It was the last week of classes at the University where I formerly taught and we were relaxing after lunch at the front canopy of the Arts and Letters Building. My co-teachers and I noticed three pairs of birds busy gathering twigs. The male and the female birds were helping each other construct their nests. One pair constructed their nest at the top of the fortune plant; the other two pairs selected the two cypress trees at the opposite ends of the entrance. My co-teachers and I stopped from our happy chat to momentarily follow our gaze at the birds who were flying to and fro; I reflected on the scene.
Three semesters ago, I came to the University full of hopes and dreams about a new career and a new place. I decided to teach after six years of doing research at UP Tacloban. I wanted a new environment to test other waters. It was a long needed change. When I came in June 2001, I only knew two former schoolmates who were also former members of a theater group in UP where I was still active. They are still teaching at the University.
I was excited with the prospect that I would be an anonymous to most people so I can move with ease without much concern that I would bump into my former acquaintances. Needless to say, I love the place. The campus is nestled between the sea, the mountains and the sky. The vegetation is lush; flowers bloom all year-round. The morning of my first day, the sweet smell of mangoes in bloom and the chirping of birds right outside my classroom window greeted me. I started weaving dreams about a new life, a good life.
After almost two years, the hopes and dreams that I nurtured did not bloom. I felt oppressed and used. I wanted to question the system, but I could not find my voice. I ask myself: should I bow my head or lose it? Then I came to a realization, its not going to be worth it. And I decided: I must leave.
The birds were starting a new home to start a new life with their families. Nature would provide them with their needs. They would protect each other from everybody that would endanger their existence.
I was like the birds when I was new in the place. I was building my nest, my new home. I was making a home in a strange place and I promised myself I would protect it from danger. My perseverance would provide for my needs.
Little by little, I built my nest. I furnished it with a few familiar things that I brought from my previous homes so I would not feel alienated and distant. I recreated my previous home until I felt I have already built a new one. I felt secured. I have new friends.
When a dream is shattered, it left only broken debris and it’s hard to piece them together again. Maybe, I also did not even attempt to piece them together. I have decided: I have to build a new home again, somewhere.
My moving out (again) did not sink-in with me until I was packing my things. The things that I put together have to be dismantled and packed. I asked: where am I going?
I went back to my former home base. It felt strange somehow to go back to a place that you have previously known. The sound, the sights, even the pace is new. I have to adjust again.
For two years, I lived a laid-back life; the pace was slow, the scene pastoral, slow, romantic, cinematic.
And then it dawned on me: I am jobless. I felt I was broken and I have nothing. All through those difficult times I reminded myself: I can start again from here. I remembered the last scene in Midea. Midea was asked after everything about him was destructed: “What is left?” Midea answered: “There is me.”
March 20, 2003.
Pawing, Palo, Leyte
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