[[ This essay and the contest both have a sentimental value in my heart. I always wanted to join the essay writing contest by The Eyoners’ Club but since their Spelling Bee was also to be held on the same day, I exhausted all my money for the Bee. The contest started around 8:30 and would end on 11:30 but I woke up around 9:30. I had 30 minutes of thinking until a friend lent me his money for the Registation Fee. Hurrying to the venue, I was a bit intimidated when I came to the contest area because some big heads in the writing arena in the university were there and I was oh so late! But still, when they handed me down the theme of the contest “MSU’s Greatest Story Begins With Me”, all these words, flashbacks and thoughts came rushing. I didn’t even have time to edit the piece since the time I had left for the contest wasn’t that long enough to allow me a draft. And more incredibly, I never thought that just by writing, I could receive a monetary award aside from the certificate. I paid back my generous friend and went on more inspired in writing.<3]]]

Those were the lights I will never forget. They were not just some ordinary lights but they formed a spectrum of different colors, formation, magnitude and distances. It was called the Symphony of Lights – a tourist attraction and an always-awaited event every night in what is dubbed as “Asia’s Finest Skyline” near Victoria Harbour. Just last summer of 2012, I had the chance to participate in a Peace Forum in Hong Kong. While watching the symphony, a newly-found friend from a well-respected university in Manila asked me a question out of nowhere: “Do you think your university has done something in bringing you to places you’ve never been before?” Wearing my I-Love-MSU shirt, I bowed down then gazed at the all-torn four-year old pair of high-cut shoes I was wearing. I smiled back at her and answered, “Absolutely, my prime mover is Mindanao State University”.

When I first set foot on MSU grounds, I really did not think that this would be the best school for me. There were people who wore all-black suits covering their entire bodies. A strange sound of someone who sang in tongues blasted some loud speakers. I couldn’t understand the feeling of intertwining fear and curiosity then. This is how the norm works for new people in the land. All I told myself was timing. When I would realize that I don’t really deserve studying here, I would immediately pack my bags and go home without second thoughts. After five years of stay, I realized that if not here, I couldn’t be happier elsewhere.

My MSU story is not really a journey that is only ventured on going to normal roads. As an adventurer, I love standing at crossroads. I joined a semi-academic organization, MSU – Honors Program when I was on my sophomore year. The program served as the key on my journey. It enabled me to open some doors I always thought were locked. There were parts of my passion that reawakened me. There were versions of my interests that rekindled my senses.

I never thought that this insatiable hunger for facts and general information would lead me to a very long road. I was and still am a quiz show addict. It pained me to miss a single quiz bee though I had heavier academic commitments. My love for knowledge was best expressedwith the joy I felt from reading every single question, raising cardboards with sometimes the most ridiculous answers, and, if lucky enough, posing for a picture with medals and trophies in the awarding. It is also through joining these quiz bowls that I got to meet and became friends with some of the most amazing kids in the university, those other students whose fields are far from my own league. One essence of competitions like this is for me to see a summary of what is inside MSU – bright and talented young people playing fair regardless of who or what their opponents are. MSU is a battlefield – a friendly one.

One more passion that I developed more here in college is writing. I post Facebook status quite often and I feel unworthy if I cannot tweet every day or blog every month. These manifestations magnify how I love playing with words. This is I think one of the few things I love doing best. I remember myself marveling over joining Mindanao Varsitarian, MSU’s official student publication, since I had some journalistic roots in high school. But when I read some serious anti-administration articles on the pub, I lost hope and told myself that this wasn’t the channel I wanted to convey my thoughts. Not until I became a staff of RFJPIA’s publication, The Worksheet, that I did not realize I was wrong with my notion all along. I should have been and should always be adaptive. This was something I never completely understood then. But thanks to the fate of winning the University-wide On-the-spot Essay Writing Contest for two consecutive Founding Anniversaries, I gathered all the hopes back that I still am an effective writer. MSU is a battlefield – a dynamic one.

