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August 10, 2021

Dearest Tatay,

This may be one of the hardest letters I’ll be writing. Tatay, I miss you so much and do you know, sometimes, I dream of you. When that happens, I feel like you are still with me and you’re still alive—your voice, your face, everything about you. And I would wake up and find this to be not true; it was just a dream.
It has been a year since we lost you. It has been a year but up to now, there is still no justice. This is a painful and bitter truth but we both know the real situation, that we can expect nothing from this system, and our calls are only right.

“Pasted on the wall of history”

Pasted
on the wall of my cell
is your picture
drawn by a friend.
Every day
I look at it
and you seem to look
back at me.

I was six months pregnant with Baby Randall when I learned that you were gone.
“Don’t be shocked. Tatay is gone. He was killed last night.” This was the bad news I received on the phone.
I turned the television on and was met with the brutal news of your death. I couldn’t believe it. This was my first reaction.
Then, I thought of Nanay.
“Please take care of Nanay. I’m okay. I can deal with this. Please don’t leave Nanay.”

I wasn’t around
when you died
so I feel
that you’re still there,
you just went somewhere.
Grieving
was not wholly
lived through
so I’ll admit,
acceptance is not yet full
with me.
But reclaiming
we shall do
and victory is surely ours.

It has been a year since we lost you, and my son is turning one. That means my son and I are about to reach one year in jail.
Tatay, we love you so much.
You are my strength, my inspiration, you and Nanay. I say this over and over again, and now, it’s a tremendous thing to have Baby Randall in the world.

Pasted
on the wall of my memory
are the lessons you taught
that are repeatedly drawn,
every day
I return to them
and it seems like it’s your voice
that’s reminding me.
Do not drown in sadness,
let it pass,
wipe away the tears,
accept that death
is part of the struggle.

I’m sure that if you’re still around, you would be a fun grandfather—you’d joke around a lot, laugh a lot, you and Baby Randall would get along well.
These past days, I admit that there is a heaviness in my heart. Memory has a way of bringing back the pain that we thought had already gone or we’d already forgotten.
But beyond the pain, emerge the courage and voice we thought we didn’t have.

Because of your voice and courage,
your stand
and faithfulness,
the golden history
will never
fade
from our collective memory,
we,
we who have been left behind,
thousands of us, tens of thousands of us,
good sons and daughters of the nation.
We shall continue
what you have started.

It is true that in difficult situations, we get to learn more about ourselves more and see what we can do, where we stand.

Pasted
on the wall of history,
drawn with blood,
the oppressed masses
will never falter.
This is not a promise
but a fulfillment,
we shall win
the great fight.

And yes,
yes.
We would not stop coming at them.
Pasted
on the wall of history.

Tatay, Randall “Ka Randy” Echanis, you are a great teacher. And the lessons you shared with me, with us all, I shall endeavor to teach to Baby Randall and to the many other good sons and daughters of the nation.

Thank you very, very much.
I love you, Tatay!

Not farewell but until the next time,

Amanda