DOST-Cordillera GAD

30/07/2026

𝑮𝑨𝑫 𝑲𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 (7/12)

Empowering Women in Nation-Building

Signed pursuant to Article II, Section 14 of the 1987 Constitution, EO 348 formally adopted the Philippine Development Plan for Women (1989–1992) under President Corazon C. Aquino, establishing a national framework for gender equality and women's participation in nation-building.

More knowledge series here
https://car.dost.gov.ph/category/gad-corner/

20/07/2026

DOST-CAR proudly congratulates the winners of the "Every Parent Has a Story: Sharing Stories that Inspire and Empower" Story Writing Contest.

1st Place - “𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚-𝑳𝒐”
By Ms. Ivy B. Saturnino
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1954m4VbVR/

2nd Place - "𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒅𝒂𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝑴𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈"
Ms. Joylene M. Abuan
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1Gz9cGNA8e/

3rd Place - “𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑨 𝑰𝑲𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑰 𝑴𝑶 𝑰𝒀𝑨𝑵”
Mx. John Joshua P. Andaya
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1AtPAxavGM/

4th Place - “𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆.”
Ms. Reyma Anne G. Laurean
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/18uXEAgS8M/

Congratulations to the Winners🥳

Thank you to everyone who participated.

You may still read the winning stories on the DOST-CAR GAD page or at the link provided.

06/07/2026

𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐒 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟏𝟏: "𝐊𝐮𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐤𝐚, 𝐏𝐚?": 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

As a Post-Father's Day activity, we explore the significance of addressing the mental health needs of fathers who have long held the image of the "strong and silent" providers.

In partnership with the University of the Cordilleras-Project H.E.L.E.N., this episode seeks to provide mental health support to the men in public service who juggle the responsibilities of caring for their families and serving the country.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚: 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙡𝙡, 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙭 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧. We recognize the importance of talking about mental wellness and creating a support system to help those in need.

Interested participants are requested to register thru the link:
https://tinyurl.com/KumustakaPa

06/07/2026

06/07/2026

30/06/2026

Every Parent has a Story: Story Writing Contest
Entry No. 4

“𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆.”

Life is not as simple as you think or as you imagined. It is hard to live when life
is so hard. All of the problems are already imprinted in your mind; It is not that
easy to erased. It is privilege to grow up and to live in a household where life
is easy. We never know where, when, and how life could be better. Life is so
vast that no matter how far you’ve come, it is still so far, and it hurts to think
that you already conquered all the challenges that you imagined, and yet
there are still a lot of obstacles you need to face.

I started to feel that life is hard at a young age. I’m always questioning the
world: “Why is life always like this?” “Why do we need to feel this way?” It’s
always the word “why.” All of us have a different perspective of what life is. In
my case, my family started with a better life; yes, we had a better life, but
that was before when I was still a little bit young. But that better life was just
for a short time; it was not for a long time. When I turned fifteen, our lives
turned upside down; my parents started struggling financially. They were
always going out asking our other relatives for money if they had it. I started
telling myself to stop studying and just find work to help my parents because it
is hard to see your parents borrowing money from your other relatives; it hurts
to see them like that, it hurts so hard. I keep questioning, “Why do we need to
feel like this?” “Why is life so unfair?” “Why didn’t other families even
experience this kind of life?” “Why aren’t they even struggling when it comes
to finances?” “Why us?”

I grew up watching my parents handle every obstacle life threw at them, I
never see my parent’s exhausted face, they always makes us see that they
are happy, but I always looking at their eyes. Eyes never lie, I saw how hard it
is for them. I know there were nights they thought they could not do it quietly,
when no one was around watching them. But every morning they still got up
and did it for us. Gave it all they could, doing more than anyone could ever
saw. So I again questioned my self: “How would I choose to be weak when
my parents raised me to be that strong?”

Everything happened so fast. When I graduated High School every opportunity that other people giving me, I keep declining, I don’t know why, maybe because I do not believe in my self, or maybe I still want to enjoy
being teenager since I matured at a young age, because I needed to and I
have to. My parents did not ask me to grow up maturely at a young age. I
chose those path myself because of how hard life is. I did not live with a
normal childhood. I always saw my cousins playing, looking so happy, and I
envied them. Still, I hung out with them so that I could experience that
genuine smile flustered on their faces, I want to feel it so bad.

