DARE TO dream, live the dream, and transform the dream into reality.
This is a motto that perhaps best describes my dad’s legacy to
all of us.
The Broadway song, The Impossible Dream, was among his favorites.
It evokes so much imagery of doing impossible tasks, such as the phrase
“to fight the unbeatable foe.”
Most of our countrymen tend to consider this song as the perfect
analogy to my father’s life. My father, in their view, was someone
extremely special and one of the few capable of overcoming the seemingly
insurmountable odds he faced. It follows from their reasoning that
we, lesser mortals, are condemned to accept what life has bestowed
upon us, and that we are incapable of effecting positive changes to
our lives.
My father would be the first to proclaim that he was not the Ninoy
of mythical proportions. If at all, perhaps he was more open to accepting
the guidance and strength bestowed upon him by God. If he were around
today, he probably would say that all he did was to carry his share
of our collective burden.
According to one definition, a hero is an ordinary man caught in
extraordinary times.
He was a gifted and brilliant politician to us, who are his followers.
Still, he was but one of many politicians. The Liberal Party was gearing
for a convention to choose the presidential standard-bearer, the outcome
of which was anything but a foregone conclusion.
He was a very young war correspondent in Korea. This did not mean
that he was the most talented correspondent of the Manila Times. His
being in Korea happened because he was willing to go to a war zone,
five years after World War II, when even the most seasoned journalists
were unwilling.
He was blessed, and this was most dramatically shown at the point
of his martyrdom. His mature faith, however, did not happen overnight.
One can even venture that his attending mass before the martial law
years was done because it was what was expected of him. It is ironic
that the martial law years, which truly tested him, provided the impetus
for his faith to deepen.
My dad was a man concerned not only with lofty ideals, like service
to our fellowmen but also with mundane things. I distinctly remember
overhearing a conversation he had with my mom discussing how to manage
the family’s debts.
But my father’s life did turn 180 degrees, the day martial law
was declared. He would have probably been the President of the Republic
in 1973; instead he became its first detainee. He was surrounded by
legions of admirers, supporters, and friends, both local and foreign,
and he probably wondered where most of them had gone.
It is a part of our human condition to always have problems. A life
devoid of challenges would be a life of total boredom. When confronted
with problems, the temptation of the easy route is always present.
It would be a mistake to believe that my dad was somehow immune. I
would venture to guess that, especially as the martial law years dragged
on and seemingly without end, that he imagined what it would be like
to be free again. My father was a very social individual and solitary
confinement was truly hell for him.
I must note that the rewards presented to him grew as the years went
by. They ranged from simple freedom, all the way to a return to power
if only he would collaborate with the dictatorship. At each instance,
he chose to be true to his countrymen, to his convictions, and to
himself.
When we examine our lives, how often do we feel lost because we don’t
know how to get from where we are to where we want to be? If my dad
had any plans or ambitions for his life, they all disintegrated the
day martial law was proclaimed.
He once told me, if you are at point A and you want to get to Point
Z, but points B, C, D, and so on are unknown – do you give up
and surrender, or do you try to find the other points and thereby
increase your chances of succeeding?
He was confronted with a lot of questions, most of which had no clear-cut
answers. One of these was how could a solitary individual like him
hope to fight and overcome a dictator, with all the powers of the
State arrayed against him?
He did not have all the answers but he had a dream. The dream was
that one day, the Filipino people, second to none, would rise up and
reclaim the democracy and progress that was their right. He lived
the dream by fighting the dictator and his minions at every turn,
with whatever was at his disposal. He provided an example to us all
of what should be done to give clarity to those confused, seduced,
and intimidated by the martial law regime.
One day his dream became a reality. It was true to a quote from a
bible that he shared with us: “If the time is not right, a million
prophets will not make a difference. But if the time is right, not
even one will be needed.” He was no longer alive when his dream
became a reality. But I am sure he was smiling at all of us on that
day.
To those of us who are the beneficiaries of his legacy, do we choose
to live our dreams, and in the process make them our reality? Or do
we succumb to enduring what life has thrown our way?
