We remember the dead for the good they brought to the world.
Yesterday, Mr. Ralph Cecilio, our senior high school English teacher fondly called "Papa Lap", succumbed to lung cancer a couple of hours after midnight. He once exclaimed to his students, with his usual infectious enthusiasm, that he was going to be "the best god damned teacher you'll ever meet!"
Unless some other equally brilliant academician bagged the best-god-damned-teacher-you'll-ever-meet award, I think I am right in saying he made a self-fulfilling prophecy. For most of us who have gone under his instruction, he left still bagging that award uncontested.
Monday last week, some 57 people died in Ampatuan, Maguindanao, in among the most heinous of crimes to humanity. Friends, families and loves of these 57 people weep for their losses, while the country weeps for the injustice, crying "foul."
But during funerals, we remember the dead as more than the fun-loving, life-loving people that they were; more so, for the good they brought to the world.
We remember how we were taught that solving crossword puzzles not only enhances vocabulary, but that it can help shape our manners of expression. That one can travel through books. That there are wonders to be discovered in reading voraciously. Through Macbeth and Hamlet and a host of other stories, sonnets and poetry, our young, naïve minds were introduced to the happiness, sorrows, strengths and frailties, even the bestiality of the humans that we are. We remember when we were first taught both the joy and the importance of engaging in any meaningful, and substantial form of discourse.
Because, to borrow concepts from Lourd de Veyra, engaging in discourse online or otherwise helps shape the sensibilities of people. For instance, in light of recent events, sharing opinions and facts help people understand, and discard misconceptions; it teaches us to speak out clearly and demand what is due us – justice, and protection for the citizens of this country, whether or not the sanguineous perpetrators are government allies. As for dealing with sorrow, words can heal.
We remember that there are people who still have faith in social, or political change despite living in systems deemed corrupted and hopeless; that there is still reason for even the disillusioned to bank on that same hope. That, like crossword puzzles, we have every reason not to leave holes gaping at the sky without answers. We remember that the written word can be armor; and that, if a million strong can speak collectively, words can spur people into productive action.
So, this is how I commemorate my teacher – I write. In return, this too is how I can commemorate those who were martyred in Mindanao. I write. For any cause I might take up in the future – literary, social, political – I will write. And if I should get any chance to help mold the minds of others as Mr. Cecilio did, I will. So I write.
Here's to the 57 or so who did not lose faith in democracy. And here's to the best god damned teacher I've ever met.