When I entered college, it became more difficult. Instead of studying, I was
constantly thinking what should I do to help my parents? Every time my
mother called, she always telling me her problems, and it would remained on
my head until I fell asleep. It pressured me so much, because I feel like my
parents are expecting that when I will graduated college I can make our
lives better, but no. It hurts when your parents are never told you what they
really expecting at you because you could feel it, the pressure, the
expectation, name it. As an older child, I don’t want my siblings to feel what I
felt, I want them to feel what normal childhood life are. But unfortunately they
did, and it huts so much to see them experiencing such things that they
normal kids should not experience.

When I was already in third year college, I found a job. I realized that this is
really the reality of life, this is really what life is. I worked and give my parents
some of my hard earned, and I also treat my self, but at the same time I
constantly hesitating to give my self a reward because it feels like I should
allocate that money for other things that is more useful.

Being stuck in this kind of situation is really heart breaking, because why
would I settle when I know that I have the capabilities to do more, to make
more. Life really humbled me, I want to run away and ghost everyone. To
disappear without any trace. To delete all my social media account, and
leave behind my current life like it was never meant to hold me. To begin
again somewhere quiet, far from the noise, far from the pressure. Where i can
breathe without pretending. A place that feels like peace, like freedom to
live freely without worrying what other people might say t you, like the life I’ve
always imagined but never had the courage to reach. And maybe just
maybe, in that quiet corner of the world, I will finally learn what it means to
truly LIVE without thinking so much. That is the only thing that I want, live freely
and leave the world full of problems. But who am I to do that. I have
responsibilities to do, my family was expecting me to change our life. That is
my weakness.

All of the struggles, questions and doubts that we faced was hard, but why
we still keep fighting? Because the LOVE that I share with my family are
stronger than those problems that may come. We keep fighting because we
know that it is not the end. We may have a lot of problems that are hard to
removed, but when you have a strong love towards each other, those
problems are just a small piece of dirt. No one could ever destroy the love
that we have.

All of the experiences I have had in my life was a lesson not to give up,
because everything that happened to you have a price. It really is a hard
battle, but my family’s love is the weapon that I will carry to conquer every
obstacles ahead. We may not rich when it comes to finances, but we are
rich because I am not afraid to fight alone and to go alone, because I know I
have my family to cheer me on through all of my upcoming battles. And love
is best price that I ever received in my whole life.

Love is a strong weapon that will help you to fight all the battles that you think
you will never conquered, that you think you have nothing against with. Love
makes you feel stronger. This one word could change your life forever.

Written by Ms. Reyma Anne G. Laurean
DOST-CAR, FAS Intern

30/06/2026

Every Parent has a Story: Story Writing Contest
Entry No. 3

“𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑨 𝑰𝑲𝑨𝑲𝑨𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑰 𝑴𝑶 𝑰𝒀𝑨𝑵”

We lived in the world that was full of greed, lies, and judgement. But where do I belong? Am I going to be scared? Who am I going to trust? Is it that my emotion makes me weak? Who is going to love me? Those questions are hard to answer.
I am John Joshua P. Andaya, a proud LGBTQIA+ who identifies as gay and carries her advocacy, pride, confidence, and love for her family and the community. But let me give you this introduction. Did your parents support you despite the difference of being gay and having a boyfriend or girlfriend or even being early pregnant? Did they give you advice? Or are they always angry when you don’t follow their words? In this world people will look at you if you are different, from your personality, especially your gender identity, and especially when you are poor; people will look down on you if you have nothing. And that’s me and my family. I grew up in a family where love, acceptance, guidance, and advice are always fresh, but sometimes I don’t follow it. I lived in a family of farmers where we were aware of how life is hard and aware of poverty. Back then, when I was in grade 4, many things happened, and yes, my parents were separated. And yes, we are a broken family. I started selling products like lumpiang Gulay and ice candy, doing part-time work in grocery stores when I was 12 years old. And I realized how hard it is to get money; I lived with my grandmother, from whom I don’t want to separate. My sibling studies in different cities, also, to open new opportunities. When I was in grade 10, I studied in Manila to find new opportunities and meet people and also to learn and finish my studies. Back then in Manila, my mother always said, “Umunig ditoy rumwar itjay, agadal ka nga nasayaat para kanyam mut lang ata para pag sayaatam ata," my mother said. In that year in Manila, I experienced discrimination and indifference because of the environment and also people judging my identity as gay. But I’ve always remembered what my mother said: “Umunig ditoy rumwar itjay, agadal ka nga nasayaat para kanyam mut lang ata para pag sayaatam ata." After that,I joined in a National Competition in Journalism (NSPC) in Manila and got 8th place in a Sport and Feature Writing Competition, in which I was not only representing my school and myself but also those words of my parents. I graduated, cherishing those experiences and words with my parents. One day when I was in Manila after my graduation, my phone rang, and I answered my father’s call, who said, 'I am so proud of you, anak. You are so beautiful.'Those words make me confident and show who I am because my father accepts me as who I am, and not all of us are accepted by their children, especially if they are gay. Those words bring me a smile.