On top of it all, I think that the best gift this university has ever given me is leadership. It is hard to be a leader in a locus where the students are never homogenous. There are cultural, religious, ethnic, geographic, social and lingual barriers everywhere. I had to be someone I had never been since I wanted to accommodate every part of the organizations I was in. Leaders in this school are very all-encompassing, learned and experienced. Because of all these challenges, I believed that we became extraordinary leaders. We have this MSUan label. We are firm, strong and determined people who have been through serious hurdles in life. I felt all of these when I became a leader. I went through holes I never thought had diameters and after winning them over, I became not just a better person but also a more effective individual. This is why I think I managed to be part of some of the country’s best leadership summits like that of Ayala’s and Aboitiz’s. I know that people here in Mindanao look up so much to those from Luzon Universities especially the powerhouses. As per my time spent with the students from these other universities, I learned that they also look forward in knowing what shots we can give because they know that we have potentials. There are many, many things we should be proud of. MSU is a battlefield – a hard-fought one.

We are indeed great beyond measure. We are just at times refusing to agree to it so we’re in an auto-pilot going down. I believe that each MSUan story is a great story. We should get away from the idea that we differ from each other. The bias, the pain, the intolerance, the history – these are what we carry as placards as we exist in the campus when what we rathercarry with us is the openness for new innovations. It is but fine to break traditions and norms if we believe that these are detrimental in our progress.

These may all sound clichés, I know. But let us get these all up! Be an active student in the campus! You can write, quiz, speak, debate, lead and do whatever you like. Just learn from the experiences and apply them. Share them to others. Then your story will pace faster and will have more meaningful twists and turns.

MSU as a battlefield is just life. It is a divine chaos worth embracing. We all will find our own symphony of lights and it is best seen, believe me, when you know you deserve the moment.#

“For the first time in my life, I am not afraid to lose you anymore.”




I never thought that I’d say this to you. Never did I expect that those words would come out of my mouth and break into the fog that envelopes this narrow pathway we are in. You turn your back from me and started taking void footsteps. From behind, I see you raise your hand and wave it slowly. Then you run away. You run slow first then later you rush like you are chased by an everyday demon. Yes, you are running away. I always knew it would end this way.

[[[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.

December 22, 2012

Being left alone is one of the scenes I never would want to be in. When you’re all alone, it seems like you do whatever it is that strikes your mind. In my case, multiple things strike my head but I feel like freezing every time I decide to do any of them. Anywhere I look right now is familiar places but not familiar faces. It’s weird that it’s my last Christmas break in college yet I am the last one to go home. Well I think it is just complementary for me to be left behind because it won’t be too long for me to do the same – for good. I keep on listening to Sara Bareilles’ “Gravity” on repeat right now. This room is already cleaned up and fixed. I am battling with the sunrays that hit my eyes. I am suppressing some old emotions inside me. The year is about to end and still, I don’t want to close this chapter of my life yet. 2012, how can you be so perfectly bittersweet?

I have lived this year like the way I am writing this one right now. I don’t care if I go wrong. I know that I already committed grammatical errors or even misspelled some words. Still, I continue and refuse to correct them. It’s very comforting to watch this paper clean despite my scrawled handwriting. I do not want to see the bad side of things. Because when I do, I get stuck with it like a little kid who cannot get over easily with his lost toy. If some people drink, smoke, sketch, dance, sleep or party when there is something heavy on their hearts, this is my version of that – writing. It is my first resort, my primary outlet, and my way of making my heart and soul meet. Add to this moment the impatient sunrays that sift through these dusty jalousies beside me. You have no idea how peace, sweetness and pain are all racing down to the veins in my right hand competing for words that I should write first. I am calling this a classic afternoon – an afternoon I own on my own.

As the last days of this year are ending fast, I thought of writing something like this again just the way I did few years back. As you can notice, one sentence of this piece may not conform with or is not coherent with the rest of the other sentences. Some paragraphs may be purely boring or flat. This is exactly how write-ups like this should go – unedited, less artistic and defiantly personal. This is more of an entry in a diary rather than an essay you pass to your teacher at school. Going back to what I mentioned, I am writing this one as a recap of my entire year. The moments of triumphs and miseries of these past twelve months are what I want to relive as I trip down the memory lane. But as unpredictable as I am, I won’t focus on my 2012 events. Instead, I want to write this more about the people who left some marks on my incredible year. Some of them may not even know that they did something to me.

