Control lost!

By Emmanuelle

The Muslims, the Moros, the Ilagas, MILF, Bangsamoro, ultimatum, lost commands, terrorists, murderers, pillagers, bodies beheaded or decapitated, defiled. Of late, these words have the capacity to chill the spine of the most ordinary of citizens, but especially those who live in the Mindanao areas most affected.

One normally hears these words in movies that have Erap, FPJ, the Revillas father and son, and their ilk as leading men. For the past weeks though, these words did not come from scripts; these were ordered, hollered, and echoed down the ranks of soldiers not ours, unrelenting, unrepenting. And those were not impressive sound effects; those were real big bullets and striking, walloping, whacking fragile homes and flesh and bones. Bring havoc to the area! Pillage the village! Burn, burn, burn! Kill everybody on sight! Spare the women and the children, but if it’s a woman or a boy with hate in the eyes, do not hesitate. Kill them all. And don’t forget to cut off their heads!

And they did. They actually did.

One of the spokespersons of the lettered monikers claimed that only the rich and the well-off middle class, the traders and the merchants, the politically motivated and the rabid Christians resent the occupation of the lands by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.

Though, those who followed the eyes of the cameramen saw fright and panic scare the slippers and shoes off among folks of all types, of all persuasions. They leave everything behind. They run and flee, carrying their most precious belongings – their young and their old.

There is no storm, no cyclone more potent than human banshees rampaging, thirsting for throats to slit, including their own. The sight is enough to make grown-up people cry.

And so she is again blamed. Oh, woman of fastly fading glories. Why can’t you let sleeping vipers be? There is no shame in treading lightly through the rocks, in riding the waves round the bends. You should have let flow the days, the months the years. And quietly retired. Like most wise generals do. If not with pride and glory, at least, with gracious semblance of both.

Ah, and do not give away what is not yours to give. Even for the sake of peace and accord.

I saw your eyes as you walked back from two walk-outs. I groaned and moaned and grunted and sighed all over the place. Which is this narrow aisle between the bed on one side, and the television and computer desk on the other with the big windows beyond.

I sent texts and calls to your cousin dear. To tell you not to jump the gun, to keep calm. To do what is right and what should be, for the whole of the nation. To take care of the present muna, as it will surely take care of the future.

He does not reply. He always did in the past. Even to the meek hi. He must be groaning and moaning and grunting and sighing all over the place too.

War or peace, you give the ultimatum. Oh dear, they did you one first.

They gave you war.

(Readers may reach columnist at jingmil@yahoo.com. For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/feelings/
For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)

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