MY SON, WE COME FROM FAR

I want to tell you a story I vowed not to say, but I will, regardless. I fear the inheritance I set for you after I depart from this world will amount to nothing if I don't put you in the know of this. Don't be scared. It's harmless, but painful.

Uhm, we come from a land of milk and honey—a little of the promised paradise. It seemed as if nothing else mattered. We cared not for the golds of the earth. Ours was to love the little we had. We never heard of anyone who desired of birthing children with silver spoons in their mouths at the expense of life. We wandered freely in the pine forests and swam the lakes with joy.

The view of our land was such that everybody craved for the morning to dawn cos the greenery and water bodies had this elysian glow—more perfect both in sight and feel. How beautiful it was! The green, blue and life.

Now, the hush of selfishness rules the stomachs of our kins. They have made our once placid lakes drink cyanides and mercury; wear peasant's garment—more brownish than brown itself, all in search of a metal. The pine forests and cocoa fields are a mockery of greenery. We now heavily depend on foreign grants and products, and our water is not safe for use. Our atmosphere is far from fair—it's lifeless.

State of living was unbearable—very expensive and harsh, so I moved here. My son, this isn't your home. We come from far. I hope to see change, and it will begin with you. Return, claim the lands of your birth, nourish it for the benefit of the generations to come. Your fathers failed you; don't fail your children too.