First on the list is Sir Ron. If someone would ask me about a person who comes first in my mind when I hear the word “academics”, it is no other than Sir Ron (the image is Sir Ron sitting on his table in the middle of the class checking our exams and with a sinister smile that will make anyone guilty). His existence constantly reminds me of how I should fix my already screwed-up school life. I admit that at first, I hated all the way to my bones all those nonstop quizzes and exams he’s given us for almost two semesters now. But lately, I just feel that I am really fortunate to have someone like him who involuntarily nags me and tells me to push hard (not “harder” because I’m not pushing yet.) his presence is supposed to boldly tell me that I have to star to chase while I am just lying squarely on my bed watching it and not doing anything. I hope 2013 will be different. I hope I will be different.

Second is Poop Jeffrey. He is still the kid that I am most comfortable with here in the campus. Though he doesn’t talk a lot, he listens so much. It’s the best thing about him that hasn’t changed at all. It is the reason why I always confide to him even the pettiest things that I have known, heard or discovered. It feels like he’s always interested to listen in every word I say. I wish everyone is like that. He is someone who I want to talk to when everyone around me seems far. I just can’t live without his small but undying patronage. It’s like he knows that I am already a grown-up lamb but he knows that I am without a shepherd so I can still get lost and I need guidance. That is just so adorable that someone younger than you acts like someone who is older.

Third is Murshied. I remember him during my first few years in college but I just got actually close to him when I settled down here in RS. Murshied is someone who gives me fun and something to laugh about without him knowing it. He acts strange but in not in a bad way. He’s got these facial and verbal expressions that last on my head for weeks. He’s one of the softest and gentlest men I know in terms of personality and body language. No further explanation is really needed for that. Murshied is brilliant. When he’s around, especially when he becomes silent and read books prepping for a quiz show, I love even more joining the quiz show. I really am so grateful that I have someone like him in a circle. He’s already entertaining when he acts naturally.

Fourth is Poop Papay. She keeps on saying to me that she really likes my personality, the way I act and how I deal with other people. Knowing this one in a latent way may have been the reason why she has been of very big help to me. I owe her more than she knows. She becomes more worried when I tell her all my problems. She doesn’t cease on sending me messages and talking to me especially when my world is closing in. She even gave me a birthday present. As per my official remembered record, it was the first non-food gift I have ever received for my birthday. I never thought that I had to turn 21 before someone hands me something that is wrapped and is meant to surprise. I enjoy seeing Papay too. Though she’s really different, I feel like she has been my sister forever – tiny little sister that is too caring.

Fifth is Sandee. I first met her during AYLC last February but we didn’t quite have the chance to know each other. But when I went to Cebu for Aboitiz, that’s when I realized how big of a loss it was for me not to stick around her. She is so cool, jolly and understanding. She is someone who I think has a great balance of school and non-academic struggles. I can hardly name a national program or event for college leaders that she hasn’t been able to join. She’s very straightforward, honest and accommodating. I know she’ll be someone big so I want to spend more time with her right now while she’s still halfway her diamond path.

Sixth comes Jireh. He’s an old friend. I used to know him as the guy with the curly hair who never missed watching TV every night way back when we were still residing in RD. When I moved to RS, he also moved out of RD and spent his last semester in college in a place in the campus I could hardly locate. I’m bad with geography, I know. But our common denominator still remains – pop culture and entertainment. When we crossed paths just months ago and when I had realized that he still replies using his old digits, the endless talks about movies, novels and TV series started all over again. Jireh has no idea how all of those updates he keeps on giving me namely X Factor US, The Vampire Diaries, Nikita, Glee and Revenge are relieving me from both my real and fictional stress in school. Now that my internet-connected phone is gone, Jireh’s help is keeping me sober in this modern age.

