THE GRAVE AND YOUR POLLEN DUST

by Alex Chan
(as published 3 years ago in MVP)

una carta para reponsder el ultimo poema de Dr. Jose Rizal -  “mi ultimo adiós”.

I have heard of your last good bye a long time gone.

I stand alone now carrying a sack behind me, barefooted, eyes swollen from the tiredness of my journey.  I came back from the fiesta where people enjoyed their cerveza that finished with the noise of the ancient fireworks.

When was it the last time, I saw your grave, of people calling your name, of your greatness and your travels, of telling us not to forget, yet now I search for your grave, thinking about all the scars, the tiredness, the fear, and the happiness I longed for my soul.

Once, I gained all the silver in the world and lost them all.  I had worn a suit most gentlemen would admire and of young ladies would lay before me for I had the breeding, a pedigree of prejudice judged and perfected by society. But now, I lost them all and I have nothing to offer you.

We followed you and traced the travels of your youth; we have spoken languages far more than anybody else could.  We have learned cultures that enriched us so much more than before.

But when I look at the mirror, I can hardly see myself as I am surrounded by the fog and the light that you often mentioned that should greet us every morning.  It never greeted us.

Is every morning a day of darkness and hopelessness for us?  I stand here only with a sack of my worldly belongings slung at my back looking for your grave.

At night, I recounted the stories of my heart ache of the country I left behind, of people suffering, of hunger, and inequality.  How can I tell you all these stories when in my dream I saw you talked of the promise of our country.  Of its greatness, it’s potential, and its capacity to love and dream and my promise of taking part in it!

Alas!  I have found your grave with grass as tall as me.  There I saw your still fresh grave, and your blood has mixed with the soil of our motherland.  Why are there are no trees or flowers that grew from it?  Not even a shade to cover where you fell!  I sat beside your grave and looked at the distant horizon….

I opened my sack to see those driftwood I collected a washed from the sea.  Woods filled with rusted nails and salts of some in shape of the cross.  Then, I took out my broken ceramic chards.  I use it to catch the rain so that I may drink from it or use it to bath when I see the fresh clean river and on the most special day, I will put my most precious rice on it and put it as close to my lips as possible.

Oh, I have a few handful of rice left at the bottom of my sack.  I will stay with you tonight so that I may cook to you the meal I have saved for days.  “Arroz con sal”.

I will make a tent for you from the sack so that for once you will be shaded and protected from the sun.  I will make a fire from the driftwood that I have collected and use the salt and pollen dust from you grave to flavour the rice.

Tonight, my soul will be warmed and rested, and I will sit here to enjoy the meal that I have longed to offer to you, to my country who has given me my soul…

Hunyo 12, 2009. The day to cherish our national Identity.

Mabuhay ang Filipinas!