My father’s big heart
I knew since childhood that my father has a big heart. Like any typical father, he has set aside his personal ‘wants and want-mores’ to provide for the needs of all seven of his children and his one and only life partner.
I remember how he would bring apples and pears to us when he arrives from work. It was a big deal then, since apples are considered foods for rich people only. We would hurriedly welcome him home and I would be the one tasked to remove his shoes from his tired smelly feet. I’d gladly do that, apples or no apples, if only to make him feel relaxed from his day’s work. He would usually come home with gifts for us, humble they may be. For a poor family like ours, every gift is worth more than a million comforts.
I was seven years old when my father opted to work abroad rather than stay as a clerk in a slumping corporate office in Pasig. The prospects of higher salary were just too tempting to pass. He had to leave home, his seven children, his loving wife. He had to leave for the money however painful it is for him.
Every year, he would religiously come home. It was like a hero’s visit which all of us anxiously wait for the whole year. His striking resemblance to Ramon Revilla (The Agimat Star) would often be the reaction of neighbors when he comes home wearing his sleek well-pressed slacks, striped polo, Rayban and brown attaché case. He also glows with tons of Saudi gold around his neck and fingers. Of course we are excited that Papa is back. But, what’s more exciting is what comes out from his Balikbayan Box. “May betamax kaya?”
The road from the airport to our barung-barong takes forever. While Mama takes her time to quench her longing for Papa by asking him endless questions about his work, what he eats, how often he sleeps, we would quietly speculate among ourselves, “Ano kaya ang pasalubong ni Papa?” I always wished to have branded rubber shoes so I can brag about them at school.
His box of goodies includes hundreds of office supplies – bond papers and pens. A pair of 1980’s Saudi-ish clothes, used carpets and blankets and, voila!, Betamax and mighty kid shoes. He would bring home gifts for relatives and friends, packs of L&M cigarettes and boxes of grand tobaccos. Also, only then did I realized that shoes and chocolates may be called by the same name, s-n-i-c-k-e-r-s. For a while, our house smelled like an airconditioned Saudi office. “Papa is home.”
As always, he would treat us to Max’s Restaurant in Greenbelt. We would eat our heart out and feast on the food we can only taste on a yearly basis, dine with people whom we can hardly identify ourselves with. I remember how Mama would wear her annual supply of that sweet poison perfume. While at home, he would bike around the neighborhood every morning, fix things in the afternoon and rest, only after everything’s finished. At night, we would hear Papa talking to Mama about us. Most of the time, they would speak in Ilocano so we could not understand what they were saying. But, judging from their tone, I’d say that it was about their plans for us – our education and health.
For more than fifteen years, life for Papa was like that – one month of home after 11 months of work in an alien land. He retired from work in 1998. Through his sacrifices, we were all lucky enough to be enrolled in private high schools. My sisters have all entered college – although only the eldest finished her degree in Elementary Education. I managed to enter UP and studied Civil Engineering. After three years, I became a youth organizer and eventually volunteered to work full-time for Anakpawis Partylist – an organization dedicated to help the oppressed workers, peasants and other poor people. My father’s big heart is what inspired me to give up my own dreams of becoming an engineer for the opportunity to help others through volunteer work. With his examples, I realized that a life worth living is a life lived for others.
Last September 27, on my mother’s 64th birthday, we had to rush Papa to the hospital. He was admitted directly under the intensive care unit because of lack of oxygen. He has been suffering Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease caused by emphysema – which, according to his doctor, is incurable. After looking at his X-Ray, I grinned at the doctor’s ironical finding – “Your father has an abnormally big heart.”
After a month in the ICU, we can hardly see any improvement in his condition. He still needs to breathe through the aid of his ventilator. He still needs more than P10,000 worth of medicines which we cannot afford. We are sinking under half a million pesos worth of hospital bills. We do not know where to find that money at this point. Our hero needs help but we cannot do anything about it.
Life’s irony sometimes pricks. In Hebrew, my father’s name “Avel” means breath. Why can’t I give him just that?
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I am seeking help for my father's continued medication and hospitalization who has been in the ICU for more than a month now. For those who wish to help, kindly contact me through 0928-7296945, email areyendiway@yahoo.com or post a comment. Any support you can give will greatly appreciated by the whole family. Thank you for helping us in this time of unbearable crisis... Randy
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