Seventh is Danilo. I don’t know how we ended up with the endearment “Pawps”. All I know is that this kid is really different from what other people say he is. I honestly have heard a lot of things and issues they throw to him and I still haven’t bumped into a major manifestation with any of them. Dan is actually someone who doesn’t care much about other people’s opinion. It is upon these rebellious tendencies of him that I take pleasure in witnessing.  I know that sometimes I don’t make sense and often I show my weaknesses when I go all out. Dan has been there constantly asking about what I have been up with. He reminds me of those younger generations I will leave behind when I graduate. But with someone as clever as this kid is, everything’s going to be good.

Eight is Jenica. She is actually my first female friend from ADMU. I would say that getiing to know her is one of the highlights of my Cebu trip for the 7^th Aboitiz FBLS. Her Instagram photos, Twitter and Facebook updates cannot hide how fortunate her life is. What I am most amazed of however is the fact that she is still down-to-earth amidst everything. She is so harmless. So gentle and so intelligent. She has this amazing personality which you would not find in all other well-to-do ladies out there. And for the record, she is one of the very few people I know who don’t eat meat. She said it is because of environment lessons. She is literally a Cinderella meets Mother Earth. And she’s harmless – I’d reiterate. I don’t need to say more. 

Ninth is Rowen. Including him in this list is something I would never do had I decided to write this a year ago. Everyone close to me knows I had a bad history with him. And when I say bad, I am referring to rocky roads, rough edges and messy undertakings. Rowen is someone who I used to label as my “most favourite kid”. Of all people I met on this university, I would conclude that he has the strangest blend of the best and worst personalities. I’d say that his light side is what kept us close two years ago. I had so much fun watching him do things I never thought he would do and I enjoyed everything there is that he did. I knew him as someone who was so disciplined, honest and full of respect most kids of our generation do not possess anymore. With just one small mistake, everything in me that involved him went down the sink. I am paranoid and my worst fear is rejection. That one year of no talks and no interactions killed me. It changed me a lot especially with the way I treat my friends. But I guess my coming to RS has been the sign for a change of pace. I never thought that I could and would be spending mornings rolling in the bed and talking about funny things with him. I know that a lot has changed and some things just cannot be just the way they were before. Though I am still uncomfortable with him not calling me “Kuya” and I am still irritated when he picks on me unlike anything he’s done two years ago, I thank God for sending him back. He may be the best friend I never had but he will remain as one of the people who became closest to me. It is something always worth-remembering.

Lastly, there’s Jay. The most childish kid I met is the one who also made me realize how childish I am myself. Spending a semester as roommates, I knew him in a considerable depth. I learned what his wants, dreams and aspirations are. I got to know what makes him happy and what pisses him off so bad. I could say that the annoying and childish parts of him are what other people notice first about him. I, however, was lucky enough to have experienced his selfless side. He was so selfless that it was me who became selfish. We bonded like brothers, given the fact that I do not have a biological one. But lately, it must have sucked a lot for him. I treated him like someone so insignificant. Since I transferred to another dorm, I became bitter and annoying to him. I guess it’s what others do not know about me.  When I nag and pick on people, I don’t always mean harm to them. In the contrary sometimes, it is my way of showing them how much I care. It is sometimes a channel of my being sorry for not being able to be with them on moments I regret not having a part with. He is patient, I couldn’t disagree to that. But his patience has somewhat reached a point of no return after all my frustrations, anxieties and disappointments were poured heavily on him. I did it since we were that close and I thought that he would understand. I was wrong and I admit I was so mean. I verify my mistakes. I have done, undisputedly, a lot of unforgivable sins. Though I hate people who refuse to greet me on my birthday though they know it, I think I can forgive him for not doing so. This period in my life made me realize that I should be more sensitive with others’ feelings no matter how sure I am of them. And some people are not really good with forgiveness. Jay is just the perfect example. I pray for things to be back the way they were or at least become normal. And I think, with all my might, that I really should keep praying.

