K. DEGALA-PARAÍSO
PHILIPPINES 2022
Mahal kong Gabriela,
The polls are closed. It has happened. Of course, we knew that this would happen — the system is rotten. It always has been. It always will be.
Nanalo ang anak ng diktador.
I must keep my correspondence short in case of interception. The kalabaw must cross the river. Be safe. And soon, I will be with you on the other side.
Nagmamahal,
Diego
* * *
Mahal kong Diego,
Never fear, my love. We prepared for this. The kalabaw has crossed the river to where the grass is tall and lush.
We’re so lucky that the kalabaw crossed at the end of monsoon: the bamboo here had many rains to drink. They tower, deep green culms climbing toward a limitless sky. We harvested what we needed at sunrise, when the starch was still in their roots. They will grow anew; they always do.
With the culms, we’ve already built enough bahay kubo to house the elders and the children. The elderly rest in the shade, weaving baskets and nets. When the tide is high, we fish, wash our clothes, bathe, cool-off. It feels safe, here. We may live simply, but we can meet all of our own needs. It’s true, Diego, and I’ve been saying this for years: this is what kalayaan is.
The children have resumed their schooling. In the cooler hours of the day, the older children practice their kali with the women — oh, Diego, guess who is the most agile with the blade! Your anak! The way she steps and swings her bolo; the way she can slice the air so precisely with a flick of her wrist; the defiance in her jab. I see five hundred years of resistance sheathed in her skin.
When I watch her train, I feel so proud…and then I remember that soon, I’ll have to teach her how to handle a rifle. I know, Diego, I know what you’re thinking: I should have already begun that lesson. It’s dangerous for her to not know that lesson. She’s obviously not a soldier because she’s under eighteen, but if we are found, and I am killed, and she does not know that lesson, they will not hesitate to – they’ve never, ever hesitated to – not even for children –
and yet, when I reach for our rifle to show her how to nestle the butt in the crook of her shoulder, all I can think of is how her bones have barely hardened enough to absorb the kick. I think of how the only thing she should ever have to squeeze with her trigger finger is the wing of a dragonfly, or a slice of fresh calamansi. And the only time she should ever have to look with one eye closed is when she greets the sun when the monsoon clears, or when she someday meets the person with whom she’ll fall in love.
Diego, she’s only 11.
I know what you’d say: our choice was either teach her how to fire a rifle before the AFP soldier standing across from her has a chance, here, in a place where we mamuhay ng malaya; or teach her how to starve until the state shoots her in the street for being hungry, there, in the palm of a pasistang diktador. I just can’t help but be her nanay before I am a rebolusyonaryo.
Tama na. I expect that you will soon send refugees balikbayan. If you can, please send what food you can with them — we’ve already begun sowing the ground, but the harvest from last season will dwindle fast.
Nagmamahal,
Gabriela
* * *
Mahal kong Gabriela,
Oh, ang asawa ko. Your letter brought me such hope and despair. I wish I could be there to swim in the waters with you, and to hold your hand when our anak pulls the trigger for the first time. We both know that I need to be here for now, though: somebody needs to be the eyes in the belly of the beast.
Tahimik na gumagalaw ang anak ng diktador. Already, positions of local governance in mga barangay have shifted: old governors either resign without warning, or are disappeared overnight; diktador family members and loyalists are installed as new governors by morning. Already, “lawyers” have visited certain organizations. Already, certain news outlets have been given censorship guidelines — or have otherwise been shut down. Already, rumors ripple through the streets of death squads and paramilitary groups reemerging.
There are never any witnesses, but we can all smell it on the wind.
The elders are grieving. They say it’s going to begin, just as it did before: the regime will wait patiently for somebody to step a toe out of line, whether a group of righteous students, or soldiers who refuse to be trained to murder senselessly. The regime will wait. And they will position their pawns. And polish their guns. And count their coins.
We cannot simply hold our breath. We must think two moves ahead. Mga kasama and I need to increase the number and frequency of our balikbayan deliveries. More and more…goods come to us everyday. There are not enough safehouses to keep them all safe here. I must tell you about a…special product that we have procured. It’s very fragile, so I will send a separate correspondence in regards to its care.
