A Story of Moving On

Debbie Lozare in Ang Pinoy Stories

Jan 18, 2020 • 3 min Read

Happiness is a choice. Sometimes, when all you want is to curl up and die, that is a trite statement to make. But it is also the truth. You get up from your fetal position, wash your face, drink a cup of coffee and decide that today you will choose to be happy. That’s the moment you realize that some of the happiest times of your life happened during difficulties.

When Erika was five, we visited my Dad and brother who were at the time working in Jakarta. It was a lovely week of dining out, shopping, relaxing at the country club, karaoke singing at my Dad’s home, a full day at Taman Safari, and making adobo to take to a picnic. We enjoyed the visit, and now it was time to fly home to Manila.

I was sunburned and exhilarated—and also, facing the prospect of choosing to leave a marriage or stay in it. That difficulty occasioned the week-long vacation to begin with. And now it is time to face it.

Just when it was time to board, an announcer said the flight will be delayed by an hour. A quiet groan rose among the waiting passengers. Erika had her dolls, and I prepared for delays, so I wasn’t terribly worried. But just before the hour was up, the flight would be delayed by another two hours. There was a harsher outcry this time, and now, it’s time for Rags.

Erika has a special Golden Books title called Rags. It’s about a shaggy-haired dog that grew so big. The storekeeper and his wife who kept Rags were amazed that he caught a robber. Rags’ picture was in the papers. Erika loved it.

I started to open the book, and already her eyes were wide with excitement. The story-telling is what amazes her, more than the story, I would think. As Rags grew from being a small puppy to a humongous dog, his bark grew from a soft fluffy nip to a booming growl. The shopkeeper had a low voice, and his wife had a sweet one. It was wonderful to tell stories when your daughter sat close to you, and quietly listened to your voice, as it changed from character to character. At the end of the tale, Erika sighed. It always ended well.

Then very slowly, as I closed the book, a soft-spoken man with grey hair around his temples, turned around, and spoke. He was sitting with his back to us, and he had heard the story as I told it to my young one. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “You are a good mother. You kept your daughter entertained during this long, boring wait.” It turned out to be Father Joaquin Bernas, then president of the Ateneo de Manila University.

Ateneo was the country’s most prestigious university, well, second to my alma mater, the University of the Philippines, and I was now face to face with its venerable leader. Not only was Father Bernas a much-admired man for his scholastic works, he was a lawyer and Constitutionalist, a wise and insightful man.

I smiled widely. I looked down at Erika, now deeply engrossed in her own world of two dolls that are about to have tea at her new kitchen set. The dolls are named Tiffany and Britney, two best friends, and soon, I will be lending them my voices to bring them alive.

The three hours of waiting went by swiftly, so busy was I in entertaining Erika. But as we boarded the plane, the academician’s voice was still ringing in my ears. “You are a good mother.”

I was happy to make my life-changing decision. I had my blessing in his words.