The day of the Davao bombings at the pier happened, we were there. We just arrived from a 54-hour boat ride from Manila. Quite tired but still full of energy and excitement because the Batch 23 Jesuit Volunteers will be getting together in just a few minutes. Well, that was what we thought.
That day was full of fortune for our group, though I could hardly rejoice knowing a lot of people died.
The people who were going to fetch us didn't want to go inside the pier anymore because it was just too "magulo". So instead we had to walk about a kilometer lugging around our heavy bags. Luckily, we made friends with some of the seamen apprentices who were kind enough to help us. When we got to the main receiving area, there were a flurry of embraces between the Davao local community and the Luzon volunteers. Typical of JVP groups, we lingered and discussed what we were to do. The jeep that was supposed to bring us to the other pier didn't come so we had to brought by batches instead.
The group was willing to wait where we were standing while the others were being brought to the pier. But Doc Fred insisted that we just cross the street to his aunt's house on top of the hill. It would be a bit of an exercise but most of us guessed it was better than standing around in the middle of the pier area. Thank God he made that suggestion and we listened.
I wanted to be with the last batch of volunteers to be brought to the pier because the view from the hill was spectacular. You could see the activities along the pier. People going in and out. But since I had the cash, I had to go ahead.
While in the car, Doc Fred received a call from Mark. A bomb exploded in the pier. Just five minutes after we left. Five minutes after we left. Our companions who stayed on saw and heard the whole thing. We were inside a pajero, making fun of each other. They saw the whole thing.
A bomb exploded in the pier where we were just twenty minutes ago. Just 50 meters from where we were giving our embraces. People died. Balut vendors. The traffic aide that guided us was probably wounded. One of the nuns who was with us in the boat died.
When I found out about it, I kept thinking about the apprentices. They have already gone. Thank God.
Eugene, the cute kid beside our bunks? Where was he? We saw him leave. Thank God. When I checked the papers... his name wasn't there. Thank God.
How about Emerson? The kid who wanted to play agawan base with us? He wasn't on the list, too. Thank God.
I kept thinking about people we could have bumped into. They could be one of the casualties...
Shit. I felt so helpless about it. About not being able to do anything but pray. It's so unfair. It's just so unfair.
We had to process ourselves about the whole thing. And somehow the yearend went on with little changes. But many of us have been changed by the incident. Moved into resolution. Moved into striving for a better country, a better world. How? We don't know. But somehow we will find a way.
Whoever did the bombing, curses on you. May your conscience gnaw on your soul for the rest of your life. May the faces of the people who you have killed and hurt haunt you till your last breath. You may have scared us for a while, but we shall not stand by fearing you. In fact, you have added more people who are resolved in doing something about it one way or the other.
You can never kill hope with your bombs. Never.
