MANILA, Philippines - It was said that you could hear her howling in the night, beneath the hushed whispers of tenebrous forestry, the still enigma of the once raging rivers. Rizal described her as having a voice inhuman, with tones that only an unspeakable lunacy could produce. She chatted loquaciously with trees and other creatures of nature, neglected caring for herself, incessantly but futilely searching for her two lost sons.
Sisa – stereotyped as a nutcase among most Filipinos, with her famous line “Crispin? Basilio?” used widely to depict madness in schools, TV shows, and stand-up comedy acts, forced into becoming a one-dimensional character – was not always like this. She once epitomized beauty in its true essence. Waterfalls of ebony strands cascading from a thick mane of hair. Eyes deep as a trench, profound as a sage. Golden skin, slightly burned, scintillating against the scorching heat. She was illiterate, but a hard worker. Her humility was admirable, however gullible it made her. Yet, she made the mistake of marrying an abusive inebriate with a compulsive need to gamble and who could not care less about her or their sons.
Her children, Crispin and Basilio, both forced to work in surly environments, kept her on her feet. They kept her holding on to that tenuous line between sanity and insanity. She remained strong, carved a smile on her face, nodded at every peremptory order her husband gave her, all because she fought to keep her sons with her. Upon losing her sons, however, she lost everything, including her mind.
Worn from the despotic society that had rejected her because of the sin of her marriage into poverty, worn from life that was not life at all, worn as a broken shoe that had gone so many places, seen so many resplendent sights but had brought home nothing but despondency and sheer despair, she became an object of both scorn and pity in her town. She wandered into the forest, haunted by thoughts that can never, ever be still: mixed-up images, Basilio, Crispin, Crispin, Basilio, flashes of life and death before her eyes, humming of woeful melodies in her ear, the hypocrisy of the church, the lies, the sins, hunger, being thrown against the unfeeling wooden floor, thirst, blood on Basilio’s camisa, Basilio, Crispin…
In the end, I came to the realization that Sisa lost her mind not because she was weak, not because her frailty had gotten the best of her, but because she was exhausted.
The principles I, as a daughter, a student, and a Filipino youth can learn from Sisa can all be summed up in one overused but meaningful word: hope. Wait. Am I not contradicting myself? Didn’t I just paint a picture of Sisa marred with gaunt hopelessness shoved down her throat by barbaric life? Her story does not end with this picture. Before she died, after living a difficult, eventful life, she was able to pass away in Basilio’s arms. That scene, a sight that would have left a Caucasian boy in and out of rehab or an Asian girl wasting away having short-lived affairs with countless men, left Basilio with hope, barely but still prevailing over despair. He went on to be a top student at his university, married a beautiful young wife, and earned himself a good job and a high rank in society, despite being an indio.
You see, Rizal did not spin together the vivid threads of Sisa’s character to garner pity from his readers. Rather, he created Sisa to remind us of the plight of our motherland, and Basilio to remind us of what we can – or rather, should – do.
Sisa was severely abused because she knew no more than to stay silent as each blow from her husband clashed against her cheek, against her nearly emaciated body, because she was defenseless as she felt she had nowhere else to go, because she thought that remaining obsequious to her abuser was the only way she and her children could survive.
What his mother endured taught Basilio that he was to rise above those principles. That he was to excel and not to fear beating even his white classmates, for he had the right to do so. Sisa teaches us that though we face cruelty, starvation and penury, even with our sanity signing its death sentence, there is always a reason for hope. We only need to find it within.
Sisa embodies the Philippines. Tired. Abandoned. Hopeless. Perceived by the world as terminally mad, shunned and maltreated with much vehemence even by those who claim to love her. But I, I strive to be Basilio. The only difference is that my mother, the Philippines, is still alive. I have the chance to redeem her before she completely dives into her demise. She is counting on me. She is counting on me to rebuild her walls, reclaim her glory, bring back the beauty she has never lost, but is claimed to have. She is counting on me not to bypass her, even when everyone else has. Her forlorn state is not irreparable. That with hard work, perseverance, sweat, and with the words I weave, the words stained with the pain that comes with sacrificing for and loving my desolate Philippines, I can redeem her name.
She has put hope in me, and I refuse to put that hope to waste. My youth may prevent others from listening to me, for they will challenge my wisdom and view my principles as baseless idealism.
But words I will not speak. Words have gotten us nowhere. It is evident in our society. If anything, words have annihilated certain aspects of our being. No, I will study hard and excel in whatever I do. I will compete with my fellow Filipinos, and working hard enough, I dream of competing with students of various races and languages. I will win in the international arena, but all the while keeping myself from swelling with pride, for at the back of my mind are the cries of my motherland, her cries for salvation from the ignoble reputation she has for so long had to put up with, from physical and spiritual impoverishment.
My efforts, my achievements, and even my lifelong goals are not for my own renown, but to exude the steadfast strength of the Filipino soul. Trials, prejudice, challenges, come what may; my Filipino soul will not be swayed, shattered or broken. I will stand strong. I will keep true to my word. I am willing to forgo my selfish desires to live only for myself, to do only what I please, for my motherland is weeping and I long to see the day when the light of a new day will dawn upon her and wash her tears away.
Do you not hear her suppurating wildly in the night? Do you not hear her footsteps as she trudges along a path filled with utter misery and bleakness in the day? Despite this, there is still hope in her. Hope in the youth. Do we, once and for all, decide to mutilate and slaughter that hope? Or do we take it upon ourselves, not as a burden, but as an act of love towards our motherland? The Philippines awaits our decision.
The writer is a fourth year student at Ramon Magsaysay High School in Cubao, Quezon City.