I had to write this so I will always remember. And it's not because I will soon forget, but because every single detail of what happened that night deserves to be written for the next generation. It may be a mere quarter of a day, but it will be one of the most meaningful 6 hours of my life.
After a joint fraternity-sorority activity at the College of Medicine yesterday night, I was still deciding whether to push through with my plans to visit the wake of former President Cory on her last night at the Manila Cathedral. The activity ended almost past 8 and I had worries about arriving late at home. I was told that there were no classes the next day for duty clerks anyway, but still, I only had very little idea how long will lining up for the public viewing take.
"Bakit ka ba pupunta sa burol? Sino ba siya sa iyo? (Why are you off to the wake? Who is she to you?)" These were questions that friends posed when I showed my keen interest to attend the last night of the wake. I simply told them that I felt it was a personal duty, a patriotic duty, to salute to this most cherished figure of Philippine democracy. My "patriotic" feelings were even questioned, almost insultingly at one point, but I carried on. I had to see Cory that night.
Childhood memories of watching Cory's speeches and appearances accompanied my conflicting thoughts, of whether to go or to retire for the night. Recalling images of her amid crowds of jubilant Filipinos after the victory of the People Power Revolution of 1986, and remembering the stories of my parents who actively flashed their Laban signs and joined the rest of that EDSA crowd were enough to steel my resolve. I knew my parents would want to see Cory, but this time, fate allowed me to carry out this obligation instead.
Yes, I felt it was an obligation. The freedoms we enjoy today, albeit abused and misused now; we owe it to her. I felt I had to give her one last salute. I wanted to thank her.
Carrying my bag rammed full of medical instruments, stash, books and empty forms, I joined the rest of the yellow-clad passengers who were riding on that jeepney in front of the Manila Central Post Office at Liwasan. The barker was shouting, "Yung kay Cory! Sakay na!" I wished I had worn a yellow shirt as well, but I just redid my yellow ribbon above my nameplate. Apparently, I was the only medical student in full all-white uniform on the way to Manila Cathedral.
"Hanggang anong oras po ba yung burol? (Uo to what time will the wake be?)" I asked one of the passengers. They had different answers. One said until 9pm, to which I panicked, for it was almost 8:15pm. Later, I heard that the viewing would be until 4am. I sighed in relief while I alighted the jeep and walked towards the Cathedral, with some elderly folk on their way as well. "Sabay ka na sa amin, (Come with us)" one of them invited me.
At that point, I noticed that Aduana Street had been barricaded. Booths in front of the Cathedral have been set up, many of them water stations. There was a freedom wall. Most of us were looking for the line for the public viewing, and found one line which looked just like that. I then joined the rest of the growing undirected crowd to the end of that line, whereupon someone in uniform told us that the real line is at the back of the Cathedral. I still had patience to walk and find the real line, despite the fact that I had not eaten dinner yet.
God had plans for me that night, I realized. Soon after walking with the rest of that redirected group of people, one of my friends in YFC, along with his dorm mates, greeted me. I was too happy to see someone with whom I can share this experience. I was already imagining how I could make this journey alone, and I thanked God for the friends He sent there to make the journey lighter.
Lighter indeed, for as I realized, the real line stretched the whole street adjacent to the Cathedral, winded down into more than 4 other streets, and ended at the section of the Wall fronting the other side of Intramuros. We were indeed facing a tough journey ahead. With free bags of Almond Kisses given out to those who came to see Cory that night, my friend Thor, his dorm mates and I made our way towards the end of the line. When we did see the end of the line, people were rushing to secure their places. We chose to secure our places with less rush and effort. We'll need more energy, I thought.
The line did not advance right away, for just as I and my friends met, the 8pm Mass for Cory was being held, and I figured dignitaries were being ushered out before the wake was to be opened for public viewing. As such, it seemed the wait was to be forever. We decided to pray the Rosary. Only then did we realize the line advancing. But more miracles, so to speak, were bound to happen.