In senior high school in 2018, many things happened; my mother was in the hospital, and my father died on the same day. Since we are a broken family, my mother has her own relationship as well as my father. Those events of my life, a mix of stress and heavy emotions, are carried to my chest. And this word comes to my mind: my emotions make me weak. Why do I feel this? Why are there so many people in this world? Why are we suffering and experiencing these kinds of pains? But I realized how my emotions make me stronger. I believe in God and am thinking that this is going to be better. On that day I felt the love, guidance, and words of my mother and father. After that event my mother was fine and went back home safely. When I was in college, my family always said, “Sayaatim ta panag adal mo." You know, those words make me cry because they want me to have a better life, but I want them to have a better life. I’ve joined many curricular and extracurricular activities. I also work in various companies in the Cordillera to earn money and use it for my allowance. But then, since I entered college, I've seen their support, guidance, and effort because they are paying my tuition and other expenses. I studied and worked smart, and I became a president or in the council in the university. I carried out those leadership roles and skills and applied them to the community.

I started to help the community by empowering my advocacy on youth and sustainable development goals, targeting SDG 4 Quality Education, SDG 5 Gender Inequalities, SDG 11 Sustainable Cities and Communities, and SDG 17 Partnerships for the Goals. I also do event hosting and voice artistry for many events, schools, and organizations, bringing the flow and maintaining the program and event flow. My advocacy centers on empowering youth and communities to utilize youth voices and cultivate skills in various applications, particularly leadership and public speaking. I actively seek partnerships between organizations, academia, and agencies that align with the 17 Sustainable Development Goals, whose shared vision, mission, and goals unite as one. And by that I also started fashion modeling for many agencies and brands in the Philippines, where I am not only walking with confidence but also carrying pride and cultural legacy in those textiles and weaving, bringing creatives, fashion, and models. Intends to foster the growth and development of young individuals within organizations and community engagements, enabling the youth to articulate their ideas into innovation and build robust credentials.

And now I am now taking up my internship program at the Department of Science and Technology Finance and Administrative Services Division, carrying my parents’ support, efforts, love, and lessons. Where fresh ideas turn to new ideas. And now I am graduating, carrying my parents’ love, guidance, advice, and efforts, and turning those into my own advocacy and pride. It is now thanks to my parents’ efforts that a gay son will be graduating soon. In the end I’ve learned that my emotion makes me strong. We live in a world that is full of opportunities and growth. We experience ups and downs, but we always remember that your parents are always there no matter your ups and downs. I’ve thought on how the world is beautiful when your parents are still alive or when you are a complete family. Enjoy those moments with your parents, listen to their words and phrases, and love them unconditionally. I would carry those lessons not only to my parents but also to the people who surround me with pride, confidence, and love. There are questions that are hard to answer when you don’t know them, but if you experience them, you will know the answer. I have learned to show who you are and not to be scared because people will use your weaknesses as their sword to defeat and break you into small pieces. Parents' love is unconditional and it will never fade.

Always remember this world from my parents." Umunig ditoy rumwar itjay, agadal ka nga nasayaat para kanyam mut lang ata para pag sayaatam ata. A gay person who makes her emotions stronger, who pays the sacrifices of her parents despite the ups and downs, and whose parents’ words are precious; today you will hear them a lot, but soon you will never. Always remember this: “Success is your asset, and liability is your failure. Therefore, be an asset, not a liability." This is not only a story of me but also a ripe dream and efforts of my parents and the judgement of people whom I used as swords to a successful life and to show no fear to the community with pride, love, and kindness.

