Mark Gonjoran and his relentless scuffles with unbounded cataclysmic trials

(Part 1 of 3)
A second chance at life
An unidentifiable energy kept him whirling down into an unfathomed depth where a strange ray of light from the tunnel’s end offered him faint hope. He wanted to free himself from the bondage that compellingly engulfed him but the powerful twirl kept him spinning uncontrollably until he bolted in to an eerie space where white smoke and cold wisp of air gently breathed upon his face. He felt like being suspended on clusters of pastel-colored clouds that a wrong move could plunge him into the darkness below. He stood still… just waiting for the next thing to unfold.
At this point of collecting his faculties to compose himself he heard a quaint voice: “Come with me now… your time has come…!” But a familiar sound kept pleading: “No, please don’t take my brother…! No… don’t go with him, don’t…!” At this conflicting instance when every single sound seemed to be clearer still another voice audibly uttered: “In just a short while he’ll wake up… don’t worry the patient will be ok!”
Silence prevailed. There were confusion and bewilderment crowding his head. He could now hear footsteps…faint conversations… even the sound of the ringing phone. His eyes felt sunken and heavy but other parts of his body were gradually regaining strength together with his senses. He exerted ample amount of effort to move but just couldn’t. His muscles were rigid and numbed…’though he could slowly clinch his fingers and fold his toes.
After a deep breath he opened his eyes. His sight was hazy and blurred.  Seemingly anxious faces greeted him… smiling but laced with feebleness. Easily he recognized his parents, his sister, and his wife around him.
Still confused and dazed, he shut his eyes trying to figure the baffling situation where he was in. He just couldn’t comprehend the connection of the puzzling scenario in his sleep and his loved ones surrounding him. He wanted to touch his face or pinch his arm but the intravenous needles attached to his wrist prevented such movement. Mustering enough vitality, he reopened his eyes and every face was painted with curiosity while showing their huge outpouring of support with control.
He could feel a pulsating sensation in his head, pain on his face and only an eye was all that could see… until he was told that he had just underwent a heavily sedated operation following a near fatal accident he met at the Calapan, Mindoro pier the day after Christmas (2012). And that he was the only survivor among the three tricycle passengers that hit through a parked ten-wheeler truck that fateful evening when typhoon Quinta hit the zero-visibility area.
“You were in coma for almost a month…” his distressed mother uttered in an almost whispery tone. “Thank God that you’re ok now after initially being brought to Calapan General Hospital before being  transferred here at the Quirino Memorial Medical Center (formerly Labor Hospital in Quezon City).”
He wanted to react and hold his mom but even a bit of motion caused excruciating pain. He merely kept his eyes tightly shut and freed his tears to at least alleviate the pain that enveloped his whole being. He wanted to shout and curse the world for picking on him to suffer such disheartening mishap but his strong faith and innately pious ways pacified him.
“The seemingly mystical experience you’d encountered in your sleep while sedated was from the side effect of a general anesthesia administered prior the operation. There’s nothing to worry at all,” the attending physician enlightened him regarding his dream. “You’re indeed one lucky guy having had mysteriously cheated death after that horrendous accident by an intoxicated tricycle driver.”
Upon hearing the whole story he shed tears even more. Only his mind was gradually functioning capably at that moment. The tragic scenario flashed back bit by bit but still vague… lacking neither concreteness nor substantial forms for him to justifiably piece them together. He couldn’t grasp for sufficient reason why it should be him.
But that was not his priority at that point in time. Though he wasn’t allowed to see the exact physical injuries from the near fatal accident just being merely given a second chance of life was all that mattered… and left the healing under His will.
With eyes closed he repeatedly uttered his personal prayers and supplications until his monotonous plea drove him half sleep when he heard the medical team of attending surgeons discuss with his relatives about his facial damages while examining the progression of his wounds.
It might be a bombastic revelation but he was ready for any consequence. He was prepared for whatever result there might be.
