I think that I shall never see
October 6, 2006 | 12:00am
A poem as lovely as a tree…" I think we all had to memorize this poem at some point back in grade school. "Trees" is one of those quintessential literary works for the young, developing mind – probably in a league with I Love You Forever and, audio-syncratically, The Sound of Music. I remember reciting this poem during many such family gatherings or parties hosted by my parents. Yes, with gestures and all. For some weird reason, my extended family or those present at said gatherings would applaud voraciously to their heart’s content. It must have been my uber-exaggerated bibo hotdog kid antics or the way I flounced about in their presence. All the while, not knowing where such enthusiasm came from or from where to draw my momentous inspiration, since I was never really an environmentalist nor showed any passion for trees.
"A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth’s sweet flowing breast." Time flies and here I was faced with the very sight of them. Not in their usual statuesque splendor, adorning the sidewalks and beautifying every metropolitan home. Not with their long extending branches, arching to provide a hint of shade. I was faced with the casualties of a calamity that recently struck our tropical archipelago. Trees everywhere, shattered and sundered as though they had done Mother Nature a grievous fault. These were trees whose mouths were forced open to the air while the rest of them vacillated horrendously before the powerful winds. It was the sight of these trees that forced me to reassess what I had been reciting so fervently all my childhood life.
"A tree that looks at God all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray." Driving along the devastated forest roads of my village after a day’s worth seclusion from the storm, my eyes grew to profound disbelief of what had happened while I was in the comfort of my own home. Trees uprooted everywhere. Branches scattered on the pavement, leaves in their pale green multitudes encrusting the stolid grounds. More pressingly, even the trees that had already been reinforced with cement were still not strong enough to parry the might of "Milenyo" and had now joined the fray of ruin. Since our cable was temporarily shut down and I was never really a radio person, my knowledge of Milenyo had been supplemented mostly by news reports and select images in print. I imagined what could be happening in the outside world, though in my mind it was some disillusioned microcosm of a more horrific picture.
"A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair." Headline: More than 40 people dead all over the archipelago. And on the day of the storm itself, the maids relayed to me that someone had died trying to enter our village. A tree that fell from the sidewalk crushed this person’s car and took his life in the process. The very thought haunts me as it happened not so far from where I type my column at this very moment. The incident also makes you stop and think of how fleeting life really is. And more importantly, about who or what is the true sovereign of the land. God intended that man be the steward of creation. But for some reason, the word "steward" has been misconstrued as the word "sovereign," and man has since become haphazard in the way he treats Mother Nature. It’s during such harsh realities as Milenyo that Mother Nature pounds on what is rightfully hers without rescinding fully what she has bestowed upon her earthly dwellers.
"Upon whose bosom snow has lain who intimately lives with rain." Driving along the roadside of my village turned ruined forest, I was brought face to face with an environmentalist truth: I considered the many years that I have taken such trees for granted. They have provided more than aesthetic value to the whole of mankind. Their use surmounts that of many resources in the land. However renewable, their revitalization unfortunately takes time. The memory of my father telling me about how long it takes to grow a tree jolted me into an unexplainable regret and unbridled sadness for what we have lost. The way I carelessly splurge on tissue paper and bond paper only aggravates the very reality of trees being just as fleeting as the lives of men. And once they’re gone, it’ll take one hell of a long time for them to be replaced.
It’s been a week since Milenyo came like a thief in the night to ravage the Philippines. At present, roads are clearing up. Billboards are reappearing on the high-rises. Electricity and water are resuming their regular flow. Infrastructures are being rebuilt. Life essentially resumes its normal course. Yet the roadsides seem less green, and the environs lackluster. I wonder when they’ll all grow again. After all, "poems are made by fools like me. But only God can make a tree."
"A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth’s sweet flowing breast." Time flies and here I was faced with the very sight of them. Not in their usual statuesque splendor, adorning the sidewalks and beautifying every metropolitan home. Not with their long extending branches, arching to provide a hint of shade. I was faced with the casualties of a calamity that recently struck our tropical archipelago. Trees everywhere, shattered and sundered as though they had done Mother Nature a grievous fault. These were trees whose mouths were forced open to the air while the rest of them vacillated horrendously before the powerful winds. It was the sight of these trees that forced me to reassess what I had been reciting so fervently all my childhood life.
"A tree that looks at God all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray." Driving along the devastated forest roads of my village after a day’s worth seclusion from the storm, my eyes grew to profound disbelief of what had happened while I was in the comfort of my own home. Trees uprooted everywhere. Branches scattered on the pavement, leaves in their pale green multitudes encrusting the stolid grounds. More pressingly, even the trees that had already been reinforced with cement were still not strong enough to parry the might of "Milenyo" and had now joined the fray of ruin. Since our cable was temporarily shut down and I was never really a radio person, my knowledge of Milenyo had been supplemented mostly by news reports and select images in print. I imagined what could be happening in the outside world, though in my mind it was some disillusioned microcosm of a more horrific picture.
"A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair." Headline: More than 40 people dead all over the archipelago. And on the day of the storm itself, the maids relayed to me that someone had died trying to enter our village. A tree that fell from the sidewalk crushed this person’s car and took his life in the process. The very thought haunts me as it happened not so far from where I type my column at this very moment. The incident also makes you stop and think of how fleeting life really is. And more importantly, about who or what is the true sovereign of the land. God intended that man be the steward of creation. But for some reason, the word "steward" has been misconstrued as the word "sovereign," and man has since become haphazard in the way he treats Mother Nature. It’s during such harsh realities as Milenyo that Mother Nature pounds on what is rightfully hers without rescinding fully what she has bestowed upon her earthly dwellers.
"Upon whose bosom snow has lain who intimately lives with rain." Driving along the roadside of my village turned ruined forest, I was brought face to face with an environmentalist truth: I considered the many years that I have taken such trees for granted. They have provided more than aesthetic value to the whole of mankind. Their use surmounts that of many resources in the land. However renewable, their revitalization unfortunately takes time. The memory of my father telling me about how long it takes to grow a tree jolted me into an unexplainable regret and unbridled sadness for what we have lost. The way I carelessly splurge on tissue paper and bond paper only aggravates the very reality of trees being just as fleeting as the lives of men. And once they’re gone, it’ll take one hell of a long time for them to be replaced.
It’s been a week since Milenyo came like a thief in the night to ravage the Philippines. At present, roads are clearing up. Billboards are reappearing on the high-rises. Electricity and water are resuming their regular flow. Infrastructures are being rebuilt. Life essentially resumes its normal course. Yet the roadsides seem less green, and the environs lackluster. I wonder when they’ll all grow again. After all, "poems are made by fools like me. But only God can make a tree."
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