down as low as 70/40 mmHg and his heart rate went up as high as 150 beats/minute. His temperature was up too at 40 degrees Celsius most of the time. We could feel the heat from his body every time we leaned in to kiss him or greet him hello or even just to hold his hands or feet. Doctors came in to give him medicines and titrated/regulated them until his vital signs returned to almost normal values. At first he could still respond, either verbally or by facial or hand gestures. But his responses became weaker and lesser as the hours and days passed by. By this time. we as a family prayed more often inside his hospital room. We said the rosary as a group or individually. We would quote psalms or short prayers as we whispered into his ears. For my part, I kept taking his hand and placing it over my head like he would normally do every time I lean against him during Sunday mass. Oh how we tried not to cry every time he showed signs of going, but of course we failed miserably. For days, it felt like he was was waiting for someone. When he was still able to, he kept looking at his watch as if counting the hours of that some one's arrival. At first we thought he was just waiting for my youngest brother, Josemaria, who was then hurrying his way home from the US. But still he kept checking his watch even when Josemaria was already here. Then, on March 25, 2012, a Sunday. which marked the Feast of Annunciation, my Dad, who had a very endearing devotion to Mama Mary, took his last breath at 6:44 pm, and his heart stopped beating at 7:01 pm. Finally, he went home.
His funeral lasted one week, as he instructed my older sister during one of her visits a month or so before his final hospitalization. Even during his last few days, after he told us that he wanted to "go home", he gave instructions like he would when we plan for parties or a get together with close relatives. A friend of mine even commented when she came to pay her respects that this was the only funeral she came to that had the feel of celebration in the air. Yes, this too my Dad planned for. He didn't want us to be sad when he left. He didn't even want us to wear black. He wanted us to celebrate his life and not mourn for his death.
In that one week, beloved relatives and friends came pouring in, a testimony of how much my Dad was loved by the people he encountered in his life time. It was heartwarming to see all the people who paid their last respect to the man that is my father. It was just recently when we: me, mom, my brother and sister-in-law, talked about the funeral procession and how long the line of cars was that followed us to the cemetery. As usual, we had tears in our eyes as we recounted our stories of that day. My Mom says that Dad planned everything in advance even before he knew of his sickness. He bought a family plot not far from our house, a mere 10-minute drive. So now it is easy for us to go visit him anytime we want to.
We still miss you a whole lot, Daddy. Not a day passes when we don't think of you. I find it impossible not to think of you when everything I do with my life has the mark of your influence. A year has passed since you went home but it feels like it was just yesterday when you were here with us. No matter what, you will always be number one in our hearts. Love you Dad!
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Ready? Aim ...... Fire!!!
It was my younger brother, Josemaria, who first discovered the promo last year via GROUPON. This year, I stumbled upon the promo when I visited their home page while looking around the net for something fun to do. It was unplanned as my friend and I went to P.B. Dionisio office yesterday, March 8, only to buy a voucher for the use of their shooting range. gun rental and basic instructions. But when we got there, we found out that their shooting range had an open schedule and we could go there that same day. And so we did, after buying two (2) vouchers good for 2. CLick PROMO.
Foregoing lunch, we went straight to the shooting range and used one of the two vouchers we bought from their office. Since we were the only ones there, the staff processed our voucher right away and we were inside one of their ranges in a matter of minutes. Our gun instructor brought our rented guns, caliber .45 for my friend and a 9mm for me, with 50 rounds each. I was so giddy with excitement (or maybe due to hunger, I don't know hehe) that I was trembling like a leaf, a giant leaf that is hahaha! He started giving out instructions on how to handle a pistol. As he was doing so, I suddenly had a flashback of my Dad, teaching me the same thing back when I was younger.
I was a bit of a tomboy back then that while the women of the clan were preparing food for our weekly weekend picnics, I was with the men, doing target practice. My Dad never discouraged me but he made sure I followed their instructions in how to handle pistols safely. I know I haven't mentioned him in a while but I recently realized that everything I have been doing lately were all influenced by him. His 1st death anniversary is in two (2) weeks but it seems like it was just last week when he helped shape me into who I am now. Being in the firing range yesterday, hearing the same words (almost the same anyway) of constant reminder on how to properly grip the pistol and the praises for hitting the mark, I felt his presence more in just one hour compared to the past couple of months. I terribly miss him, but doing stuff that was influenced by him helps in easing the ache.