My 2012 is yet my best year in terms of the diversity of the events I witnessed and people who came and went in my life. Some would say that I am blessed while I say that a part of me is cursed. I confess that friendships are my weakness, rejection is my greatest fear and loneliness kills me. But when I have people who love me unconditionally and true friends around, all the years of my life will never be years of regrets. I just feel sorry that sometimes I commit awful mistakes, cross boundaries unintentionally, and become unnoticeably selfish. There are just some parts of me that may hurt – some things that may never change. And for those people who still accept me back with open arms, saying words of how grateful I am for your presence will never be enough. Nor will actions suffice everything. I just wish that you would be part of my years until my last. Until gravity doesn't pull me back anymore.#

                I have seen her again today. She always sits on the bench under the big oak tree below eternal orange skies every afternoon. She often carries a book to read. Sometimes, she pauses reading and fishes a handkerchief inside her purse to wipe her tears. On other times, she giggles every now and then, with her eyes sparkling along the leaves that fall down on her. I never skip going to this abandoned playground every Thursday afternoon just to see her beautiful face. She has Russian eyes and Caucasian complexion, but her beauty is something that springs genuinely from Polish valleys. I have been here watching over her for over a year now since we migrated here in Poland. I know every single thing about her. There is however one big problem. I don’t exist in her small world.

                I have seen him again today. I always go to this abandoned playground every Thursday afternoon just like how my father used to bring me here when he talks about a danger I could never understand as a toddler. This guy reminds me of my father. Every time I hear footsteps after few minutes of reading my book, I know that this lad who speaks German is here again. His right eye that slowly peeks in my direction, behind this old shattered wall in front of me, is the only eye that sees the real me. He saw all the times when the stories on the book made me cry. He saw all the colors of the hankies I brought every single week. He saw all the times I laughed and I know that he laughed at me as well. He has glossy hair unlike any other normal guy in town. He likes wearing a cap and a khaki jacket. I never really saw his whole face. I wonder if he is German because of the inscription on the military cap he often wears. For over a year of staying behind that wall waiting for me to finish reading my book, I feel like he is guarding me. I am glad that he exists in my small world.

February 3, 1941

                This week, she has been acting strange. She doesn’t seem to start reading a book now. She did not even bring one. She had already been crying when I saw her walk in and sit down. There is something unexplainable with the sound of her sobbing. It is not like what I heard before. This sound speaks of unanswered prayers and lost love. She couldn’t be abandoned by her parents, could she? It’s too unlikely for an innocent lady like her to have menacing problems. I remember this feeling. It is like what I felt when we left Germany because my father said that Poland would be safer. It pained me to leave my own country. My mother’s siblings and their children are here to be with us but my father is preoccupied with serving our nation. I can never understand why my father and his pals in the military have to be violent. I don’t get why they kill other people, especially the Jews. Some of my Jewish classmates were forced to stop schooling. Their parents, lawyers and doctors among others, were dismissed from German civil service. My mother also said that Jews are enigmatic, mythical, and sinful forces that play a disturbing role in human existence. Jews, as she also said, are the reasons why Germany lost a war in 1918. It was a custom for us pure Germans to believe in that. I am left with no reasons to hold on to.   I take a long breath and start thinking deeper. Is this the right time to go to this woman and talk to her? I want to know her name. I want to tell her that she has a friend who has been clandestinely watching over her. I do not have other friends here but I cannot go to her either because of the very reason why I kept silent all this time. I am afraid that she doesn’t speak German. We would not understand each other. With that, we never would.

                 When will my father come back? News this noon made me cry. My friend said that some people in Belarus were killed by invaders. All males were shot immediately. Women and children drowned in the swamps because they were driven out there by aggressors. I pray to God that my mother be safe and away from these attacks. It has almost been two years since she went back to Belarus to get her younger brothers with their respective families and bring them here in Poland. Father has almost run out of reasons to answer my younger sisters’ endless questions about our mother’s homecoming. Life has been a misery. My father asked me to stay here and never go back to the ghetto again. He asked me to stay here and wait until he comes back. What if my relatives were attacked and taken to those “evil” places as the rumors say in the ghetto?  I am trembling with fear and anxiety over something I have asked myself for so long. Why do they want to kill us Jews when what we only do is live our lives normally? Why do many people believe that Jews are not human and that we use magic to appear like ordinary people? Why do Christians blame us for the crucifixion of Jesus Christ? Why do they encourage pogroms, anti-Jewish mob attacks that spare no single Jew in the scene? I am only left with the excruciating pain that makes me weep way down deep. Will the world ever be fair? I hear noise as that guy behind that shattered wall moves. I want to talk to him right now. I want to tell him all my frustrations. I just want someone to listen to the backstories of this agony. Would this guy even care to listen? Or to speak? Can he speak Polish as well aside from German? If he doesn’t, it would still be fine. I just need someone to sit here beside me. Even for just a short moment.

