Boses: Powerful without words

When no words are spoken, you hear it loud and clear.

This is the magic of the film "Boses."

Directed by Ellen Ongkeko-Marfil and written by Froilan Media and Rody Vera, Boses starts as a story of abuse and ends as a story of hope. Left by his wife, a father (Ricky Davao) manhandles his son, Onyok, (newcomer Julian Duque) when he gets inebriated. Onyok is rescued by social workers and taken to a center for neglected and abused children. Traumatized, Onyok has not spoken any word since the abuse started. A chance meeting at the center brings Onyok and a violinist (Coke Bolipata) together.

Onyok turns out to be a music prodigy, learning to play classical pieces under Coke's care. The film begins to make a statement about the power of music to mend hearts and heal broken souls. In the end, the father tries to redeem himself but the film leaves it to the audience to hope that this man can change for his son.

"Boses" finally gets a chance to be seen in commercial cinemas. Filmed in 2008, "Boses" has gone to countless screenings in schools, churches, auditoriums and even outdoor plazas here and abroad.

UNICEF supported the film with a production grant. As UNICEF communication officer, I had the great privilege to introduce the film at its premiere one rainy night in July 2008 at the Cinemalaya Fest held in the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I remember Direk Ellen coaching me to thank the audience for coming to see the film despite the heavy rains.

I have seen many times how "Boses" has touched the hearts of children and adults alike. The film opens from the child's perspective, from inside a closet, hiding from his abusive father. This is what the film asks its audience to do. See and hear an unkind world from the eyes and ears of a child who cannot speak and is now trying to find his voice.

26 and 27

26 and 27 are milestone numbers to us.

26, of course, is Heaven's hello. 27 is Skye's goodbye. 

We can't help but play our "would-have" and "what-if" imagining of a life with Skye. Kuya Heaven will be a wonderful big brother. If you ask Heaven now, what will he do if his sister is still alive. His response is quick. "I will take care of her." How? "I will feed her. I will play with her. I will not punch her."

Nanay will surely dote on Skye. She will exclusively breastfeed Skye. She will dress her up. Skye will definitely be Aires' Mini-Me.

Tatay will be the protective dude. Not even a fly can hurt my Skye. I will have Heaven assist me when I sing songs and tell stories to Skye. We will sing the ABCs and count 123. 

Simple math tells us that 1 is the difference between 26 and 27. But we know otherwise. Between 26 and 27 spans a lifetime. 

This boy is five

This boy is five. He can eat on his own. It may take him about an hour to finish a meal but that also means one hour of vibrant chatter.

This boy is five. He can change on his own. He may not be able to fold his shirts and shorts but he can surely dunk these straight into the hamper.

This boy is five. He can hop on one leg. He may get unsteady and trip occasionally but his sense of balance is remarkable.

This boy is five. He can write his complete name. He may write in uneven strokes but the letters are outrightly legible.

This boy is five. He can draw and paint. His doodles are about monsters, aliens and spaceships but the stories that come with them are just as warped.

This boy is five. He can sing really well. He may have forgotten his Bahay Kubo but he has mastered the first two lines of Lupang Hinirang and the chorus of Won’t Give Up.

This boy is five. He can solve 42-piece puzzles. He may need a little help but he solves them faster than other adults can.

This boy is five. He can remember a lot of things. He may sometimes forget to say Thank You but he never forgets who, what, where, and when.

This boy is five. He always asks why. He can be overly curious but there’s no escaping his inquisitive mind.

This boy is five. He loves to play with other kids. He can sometimes go “This toy is mine” but he knows how to be polite, respectful and kind.

This boy is five. And we can’t wait to find out what he will be like when he turns six but, now that he is five, we are simply ecstatic.

Heaven's angels

Skye would have been seven months today.

Heaven and I passed by the memorial park to leave a pot of fresh flowers. I challenged Heaven to look for Skye's tombstone.

Heaven said: "That's easy. I will just look for the one with two angels."

I am amazed at Heaven's retentive memory. He boasted one time that he is good at remembering things.

After we laid Skye to rest, we had a tombstone prepared to include both Skye and her grandfather, Lolo Cesar. For Skye, her epitaph reads: "A blessing you were. An angel you are. Beloved forever you will be." An image of two angels was also carved on the stone.

On a tombstone with letters and numbers, Heaven remembers the angels. That's exactly how we should remember our dearly departed. We remember the best and most fascinating things about them.

So, on Skye's seventh month celebration, I remember the many times she slept soundly on my chest. I remember hearing her coo. I remember the first night she spent at home with us, how she looked like in her crib, and how a reading of 99 on her pulse-oximeter meant that she was doing well.

And then you realize and accept that even if today would have been her seventh month, she is now doing well in a place where she can sleep soundly, coo all she wants, and spend her nights watching over us.

My therapy

Words are my therapy.

When flood waters turned our lives upside down, I swam in a sea of words to make sense of the havoc. When I had to prove myself as a competent professional, I wove taglines and messages that tickled the imagination. When our daughter Skye came to our lives, I talked to her in prose. When she bid us goodbye, I shared my grief with the rest of the world in my blog posts.

Now that I am trying to heal these wounds and fill this void, I will keep on writing. I will be a wordsmith of life's triumphs and tribulations. I will talk about the mundane and the extraordinary.  I will share my thoughts with those who care to read.

They say words cut like a knife. But to me, words heal.