Written by Mx. John Joshua P. Andaya
DOST-CAR, FAS Intern

30/06/2026

Every Parent has a Story: Story Writing Contest
Entry No. 2

“𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚-𝑳𝒐”

My earliest memory of home does not have my mother's face or my father's voice. It has their faces - Lolo and Lola. For the first four years of my life, I did not know the word "grandparents." To me, they were Mame and Dadi. I vaguely remember the moment I realized that my parents were actually my grandparents. I was young, around four years old, too small to understand adult sacrifices but old enough to feel the weight of absence. My biological mother had gone to Baguio City to work for a living. In the economy of our remote hometown in Bokod, Benguet, love sometimes looked like leaving so you could provide. So I was left behind, not abandoned, but entrusted to the two people who would shape my entire understanding of what a home and a father should be.

Lolo was not a man of grand titles. In our barangay, he was known simply as the man who lent money. Every day, before the sun could fully stretch over the mountains, he would leave our small house. He was a small-time lender, collecting from neighbors with a little interest. It was not a business that would make him rich, but it was enough to put food on our table and, more importantly, enough to help others. Lola and I would be left at home. The house would be quiet except for the sound of her radio playing.

My childhood was memorable. When quiet night came, Lola and I would stand by our window. We would look out at the distant, the pathway along the mountainside. We were waiting for a small, flickering light. When we saw someone holding a torch (saleng), swaying with each step, we knew it is him. That tiny flame meant he was safe, and he was coming home to us. He never arrived empty-handed. There was always pasalubong tucked in his bag - sometimes a piece of bread, sometimes piskaw and bakalaw. But my favorite, the one I waited for, was bukayo. The sweet, chewy coconut strip was more than a snack. It was proof that in his long day of collecting debts and walking kilometers, he thought of me.

That was my normal. But normal changed when I reached Grade 3 in 2008. My mother decided to take me to La Trinidad to continue my studies there. The urban had better schools, better opportunities. I understood, but my eight-year-old heart didn’t. It meant separation. Yet even distance could not break the bond Lolo and I had. Every weekend I could, and every school vacation without fail, I would go home to the province. The house had changed after Lola passed away in 2012. It was quieter. Lolo was alone. So, I would visit him. I would do his laundry. I would clean the house and sweep dried leaves outside. Sometimes I would walk around the yard and pick flowers to put in an empty glass on his table. These were my love letters to him.

Meanwhile, Lolo never stopped working. Age did not slow him down. He continued his small-time lending, walking the same pathways-now roads, holding the same ledger. When there was no one to collect from, he had another workplace - the uma. Farming was his hobby and his exercise. He would plant sayote which crawled up every available tree, and fruits such as bananas, papaya, dulsi. He did not plant for profit. He planted for us. When the fruits bore harvest, he would pack them in old rice sacks and send them on the jeep to La Trinidad. He was the one who sent me to school. So every time I had to go back to my mother, my heart felt a little heavy. The bus ride was always quiet for me. I would look out the window as the mountains passed, and I would miss him already. I was missing the man who stood as my father. Because that was what he was. He was not a substitute. He was not “like a father.” He was my father. He was the one who taught me to be thrifty, scolding me gently when I bought too much junk food. His voice was my first lesson in financial literacy. His life was my first lesson in generosity.

I was in 4th year college when he died of colon cancer in 2022. It was the saddest. Graduation was just a few months away. I had one plan, one dream for that day: I wanted him to march with me. I wanted to take a picture with him with the toga. But he didn’t make it. The disease took him before the diploma did. The grief was sharp, but what came after was a revelation of who my Lolo truly was to the world.

During his wake, our house could not contain the people. Each one had a story. The tinudok vendors cried as they told us how Lolo has helped them with their small business. I met teachers who borrowed from him while waiting for their delayed salaries. His churchmates stood up and shared his testimony. They said that as a young man, Lolo was barumbado, reckless, with little faith in God. But the church changed him. And from then on, he would tell everyone that a person can change. He was a proof.

On the day of his burial, it was the same. The house was full, even outside. Mourners came from Mountain Province and from different municipalities of Bokod. They did not come for a rich man. They came for a good man. And they came because they also appreciated how he raised his children. Despite nine children with different personalities, different lives, he built a tradition stronger than conflict - Christmas. Every December, without fail, he would gather his family. His 9 children and us, more than 30 grandchildren, would come home. We would eat together - pinikpikan, watwat, rice that never ended. And after the meal, he would call each apo, one by one, and press a folded bill into our hands. It was never about the amount. It was about the gesture. It was him saying, “Simsimpaen yu nga agiskwela.” After dinner, we would beg him for stories. We had heard them all before -the story of the ghosts, his horses, his barumbado days. But we still laughed, still listened, and still asked for more.

