By Rex Catubig

 

THEY were high school kids in their teens — tabula rasas eager to absorb colors and paint dreams. I was a young college grad bursting with idealism and desirous to impart social consciousness and awaken young minds to the harsh realities of a world in the throes of change.

Theater was the medium. It was immediate, it was alive, it was exciting. We had workshops, we had role playing and improvisations where they acted out roles and reacted to given situations. They had to think and feel, act and resolve the conflicts they find themselves in.

   As this took place, there was self-realization of what and how much they are capable of. Limits were stretched and extended. Possibilities were bravely opened and daringly explored. Awareness of the subject matter pried open social consciousness.

At a glance, it all seemed too abstract to imbibe. But one could not underestimate the power and resiliency of youth to mold itself around new thoughts and ideas and reshape his being.

So over plates of pancit and loaves of pan de barra, and glasses and glasses of tap water, we celebrated our communion. All through the wee hours, we bonded and interacted, toiled and brainstormed, and let our creative imagination soar to unknown heights.

It was a time when dreams took shape like little insects that hover over dark places finding their way with flickering tail light.

The Kankanti is that tiny insect that flashes a teeny-weenie bit of light. Yet even with its infinitesimal beam, it is able to illumine a patch of darkness and together create a glorious sparkle.

Maybe, the pounding and striking our young wards had been subjected to, had lit up a slight spark that like that of the firefly’s luminescence could light up the dark corners of one’s being—and as it grows in brilliance, hopefully, ultimately, shine upon the shadowy world around us and make it shimmer—even for just a brief radiant moment.

It’s  been over five decades, the world has not really changed much—for the better. The burning issues and concerns of yesteryears still remain an undousable firestorm. The world is on fire.

Has the firefly become an endangered species? Has its tiny light been outdazzled by the blinding glare of turmoil? Maybe not, and the answer flickers in the hearts of those, that once upon a time, dreamed of being fireflies.

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