[[[Here is the link to my entry in an international essay contest in which I was "honorably mentioned" (in case you do not believe me :D) :
http://www.goipeace.or.jp/english/activities/programs/2012/winners/winner_y16.html

And here is the link of the list of winners. Some entries are really cool!

http://www.goipeace.or.jp/english/activities/programs/2012/index.html ]]]

Light Towards Tomorrow

(Original)

Norbert Gastardo Germano

(Age 20, The Philippines)

Mindanao State University

Today is a day I always skipped imagining back when I was there inside the lecture room but my mind was drifting away. Two months have passed after graduation. Thoughts of job-hunting and employment fears are battling inside my head as I take some books, papers and photos off the shelves readying myself to leave the university. One old photograph slipped and fell down on the floor. Genuine smiles from two kids illuminate this piece of paper full of memories. I recognize my childhood friend. I remember Ibrahim. I remember another definition of life.

We were both born in 1991. He's born a Meranao, a member of a native Muslim tribe in Marawi City, in the heart of a war-torn region in Southern Philippines. I am a Christian. He's a Muslim, a misfortunate one. At the age of five, I started schooling while Ibrahim went with his parents to the lake. I began to learn writing and he was learning early how to continue living. Every afternoon, I would rush to their shanty bringing my notebook and a pencil then I would demonstrate to him the strokes of my name. I couldn't forget how he marvelled at the idea of writing as his eyes sparkled with excitement. However, when he asked his parents how to write his own name, they refused. Ibrahim suppressed the pain. I felt it. None of them knew how to write. No one in that shanty ever learned how to.

Back in fourth grade, Ibrahim still didn't go to school. No matter how much I wanted to have him go with me to school, his parents couldn't send him. I never knew if he understood why. One day, I decided to wait for him in the wharf near the lake where he used to wait for his father every lunch. I gave up waiting after two hours. Later, a new vision of Ibrahim staggered me. His neck held two straps of thick garter that carried a basket glued to his tiny belly. The basket contained biscuits, candies, cigarettes and a lighter. He was selling them to everyone he met on the way. The whispers of the lake and the sunken reality in his eyes told me that he surrendered finally. He had no choice but to sell his childhood away.

More memories come rushing. When I was in high school, he became a tricycle driver. I could not believe when I learned that he already had a wife and an upcoming child. A year after that his father died leaving six younger siblings he had to care. I just heard when I was in college that he was arrested for drug dealing. He got out of jail and joined the Abu Sayyaf, a military Islamist separatist group in the country. In 2009, they blocked some bridges nearby after a series of bombings, kidnappings and extortion they claimed. I was stuck at home with my family watching the national TV about the ruckus. In one tilt of the camera, I caught a glimpse of Ibrahim. I never thought that I would never see his face again. He died in 2011 in a bloody encounter with the government – in vain.

A month ago, I visited Ibrahim's home. His wife, with a young boy who was pulling her duster, greeted me. We talked about Ibrahim and later, their only son, the four-year old Ahmed started to look me in the eyes with viridity. Looking straight to those innocent windows to the soul, I saw Ibrahim in him. I asked him what he wants to be in the future and I was surprised with his answer, "I want to be like my father. I want to be a doctor." I never realized that Ibrahim wanted to be a doctor. All I knew is that he wanted to save lives.

Just last week in the opening of regular classes, I promised Ibrahim's wife that I would send Ahmed to school in every way I can. I felt the kid's joy when we reached the gates of the school. And in that moment when I saw him sit inside the classroom beside other kids, something told me that I am capable of bringing happiness – a hope that starts with good education. Ahmed threw me back a smile. I saw a happy doctor in the making. There was hope that transcended from the room, to where I stood and finally to Ibrahim wherever he is. For the memory of a childhood best friend, it is the best thing I could ever do for something others should have done years ago. It is when we start to think selflessly for others that we build a bridge of light towards tomorrow. And finally create the future we want.