While many ceased to exist, I continue to live. I have been alive for so many a year and will always live. Here on earth, or even in the afterlife, my presence shall be there. Find out why...
I was twenty-three years old when the Japanese troops besieged our province. They stormed our town like bees disturbed from their hive. They were the most ruthless creatures God has ever created--cold blooded both to children and adults, male and female. I could only sneer whenever I hear present-day stories concerning their brutality, for they were far more fiendish in reality.
They barged into our house in the dead of the night. As a matter of fact, the whole town woke up in a confused noise of yells and cries. The Japanese were everywhere and they seemed to enjoy wrecking havoc all over the place. And amidst all these turmoil, when everything else appeared to have been embraced by the shadows of darkness, I saw an infant tossed high up in the air. It appeared to be suspended for a while in the center of the bright, round moon, and they very instantly it was swathed in crimson. Finally, there sprang out of the infant's chest, proud and sparkling under the light of the moon, th menacing blade of the Japanese bayonetta.
A woman not far from where I stood cried out with a loud voice and called out the murdered baby's name. I knelt down in utter dismay upon realizing that the child was my own son and the woman was my wife. I wanted to do something, but gunshots arrested me. Finally, there were flames, then pain, then darkness...
Six months after that diabolic night, I was taking shelter in the woods within our province. I just realized that i did not have to run away from danger all the itme. Because sometimes, the safest place to hide turns out to be the devil's lair itself. I stood panting in the middle of the clearing of the woods. I had just finished planting my tree and was about to salute my own accomplishment when a boy spoke from behind me.
"So, you want to be immortal, huh?" He asked. Then, looking at my bewildered eyes, he explained. "There are three ways to be immortal. First, you can die as a hero and someone else will build you a statue, then you may also write a book and lastly..."
"Plant a tree," I put in. "Well, here in Cavite it means something like that."
"Something like that?"
"You see, when folks here bear a grudge, they plant a tree. And as long as the tree lives, the grudge will never be assuaged."
"Are you telling me, then, that you are bearing a grudge?"
"I, ah, what is it with you?"
"Would you not want to ever learn to forgive?"
"Listen, boy," this time he slapped my temper, "if some stranger kills your wife and son, then shoots your leg, burns your village, and stabs you with a bayonet, then for some miraculous reason you managed to survive, would you ever want to learn to forgive?"
"I am not in your position to answer that question, but..."
"Go," I said, pushing him away, "I do not care whence you came from, or what is it that you want from me, JUST GO!"
So he ran away without even looking back at me. I puffed at the threads of hair dangling before my eyes, and sighed. I felt like I was becoming more inhospitable after treating the boy like that. But who would care? He did not look much like a Filipino boy anyway.
I thought that was the end of our meeting but he returned the following day. I was checking my tree,then, when he came. He had a couple of green mangoes in his hands and was trying to give the other one to me. I considered it as a peace offering so I accepted his fruit. He smiled at me, assured that yesterday's conflict had finally ended. Then it was my turn to do him a favor. I gestured him to sit on a fallen log not far from us adn he willingly obeyed. And as he walked toward the log, I began to admire him. He was pretty brave for a little boy. But as for his reason for visiting me, I still had no idea.
"Where did you come from?" I asked before sinking my teeth into the mango.
"Down town." he replied, "You know what? Some people are like mangoes, their hearts are rock-hard. But in reality, people are supposed to be like human, not mango. My father told me that our hearts should always be filled with kindness and mercy towards others. After all, Christ Himself had been kind and merciful towards us."
"Not again, boy..."
"A wounded heart heals in time, but bitterness leaves a scar on it."
"How old are you?" I asked as I sat beside him. "Where did you learn those ideas?"
"Ten." He bit his mango, "From my father."
"He must be a very good man to be able to teach you that. There are a few good men left today. I would be honored to meet one, really."
"But you have already known one." He replied, "And besides, you would not want to meet my father. He does not look like one of those typical good guys, mind you."
"I see. But how did you get here? The woods is not a safe place for children like you."
