I Wish I Could Write Sooner

ni Jo Maline Mamangun

One dish that never left our dining table before was our almost nightly chikahan with my late Lola Atek. As a lola’s girl and a self-proclaimed second favorite apo, I had the privilege of hearing all of her stories — from being the eldest of her (as far as I remember) 20 siblings, to being the most pursued dalaga in her province because of her voice and charisma, and her journey as a working wife, where sometimes she needed to pick scrap vegetables in the market before going home, just to ensure her children had dinner. It was a tough life, she said. But, my Lola Atek was tougher.

Growing up, Lola Atek was not just a grandmother to me — she was my tutor, my eating buddy, and, of course, the person I feared most. She was never fond of children unless you were her grandchild; otherwise, don’t play outside her house because you’d likely get a shout, “Wag nga kayong maingay diyan!” That’s why other children in our neighborhood feared her. While they did, and I, too, sometimes, she was still the sweetest person to me (of course, I’m a favorite apo; what do you expect? char). And how I wish I could hear her stories again, because now, I barely remember them, except for one thing.

“Sana isa sa inyo ay maging writer,” she would sometimes tell me during one of our night chikahans. She hoped that I or any of her six grandchildren, at that time, would become a writer so that all the stories she shared would be written and passed on. Unfortunately, as the closest grandchildren to her, mainly, in terms of house proximity, I hadn’t yet found a liking for writing. Instead, my focus was on my Girl Scout ventures and my aspiration to become a chef someday. And so, I ignored those wishes at that time. Then, she died with no one writing her life.

You know, I used to dread anything that involved reading — writing included, especially those tedious school essays. Ugh! I confess, laziness got the better of me. I’d rather sit and watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy countless times rather than read its book (let’s be real, who even enjoys reading it, anyway?). That was my mindset throughout my early academic years, and truth be told, some of that inertia still lingers today. Yet, thankfully, a new fire ignited within me when I reached college — a passion for giving voices to silent narratives and challenging the confines of narrow perspectives.

Here, where I am now, we don’t just go to school aiming to achieve a grade of at least tres, but also, aspire that whatever narratives we publish today will become a source of hope for people tomorrow.

For every dagli narrating how important jeepneys are to the Filipino people, there is a hope that it will knock some sense into the Marcos Jr. administration — that the road to a humane modernization should include our jeepney drivers and their beloved dyip. For every Lola Patola style of writing, topics like hookup culture, which society still considers taboo, can find room to flourish within the confines of our conservative culture. And for every societal analysis article we craft, there lies a hope that our examination of every issue or social structure will contribute to the betterment of the people.

Yes, I am now a campus journalist and writer — an apo my Lola Atek wished she had when she was alive. But if you only knew, lola, I also wish now that I could write sooner. Because, I have learned that the pen buried inside me, before, has the power, not only to write your stories, but also the stories of the masses, the voiceless, and their struggles for justice and freedom.