Kalayaan Is Something We Pass On

My dear little loves,

Today is June 12 – Araw ng Kalayaan. Philippine Independence Day.

It’s not just a date we mark on the calendar. It’s a story we carry. 

And one day, it will be yours to carry too.

You didn’t grow up in the Philippines, and neither did I. But you have Filipino hearts.

And part of my job as your mama is to make sure you know where those hearts come from – not just through facts or history lessons, but through something much deeper: memory, belonging, soul.

So tonight, like we do every night, we’ll read together. But tonight, I’ll read this:

For you, right now – aged 1 and 7, still small enough to fall asleep to the sound of my voice:

You didn’t know the lullaby.

Not yet.

But you learned it –

just in time.

You didn’t grow up hearing the stories.

But you read them aloud now –

with love tucked into every page.

And that’s what kalayaan is, really:

not just flags or fireworks or parades –

but the soft sound of a mother’s voice

reading truth into tiny hearts.

It’s saying:

You belong.

This is yours.

You come from somewhere beautiful.

And though your hands may be small,

they are strong enough

to carry a legacy

called home.

. . .

And one day — when you no longer need me for bedtime stories, 

when you’ve grown into your own questions and truths — I hope you’ll return to this day, and to this:

. . .

For you, when you are older:

Ang kalayaan ay wala sa dagundong ng baril.

Nasa himig ito ng uyayi –

kailan mo lang natutunan,

at binulong mo sa tenga ng anak mo

na parang unang ulan pagkatapos ng tagtuyot.

Ang mga pahinang binabasa ko

ay may lasang hinog na mangga –

or mula sa gunita ng nilalang

na minsang nakatayo sa bukid,

walang sapin ang paa,

at tahimik na ibinulong ang rebolusyon

sa dalangin ng hangin.

Hindi ako sumisigaw.

Wala akong dalang espada.

Nagbabasa lang ako.

Kumakanta.

Kinokolekta ko ang mga katahimikan ng nakaraan,

at ginagawa ko silang kwento.

At sa paraang ‘yon,

naibibigay ko sa inyo ang isang bayan

na kahit hindi niyo nagawang tirahan,

ay palaging magiging bahagi

ng inyong dila, puso, at alaala.

. . .

Freedom is not in the gunshot.

It is in the lullaby,

learned late

and murmured into the soft ear

of your child

like the first rainfall after drought.

The pages I read

taste like mangoes

half-remembered from another life –

or from the memory of someone

who once stood barefoot

on a field

and whispered revolution into the wind.

I do not shout.

I do not wave a sword.

I read.

I sing.

I gather the ashes of silences

and shape them into story.

And in this way,

I give my children a country

they have never touched –

but will always carry

in their mouths.

. . .

This is how I honour our freedom:

Not just with flags or fireworks,

but with you – with stories, with lullabies, with the choice to remember.

Because kalayaan is something we pass on.

And I am passing it on to you, with all my love,

one bedtime at a time.

Love always,

Mama