Bataan, December 1941

Ima,

I moved the salt, pepper, and atsara jars to the lower ledge of the cupboards. The wood on Tatang’s bangko is rotten; it will only be a matter of time before your feet splinter the seat. This would do no favors for your knees, which is why I also asked Isang to come by every morning so she could help you harvest from the garden. Please let her.

Until now, I don’t know if I made the right decision. I want to stop living in fear, to stop seeing you wait for Tatang to come back until the gas lamp dies, to stop taking alternate routes just so I could reach the main plaza safely. But I also want to be a good son, to help you open slippery lids, to crouch down and pluck the sili myself so you needn’t feel the throbbing in your joints, to yank the weeds under the sweltering heat so they may not swarm our backyard.

I am so sorry I can’t do both. Though, I can promise that I will return with air in my lungs and blood in my veins. Until then, please water the plants for me. Please wait for my arrival so that I may be a good son once more.

Bataan, February 1942

Ima,

I’ve never realized before how consuming fire could be. It digs into your senses like pests on leaves, unyielding and persistent. It’s the smell that refuses to leave—not of the fire, but of what it left behind. Wood, grass, metal, flesh; after a while, the stench becomes the same while it assaults you. I pray you never understand what I mean.

I haven’t seen you in so long that I fear I would forget the sound of your voice. When the echoes of gunfire prevent me from sleeping, I find myself running back to the memory of your hele. I am frightened by the threat of fire consuming this as well. Ima, I have never been so scared before.

Embarrassingly, I feel so lost. My fellow soldiers—they are only boys, really—they still believe in the cause. I wish I had their resolve. I wish I had their strength, to be brave enough to peer across the trenches despite the chance of being met with the barrel of a gun. If I continue down this path, will we ever get anywhere? Will it amount to anything at all?

I want to come home, Ima. I want to crawl underneath the brambles an sleep for an eternity. i want to smell santan, kalachuchi, andbouganvillla insted of all this soot and ash. i wantto come home.

Bataan, March 1942

ima,

i dont recognize myself anymore n imafraid that you wont either.

we lost so much people. the smell the muscle and flesh from the mines n traps. its under my nails and in the skin of my knuckles. i dont know if any washing up will ever rid me of thethe dirt of the battlefield. the sins of my loaded gun.of everything.

Im terrified of the smell of the sweet nectar of sampaguitas youwere growing will remind me of makeshift funerals. of vengeful spirits visiting n taking their revenge on me next. I fear the red bougainvilleas that bloom n crwl over the wallswill resemble blood seeped into my clothes and in between my lips. the metallic taste wth the saltiness of sweat ingrained inmy memory. forever.

i write to you n Tatang now because I may not see tomorrow, or the nextfew hours. we received word that there are more enemy troops coming in from the docks. food is getting scarce. theres not enough to feed us. there is no sign of replenishing them anytimesoon. i am scared. im terrified beyond my wits that no prayer can quell it. i dont know how much longer i can take this. before i’ve no choice but to believe that God has abandoned me, my fleet, and this country. there is no amount of faith that can convince me that this was all part of HIS PLAN.

until then my hopes are no longer for me. but for you and the family. live for meplease. when this is all over and the last of the opposition have fallen. find me. find my body. whole or blown to bits. bury me underneath the narra tree in the backyard. 

ima, take me home. no matter what it takes.

Bataan, September 1945

Ima,

did you hear the announcement over the radio? it will be a long recovery period for the country but we did it. they’re sending us back home, each and every one of us. 

it’s hard to express the joy that is surging through me. it’s as if I have been filled with newfound strength to come crawling back home—like a prayer that is finally answered, a wish that has been fulfilled. 

i can’t wait to hear you and tatang again, to feel your arms around me. iwant to remember the warmth of happiness and relief that i’ve taken for granted. i hope the house is still standing with minimal damage, if there were then please let me help in any way i can—don’t coddle me because i know you will, ima. even then, i wouldn’t complain if you nagged me out of doing any chores or if tatang would instruct me to go and cut down the overgrown vines of cadena de amor that have spread out over the steps of the house.

oh, how I’ve missed that feeling—how I’ve missed you all. 

please, wait for me, Ima. I’m coming home.

with all the warmth of the sun and the fragrance of blossoms,

Mon