Cradle
March 1, 2020 "Kinsa imong gibisita Mam?" the Grab driver asks. Whose grave did you visit? "Akong Papa." "Unsa na ka dugay?" "20 years." "Aw dugay naman diay." So it has been quite a while. He said it in a manner that somehow tells me it is no longer as painful as it must have been before. The driver’s words stung. I wanted to him to take back his comment but remained silent as he proceeded to tell a story of how his own father had died many years ago as well. I responded politely and listened to him but my mind drifted elsewhere. I wept at my father's grave. "I forgive you. I miss you. I still see your face, still hear your voice." One continuous stream of thought flowed from the core of my being spilling out of my eyes. I hear the Grab driver’s own storytelling as if from a distance. Meanwhile I am unhinged by the barrage of emotions. A song plays from the car’s radio," Mutya ka Bale