today's class was about studying a traumatic part of nation's history, the genocide in cambodia, oct 1976 massacre in thailand and oct 1965 event in indonesia.
i have read about the khmer rouge but it was my first time to encounter the thailand massacre and the indonesian event. reminds me of the mendiola massacre and the hacienda luisita incident a few years back.
on a personal level, i think of my own experience.
in some sense, the passing away of a loved one could be a traumatic chapter of one's life. but i dont want to focus on the trauma, i want to talk more about the remembering and forgeting part.
during the wake, i suggested that we wont have that typical family picture when all the members of the family would stand beside the coffin and have a "family picture" taken. i dont get the point of having the picture. i mean, pictures are suppoed to "capture the moment" and i dont want to capture that moment. hence there was no family picture beside my dad. in fact we didnt take a lot of pictures during the wake, even when there were a lot of opportunities for it because long lost friends and families were reunited.
i remember after the burial, ate cleaned the house and wanted to throw all the old stuff away. my mom was objecting but was not able to do anything. so some of our old clothes, including my moms clothes back in the 60s, were given to relatives.
i was in charge of fixing my dad's clothes, all 3 cabinets of them. initially, they were also meant to be given away. but my mom became emotional. she was crying, explaining that she wanted to keep the clothes first to give her a feel that my dad is still there. seeing his clothes makes her feel that my dad is still her. so i just folded the clothes neatly, and placed them in the biggest cabinet. i told my mom that i placed my dad's clothes there so that when she's ready to give them out, it would be easier for her. i asked her if she's happy with what i did with the clothes. she said no, and cried again. i just hugged her to comfort her.
last friday, i dreamt of my dad. one my regrets when he was in the hospital was that i should have hugged him more. i should have hugged him longer when he was in his bed, just before the hospital staff bring him down to the mortuary because that was my last chance to do so. that was my last chance to touch him and hug him and see him up close. but i dont think i hugged him enough. the next time that i saw him, he looked different with his face a bit bloated, plus there was a glass divider between us.
so that night, i prayed to God to give me another chance to hug him, even just in my dreams. and God was so good, he granted me that prayer.
this was my dream. setting was in the province (he would always want to go home whenever he's in manila).
first scene: he and my mom were standing along the highway, waiting for something. they were going to japan (he's always fond of his pal memories but he was not able to go to japan).
next scene: i was telling my mom to take care of my dad because i dreamt that he got sick and i told her that i was crying in my dream.
next scene: a jeepney stopped by the house and my mom in that jeep (it reminds me of the scene when we went to sta ana for his birthday this year. he was in his stubborn self but my cousin was able to urge him to come). we were calling my dad to come out or else he's gonna be late.
so he came out, but this time, my nephew (who helped my mom and my sister take care of my dad when he was in the hospital) was already helping him walk. it was quite funny though because he was eating in that scene (he looooves to eat). he was smiling and nodding at the people along the road although he doesnt recognize some of them (after his 2nd stroke, he sometimes have difficulty recognizing people unless he goes very close to them).
next scene: i was helping him walk back to the house, the kind of support wherein i was almost hugging him and carrying a lot of his weight (the way i did when i was helping him get up when he was in bed). i was asking him if there's anything painful and he said he's feet are killing him.
and then i woke up.
last sunday, it was my sister's turn to see him in her dream.
two days ago, i was talking to my sister and my mom on skype when my mom asked if ive dreamt of my dad. when i said yes, she asked me how the dream went. my sister was messaging me not to tell her anymore because she might just cry. my mom cried when my sister recounted her dream to her. and when you tell a story to my mom, she's the kind who would want a "thick description" of events. but skype was uncooperative that day. so the burden of telling the story went to my sister.
after my dream, i was planning to write immediately about it because its something that i would want to remember. but i changed my mind. now, after class, i changed my mind again. i finally decided to write about it so that its etched forever.
i dont know if this is gona help me. when i was heartbroken, writing helped me moved on. i think i even wrote good pieces back then. but in this kind of grief, i think it will take a long time before i can move on, before the entire family can move on.
im not even sure which part i would want to remember and which part to forget.
