Ashes in the Bottle
Rodel Garcia Delera Anosa

I was three years old before when my mom left me. Sympathy then engulfed my solitary nights. I seemed to curse the world, but I have nothing to do only to admit the extreme reality. There were times, I wanted to blame the nurses of the hospital, but it’s too late. I have to blame God, but destiny whispered to me, never!

Crying of the baby then I always heard whom my mom left to us. When I was about to see tears fell down on her face, I very much pitied with her because at her age of a day old, she would never feel the tender and caress of a mom; she would never be fed through my mom’s breast, which would quench her hunger and thirst; hunger and thirst of love; and love of a real mother.

My sympathy to my sister caused to fall my tears of solace. We were both indeed in the midst of sorrow; sorrow that is full of emptiness. Our tears fell into the same valley that flowed slowly…slowly…slowly down the falls. With her, I have realized I was a true brother of her who would go along with her melancholy.

Four years later, my dad enrolled me in our village’s school as a grade one pupil. There I have experienced the true essence of life; the real brotherhood; the love of acceptance; the laughter of peers; the splendid nature surrounded our school; with dedicated teachers who really inspired me to be what I am now. I remember during the first day of our class, my teacher, who was so dear to me, asked me, “Froilan, when you grown up what do you want to be?” I confidently replied her, “I wanted to be a typical teacher like you.” “Why?” she asked. “I wanted to be a teacher of my fellows who cannot afford to go to school and to my younger sister,” as I answered her back with full of innocence. This was the thought that oftentimes played in my mind. As a matter of fact, during weekends, my sister and I used to play together along with our village shore where we used to write alphabet on the illuminating sand. There she wrote her name and read the alphabet ambitiously. There I also wrote my name as gargantuan as I am now.

My father was a respected lawyer in our village who voluntarily defended the rights of the less fortunate people. It is said by the folks that he was an epitome of an ideal public servant and a father. However, he became loner started when my mom died. He would just spend his time in our mini-library reading his dossiers. Although, my mom left him without saying farewell, he still rendered the true love of a father and a certain mother simultaneously. You know, he was in the court before when my mom ceded her life; that is why, they never both bade adieu to each other.

One day, I gradually opened the door of our mini-library, I saw him selfishly sleeping on his dogmatic table. I worried about him. It was increased when I have read a death-threat that warned him. So I became upset. “How can I evade my dad from this danger?” I asked myself fearfully. Confusion then caused me to cry. I wanted to take vengeance about it, but I was in the state of despondency. Helpless. I wanted to curse everything, but once again my social conscience whispered to me, never put justice on your hand!

“Oh, Froilan my dear son, why are you crying and shaking?” he asked me with full of worries showed on his face. “Dad, don’t leave me alone. Sheena also needs you. Dad, please, don’t leave us.” It was then the moment when my dad started to shed his tears and said, “Froilan, my dear son, I promise I will never leave you both. I love you so much. I also promised to your mom when she is still alive that I wouldn’t leave you whatever circumstances we would go along with.”
With this, I never regret to spend my holy days in the Church praying for my dad’s security. I never forgot to attend mass, then listening to the homily of the Priests; giving alms to the beggar who made me blessed and bliss. Prayer then was only my sword to fight evil people. Sometimes I blamed the world. For me, it is very unfair. “Why do people need to suffer from this predicament of life? Why is there neither a need to become influential nor an ordinary which basically the root of crises: crisis in spiritual dimension and crisis in material world?”

Now, out of my curiosity, I on the television and it was reported, “…the National Bureau of Investigation claimed that the person behind the death of the late Atty. Espinosa is the governor of....” The moment I heard this, I became speechless. Dumb. Numb. I couldn’t believe that a friend of my dad would betray him. It is true; friendship without faith and love is betrayal; friendship with sum of money is crime; and friendship in the government is dishonesty.

Before my dad had to take his breath impatiently, he told me that the reason why he has sent by a death-threat letter because he never did to follow what his bastard friend wanted him to do. According to my dad, the governor was very angry when he defended his client in the court against him. It was so happened that the case of his client was fairly decided by the court as of not guilty. Definitely, the governor could not accept the verdict that he would be imprisoned against the death of his political rival. Winning the position is still in the mainstream of a single fist and bullet. Winning the position is an account of one’s life. Fear is the cause of winning the position. Fairness always agonizes throughout the province, but it has never been heard by any of those politicians. The province clamors for prosperity as politicians has been always nailed on the wall; this would still remain as perspective. Dumb. Numb. Damn.

Ten years later, after my graduation in high school, my dad enrolled me in an exclusive school somewhere in Manila where I took up AB in International Rural Development and Creative and Critical Writing. There I met Professor Heirch, one of my well-known university teachers in Creative Writing. He is a journalist by profession and a businessman. Expectedly, during our first day of class, we introduced ourselves, thus, after the class adjourned, he approached me and asked, “Are you from Masbate, right? “Yap, as I replied him with enthusiasm. “Are you familiar with Atty. Espinosa?” “Yeah, very familiar with me, indeed he is my father,” as I proudly answered him. That night, he disclosed to me that he was my dad’s best friend when they were in high school in the province. He was also my favorite journalist, as a matter of fact, I have collected all of his articles published in the newspaper. When I was about to graduate in college, expectedly I brought home all my things. I orderly put some of my collected books and clippings on a separate shelf of our mini-library. When my dad entered the room, he fortunately attracted by the colorful and unique clippings of mine, which I forgot to keep on the shelf. By then, he was amazingly looking at the different articles. While he was flipping through the pages, he saw a distinctive portrait, and he observed it seriously. Suddenly, he called me up, “Froilan, please come here!” “Yes, dad!” “Who is in the portrait?” “Are you familiar with him?” “Yeah, he is one of my professors.” He seemed to speak but, “You and Professor are good friends?” as I intervened. He nodded as a sort of his affirmation. Amidst the flow of our conversation, dilemma showed on his face. Worried. Speechless. He was preoccupied.

