As a little boy growing up on the island of Guam, my parents use to tell stories of World War II to me, my two sisters and brother.  Every Sunday during the lunch hour, both my mom and dad would recall horrific experiences of the war in the Philippines and shared them with us.  They were very young, but they remembered much of the war.  Living in the Philippines during that dreadful time left many bad memories but created a better life for their children.

My mother, especially, remembered when she was six years old living in the city of Cavite, Philippines; growing up in a seven-bedroom house with ten brothers and sisters, life was very simple and pleasant.  Her father was a sailor in the Spanish navy and her mother worked as a nurse in a hospital nearby.  It was a sunny morning and everyone was carrying on with their everyday routine. My grandmother was at an open-air market while my mom, not old enough yet to go to school, stayed home with an older sibling. 

It was then the sounds of wailing sirens were heard.  A few minutes later, the roaring of the Japanese Zeros and bombers could be heard, something my mom remembers to this day!  Seemingly out of nowhere, loud whistling sounds filled the air.  Loud claps of thunder followed and everyone was running for cover.   Children had taken cover in school hoping strafing bullets would miss them.  After some time, the loud explosions subsided and seemed to fade as the bombers’ roaring engine faded into the distance. 

Much of the city was left in ruins, including the cathedral across from her house.  My grandmother ran home to see if her children were safe and sound.  Stricken with panic, my grandmother and her oldest son Delfin went down to the shipyard to find my grandfather.  She was told by people milling around in the shipyard that all navy personnel had evacuated below deck and ran for cover on the docks.  My grandmother grew more fearful not being able to find him.  And then there buried in the concrete rubble, she found him!  She and her son dug him out and removed as much debris as possible.  His injuries were severe but somehow managed to get him home. 

Weeks went by.  With the hospital in ruins and no medical aid, he laid there in bed suffering from his injuries.  My grandmother being a nurse, did all she could.  But, he wasn't going to make it. The time was close and the family stood around his bed.  My mother recalled how peaceful he looked.  They knew it was time and said their final good-bye as he died in my grandmother's arms.  To this Thanksgiving day 2011, some seventy years later, my mom remembers that awful day vividly as she still cries for her dad.  

From that point, they tried to carry on living however sad and horrific life became.  But that’s not the end.  The Japanese were relentless with more bombings.  Hiding in the cover of thick jungle, they would emerge only to find their home completely destroyed!  They lost everything!  Life became even more bleek.  But, thankfully, they had each other even though their lives were shattered.

Knowing that they had to survive, they all decided to take care of each other.  They went from village to village looking for food and shelter.  My grandmother would go to the markets only to return to the children with leftovers.  My mother recalls many nights when she would go to sleep very hungry.  At times, they scrounged for rice and banans with “patis”, a fish sauce, to give the rice flavor. 

After months living under the cruelty of the Japanese, my mother’s oldest brother Delfin decided to join the guerilla forces to fight against the Japanese.  Having found out, the Japanese kidnapped the next oldest brother Mario and tortured him to get information of his brother's whereabouts.  He didn’t know where his older brother was.  Eventually Mario would die from his wounds.  My grandmother was heartbroken as a mother would be.  It was hopeless!  The only thing they could do was to keep moving to get away from the Japanese soldiers.  The rainy season came and my mom would soon lose two sisters to malaria.  In the wet jungle without any shelter or medicine, it was easy to contract all kinds of diseases, especially malaria.  When will this nightmare end?

Finally, the Filipinos got word of the Japanese surrender.  The war was over!  My grandmother knew to bring her family to the US Naval base.  She was hoping to hitch a ride to a new home.  With not much for them in the Philippines, it was time to start a new life.  They headed for the island of Guam with a brand new and positive outlook on life fleeing as refugees from a war-shattered life. 

Since that time, my mom made a promise to herself that when she is grown up and has children of her own, she would make sure that her children would never experience such hardship and that they would always have a roof over their head and plenty of food to eat.  She kept that promise!  Now that I’m an adult, I fully understand how her life’s experiences gave me the life that I now have.  I am truly grateful for all that she has given me, even to this day.  Salamat po, Mang! which means "Thank you, Mom!"