After only about three months in my previous office, I had to travel to Samar with a well-respected Filipino journalist who used to write for Reader’s Digest. It was a good break on three counts: the person I’m with; my first time to see Samar; and my first visit to one of the organization’s most respected programs.
But all the excitement were quickly forgotten as my husband and I were on our way to the airport. I was crying my eyes out because it was also the first time I would be away from our son. He was only ten months old then. After taking care of him 24/7 for seven months, going back to work had been a guilt-ridden, painful experience. The husband kept on assuring me five days would be over fast and burned the lines to cheer me up. Still, I cried each night.
I could never thank my good fortune for having the opportunity to travel far and wide. Yet, I never got used to the loneliness of being away. I only got better in hiding my tears as I enter the airport. And in making sure I put cold compress on my puffy eyes in the mornings and do my work as though nothing bothered me the night before. I would describe myself as mildly sentimental but the anguish has been really due to the fact that I have become fully aware of the consequences of each moment of absence on the child and on the bond everybody has been building for the family.
Samar opened my eyes to all these. Admittedly, there is serious fun involved in traveling but serious work is also needed to get back on the groove of family life once again. The people we left are not on suspended animation waiting for us to press “play” when we return. All our lives evolve. While we are apart we could miss a chance of a lifetime. Or just a pixel which completes the family picture. Or which leaves it undone.
It did not help that Samar is mired in poverty. I have never been to a place where concrete structures can only be found in town centers. The long road trip from Tacloban, Leyte to Maqueda Bay in Western Samar was only punctuated by these and by little huts displaying a few bunches of bananas, hoping to attract the palate, or the pity, of travelers. Yes, we crossed the San Juanico Bridge which to my consternation was the only thing I knew about this area at that time, aside from the infamous family who could have made a lot more difference. Unbelievable. It used to be a source of pride for the nation, notwithstanding the many issues shadowing its stature, but there it was—as lonely as the whole landscape.
Or maybe it was the gloom I had in me. Even now, I could not be too sure which one fed the other. Lest I would be accused of painting such a sorry image, I believe Samar is one of the amazing places I had been to. In no small measure due to its rustic nature—however pillaged it has been—but mostly, this admiration springs from the resilience and creativity of its people. This is a subject deserving of a full entry so watch out.
After that fateful trip, I came home much more thankful of what I have. Cliché. This was one of those places where these words can truly mean what they mean.
Someday, I should be able to include photos of that trip in this blog.
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