Gunita | as easy as ABC

Death in the family is one of the most relatable of human experiences. If only because we have all gone through at one point, a debilitating sadness from loss of a loved one, we are all brothers baptized, or hazed in the reality of limited human life.

Almost as relatable is the experience of one reaching an important personal milestone and being unable to share the joy with a parent who is no longer there. Such story was captured on film by a small team of our CPA (Certified Public Accountant) staff members who submitted their short film as an entry in the firm’s mini-filmfest.

You see, we are a group of CPAs and lawyers and filmmaking is out of our league. But we can’t resist an outlet that allows for the most vivid form of human expression. The winning entry is a 10-minute film entitled Gunita (Remembrance), shown during the firm’s Family Day festivities. With your indulgence, this Sunday’s article will digress from commercial, legal or national issues. 

Gunita is the story of a family of lower middle status, struggling, but on the verge of slowly improving their lives.

It was a morning when Mother prepared breakfast for her husband and their two children, and they partook of the food on their humble dining table like any day. Except that today, Mother was quiet and pensive, prompting her hubby to put his hand over hers to comfort her and cajole her to eat.

She was a working mom. Her elder son was now employed in an auditing firm, and her younger son was still studying. She bade her younger son and her hubby goodbye, as she left the house to go to her workplace, like any other day. Except that today, her hubby decided to just stay at home to accompany their younger son. 

The older son called her to deliver the happy news of his promotion, and requested from Mother his favorite sinigang (sour and savory stew) dish for dinner to celebrate. As if relieved from some sadness, she took hold of hubby’s picture frame, and thanked him as she cradled the frame.

When the scenes were played back, it showed that only Mother and her two sons had breakfast that morning, and no hand held hers. She bade goodbye only to her younger son, who spent the day studying solitaire at home. You see, her husband died earlier, and Mother now attends to the family, and to herself alone.

As they visit his grave, the older son narrated before the tomb his success in work and the younger son, his graduation. Mother thanked her husband for always looking after them even after he passed away.

This story made me relate to my own gunita. Whenever I have good news, I would always tell my mother first. Whether it’s a medal, or a leather bag I bought from my own savings, she would be proud. You could imagine her, like any other parent, being proud when I passed the board, and the bar. She did not live long enough though to see me become a CEO, as she succumbed to a massive stroke at 72.

I seem to remember emotions vividly, even those when I was seven years old. One evening, my mother had not returned from work, way past the time she would normally come home. As a very worried young boy, I cried profusely at the main door of our house in Antipolo, holding Mama’s house dress, egging her to come home already. When she passed away, the feeling was a bit like that, like helplessly waiting for her to come home. Except this time, she would not return, and I am much older, and how I wish, emotionally older too.

Did I say earlier that there is a fraternity formed among all of us because we go through the same pains and grief? Then might as well add that we all access the same anti-grief, despite our mortality, through our memories. Through gunita, we are able to pay a visit and give respect, day to day, to those who are no longer here. It is a tribute unbound and personal that humbles and humanizes the strongest among us. It makes me reflect as well on all the chances we all have to respect and pay tribute to those who are still here – those who can still hear. Have a meaningful and safe visit, everyone.