For Rene Clert “Bobet” Baterbonia
I have been trying to process what I feel.
Sadness.
Anger.
Frustration.
Panghihinayang.
There is no single English word for it.
It is the grief reserved not only for what was lost,
but for everything that will never get the chance to be.
The dreams that will never be fulfilled.
The life that will never be lived.
The future that was already beginning.
That is panghihinayang.
And that is what I feel for Rene Clert “Bobet” Baterbonia.
And perhaps the hardest of all… the painful question of what could have been.
A young life gone too soon. A future interrupted. Dreams left unfinished.
Bobet deserved the chance to keep going.
And perhaps that is why his story has affected me so deeply.
First, I am a mother.
Before anything else, I am a mother.
And I cannot begin to imagine the pain his mother is carrying.
How does a mother move forward after losing a child?
I don’t know.
When my own son or daughter gets sick, even from something ordinary, my mind immediately fills with questions.
Did I do something wrong?
Did I fail to notice something?
Could I have done more?
Am I a good enough mother?
That is how mothers are. We question ourselves. We replay moments. We carry guilt even when there may be no reason to.
So when I think of a mother who has lost her son, my heart breaks.
And to those who judge a grieving mother because of how other people respond to her grief, her pain, or her family’s fight for answers, shame on you.
Grief does not follow a script.
A mother who has buried her child does not owe the world a performance of grief that makes everyone else comfortable.
She deserves compassion.
She deserves space.
She deserves truth.
And she deserves answers.
Second, I see a part of myself in Rene.
I know what it means to try to make something of yourself without powerful connections.
To not come from a famous family.
To not have doors automatically opened for you.
To simply have enough courage to knock.
Enough hope to try again.
Enough faith to believe that perhaps tomorrow will be better.
Enough grit to keep going when the journey becomes difficult.
That is why I feel such deep panghihinayang for Rene.
Because from everything I have seen and learned about him, he had grit. He had skills. He had talent. He had dreams.
And he was trying.
He was becoming.
Not everyone is given a chance in this life.
Not everyone gets the breakthrough they have prayed for, worked for, sacrificed for, and waited years to receive.
But Rene did.
He was already there.
He had already made it through doors that so many people spend their whole lives trying to open.
And that is what makes the panghihinayang almost unbearable.
Because he was no longer just dreaming about what could be.
He was already becoming it.
After all the courage it took to try without powerful connections, after all the grit it took to keep going without coming from a well-known family, after all the hope and faith it took to believe that perhaps there was a place for someone like him, he had finally reached his breakthrough.
He was there.
So close to everything he had worked for.
And then his life was cut short.
That is the part that breaks me.
Because I know what it means to fight for every opportunity. To keep knocking when no one knows your name. To keep believing when you have nothing but courage, hope, faith, and grit carrying you forward.
And when someone like Rene finally makes it, you want to see how far he can go.
You want to see what else he can become.
You want to see the life that all those years of struggle were preparing him for.
But now, we are left with the most painful question of all:
What if?
What if he had been given more time?
What if he had been allowed to live the future he had already fought so hard to reach?
With his grit, his skills, his talent, and his courage, I truly believe Rene was only beginning.
And perhaps that is the deepest panghihinayang of all.
He wasn’t waiting for his chance anymore.
He was already there.
Third, I am angry.
I am angry because I know what it feels like to be made to feel small.
To feel that because you do not have the right name, the right connections, the right status, or the right place in society, your voice somehow matters less.
I have experienced it myself, even from people and institutions from whom I expected compassion, humility, and moral courage.
And perhaps that is why what happened to Rene has stirred something so deep within me.
Because no human life should be worth less because someone is poor.
No grieving family should have to beg to be heard.
No institution, no matter how prestigious, powerful, respected, religious, or well-connected, should be above legitimate questions, transparency, and accountability.
Principles mean nothing if they are only displayed on walls.
Values mean nothing if they disappear when they become inconvenient.
Faith means nothing if it is preached from a pulpit but abandoned when courage, compassion, truth, and accountability are demanded.
Jesus Himself had His strongest words not for the broken, the poor, or those on the margins, but for hypocrisy.
For those who looked righteous on the outside while forgetting justice, mercy, and faithfulness.
And so yes, I am angry.
But I do not want anger to consume me.
I want it to become prayer.
I want it to become courage.
I want it to become a persistent call for truth.
Rene’s family is not alone.
To Rene’s mother and family: I hope somehow, in the middle of unimaginable pain, you can feel that you are not alone.
My family and I are one with you in prayer.
We pray for your strength when getting through another day feels impossible.
We pray for wisdom for your family and your counsel.
We pray that every question that needs to be asked will be asked.
That every fact that needs to come to light will come to light.
That truth will not be buried by power, prestige, silence, fear, or influence.
Because the truth will always set us free.
And I hold on to this:
Hindi natutulog ang Diyos.
God does not sleep.
God is not blind.
God sees the tears shed behind closed doors. He hears the cries no one else hears. He knows every truth, including those human beings may try to hide.
We do not need to take vengeance into our own hands.
The Lord Himself said:
“Vengeance is Mine.”
So I pray not for revenge, but for justice.
Not for hatred, but for truth.
Not for destruction, but for accountability.
And I pray that no one who believes in justice will be intimidated into silence until the truth is fully known.
I still ask, “Why, Lord?”
I wish I could say that faith gives me all the answers.
It doesn’t.
Sometimes faith means standing before God with tears in our eyes and simply asking:
Why, Lord?
Why him?
Why so young?
Why this way?
Why must a mother bury her son?
I do not have the answers.
And perhaps I never will.
But I pray that in God’s perfect time, somehow, this unbearable pain will be transformed into testimony and purpose.
Not because losing Rene was necessary.
Not because grief should be romanticized.
Not because justice should be replaced by easy words about forgiveness and moving on.
But because I believe God can bring purpose even out of places of deepest pain.
I pray that Rene’s story will awaken consciences.
That it will remind institutions that prestige never places anyone above accountability.
That it will remind us that the poor, the unknown, and those without powerful connections possess exactly the same human dignity as everyone else.
That it will remind us to speak when silence becomes comfortable for the powerful and unbearable for the grieving.
Today, I am sad.
I am mad.
I am frustrated.
I am angry.
I am jaded.
And I am still trying to process all of it.
But above all, I pray.
I pray for Rene.
I pray for his mother and his entire family.
I pray for truth.
I pray for justice.
And I pray for all of us—that we may move forward not by forgetting, not by silencing difficult questions, and not by pretending the pain never happened, but with strength, wisdom, courage, and grace.
Rene Clert “Bobet” Baterbonia, may your story never be forgotten.
May the truth come to light.
May justice prevail.
And may those who loved you find strength in knowing that they do not walk this road alone.
Hindi natutulog ang Diyos.
And until truth and justice are served, may we never stop praying, asking questions, and standing for what is right.
Justice for Rene.
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