It was Father’s Day yesterday, and Facebook reminded me of a picture of us when he was still alive. There he was, smiling, my arms clinging with him. And suddenly I miss him, my daddy-lo. I am deeply grateful because through him, I felt a father’s love that no one else can ever match. It was not a perfect love. It was a love that walked kilometers with a torch, that planted fruits and sayote on a steep slope, that lent money to a neighbor, that sent bananas on a bus. His love, his financial support, his short stories, and his life advice - I will never forget them.

Lolo is gone. I did not get to march with him. But his words of wisdom are always with me. When I choose to save instead of spending, that’s him. When I tell my own child to be kind, that’s him. One thing I know: I was loved. And he was loved by many.

✒Written by Ms. Ivy B. Saturnino
DOST-CAR, FAS-Accounting Unit

30/06/2026

Every Parent has a Story:Story Writing Contest
Entry No. 1

𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒅𝒂𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊 𝑴𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈

“98, 99, 100!”
Natapos ko nang bilangin ang mga numero mula isa hanggang isang daan
habang nakaupo sa ilalim ng puno sa labas ng aming kubo. Ngunit bakit wala pa
rin si mama? Nagsimula na akong mangamba kaya dali-dali akong sumunod
patungo sa direksyong pinuntahan niya.

Kabisado ko pa sa unang tatlong minutong paglalakad ang maputik na daan sa
masukal na gubat. Hanggang sa narating ko ang isang sangandaan
(interseksyon). Dalawang daan ang bumungad sa akin. Nakakalito para sa isang
limang taong gulang na batang ayaw mahiwalay sa kanyang ina. Pinili ko ang
mas malawak na daan, nagdarasal na sana ay mahagilap ko na si mama.
Nagdadalawang-isip kung babalik na lamang ba ako o ipagpapatuloy ang
paglalakad.

“Ayun si mama!” sigaw ng isip ko sa tuwa nang sa wakas ay nasilayan ko na si
mama. Pasan ng kanyang ulo ang isang bayong na puno ng mga gulay na
kanyang ibebenta sa bayan. Malayo nga pala ang bayan, dalawang oras pa ang
lalakarin bago marating ang sakayan ng traysikel. Dahan-dahan akong sumunod
upang hindi niya ako mahalata, takot na baka pagalitan ako at pauwiin.

Hindi ko pa noon lubos na nauunawaan ang lahat, ngunit ramdam ko ang bigat
ng kanyang pasan—hindi ang bayong kundi ang bigat na dala ng kanyang puso.
Rinig ko mula sa hindi kalayuan ang kanyang mahinang pag-iyak habang
pabulong na nagdarasal. Hindi ko pa man maipaliwanag, ngunit alam kong lubos
na siyang nahihirapan sa kalagayan ng aming pamilya.

Labinsiyam na taong gulang pa lamang si mama nang isilang niya ang panganay
naming si ate Bansyang. Sumunod ako, at si ading Sukoy ang bunso. Dahil sa
hirap ng buhay, naipagpaliban niya ang pag-aaral at maaga niyang hinarap ang
mabigat na responsibilidad ng pagiging isang ina. Isang kahig, isang tukang
magsasaka sa probinsyang napaka-limitado ang mga oportunidad.

Makalipas ang ilang taon, dinala kami ng tadhana sa siyudad. Sa unang
pagkakataon, parang nasilayan namin ang isang mundong matagal nang umiikot
nang hindi namin nalalaman. Manghang-mangha kami sa mga parke na malayo
sa gubat na aming kinalakhan, mga kompyuter na dati'y nakikita lang namin sa
aklat, at maraming mga gusali saan man kami lumingon. Mga simpleng bagay
na pangkaraniwan na lamang para sa iba. Ngunit habang unti-unti kaming
nasasanay sa bagong kapaligiran, unti-unti rin naming nararamdaman ang isang
malaking kawalan. Dalawang taon na pala kaming walang komunikasyon kay
mama. Naghiwalay na kasi sila ni itay, dahilan upang mapunta kami sa siyudad
at mamuhay nang malayo sa kanya.

