Her life was not even starting yet, says pa


By DJ Yap, Julie M. Aurelio, Nancy C. Carvajal
Inquirer
Last updated 02:48am (Mla time) 10/22/2007



MANILA, Philippines -- For a few precious minutes, Julian Marcos stood at the wreckage of the Glorietta 2 mall, in front of a single yellow candle, thinking of his daughter and of what might have been.

He thought of how his 17-year-old Janine had not yet experienced going out with a boyfriend, or donned a real nurse cap, or gone to the United States to live the life she had dreamed of.

Then he thought of the things she could never do now, like preparing her mother’s chocolate drink in the morning, horsing around with her younger sister, and getting another stuffed bear to add to her collection.

“Her life was not even starting yet,” Marcos insisted. “I can never accept that she’s gone.”

Janine was among the 11 people killed in Friday’s explosion that rocked the country’s financial center.

The 10th body -- that of 23-year-old computer programmer Maureen de Leon -- was found buried in the basement of the mall late Saturday. Hours later, the death toll rose to 11 when the injured Ricardo Petras, 24, died in a hospital from multiple blast wounds, hospital officials said.

On Sunday, Marcos, along with his wife Soledad and two of their five children, went to the site where their daughter lost her life.

“I wanted to be at peace,” he told the Philippine Daily Inquirer (parent company of INQUIRER.net) at the wake in the family residence in Taguig City.

Sunday morning, before he decided to go to the Glorietta ruins, Marcos said he felt how keen his loss was when he went to the room of Janine, a nursing sophomore at the Makati Medical Center.

“I somehow sensed that she wanted me to go to the place where she died and to light a candle and to pray for her,” he said.

“Immediately, I asked my wife and my other children to get ready. We had to get there.”

‘I am Julian Marcos’

Security guards at the mall blocked their path.

“I introduced myself. I said, ‘I’m Julian Marcos, the father of one of those who died. We’re here because we want to pray for her,’” he recalled.

His blood rose when the guards said they had to get permission. In anger, the 48-year-old retired military man said: “If you were this strict at the mall entrance Sunday, then my daughter would be alive today. I’m not a bad person so why are you blocking me?”

After consulting with their bosses at Ayala Land, the guards finally let the family through, escorted by policemen.

“Looking at the wreck, I thought there was really no way my daughter could have survived this,” he said. “I thought, ‘If only I were here, maybe I could have protected you.’”

They lit a candle, placed it on the floor and prayed.

“In my mind, I spoke to her: ‘I love you very, very much. Wherever you are, you know how much I love you and want to give everything to you,’” he said, in tears.

Unanswered text messages

Marcos had high hopes for his daughter.

“I wanted her to live a happy, successful life. I wanted her to pursue a degree in physical therapy once she had graduated,” he said.

On Friday morning, Janine, a dean’s lister, had stayed up till 4 a.m. studying for her exams. “She woke up at 5:30, quickly pulled on her clothes, and went to school,” he said.

At 1:30 p.m., the family heard about the blast at the Glorietta mall.

“My wife sent her text messages, asking if her exams were finished,” he said. When no reply came, they began calling her phone. When no one answered, they began to worry.

Marcos said: “One of her classmates called us and we asked her if she had seen our daughter. Then she began crying. That’s when I knew.”

“I wish it had been me. At least if I died, I had already led a full life. But her life was only beginning.”

He said Janine was just passing by the mall on her way back home.

The littlest details of everything he could remember about Janine seemed to give him comfort.

“She always made her mother a cup of Milo in the morning. Whenever she was home, she would bang the gates and we would drop her the keys. Whenever she was free, she would dance around with her sister,” he said.

“And she liked to make sketches. She was talented at drawing cartoons. She could have been an artist.”

Marcos said his daughter was cheerful around friends but very shy around strangers.

“She never had a boyfriend. I even doubt if any boy had touched her hands,” he said. “But now it’s all gone.”

Friends to the end

Jee Ann de Gracia, 25, normally brought home-cooked food whenever she had lunch at her office near Glorietta 2.

On Fridays, she and two of her friends -- Ceasar Niņo Vidamo and Maureen de Leon --would go out for a quick lunch to catch up on each other’s lives.

The Glorietta 2 explosion killed the hopes and dreams of the three friends -- and of Jee Ann’s mother, Jeanette.

“The three of them were good friends,” Jeanette said, her voice shaking.

Rescue teams retrieved the bodies of Jee Ann and Niņo a few hours after the blast. It took them until Saturday night to find Maureen’s body.

“They were together. Maybe the force of the explosion separated them and that’s why it took a while to find them,” Jeanette said in Filipino.

Last kiss from Jee Ann

Her daughter graduated cum laude from a computer science course at the STI College and was set to work in Singapore as a computer specialist next year.

Such was Jee Ann’s excitement over her plans that she treated her siblings -- Jojo, Jeandy and Jeffrey -- to nice food and clothes a week before the tragedy struck.

On the morning of Friday, Jee Ann had already left their rented house in Sta. Cruz, Manila, when she returned home to kiss her father, Andres, goodbye.

“She said, ‘Papa, I haven’t kissed you yet,’” her mother said. Jee Ann wore jeans and a striped black and white shirt to work that day.

When images of the blasted mall and the victims were shown on TV, Jee Ann’s sister Jeandy thought she recognized her older sister’s blood-streaked clothes.

But the mother clung to the hope that her daughter was back in the office. A call from Smart Communications, her daughter’s employer, confirmed her fears.

“They told me Jing (Jee Ann’s nickname) was not back at the office yet. One of my children tried calling up her cell phone, but there was no ringing,” she added.

The next time, she saw Jee Ann was at the Makati Medical Center, where she was asked to identify her body.

Justice for Niņo Vidamo

The father of Niņo Vidamo blamed the government for the death of his son and said he was not hopeful that those responsible would be brought to court.

“We do not expect justice for my son’s death. To those who did this, you owe me one,” Ceasar Vidamo, a former Philippine Constabulary colonel, told the Inquirer in his home in Malabon City, where the wake for Niņo was being held.

“My son was not a victim of an accident, but a collateral damage of a government who wants to divert attention from the present political crisis it’s facing,” he said.

Vidamo’s wife, Zenaida, recounted her disappointment at President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s reaction when they met her at the Veronica Funeral Homes in Pasay City on Friday evening.

“What I would have wanted to hear from her was she would go after the perpetrators and bring them to justice,” Zenaida said.

Arroyo offer spurned

Instead, she said Ms Arroyo asked her if she had work and promised to give her one. She said Ms Arroyo also promised a scholarship to another of her sons.

“My son just died of a bomb explosion which could have been carried out by people who could be hurt by what is going on, and all she could tell me was a promise of a job … and a scholarship for my other son,” Zenaida said.

She said that after Ms Arroyo left the room, a woman aide called the mothers of the victims to another room.

In the room, she said she saw the aide handing out envelopes saying in Filipino: “Just a small help from the President.”

“I could not feel her sincerity, I was offended by her action, so I refused the money,” Zenaida said.

She said that although her family needed assistance, as Niņo was the sole breadwinner, she found it offensive to be given money that way.

“What’s that, a payment for the life of my son? We expected the President to tell us she would go after the perpetrators but instead she asked if we have a job.”

She said she felt like being handed “trick” money to stop grieving.

“Oh, stop crying, here’s some money for your son’s death,” Zenaida said, crying.
Kindly read the highlighted portion.

It's really an eye-opener when the victims or people close to the victims themselves suspect that the government is behind the blast. It says a lot about Pandak's credibility (or lack of it).