Canadia
These are ink paintings by my Canadian friend Raymond Letourneau. He’s the head of a package delivery service here and his company advertises in the paper I write for.
(I have been so lucky in the friends that I’ve been making here. Who would’ve thought that I’d be friends with a random Canadian who has always had progressive beliefs?)
We had tea last night and it was great to talk to someone here about political and economic developments in the world; as well as cultural concepts such as how the economy affects people’s behavioral patterns and the very way they think, feel and conduct themselves in relation to other people.
The last three days have been particularly exhausting and emotionally draining. It’s awful reading the news in the internet — PDI and Manila Times in particular, and read about the continuing spate of political killings. Mura lang ako nang mura habang nagbabasa, and Chi, who sits next to me, keeps telling me to calm down, snap pencils in two or eat a cream danish downstairs.
I told Raymond about how the Philippine government (never do I say ‘my government’) is on a murderous rampage against political activists, particularly the genuinely progressive ones ("The Leftists, you mean," he clarifies. "Yes, yes, the Leftists," I answer wearily).
The government killed a journalism student, an official of the League of Filipino Students, an organization I was in when I was in university, he was walking home from school and they just shot him, his body fell on the cold pavement, maimed by bullets, broken by brutal force, he was an activist, he was a student, they kill students, they kill activists nevermind if they’re 60, 50, 40 or 20, the government kills and is it any wonder why there are so many of us who believe in fighting back?
"Where do you get all this anger?!" Raymond asks.
Wouldn’t you be angry too if you’re country was ruled by a dictator who keeps going to mass and says she stands for the best interest and welfare of your people yet there she is abetting the murder of hundreds of human rights activists, political activists, civilians, workers and peasants and their children, one little girl was five, she was only five and her father who miraculously survived was shot 14 times in the chest and all over, 14 times, bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang and how do they justify such viciousness?
"I thought you said you went to Hong Kong for a break? Yet here you are and all stressed out," Raymond looks at me quizzically.
I did leave my country for a while, temporarily, only for the time being, and i will go back soon soon soon, but for now, well, for now, the distance between Hong Kong and the Philippines might as well be the distance between my index finger and my thumb, the distance can never be long enough to overshadow and cloud or eclipse awareness, awaress is not something you can run away from, hide from, deny and I carry my country with me wherever I go because I am part of the Movement and the Movement is my country’s hope and I cannot be happy, cannot function, cannot live without hope, hope that the Kilusan gives me and despite all this darkness, despite all this anger, despite all their efforts to kill us, I am still with hope and justice will be a beautiful sunrise that will one day come.
"You should go home. You didn’t even drink your tea."
Raymond gave me these paintings in the hope that they would cheer me up. When he’s at a loss for words, he says "Canadia."
I answered him "Canadia."