Umaga noon sa paaralan, pinag-uusapan ang pagtatapos naming mga nasa ika-
anim na baitang sa susunod na linggo. “Nene, may naghahanap sayo sa labas”
ika ni ma’am Santos. Lumabas ako at muling nakita sa unang pagkakataon si
mama. Lumapit siya at niyakap ako. Hindi ako nagulat o umiyak, dahil mas
tumimbang ang maraming tanong, pangungulila at pagkalito sa isip ko. “Anak,
nandito ako para magpaalam, bukas na ang lipad ko.” Ika ni mama. Nagpasya
pala siyang mangibang-bansa at magtrabaho bilang kasambahay. Tumango na
lamang ako ngunit hindi na ako naka-imik pa. Nag-martsa akong walang
kasamang magulang, ngunit masaya pa rin ako dahil isa ako sa naparangalan.

Tiniis ni mama ang anim na taon sa ibang bansa. Habang naroon siya, madalas
kong naiisip kung ilang daang araw naman kaya ang bibilangin ko bago namin
siya muling makasama. Sa mga unang taon niya roon, nagsimula ring magbago
ang aming buhay. Paminsan-minsan ay may pang-meryenda na kami tuwing
recess sa paaralan, nakakain na rin sa Jollibee, at nagkaroon pa ng isang touch
screen na Cherry Mobile na pinagkakaguluhan naming magkakapatid. Masaya
kami sa mga bagong karanasang iyon, ngunit hindi namin alam na bawat
munting ginhawang tinatamasa namin ay katumbas pala ng mas mabigat na
pagsasakripisyo ni mama sa malayong bansa.

Matapos ang dalawang taon niyang pagtatrabaho, nagpasyang magbakasyon si
mama. Mula sa hindi kalayuan, tanaw ko na siya habang bumababa sa bus.
Napansin ko ang kanyang pagpayat, ang ngiti sa kanyang labi at bakas ng
pangungulila sa kanyang mga mata, at ang bago niyang damit sa paborito niyang
kulay na rosas. Nang makauwi na ay masaya kaming magkakapatid na
kinakalkal ang isang kartong puno ng pasalubong, habang si mama naman ay
natulog na at nagpahinga. Wari'y binabawi ang ilang taon niyang pagod sa
pagtatrabaho.

Binuksan ko ang kanyang selpon at agad na napukaw ang aking pansin sa isang
larawan. Nakalatag sa masikip na sahig ang isang kumot at unan sa tabi ng
lababo. Doon pala siya pinatutulog ng kanyang amo. Tiningnan ko pa ang iba
niyang mga larawan hanggang sa bumungad ang isa niyang bidyo. Nasa banyo
siya, nagkukuskos at mugto ang mga mata, habang isinisingit niya rin ang
pagkain ng tinapay. Masakit iyon para sa isang anak na makita, ngunit wala
akong magawa kundi titigan ang bawat larawan at damhin ang mga paghihirap
na hindi niya kailanman ikinuwento sa amin.

Akala ko noon, ang matulog sa sahig at ang magkuskos sa banyo habang
kumakain ang pinakamahirap na dinanas ni mama. Pero ngayon ko mas
nauunawaan na ang pinakamahirap pala sa lahat ay ang napalayo siya sa
kanyang pamilya habang pinipilit niyang magpakatatag araw-araw.

Natuklasan ko rin sa pitaka niya ang mga lumang resibo at listahan. Doon ko
nalaman na kahit kapos kami, maraming pagkakataong nagpapadala siya ng
tulong sa iba naming mga kamag-anak. Tinanong ko siya kinabukasan, “Ma,
bakit ka pa nagpadala kila aling Rusing, kaya naman nilang ipagpapagamot yung
asawa niya?” Ang sagot niya, “Anak, ang pera kayang kitain ulit ‘yan, pero ang
buhay ng tao iisa lang.” Doon ko mas nakita kung gaano kabuti ang puso ni
mama, kahit na tila ang tadhana mismo ang madamot at malupit sa kanya.

Dumating ang epidemya taong 2020. Ang panahon na rin siguro ang gumawa ng
paraan upang matigil ang hirap ni mama sa pakikipagsapalaran niya sa ibang
bansa. Dahil sa pandemya, nagpasyang umuwi si mama at naghanap na lamang
siya ng trabaho dito sa siyudad. Mahigit isang taon na lang naman ay
makakapagtapos na rin kami ni ate sa kolehiyo. Sabay ang pagtatapos namin
dahil tumigil siya ng isang taon sa pag-aaral. Dahil kagaya ni mama, maaga rin
siyang nabiyayaan ng anak.