Until finally, during our graduation, I haven’t noticed that Dad and Professor Heirch talked seriously for the legal change of my surname. When I would have to sit on my chair, my Dad introduced Professor Heirch to me, “Froilan, don’t be bothered whatever words I am going to tell you.” Deep of emptiness reflected on his face. I never had a doubt to ask him, “What’s the matter, Dad? Why are you crying? You must be very happy today because for sometimes you will see me on the stage.” This I hugged him as an expression of comfort. Professor Heirch was also carried away by the flow of our sympathetic emotions. Sheena was quite beside me. She looked up me and said, “Kuya, what’s going on? Why are you crying? Don’t cry, I am always at your side.” Still, my dad couldn’t control his tears to fall down. He seemed a child who was asking for comfort. He seemed unworthy. “Froilan, for twenty-four years, I considered myself as of guilty. Yet, I am doing this because I treasured you as my best friend and a loving son, but time does not wait. If chances would give me another life, I would remain as your real father. My dear son, I am very proud of your achievement. You proved to yourself that you are really strong and willed person. You did your best to show your love to our family even other people. Your mom has gone away. And you will let me live alone.” Again, shed of tears fell down on the same valley. “Dad, tell me, tell me, what’s wrong? Are you getting sick?” as I craved for his response. “You are the real son of Professor Heirch. Your mom was then the girlfriend of him before we become. You are three months in the womb of your mom when I met her.” After hearing his confession, I seemed to curse the world again. “Is this the life that God gave to me?” “Don’t say like that,” Professor Heirch consoled me. “Why did it happen?” as I asked him. “Froilan, I am very sorry. I want to fight for my love to your mom but I refused because both our family is against with us. But I really love her so much.” “You love her?” “Why did you do that to her?” “You are irresponsible!” “What kind of a father are you?” With this, he kneeled on the ground asking forgiveness from me. “Froilan, my son, forgive me. I admit what you’ve said. Yes, I am irresponsible. Indeed I feel guilty when I left you without even thinking how your mother suffers while bearing you in her womb. But, I cannot change the destiny anymore. This is my life. I want to change the world, but certainly it refuses to do so.”

For sometimes, the lady of the ceremony started to mention my name with pride and honor. “The person who is going to deliver a speech tonight is my former student in Writing Genres who also becomes so dear to me, ladies and gentlemen, Francis Froilan Espinosa, Suma Cum Laude! Let us give him a warm of applause!” The moment the lady of ceremony called my name, Dad and Professor Heirch congratulated me. Tears still keep on flowing on their smiling faces. And I never held too to have some tears of joy and amazement. This I began to step towards the stage together with my Dad, Professor Heirch, and Sheena. There I offered my plaque to them. This was in fact a dramatic moment when all the spectators sympathized by our thoughts and actions.
“Starting my mom had passed away, I never discouraged myself to give up amidst of the difficulties I have treaded on from my youngsters till to my matured existence. I become optimist behind the hardest challenges that the world reserves to me. However, this laurel would not be made possible without the undying inspiration of my dad, younger sister, and my dedicated professor especially…” When I have to mention the name of Professor Heirch, I cried as an expression of vengeance and rebellion. I couldn’t speak to the utmost of my desire because there was something in my throat that locked my vocal chord; but, my conscience bothered me, go on! “My friends, if you were in my shoes, how are you going to accept the fact that you are an illegitimate son for several years? Tonight, I am really confused either to refuse his forgiveness or to accept him as my real dad. However, this is my world, the world that is surrounded by fate and faith; fate because this is the life that the world has destined to us; faith because as we take our path, we must have faith that will always give us hope and strength in every single step of our journey. My admirable Professor, Mr. Heirch, I also owe this laurel to you. Thank you for giving me a chance to feel the comfort of a real father.” In the middle of my speech, I remembered my mom, who reminded me these words, “Life is meaningful and Everyday is a mystery. You will only realize this when you have already reached the mode of understanding.” I affirm with her. “Mama, wherever you are now, my love still flows and remains in my heart. I love you more than you love my Dad and Mr. Heirch who is now my lost old dad.”

Right after my graduation in college, the president of the State University of Masbate invited me to teach Literature and Creative Writing. I also served as the Moderator of the Publication. My craft in writing hailed me to become a national and international columnist at the same time an author of different books that specifically focused on the Political Arts and Literatures of Masbate.

Unfortunately, when my dad has passed away, my lost old dad Professor Heirch helped me to support my younger sister’s studies in tertiary. At last, she graduated also in an exclusive school in Manila where she finished BS Music and Dance then graduated as Magna Cum Laude. As of now, she is teaching Music in the University of the Philippines-Bicol Campus, College of Music and Dance, where she also published her book on Contemporary Bikolano Artists.
God is good and God is great. He never quit raising me in the green pasture where I lie on the meadow with splendid nature and mankind.

However, the death of my dad is still a mystery. Miserable. No matter how hard I transpired with my old lost professor and dad and my fellow journalists and media men, justice to my dad was only in the mind of every Masbateno. The justice for my dad is very ironical to the justice he rendered to his fortunate clients. Justice in the present epoch is still in the cemetery.
With these, spending sleepless nights, puffing several sticks of cigarette; almost of my articles remained as ashes in the bottle.

I am a butt of cigarette in a sealed bottle, dead!