"Wrong." He protested, "It would be safer for me to come here just as I am, than for my father and his colleagues." Then he stood up, "I must go now. I would like to visit you again tomorrow, if you do not mind."
"Sure..."
And so he left me puzzled. Why would it be safer for him to visit the woods than for his father? What could be present in this place that proved dangerous for adults but safe for children? I began to feel afraid not just for myself, but also for the rest of the adults who were hiding here. I did not want to see another havoc. Unfortunately, my mind got stuck in that vision until night fell. I kept on tossing and turning on my bed, thinking of that boy's remark: it was safer for him to be here than for his father. Outside, the light of the full moon was the only comfort I could see. Everything else seemed to be at league with the enemy. Death was not far away...
I woke up the following day feeling terrible. That was the most restless night I ever had. The boy's words still ringing inside my head like hell. I tried to drive it away by myself busy tending over my tree. And then I heard that familiar voice again. My temple throbbed in sudden fear and I spun around like an alarmed beast.
"Do not come near me!" I warned him, "Stay where you are, aswang!"
The boy suddenly stopped. I knew he was not a typical boy. As I said, he did not look much like a Filipino boy so he must something else. There were evil spirits haunting our province, and he must be one of them. One way to identify incarnated spirits is through their eyes. A typical Filipino had almond-shaped eyes, but he had slit-like eyes and his skin was fairer than my brown complexion. He was not a Filipino boy. He was something else.
"Stay where you are, or you will be sorry!" I warned him.
"What is happening to you?" The boy asked with confusion, "What have I done?"
"Stop acting like you are innocent, aswang!"
"Aswang?" He thought about it for a while then he flashed me a smile. "Humans judge according to what they see and they act according to what they believe. Man looks on the outside, but God looks on the heart."
"Yet Satan himself can transform into an angel of light." I told him. "Go away!"
"I really do not know what has come into you," he said as his smile turned into a frown, "but I would like to ask you something really important..."
"Oh, for your last words, go ahead."
"If you die today, are you sure without a doubt that your soul will go to Heaven?"
That was all he said and he ran away. he left me again puzzled. I could never be so sure but I believed that a sort of a warning. The fallen log invited me to sit down and as I did so, visions flashed inside my head. There came again the vision of the night terror raised by the brutal Japanese soldiers; that little boy, his mango and his words of spiritual depth; my sudden insanity and; the most striking question I had heard for the first time. It made me think for a while for he had a point. Where will my soul be in the next one hundred years? The would-be-cause of my demise did not bother me at that moment, and I have trashed the idea that he was an aswang. What bothered me was my after life: where will I spend eternity?
The cold wind rustled the leaves of my tree that created a soft, hissing sound. There are three ways to be immortal, he told me, but would my tree be enough to send my soul to heaven? I guess I should die as a hero or write a book, and it would really make me immortal. But my immortality is guaranteed to last as long as man is still conscious, or if my legacy still exists. With man unconscious and my legacy extinct, I would be nothing.
Time went by and the boy did not return to visit me anymore. The sting of guilt still lingered within me and I was starting to miss him. He was brave, smart, and a really good-looking boy. He was right, I did not have to to looking around for good men to speak with for I have already known one---it was him. Too bad my attitude had to be so repulsive that the only good man I had to speak with had to go away.
Meanwhile, the Japanese invasion was on the verge of its doom. The American forces had arrived and were taking over the adversaries in a mocking triumph. Most of the men, including me, were risking lives in the war, while some remained in the mountains listening to more yelss and cries and explosions and gun fires, and trying to protect themselves from the big, bad world.
And while we were fighting for the sake of freedom, my mind was being treacherously bombarded by that unforgettable question: Where will my soul be when I die? Yet hoping against hope, I could not let my tree die. The reason why I planted that tree was not because of grudge, but because of my desire to see my land free from oppression for good. As long as my tree lives, I will always strive for freedom from oppression and fears.
