Unheard

by Patalipat

I look at her and she does not look back. I have been eyeing her for almost an hour now. She stands there, proud and confident, motivated and driven. And I stand here, motionless and yet aware of every movement she makes. Her eyes do not flicker a bit though tiny drops of sweat are starting to form on her forehead and down the back of her neck. She is sweating from the heat of the sun right above us and yet, she still looks immaculate. She is beautiful in every way I can imagine-- her jet black hair tied by a scarf, her dark and bushy eyebrows, her sharp and round black eyes with long black lashes, her pudgy nose and her full pinkish lips. She has a very distinct Filipina beauty and she captured my attention since the moment I first saw her.

I can still vividly remember the first time I saw her, she was standing where she is right now. She was dressed in her strong red shirt and black pants with her blue scarf tied to her hair, just like what she is wearing now. She had the same expression on her face, the air of determination around her. She always looked beautiful when I try to remember that day, but now that I look at her again, she is even more eye-catching. Every time I come here, it is her I always want to see first, until it came to the point that she was the only reason I come here.

Her name is Felipa. We call her Fe.

With 50 people, I stand here under the scorching heat of the sun, shouting the same words all over again. We want justice, equality, integrity and all the righteous deeds for the country. We all want change and I was one of them. Yes, I was one of them. Right, I am still wearing a red shirt like all of them, I still shout the same words they want to voice out, I am still waving banners that read “Our country deserves better. WE WANT CHANGE!” or “OUST the PRESIDENT!” for everyone else to see and to understand what we want. I have always believed in saying what I have to say that is why I join rallies because I believed that there is hope that someone might actually be listening to us.

But after some months of doing the same thing, shouting the same words but hearing nothing and feeling no change at all, I wanted to give up. I wanted to back out from the movement and live at peace without having to sacrifice my academics by attending rallies and meetings instead of attending classes. I wanted to choose lying on my bed than burning my skin and losing my voice at these rallies. I wanted to but I did not.

I did not because Fe looked at me when I was about to give up. She did not say anything, but she looked right at me. She was beckoning me to shout louder with her, she wanted me to show more support. With that one look, I stayed and never did it hit me to leave again. Yes, I wanted change, I wanted to let the government know that I am grieving to have better governance, I wanted justice, equality and integrity. But what really glued me into place was the hope that someday, she would look at me again.

Believe me, I have tried. After some meetings, I tried approaching her and I was planning to ask random questions just to have an excuse to talk to her but I always failed. Once she asked us to come to her house and of course I came with the group. But just like I am used to, I sat there motionless but aware of every movement she made. She does not even know my name. She never looked at me except that one time I told you. So now, every time she is around, I look at her intently, not wanting to miss the moment she looks at me. And then maybe, the moment she decides to talk to me.

Now, with 50 people around me, I look at her as if we were the only people in this place, shouts and cries of people for justice were suppressed in my mind. I see her beauty that always crossed my mind every day since I first saw her. I see her expression that drives me more madly in love with her. She talks with passion and sincerity. She moves with dedication and confidence. All for the love of this crying and dying country. I know that because I stand here motionless but aware of every movement she makes. She is all I can see and hear.

Suddenly, a loud bang ensued. Through instinct, I consider my body, looking for possible injuries. No, I was not shot. I am still alive and breathing. I look around me, people were running from every corner, shouting and frantically escaping from the bullets that fly around us. But I still stand here motionless and for the first time, I have never been more aware of Fe. She helplessly lay on the ground with blood staining her already red shirt. She lay there on the uneven ground, her face distorted with pain, her hair all over her face. She was shot.

How could I not see this? I was supposed to be aware of her every movement. I look at her. She is hurting. I can see it on her face. Determination wiped out and replaced with hurt. I want to run to her and hug her. I want to tell her that it is going to be okay. I want to steal the pain away from her. But I still stand here motionless just plainly staring at her. Maybe I was still hoping that she will look at me just like how I get used to hoping.

I am now being pushed and pushed around by people running but I still look at her. She opens her eyes and searches the surrounding. She is looking for help. No one sees her, no one but me. She is still not looking at me. I did not wait for that. I run to her side and face her. She closes her eyes then opens them again. She looks at me with sad eyes. I want to cry. But I have to depict her face of determination, of hope and dedication, the face of a leader that she always showed us, the expression that always kept me going. I tell her it is going to be okay though I fear that it might not turn out to be. I lift her to one corner and shout for help. I held her hand, never wanting to let go when I see the amount of blood that she lost.

I want to shout. Shout as hard as I can and scream to the pain that she is feeling to go away. I want to tell all the lost blood to go back into her. I want to carry banners saying “NO ONE SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN HURT!” or “REWIND THE TIME! THIS IS ALL WRONG!” But I can’t. The bullet won’t hear me. The bullet won’t listen.

I wanted change for the country so I joined movements. Now, I want this change for her and for me. I have always shouted for the country, letting the higher officials and the government know what I have to say. But I cannot just shout at them right now and ask them to rewind time and to not shoot. I want to cry out even louder than when I did for the country. But I won’t because I thought about the times I fought for justice, for freedom and equality for the country and haven’t got anything as a result. I did not shout this time because I knew no one was listening.

Fifty people shouted for the country and no one dared to listen and to understand them. Now, I am just one guy, tired, weary and hungry. No matter how hard I shout, no one would help Fe because no one is listening and no one would ever listen.

So I just sit here motionless, holding Fe’s hand, never been so aware of her movement. She looks right at me then closes her eyes. That was probably the second and the last time she would ever look at me again.

If only someone would look at her, then someone would understand and help Fe. But one else is, but me, trying to keep the hope alive for her just like I always had for this country.