tricycle displaced kids in war-affected Zamboanga
I slept well on the Cebu Pacific flight to Manila. Better than in my hotel room last night. I seem to sleep better on planes, my second home. Sometimes, I recognise a stewardess on some flights and I feel bad. Do I travel too much?
I returned to Hotel Lantaka. On the right behind the trees, one can make out the boats departing to the islands of Basilan, Sulu, Tawi-Tawi. A very emotional place
How do other humanitarian workers do? They complete a job, a mission, and they move to the next one, or go back home. Really? Please help me understand how one can do that. For I, fall in love with places and people, adopt children, break my heart when I leave, bleed in my soul when I hear the news about more attacks, violence, injustice, in Mindanao, in Yemen, in Lebanon, in all the places where my heart is.
This is what remains of the Santa Catalina neighbourhood we visited two years ago with father Angel, Dr Grace and Norwegian colleague Oddvar. (photo, below, of the same place before it was burnt down during the war between MNLF and AFP last September)
But my heart also rejoices when I meet again the friends, visit their successful projects, see the smiles of the people, hear the familiar voices, order the familiar dishes. This is my community, this is my family.
"You have created your own company. You are a free-spirited, free person. You never feel the need to belong to an institution, a network?" asks Father Angel.
No, Father. Who needs institutions, their heaviness, their fights for power, their irrealistic plans, their bureaucracy. I have my network, it is composed of people like you, like Grace, like other friends around the world. Angels who walk the path with the poor, the happy, the wounded, the hopeful. Human souls, brave hearts and good brains, who never spare an effort to make other people's lives better.
How better could I spend my Christmas holidays, than visiting some of these angels? I am now in Manila airport, waiting for my connection to General Santos, another such place full of emotions for me.
I hear the last words of Father Angel: "Stay free Cynthia, take care of your emotions, and fly!"
Home is where the portable old door is
