My body could not move, even my pulses were paralyzed. Awkward to think but my senses were functioning. It was dark. There was something beneath that kept on pulling me. I felt I was frozen.
I could hear many footsteps coming; plenty of them I thought were soldiers. I could hear them, loud and clear. The first thought that stuck to my mind was they were going to help me. And I was right!
Cracking sound of a huge machine suddenly echoed in the place. Then, a part of that equipment touched the ground. Slowly and slowly, I was lifted. I felt my vision working, but still, could not move any body part.
It was a backhoe, that yellow machine. I even glimpsed the letters written on it, it said: Government Property. I wondered how fast they brought that thing here. Or, is it how long I was buried?
That question made me realize why I am buried. But I could not remember. I thought I had already an Alzheimer’s disease at my mid 40’s, I laughed in my mind.
A group of four soldiers carried me. They laid me on the ground. Then a crowd surrounded me, around 20 to 30 I estimated. They were covering their noses. There were two persons who took pictures on me.
I tried to open my mouth in order for me to speak, but I could not. What I noticed most were the emotions of the people. They were teary, others I guessed, felt pity. I looked down on my body. I was in mud, but blood was still visible. Holes from gun bullets were all around my body.
Something on my mind was processed. I could visualize the pieces of what had happened. Then, it was like an automatic. I can remember now.
I was a reporter in a local newspaper, the name is Brigada News. I was assigned to cover a story. This one’s big, and that would mean, big salary. So, I never refused, even if it will separate me from my family. To cover a big scope is somehow an honor for me, and at the same time, a privilege.
I was assigned to Maguindanao that was November 23, 2009. A member of a prominent family there will file a certificate of candidacy at the Commission on Election office. The whole media reporters convoyed the trip of the candidate to the town hall.
Along the way in Barangay Saniag, Ampatuan town, there were a lot of armed men stopped the convoy. They forced us to get out of the vehicles. Their head, I guessed, spoke, but I couldn’t understand. He was speaking in Arabic. Everybody felt the tension. And just a snap of time, they shot us. No one escaped, no one survived!
Why?And now, I just found my self bathed with blood. I could not almost recognize my self because of the wounds I incurred. The wasted blood of my fellow reporters reached my smell, as they are also laid beside me. It is just inhumane!
If I could just get up, and move my body now. If I could, but I just could not. Though, I will not take revenge. Justice will make way. If not in this life, then someday, soon, I will!
*This feature is dedicated to the memory of the late, Mr. Ian Subang. He is one of the victims in the Maguindanao massacre. Mr. Subang is the father of Kristia Lou Subang, my high school classmate.