Click me, in action for the video
Going back to my very recent shooting experience, the above video link and photo are proofs that I actually did it. In the video, you can hear the instructor (though very faint) say "NICE" and "HIT". My friend even blurted out in our native tongue: "she's even better than me!" The video also shows that I still haven't picked up my pacing, taking me 1.37 minutes to finish ten rounds. The instructor thought I was a newbie (though I did say while we were checking in that I was sort of a beginner since the last time I held and/or fired a gun was more than a decade ago) thus he was very impressed with the groupings that I made. He even pointed out as he handed me my board, that only 3 out of the 50 rounds landed outside the alpha zone and that most rounds made nice tight groupings inside the alpha zone. He even joked that most of my rounds missed the board and went through the big holes that I've made by hitting the same area a couple of times or so. The instructor also mentioned that if I were in a competition, I would have advanced to the next round. I was one proud gunslinger earlier, even teasing my friend as we compared boards.
We enjoyed so much that we plan to use the 2nd voucher next week. I am afraid that I have been bitten by another kind of shooting bug. 1st shooting bug has my dslr as choice of weapon. The 2nd one has the pistol as my choice of weapon. Anyone in need of a personal bodyguard? hahahaha
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Of Doors and Windows and Answered Prayers
When God closes the door on one thing, He leaves many windows open :) In my reflections this week I remembered this quote which says something like "God answers prayers in 3 ways: 1) He gives you exactly what you ask for, knowing that you deserve it. 2) It may take a while, but He gives you what you ask for at the right time, which teaches you patience and humility. 3) He doesn't give you what you ask for but instead He gives you something else, something that He knows is best for you." If we have little faith or if we are impatient (which most of us are) and numbers 2 or 3 happens, we often give up easily and we blame Him when things don't go the way we want them to.
In the last 3 weeks or so, I was bombarded with small problems, which grew bigger and bigger and bigger until it almost made me give up on something that I've invested my time, money, body and even my soul for the past couple of years. My health was getting compromised too and I did not want to be a burden to anybody, specially my family. The other night, after a heart to heart talk with my sister, brother-in-law, and my Mom, I prayed for a sign, something that would tell me that enough is enough. I asked my Dad's help too, as I would when he was still with us. The very next morning, I got one, or so I thought. I was both surprised and hurt. Surprised because it was so fast and hurt because it meant that I would be losing something that has meant so much to me since I started it. I said that my decision was final, but I was mistaken. It wasn't the end. It indeed was a sign, but not a sign for me to give up, but instead it was a wake up call. In just the 2 days that passed after getting the "sign", I was directed to research online for something that could help me get back on my feet again. I remember I did this before but I never got the result that I was looking for. But just after a few clicks, there it was.
And so, my dear friends, here I am again, starting over. No, not from scratch, since I have the foundation already, but starting over with a clean slate. The wake up call was for me to work things out and do everything the correct and right way. Although it feels like I was slapped on the wrist by my Dad, scolding me for letting things slide after he passed. But at the same time, I feel blessed and thankful that he is still there to guide me. Thus, I conclude that the DOOR to my problems is now closed, and the windows to better and brighter opportunities are now opening.
In the last 3 weeks or so, I was bombarded with small problems, which grew bigger and bigger and bigger until it almost made me give up on something that I've invested my time, money, body and even my soul for the past couple of years. My health was getting compromised too and I did not want to be a burden to anybody, specially my family. The other night, after a heart to heart talk with my sister, brother-in-law, and my Mom, I prayed for a sign, something that would tell me that enough is enough. I asked my Dad's help too, as I would when he was still with us. The very next morning, I got one, or so I thought. I was both surprised and hurt. Surprised because it was so fast and hurt because it meant that I would be losing something that has meant so much to me since I started it. I said that my decision was final, but I was mistaken. It wasn't the end. It indeed was a sign, but not a sign for me to give up, but instead it was a wake up call. In just the 2 days that passed after getting the "sign", I was directed to research online for something that could help me get back on my feet again. I remember I did this before but I never got the result that I was looking for. But just after a few clicks, there it was.
And so, my dear friends, here I am again, starting over. No, not from scratch, since I have the foundation already, but starting over with a clean slate. The wake up call was for me to work things out and do everything the correct and right way. Although it feels like I was slapped on the wrist by my Dad, scolding me for letting things slide after he passed. But at the same time, I feel blessed and thankful that he is still there to guide me. Thus, I conclude that the DOOR to my problems is now closed, and the windows to better and brighter opportunities are now opening.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
being the better person
I had wanted my first post after a hiatus from blogging for about 4 months or so, to be more positive. I was waiting for the right time, right reason, right topic. But what happened to me just an hour ago has pushed me to write again.