Forty-four years ago, we would’ve had to eat these letters after reading them. One of the elders wakes in the night, screaming for her old friend, Liliosa Hilao — yes, the communication arts student they beat up, kidnapped, imprisoned, tortured, raped — died in prison — all for speaking the truth — the first of so, so many —
Gabriela, please be careful.
Ingat ka lagi,
Diego
* * *
We are sending a young woman in the next group of refugees. Call her “Lorie” in your letters — after Maria Lorena Barros; I think it fits her. She was arrested for running a food pantry for the poor during the beginning of the pandemic. She was released right after the election. We think they’re trying to make room in the prisons. Lorie found us, and gave us a list of who’s on the inside, who’s still…alive.
Gabriela, she confirmed the location and status of the Senator who was arrested five years ago on fabricated drug possession charges. The one who dared speak out against DU30. She’s alive and stable.
I know you’re not going to like it, but we’re devising a spring.
We cannot wait for more farmers and fighters and innocents to be disappeared. We cannot sit around and wait for the new regime to shackle us down in front of a firing squad. This time, we have to strike first. We have to show our power — not just to frighten the regime, but to ignite the people. They need to know that an alternative to this reality is possible, that we don’t need to live in systemic rot.
We are calling the operation “sunrise”; it’ll bring the dawn of a new day.
Eat this letter, and kill the bird that carried it. Keep an eye on the horizon, mahal ko.
Diego
* * *
Mahal kong Diego,
We received the balikbayan, including the special product.
They are settling in. We’re giving them plenty of time to rest before giving them farming and community assignments. Diego, some of them are in rough shape…the healers have been working night and day. I’ve debriefed most of them, but there are still a couple who are not yet ready to talk.
Lorie is much younger than I expected: 20, Diego? She should have been in uni, not…where she was. She’s recovered very quickly — she says she’s already ready for action, but I’m making her take it easy with us here, for a little while longer. She must’ve seen so much, to be this angry.
As I write this letter, Lorie and our anak squat in between the rows of bok choy we had sown only a few weeks ago. They’re picking cabbageworms off the leaves. Lorie’s just put a cabbageworm on her nose, and anak is shrieking — oh, and there they go, Lorie chasing anak up and down the rows, kicking dirt behind them as they go. I’m sure the other children will hear the ruckus and join in, soon enough.
A few days ago, I was walking back from perimeter watch when I saw Lorie: a lanky figure darting through the rice paddy, dark hair brushing against the grasses. I immediately assumed that she was running from someone. I yanked my rifle up and started toward her. She slowed, and carefully pivoted to face her assailant — Diego, I swear, I thought I was about to lose her — but instead of a soldier, a ratty saranggola rose from the grasses. I fell to my knees. Dropped the rifle. And there, in the mud, I watched her guide that saranggola by a string. It really shouldn’t have held up in the wind, what with the holes. I don’t even know where she found the fabric; she must’ve sacrificed one of her three t-shirts. But somehow, it just floated there.
I know that I should’ve stopped her from flying that saranggola, it could’ve given our location away, but I don’t know…I think she just needed to remind herself that there’s more to this life than this war on the ground.
I’ve been thinking about the sunrise. You’re right: I really did not like it. But you’re also right, in that we need to welcome a new day. And yes, that new day will likely end in nightfall, but really, it’s just a brief moment in the sun that we need.
Once the children have tired from this chase, I’m going to talk to Lorie about the sunrise. We’ll set the necessary precautions, in case things go awry. Tomorrow, I’ll teach both Lorie and our anak how to handle a rifle.
Please, Diego — please be safe. Send word as soon as you can.
Laging nagmamahal sa iyo,
Gabriela
* * *
Mahal kong Diego,
The sun is rising in just a few hours. I’m not sure if you’ll receive this letter, but I had to tell you that I’m nervous. I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying awake on the floor of this bahay kubo, listening to the wind pattering against hollow bamboo. Your anak is asleep by my side, but even she is restless, rolling and muttering through her dreams.