"Yung pilotong may dala-dalang bomba noon, ihuhulog niya sana sa mga taong nasa EDSA, andun kaming lahat nagdadasal, mayaman man o mahirap, nung nakita niya kaming lahat, umatras siya, (A pilot who carried bombs on his plane was ordered to drop them on the EDSA crowd, we were all there praying, rich or poor, and when he saw all of us there, he retreated)" one of our companions at that line told us about what happened during that fateful event in 1986. She emphasized how much that event equalized Filipinos from all walks of life, and told her how proud she was that people of my generation were here at this line with her to experience a taste of being at EDSA in 1986. True enough, rich or poor were coming over, extending the already circuitous and much-congested line for the public viewing. People visibly without any means even to eat for that day were joining the march with people wearing jackets of Poveda, Ateneo and La Salle, and holding posh cameras and cellular phones. It was a touching sight.
The line again stopped, but the drizzle, already wetting the streets and rendering them slippery, became hard rain. We began to feel concerned. I had not brought my jacket, just an umbrella. I even consoled myself with the fact that my extra scrub suit could make for a fine replacement for my wet uniform when the weather becomes drier. Already wet and starting to shiver, four of us decided to get close together, lest the hard rain separate us amongst the already stressed crowd. I honestly did not know how worse can this situation become, until voices grew little by little. The Rosary was being said again. And this time, by more people.
We started praying again. The rain started to become more of a storm. A flood was slowly forming. Someone tripped into an open floodway, but thankfully was OK. People were rushing as the line advanced faster as expected, but with this heavy downpour. My clothes, my friends' clothes, everyone was wet. As we passed by the campus of Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila, the Rosary almost over, we still needed to boost our morale to continue on. Already, we have seen people leaving. But the majority, undaunted, continued to pray. My friends consoled themselves thinking that this is a way for us Filipinos to realize how much God has to purify us.
Things were getting better again, and the rain stopped, but the stage has been set for greater forms of expressing their love and faith in God, in Mary and in Cory. They began to sing, "We pray for our country, the land of our birth, we pray for our nations that peace be on earth," then afterwards being punctuated by the familiar refrain of Ave Maria. A repertoire of a whole songbook must have been sung by everyone in that part of the line that night, for not long after Ave Maria, we have been singing Mass songs, songs to Mary, and patriotic hymns: Bayan Ko, Pilipinas Kong Mahal and Ako ay Pilipino (My Country, My Love the Philippines, I Am A Filipino). It made me very proud to be Filipino, for this culture we are best known for - bayanihan - was readily seen and demonstrated that night.
We continued singing and took turns in starting songs. I was overwhelmed when there were times that I started to sing aloud when we felt we were running out of songs to sing, and the crowd supplying the next lines. We are indeed a nation of singers.
Before we knew it, the long line was being led into the Cathedral itself already. My friends and I were a bit nervous, and growing curious too, as to how Tita Cory now looked like after that yearlong bout with colon cancer. When I saw her immensely emaciated, and virtually unrecognizable (I even asked myself if this still was Tita Cory), I was shocked. This shock later led me to realize, that being a future physician, I have a great responsibility in my hands. For leaders, even the heroes we idolize and strive to imitate, fall at the hands of death, in its different forms. And in Tita Cory's case, it was cancer.
I struggled to shake off my shock, which has almost become that of a haunting.
As we made our way out of the Cathedral, we then decided to eat, and give ourselves a pat in the back. It was already almost 4 AM, almost 6 hours after starting the long journey. We already saw Cory and paid our last respects to such a great symbol of that constant struggle for freedom.
But then, we noticed the Freedom Wall, and, wanting to somehow involve my whole family in the patriotic duty I have just accomplished, I then wrote with all heart,
"MARAMING SALAMAT PO PRES. CORY, WE LOVE YOU! Lopez Family (Jimmy, Babes, Jim, Tin, John, Thom, Jam)"
We then parted and went on to our separate ways, exhausted, but content, for we became witnesses to history, and surely, this will always be something we will never allow to forget.
0050
6 Aug 2009
Image credits: http://www.ellentordesillas.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/cory-aquino2.jpg
