The short story is an engaging journey through the experience of a child of desaparecidos
Decades before publishing his first novel “Para Kay B,” National Artist for Film and Broadcast Arts Ricky Lee had already been writing short stories. In 1988, he wanted to include a new story in his then-to-be-published anthology of multi-genre works. And so with just two months left before the launch, he wrote the early draft of “Kabilang sa mga Nawawala.”
He wrote the story within a series of bus rides. The early drafts of the piece were also written by hand, to help him “feel the flow of words from [his] heart to the paper,” he says. The short story, much like Lee’s body of work, is eclectic and unconventional, non-conforming to literary norms and standards. But that doesn’t make the story a difficult or odd read either.
The 2024 version of the “Kabilang sa mga Nawawala,” published by Milflores Publishing, features Lee’s original story along with an English translation by National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera and Buenaventura Medina, Jr. While the translation certainly aids in giving the story more accessibility, the original Tagalog is already in itself an easy and engaging read, as expected of Lee’s writing.
The language is simple yet profound, holding the reader’s attention so much that it’s difficult to put the book down. Whether it’s in the series of love (and sawi) stories in “Para Kay B,” or the transformation of Amapola in “Si Amapola sa 65 na Kabanata,” or the journey to self-discovery of Jun-jun in “Kabilang sa mga Nawawala,” each chapter is revelatory, an important stop along the road for the main character’s voyage.
In “Kabilang sa mga Nawawala,” republished as a book of its own more than 30 years after it was first written, the main character Jun-jun embarks on a journey to find himself. But this is not your ordinary tale of self-discovery; Jun-jun is literally missing his physical self.
A teenage boy, Jun-jun wakes up invisible, unable to touch, be heard, or be perceived. Coming from an abusive family, he finds strange comfort in his “disappearance.” “Malaya ka na,” he tells himself when he first realizes his new condition. With this newfound freedom, he takes full advantage of his liberty: screaming expletives at everyone in the middle of a busy street, playing pranks on his best friend, sneaking into drag performances and live music shows. The novelty of the experience soon wears off though, and Jun-jun finds himself longing still for something greater: meaning and connection.
At the core of “Kabilang sa mga Nawawala” is this search for belongingness. Despite the seeming freedom invisibility (both literal and figurative) provides, the loneliness and emptiness do not dissipate. And so Jun-jun goes further to understand his true history and self. He searches for his real parents, who are also quite literally missing—desaparecidos during martial law.
Lee’s story plays with the idea of the intersection of the real and the imagined not only through the characters featured within “Kabilang’s” world but also through the events of the story. It asks readers to observe and question what we consider is real. Does something being unseen discredit its existence? It also then urges the reader to pay more attention to what we might not be seeing. To what realities, people, experiences are we treating as invisible? How can we give a voice to them?
Though a story born of its time, post-martial law, bearing the ghosts of its truths and experiences, its themes remain relevant. Perhaps, through this new edition, more of those lost and disappeared can find themselves seen in this.