Sa wakas, dumating rin ang aming pagtatapos, ang araw na matagal nang
ipinagdarasal ni mama. Hindi man niya mawari kung paano bigkasin sa amin,
ramdam pa rin namin ang lubos na galak at pasasalamat niya sa Panginoon.
Pagkatapos ng seremonya, habang tahimik niyang inilalagay ang bago naming
larawan sa kanyang pitaka, tila nakita ko ang kakaibang katahimikan sa
kanyang mukha. Para bang sa loob ng maraming taon ay sanay siyang mag-isip
kung paano kami maitatawid sa susunod na araw. Kaya nang makita niyang
unti-unti na kaming nakakatayo sa sarili naming mga paa, hindi niya rin alam
kung paano ipaliwanag ang kanyang nararamdaman.

Hanggang ngayon ay hindi ko pa rin masasabing magaan na ang aming buhay.
Pasan pa rin ni mama ang mabigat na bayong. Ang pinagkaiba lamang, hindi na
siya nag-iisa, dahil kasama na niya kami sa pagpasan nito. Nagtatrabaho na ako
ngayon at si ading na lamang ang aming pinag-aaral. Hindi pa rin madali ngunit
sa unang pagkakataon, pakiramdam ko ay kahit papaano, nabawasan ang bigat
na matagal niyang pinasan. At marahil, dahil unti-unti ko nang nararanasan ang
bigat ng sariling responsibilidad, mas malinaw ko nang nauunawaan ang mga
bagay na hindi ko maintindihan noong bata pa ako.

Kamakailan, habang pauwi ako mula sa trabaho, tahimik akong naglalakad at
pinipigilan ang maluha. Magulo ang isip at mabigat ang pakiramdam, hindi lang
dahil sa trabaho kundi dahil pakiramdam ko ay may oras akong hinahabol.
Tumatanda na kasi ang aking mga magulang, samantalang malayo pa ang aking
tatahakin. At hindi ko pa kayang maibigay sa kanila ang komportableng buhay
na matagal nilang ipinagkait sa kanilang sarili para sa amin. At sa mga
pagkakataong ganito ang aking iniisip, naalala ko ang araw na sinundan ko si
mama sa gubat—ang araw na nakita ko siyang umiiyak habang pasan ang
bayong.

Maraming taon ang lumipas bago ko lubos na naunawaan ang tagpong iyon.
Noon, akala ko'y simpleng laro lamang noong paupuin niya ako sa ilalim ng puno
at pagbilangin. Ngunit habang tumatanda ako at unti-unting nararanasan ang
bigat ng buhay, napagtanto kong kinailangan pala niya noon ang sandaling
mapag-isa at kumawala. Baka ang isang daang bilang na iyon, ang tanging
pagkakataon na maaari niyang ilabas ang lahat ng bigat na pinapasan niya.

Sa bawat pag-uwi ko mula sa trabaho, napagtanto kong may sarili na rin akong
bayong na binubuhat. Hindi man ito kasingbigat ng kay mama, sapat na ito
upang maunawaan ko na may mga pagkakataong nais na niyang sumuko noon.
Ngunit wala siyang magawa kundi ang magpatuloy, dahil mayroon siyang
matayog na pangarap para sa kanyang mga anak.

Ilan lamang ito sa napakaraming sakripisyong nasaksihan ko kay mama. Walang
bilang na makasusukat sa lahat ng kanyang pinagdaanan. Dahil para sa akin,
isang daang hindi mabilang ang mga pagsubok na kanyang nalampasan. Paano
pa kaya ang mga pasakit na mas pinili niyang itago at mag-isang labanan.

At kung may isang bagay man akong natutunan kay mama, iyon ay ang matutong
buhatin ang sarili kong bayong—ang kakayahang magpatuloy kahit mabigat ang
buhay . At ito ay isang klase ng responsibilidad na hindi kayang sukatin
ninuman. Kaya marahil, sa tuwing naaalala ko ang araw na iyon sa ilalim ng
puno, hindi na ang "98, 99, 100" ang naririnig ko. Kundi ang isang inang umiiyak
at nagdarasal, habang pasan ang isang bayong na hindi na gulay ang laman,
kundi responsibilidad, mga pangarap at kinabukasan ng kanyang mga anak.

✒️Isinulat ni Ms.Joylene M. Abuan
DOST-CAR OARD-FAS