                        I finally made up my mind. This is the time I always feared but I also dream very often. With the slightest strength I have left, I now stand up and take few steps that could change my life forever. Time seems to stop. I wish it does. I pray this that this moment will last. I can see her now, just perfectly in front of me. We are only eight yards away from each other. Her face is still buried in her palms as she continues lamenting her loneliness. One footstep and this could be the start of a fantasy. I take another step. This could be the chance for a fairy tale. “Sarah, where are you?” I hear an anxious and stern voice speaking in Polish. She refrains from crying and quickly searches for the voice. I hurry back and hide behind the shattered wall. “Papa”, she says as she tightly caresses the tall man with beard and with eyeglasses but in ragged striped shirt. In a scared voice, the man answered, “We are not safe anymore. Everyone in the ghetto will be brought to the camps. I’ll first go fetch your sister and cousins first.” I never understand a single Polish word from what he just said but I can sense the uneasiness and dread spreading all over the abandoned playground. A sound of rage surfaces like thunder. I cover my ears and look at both of them. Her father takes her by the hand and they start running fast. This must be something. Sarah, this must be something.

                        I finally hear the voice I have long waited to hear. Papa comes in haste with his eyes swollen and his clothes all torn. He is now saying words that seem to stop my heartbeat. He says we are no longer safe. We will be brought to the evil camps. Our time has finally come. That guy behind that wall, I never even had a chance to see his face. I will leave this playground. I will leave him. I may never have a chance to come back again. In no time, bullets start cracking in the skies. Instead of looking up, I start crying then I embrace my father again. He tightly does the same thing to me. “God will guide us”, he whispers in order to comfort me. When the firing slows down, my father takes my hand and pulls me. We both know that lives are at stake in the minutes to come. We then start running for our lives. This must be something. This could be the end of everything.

                The next series of events falls like a frightful slide show for the senses. She runs fast with her father. I follow them quick. When they reach the streets, her father whispers something to her. He points a space between two small homes few blocks on the left. She paces quick to that space her father pointed and heads somewhere I cannot see from here. I stand behind a closed store with broken glasses on the pavement. Later, I see people, crying, restless and disheartened people, running fast in almost all directions. Bullets are fired again and they are now louder than before. I secure myself in a large wooden stall near me. The lady’s father seems to be looking for some people as he paces back and forth along the stampede of people. Those people are Jews, I suppose. Some military men must be coming. I see a kid left behind by his mother and is crying out loud not far from me. I decide to go out of the stall to take the child away from the streets but when I call his attention, a bullet from nowhere takes him down. Blood spills over the roadway and people even get more terrified and screaming. This is my first actual death encounter. Startled, I do not even notice people with guns coming in. They are in brown suits, with unforgiving faces, and familiar caps. Those caps! It’s the cap I am wearing right now, the cap my father gave me. Germans! My own people are killing these innocent people in this town of Auschwitz. My own people!

                The pounding of my heart makes it hard for me to think of something peaceful as father and I reach the streets. I almost let go of my purse along the way. I see many people coming from all directions. “You’ll find an underground staircase at the back of the Jewelry Store of Mr. Heine. Light the lamp on the small room there below and wait for me. Run! ”, father’s words are crystal clear but I refuse to follow him. He grips my shoulders tighter and without a word, I just run away to where he pointed. While I run toward the block, I recognize the people who are coming. They are just like me and my family – frightened and deprived Jews. I promise myself not to look back anymore. The first bullet is fired. I stop and pace back to see what is happening on the streets. There is blood in the sidewalk and the people are now rushing without direction. The firing gets worse and the blend of the noises of the people’s commotion and the never-ending bullets is horrendous. I see my father earnestly looking for my relatives. When he halts in my direction, we both see German military men walking in. He signals by waving his hand. I know what he means. With little faith, I continue heading to the underground room of Mr. Heine. Tears sway away with the wind while I run fast. I cannot bear anymore that this town of Oswiecim will lose all guiltless and harmless Jews. Poland will lose all these people. My own people!

