FROM HERE TO TIHAMALAND: A Gift of Life...

FROM HERE TO TIHAMALAND: A gift of life…

“…a father shot her pregnant daughter dead in what appeared to be an ‘honor killing’ incident in Jordan,” the headline reads in every printed major daily in the Middle East.

“I must be getting old for this.” I dropped the suitcase, not actually dropping it, but hurled it with so much effort towards the luggage trolley. Pulling it out of the conveyor needed even more strength than usual. After 30 years, I should not be surprised that what I used to lift with little effort now seems heavier than normal, not that my luggage has grown in size; the ravages of time are inflicting their toll upon my little but otherwise healthy frame.

 Passing through customs at the Riyadh airport has changed little. Actually, no longer opening people’s luggage in search of forbidden foods, censored DVDs (it used to be Beta Max and VHS tapes), and magazines with photos of women in sleeveless tops may appear little on the surface. Still, it means a great deal to the legions of foreign workers. If properly packaged, Filipinos can now bring their ‘killer’ porky foods without being tossed into the garbage.

The most challenging part of going back to Saudi Arabia is not lifting bags and hurling luggage but leaving behind screaming toddlers and teary-eyed loved ones. It is something that one never gets used to. It is painful every time.

It’s hard to believe that six years whoosh by so quickly. In that blink of time, however, a great deal has changed in my personal life. This could be my last journey back, hopefully.

“Whaaat?” my son’s peers howled, almost growled in unison. “You passed the board?” the internet café/gaming center was in a festive mood. They heard the good news that one of their own passed the licensure board for nurses.

“How is that possible?” they teased my son. “We haven’t seen you review for the board. You were always here playing,” and the crowd broke into boisterous laughter. Internet gamers are a close-knit group of young people whose parents appreciate the idea that, instead of their kids loitering on the streets, it is better for them to spend their time online. Parents have little to worry about except their falling grades :-)

My last vacation differs from the many previous ones in a notable way: my children are grown-ups, as in really adults. Those who are not married are engaged to be married :-(

Am I going to die? The question has crossed my mind so many times. My children seemed to be acting differently. They want to relish every moment that I was with them.

We arrived late from dinner. My wife sprained her ankle when she missed a step on an elevation at Kenny Rogers. She cannot climb the stairs to the second floor, but my children insisted that we watch a movie together.

“Why can’t we watch upstairs, and Mom can just rest?” I overheard Naira asking

“This could be the last time we will all be together as a family,” Norayda replied. “By the time Dad returns for another vacation, I could be living in my house in Cavite while you and Nader could be living somewhere else with your own families. You are both engaged to be married.”

I realized she was absolutely right. This is the end of the transition period.

We crowded into our bedroom and together watched; believe it or not…FINAL DESTINATION 5. Sometimes I wonder if December 21, 2012, really holds any significance. It’s barely a year away.

 They took me and their mom out for lunch or dinner whenever they could. We went to expensive restaurants, and for the first time, my pocket did not have to bleed. They spend money as if there is more where it came from. They hide the bills from us because they knew the price would make me frown.

It is no joke to send 4 children to private schools. I bought them the best education that I can afford. When they were young, I gave them a life of plenty. The time has come to show their appreciation. A few days before I left, they took their mom and me to the dermatology clinic for a facial. I don’t know about my wife, but that was my first, and it was good. I look younger afterwards, so I thought.

We were driving back from a leisure trip to Tagaytay City. Nishamae was feverish. By the time we got home, she was really burning hot. She is barely 14 months old. When her mother was told that her child was feverish, she simply said, “So what, daddy is here.”

My children were in panic. My son (nurse) was breaking the ice, another (Optometrist) held Nisha around her arms while one (Med-Tech) put the cool towel over her head, and in the meantime, her ‘pharmacist’ mom prepares the medicines. It was a lovely sight. I turned back my head, holding back tears that were clouding my vision. Two years earlier, this family was in tatters, reeling under a crashing social conflict that I thought we would never recover from.

My daughter eloped with her boyfriend.

Friends and relatives offered to end it, but I persevered. I left it to God.

One mistake cannot be righted by another wrong that is even more extreme. This thing happens because God willed it. I did no wrong to deserve this. God must have a special reason for making it happen, so I decided to let events take their course.

My other children feel betrayed by their sister. My eldest, who was then in Qatar, was furious. She vowed not to step into our house again if I allowed her sister to bring the child home. Another of my daughters, who was working in Thailand at the time, was likewise very sad, although not as furious.

Their mom was fuming day and night. We all had a sleepless night. When she delivered, I told my wife’s niece to email me some pictures, which she did. When I saw my grandchild’s picture on a crib, my heart skipped a beat. My daughter’s photo on a makeshift lying-in-clinic pinched my heart.

A month before my leave, a cousin in the company of Maharlika’s no-nonsense characters invaded the Baranggay where my daughter lived and took her by force. It was her request. She wanted to come home for good, and we welcomed her with open arms. With another ‘angel of joy’ in tow, the glee has returned to my family; Alhamdullillah!

Indeed mysterious are the ways of Allah; He performs His wonders in many ways than one.

My wife was sweeping the floor in the dining room.

“Nishreen,” she called. “Bring me the dustpan,” but Nishreen ignored her mom. She screamed a few times more.

I felt someone was pulling my pajama. I was at the sink washing dishes. I found Nishamae holding on to my leg, pointing to the dustpan mounted on top of the waste can.

The main house is about 2 feet elevated compared to the kitchen extension, so I built a railing to separate the floors with a few steps of stairs to connect. Nishamae, when I first arrived, used to crawl up and down the stairs, but in a month, she learned to slide down the stairs up front. When feeling playful, she would scream “dadiii”. I came running the first time, wondering what was wrong. I found her squeezed between the railings. As soon as I extended my hands; she let herself fall freely towards me with maddeningly joyous laughter.

My wife and I needed to change her diaper together. One has to pin her down while the other changes the diaper. To infants her age; changing diaper is a game. Again; her laughter is maddeningly jolly. I made funny faces at the wriggling and laughing Nisha as I pinned her down then I paused for a moment.

The serious change on my face was obvious.

I looked at my wife.

“A gift of life,” I mumbled.

“What?” my wife asked.

“Remember what you said to your doctor when Nishreen was born seven years ago?”

“Why legate me, I am already old?” she replied.

“…and she said, she knew of many at your age of 46 who keep coming back to deliver, and besides, your husband signed the permission paper to legate,” I added.

“When I signed the paper, although I was half awake, I refused to accept any more gift of life from God. During the time of the prophet, his companions asked him if they could devise methods to prevent their wives from becoming pregnant. They did not want to fight in wars and possibly die, leaving behind pregnant mothers.”

“You may or you may not,” the prophet had replied. “Those who are willed by God to be born will be born no matter what.”

“…a gift of life,” my wife and I looked down at the lovely Nishamae wriggling to be free, “…no matter what,” and we laughed together as I picked up and caressed our new gift of life. 

You can also read for free or buy any of my seven (7) books on the Amazon Kindle bookstore.
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NLK