Finally, after the long darkness brought by the war, the sun began to shine again. People were coming down from the mountains to celebrate the liberation. Yet after the war,the Philippines was in shambles. Inadequate land distribution and unequal taxation ignited the guerilla revolt against the government. Some of my colleagues joined the rebellion, and I was tempted to join them too, but my tree was not planted for rebellion against the government.
The days that followed still carried with it the terrors of war, yet people were trying to live a normal life again. I decided to return to the woods to visit my tree, which had grown a few feet by then. My struggle against oppression was over, yet my tree still lives. Perhaps, I would be encountering new ones in the near future.
"Oh, you are still here. Thank God!"
I stood still upon hearing that unfamiliar voice. It was a voice of a man with the cheerfulness of a child. I could hear the rustle of dried leaves as he walked towards me, but I still did not want to turn around. Then, the movement stopped and he spoke again.
"Care for some mangoes?" he asked.
Tears suddenly raced upon my cheeks and kissed my smiling lips. I was stuped. Of course he had grown to be a young man. That little boy I scared away three years ago had come to visit me again. And when I turned around, he was indeed a fine young man.
"Be not afraid to entertain strangers," he said smiling, "for some have entertained angels unaware." He handed me a green mango, and invited me to sit on the fallen log. And immediately, I felt like everything around me had changed. The tree looked small again, and I was sitting beside a ten-year old boy with a mango once more.
"My father is a missionary from an underground church in Japan," So that explained his slit-like eyes and fair complexion, "and we are here to fulfill our mission. We came here with the rest of the team, desiring to spread God's word of comfort to war-torn folks like you. they knew this woods was inhabited by refugees, but they could not come here because they were always being ambushed by your folks. Then one day, I ventured to visit this place myself and brought with me my father's desire to spread the Gospel here. They did not harm me. I realized it was safer for me to be here than for my father. I was about to share you God's most wonderful message when you suddenly changed. I was so scared so I ran away."
"But you came back." I said, heaving a sigh.
"Yes," he replied, "to say goodbye. I have been visiting this place since the war ended but you were not here. thank god you came today."
"So you are leaving..."
"Well, the team has successfully planted churches here. We have to move on to our new mission field. But I could not leave without knowing what has happned to you. Do you still remember the question I asked you before I left?"
"Of course..."
"I would like to give you the answer." He pulled out a small Bible from the pocket of his jacket, "If you die today, can you be sure that your soul will go to Heaven? The answer is yes. Jesus loves you, and He wants you to be with Him after this life. All you need to do is to accept that we are sinners and Jesus is the only one who can save us. He is knocking on the door of your heart. Will you invite Him in as your Savior?"
"Sure," I told him, "I would love to."
He simply smiled and led me to a short prayer. Now everything around me felt like swirling in mist and light, and when I opened my eyes, I was sitting beside a fine, young man once more and the tree had grown again.
"Thank you for caring..." I said.
"You are always welcome." He replied, "I knew you are a good man!"
The I gave him what I believed was my final hug, and I ran away. I never looked back ever again, and I did not know what has happened to the young man after that. But if I would not see him again here on earth, I am sure we would meet in Heaven someday.
And while many ceased to exist, I continue to live. I have been alive for so many a year and will always live. Here on earth, or even in the afterlife, my presence shall be there.
As long as my tree lives, I live.
And when I die, I would only be absent from my body, yet present with my LORD.
I am immortal.
I have been young and now I am old, and I can see that my battles are still being fought by many sould today. In their own ways, they face the cares and fears that life has to offer. Perhaps they should also plant a tree. I can see clearly now why my tree still lives though my battles have been won long ago. It is to remind me that there will always be struggles as long as the world exists.
The greatest struggle being fought by many people today is the assurance of their existence in the afterlife. Mine had been won when I did what my young friend had told me---I invited Jesus into my heart.
In the end, I can only say that man will always try to find solutions for the cares of this world using their limited wisdom. But my young friend showed me the best solution for cares and fears. You may not believe it, but he taught me that one truth from the Bible is worth more than all the wisdom of man.
---end---
*photo taken from: http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:tS4Gdu6gsfHtCM:http://www.misswilhelmina.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/sad_man-300x298.jpg