                While the German military is busy on driving out people, I run fast to where she ran a moment ago. Some Jews are already on their knees but the military men do not see my movements. This narrow space is long, cold and dark. I wonder where this will lead me. After few minutes, I hear the sound of chains falling on the ground after a loud burst of the closing of a wooden door. The echo is still fresh and I see a dead end near. However, I do not see her. Is she inside this down below? She must be inside.

                I feel like someone is following me. There are extra noises other than my own footsteps. There! I finally see the wooden door with chains that are not tied. I hurry opening it and immediately go down the stairs. I need to slow down because there is not a single light in the room. When I finally touch the lamp after a minute of blind searching, I twist the trigger of the lamp then it lights up. There is a couch with a cabinet behind full of books and old photographs. I take a deep breath and bury my face in the couch as I lay down. The events today are not that easy to forget. I need to calm myself. When I take a long deep breath again, I hear the door slam once more. I tremble with fear to see who is coming. I slowly walk toward the lamp to turn it off. But before I do so, he is already there standing.

                After my final step down the stair, she is already standing near the lamp that illuminates the room. She bows her head down.  “Fur angst haben”, I tell her not to be afraid of me. She heads to the couch and bury her face with her hands. I speak as I point myself, “Michael, Michael”. I hope she understands. She looks at me now still trembling. She points herself as well, “Sarah, Sarah”. I hold her hands to comfort her. Why does she seem to know who I am? Did she know all along that I have been there with her in the abandoned playground? She lets go of my grip and searches for her purse. She fishes something inside and hands it to me. It is a photograph – my father’s photograph! I thought I lost this photograph that I always put in my pocket. There! She knew it all along! She found out that I have been with her during those Thursday afternoons. She knew it since then! Despite all the horrors moments ago, being with this lady is something that is very comforting. We start acting like we have been friends for a long time. I hold her in my arms. She leans her head down on my shoulders. This moment now feels like forever.

                So it’s the guy from the abandoned playground. I feel relieved but I still bow down my head. I do not know what to say to him. He speaks in German now. I believe he said that he is harmless. I cannot stay standing for long. My knees are still trembling. I head back to the couch and close my eyes. “Michael, Michael”, he says while he points himself. So he is Michael. He is that guy who used to guard me back there in that old playground. I remember the photograph that he left there once. I was going home when I passed by the shattered wall and found it. It is a photograph of someone from the German military. Even if I fear the Germans, this guy is worth all the tolerance for his case. I believed that it is his father’s photo. I get it from my purse and hand it back to him. He looks very surprised. I thought he would be mad but he is now wearing a smile. A smile! I never even saw a single smile or a smallest avail of happiness today. Michael widens his arm and starts rubbing my back. This is what I used to feel back when I was a child, crying my pain away with my father. I lean down my head to his shoulders. I feel like I am home. Few minutes later, violent knocks on the door above disrupted our silence. Thereafter, a body of a man rolled down the stairs. Boom! I see my father’s left eye shot and his entire body all drenched in his own blood. I hurry to wake him up. I shout his name out loud but he just doesn’t breathe anymore. My tears and his blood are already mixing on the floor. Another footsteps in the stairs then I first see boots, bloodstained pants and a pistol. When I look at the man’s face, I easily recognize his eyes. He is the same man in the photograph I handed to Michael a while ago. There’s no mistaking it! I turn my back and see Michael crawling towards me with a blank facial expression. When he reaches out to me, another bullet was shot. Another blood spilled over the floor. I feel like the room is turning into dark again. Did they turn the lamp off just like how they ended the lives I always treasure?

                “Papa!” I called my father aloud when he pulled the trigger of his pistol. I feel like the room is turning into dark. Did somebody turn the lamp off just like how they ended the lives that are treasured? Or is there even a single life in this world worth taking away?#