I remember when she was younger, back when we lived in our families’ barangay, in the house with my parents. She used to have such trouble sleeping. Do you remember when she would wake us, so early in the morning? You called her “tandang ko” — my rooster. And we would take her to the garden, where she would watch the okra plants grow until she would get sleepy again. And then you would carry her inside, and I’d pick some okra for sinigang.
When I make sinigang here, it doesn’t taste the same. It’s because we only have bangus here, no baboy. The sabaw comes out differently. I don’t know if anak notices the difference, though. It’s just been so long…
When this is all over, the first thing the three of us will do is eat some proper sinigang.
I wonder what happened to our garden after the AFP came that night, after we escaped.
Laging kang iniisip,
Gabriela
* * *
Mahal kong Diego,
I know that it still might be too soon after sunrise, but I haven’t heard from you and we haven’t received balikbayan. We are prepared for any outcome. Please send word when you can, and be careful, ang asawa ko.
Nagmamahal,
Gabriela
* * *
Mahal kong Diego,
Where are you, Diego?
It’s been too long since any of us have gotten news. We have been living in the dark, unsure of our next move. We needed to know if we are still safe here, so I sent someone to the nearest barangay to figure out what happened. They barely made it back alive: they were bloodied and limping, a massive burn on their side. The governor had cracked down on the barangay, complete with a mandatory curfew. An AFP paramilitary group enforces the curfew, surveilling the streets by motorcycle. Our spy tried to creep in after the curfew, and was met by batons and some kind of chemical that charred their flesh. This is how it began, both in our lifetime and before: this is the beginning of martial law. If ang anak ng diktador hasn’t yet declared it, he will declare it by the week’s end.
We are trying to figure out the best course of action from here. It is hard to know what we should do — especially if there’s balikbayan enroute. Please, Diego, if you get this: please send word. I know that the chances that they intercept our correspondence now are high, but please…mahal ko, please tell me that you are still alive.
Mag-ingat ka,
Gabriela
* * *
Diego,
I’m begging you: please, please don’t be —
I need you.
Gabriela
* * *
They’re coming.
* * *
PHILIPPINES SUNDAY EXPRESS
VOLUME 1 — SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2023 — RE-ESTABLISHED 2023
BBM DECLARES MARTIAL LAW
Philippine President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. has declared martial law on the island of Luzon, after a secret team of the Armed Forces of the Philippines finds campsite of militants linked to the communist New People’s Army in Cordillera Central mountain range.
The violence in the mountains left three members of the AFP team dead, and another two wounded, officials say. This body count is separate from that caused by communist insurgents in the Metropolitan Manila region. During his publicized declaration last night, BBM stated: “we must take this military action to save the Republic and form a new society” To provide the Filipino people with accurate news and national updates, BBM has also released an executive decision to re-establish the Philippines Sunday Express. Founded in 1972 during the late Ferdinand Marcos’s presidency, the Philippines Sunday Express is a daily newspaper dedicated to arming the citizens of the Philippines with the truth. While law officers conduct thorough investigations into other news outlets, the Express remains…
* * *
Bongbong Marcos,
If you are reading this, I presume your armed forces found New Manila. And if your forces found us, then we must have shot them down on-site, and bombed our location so there would be nothing and no one for you to find.
How incredibly frustrating for you, to slowly lose your grasp on the Pilipino people as they taste true freedom, one by one.
Hear me now, diktador: you can arrest us. You can torture us. You can set our homes on fire. Beat us. Starve us. Murder us in the streets. You may have already killed ang asawa ko — one day, you might even kill me. But the red sun will always rise. And I swear to you, dammit, my daughter will be there to greet the new day.
Codename: Gabriela Silang
* * *
K. Degala-Paraíso (she/they) is a Filipinx-American experimental writer living in Los Angeles. She teaches creative writing through GrubStreet. Her work has also appeared in miniskirt magazine, [PANK] Magazine, Okay Donkey Magazine, Anomaly, and Bending Genres. Follow K. at kdegalaparaiso.com.