I lost my temper over an inconsiderate SOB of a driver (young and reckless of a fool) who cut me off on my blind side as I was driving towards the exit ramp of Trinoma's parking lot. I went down and confronted him (showed him the Hulktress that was in me) as I caught up to him at the toll gate. This I did in front of my mom (who was my passenger and who would have been the most injured one of us all had he hit us.) Do you know what riled me the most? His "what did i do?" face as he drove off like nothing happened. But what got me to calm down after several minutes of ranting while driving was my mom saying "What if he had a gun and shot you down, then what?" That made me want to sink into my seat from shame. Shame because I had permitted my very short temper get the best of me. Shame because anger made me forget the countless of times she and my dad kept reminding me after i got sick that I should learn to control my temper.
I remember posting a blog several years back in my Multiply account which my Dad was able to read, He confronted me about it soon after as we had our usual video conference. He reminded me of our "let 10 id**ts pass rule" wherein every time we encounter SOBs on the road, we should let 10 of them pass before we get angry. By the time 10 of them had crossed our path, we already forgot about the others. He actually taught me a lot, the rest I may blog about next time.
As I reflect on what happened earlier, this phrase came into mind: "be the better person." Dad said that a lot. He applied it to a lot of situations himself. He inculcated this into our being, leading us by example. I am human, thus I stumble. I stumbled tonight and I permitted my anger to break loose. I would like to commit to be the better person. I will keep it in mind all the time to help me become a better person. I will strive not to stumble again, but if I do, I am sure he will do something again to remind me.
I lost my temper over an inconsiderate SOB of a driver (young and reckless of a fool) who cut me off on my blind side as I was driving towards the exit ramp of Trinoma's parking lot. I went down and confronted him (showed him the Hulktress that was in me) as I caught up to him at the toll gate. This I did in front of my mom (who was my passenger and who would have been the most injured one of us all had he hit us.) Do you know what riled me the most? His "what did i do?" face as he drove off like nothing happened. But what got me to calm down after several minutes of ranting while driving was my mom saying "What if he had a gun and shot you down, then what?" That made me want to sink into my seat from shame. Shame because I had permitted my very short temper get the best of me. Shame because anger made me forget the countless of times she and my dad kept reminding me after i got sick that I should learn to control my temper.
I remember posting a blog several years back in my Multiply account which my Dad was able to read, He confronted me about it soon after as we had our usual video conference. He reminded me of our "let 10 id**ts pass rule" wherein every time we encounter SOBs on the road, we should let 10 of them pass before we get angry. By the time 10 of them had crossed our path, we already forgot about the others. He actually taught me a lot, the rest I may blog about next time.
As I reflect on what happened earlier, this phrase came into mind: "be the better person." Dad said that a lot. He applied it to a lot of situations himself. He inculcated this into our being, leading us by example. I am human, thus I stumble. I stumbled tonight and I permitted my anger to break loose. I would like to commit to be the better person. I will keep it in mind all the time to help me become a better person. I will strive not to stumble again, but if I do, I am sure he will do something again to remind me.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
My Most Favorite Childhood Song
K-K-K-KATY
K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You’re the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the c-c-c-cowshed,
I’ll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.
My Dad and his friends used to sing this song a lot when I was young. Back then I thought it was an original song that they made up just for me. When I grew older I learned that it was a campfire song that they used to sing as boy scouts.
My Dad used to sing this to me as a lullabye but it had a different effect on me. Even when I was already half-asleep, I would sing along with him and end up being wide-awake, singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs.
Last night, some of his friends from high school visited him. To our delight, he was awake and very lively as they chatted about the old days (stories we've heard countless of times every time they got together) and as they sang songs from their repertoire back when they were part of the glee club. For the first time, after all these years, I heard my Dad sing this song again. He was looking at me and gestured to me with his hand as he sang. I sang along with them and danced a bit until I felt the tears running down my cheeks. I did not want to turn away but I had to since I did not want him to see me cry.
How I wish I recorded that moment. Imagine, a video of him singing my most favorite childhood song. I now have my camera ready just in case his friends would visit and they sing that song again.
Sing this song for me again, Daddy. Sing it for me again.......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)