But the total damage was more than what he thought. His right skull was seriously fractured with a four by four inches hole that needed a titanium replacement. His left eye could be reconstructed physically but sans its normal function while his broken nose was the only easiest to fix…just the usual rhinoplasty surgical procedure to restore its original form and he’ll be okay. Midnight came and being left alone in his bed gave him the ample chance to compose himself. His right eye rolled around and got familiar with his surrounding…the movable faded curtain that had seen years, the small medicine table by his side, an old crucifix overhead that might have witnessed the most devastating scenes, and a ceiling fan that hardly provided him air from its distant installation. The deafening stillness of the night added pain to his morbid reverie.
After some deep musings, he earnestly decreed acceptance of a new life. For what good was his second chance of existence if it won’t be different from what he had lived before? It should be dealt with a clean slate. He knew this second opportunity was given to redeem himself…and personally tell his story… his inconceivable journey!
Flashback:
I am Mark Gonjoran, 31 years old, and was born on January 29, 1983 in Looc, Cabucgayan, Biliran. I’m the third among eleven children of Pablo Azores Gonjoran and the former Shirley Seos-e.
I grew up amid poverty with no guarantee of another meal after our first for the day. Our regular daily consumption was mostly consisted of boiled banana or cassava or any root crop available and in some rare occasions we had rice but still with cubed cassava for extenders. During worse times we’re served plain salted porridge from a liter of rice that had to be divided among us just to fill up our empty stomachs. But we didn’t complain for such was our normal life… a condition we were used to.
My elder brothers and I would wake up as early as two in the morning, when the rest of my siblings were still in deep slumber, to accompany our father to fish to augment our daily expenditure. Sometimes we would peddle street food around school vicinities for our allowance and would gather firewood from the mountain during weekends. Suffice it to say that we had embraced these daily routine without protest since it was already in our system. The hand-to-mouth existence that we were used to, on the contrary, made us more principled and offered us options to hope for a better life someday.
That heart-tearing situation was never a serious dilemma for me although I felt being abandoned by good fortune during times when I would see well-dressed children with the latest toys and gadgets but envy instantly vanished after I envisioned enjoying the same someday. I constantly heard my elders said that: “…nothing is permanent on this world and everything will come to pass.” I knew the future would give us a better life. And I was hoping I would be instrumental to raise them from the abysmal depth of poverty.
My life could have been fully contented in its typical daily grind had not for a tormenting experience that gave me sleepless nights. It was a traumatic occurrence that kept haunting me since I was barely five. I tried to keep everything to myself but every minute of it pinned me down to a life in hell.
I was a victim of sex abuse by an older cousin I always considered my “kuya” (elder brother). He picked on me one evening while playing with boys my age. At first, I thought it was just like a new game but every detail was something strange. I tried to run off from his powerful arms but he threatened me not to inform anybody about it, much more my parents, or else he would extremely hurt me and the rest of my family. His first attack was followed repeatedly until I turned fifteen. Being a neighbor and a relative with a ten year gap, I was an easy prey.  His evil manipulation went on undetected. I was a vulnerable sex slave!
As I grew up I came to realize that it was not normal… an absolutely immoral act.  But fear and anxiety ruled over my being. Condemnation was far from being served but there ought to be an end to all his diabolical intentions. A well-devised strategic scheme to escape from his ruthless attacks without damaging my family’s honor was all that I needed. I could accept such personal humiliation but for my family to be involved, that I wouldn’t tolerate!
I worked doubly hard… went fishing, sold native delicacies around town, gathered more firewood for use and for sale, and even sacrificed getting starved just to be able to save. After my high school graduation I decided to try my luck in Manila. I often heard Manila to be a “land of opportunity” for provincial fortune seekers like me and I wanted to take a shot.
With my savings of one thousand pesos, I boarded a Manila-bound bus from Naval, Biliran that cost me P750.00. Along the way, I kept checking on the remaining money in my pocket for fear of loss or pick-pocket. There were times when the bus would stop by some terminals to refuel or for passengers to take meals but I opted to stay on board and slept to ease my hunger. Although I had with me several pieces of boiled banana and cassava and two bottles of water but had them all consumed earlier.
Anyway, my seatmate said that Manila would be just a couple of hours away…and I could still endure the remaining duration of the trip.
(To be continued: Don’t miss the remaining two parts of this moving saga of human adversity and adventure.)
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