September 23, 1972

Mother called from the gate, "Ditong, please come over.  Your classmate is here.  Hurry up."

He was not really a classmate.  I believe he was 2 batches ahead of me.  We call him fondly as "Ka Putol."  I met him in the AS Lobby one day and perhaps he took notice of my worn down rubber sandals and tattered, faded denim (not Levis) and camisa-chino.

He asked if I belong to any group.  I told him I was a freshman so he asked me to go with him to Vinzons Hall.  There I met other freshmen.  We were made to sign some papers - application papers, take note.

It was a Saturday morning when he came over, looking flustered and in a hurry.  He spoke in hush tone - "There's a news that some 43 students were arrested and soldiers are now in Vinzons searching documents."  Then I remembered the application form.

"You come with me..." But, mother upon hearing that said a firm "No!"

"Besides, you have not had your breakfast yet and your father needs you to help him feed the chicken.  No."

Ka Putol sensing the agitation, apologized and told mother that I can stay.  He told me to take care.  And I bid him, "Ingat."  That was the last time I would see him.

My mother was wondering why the radio wasn't working, when the battery was just replaced 2 nights ago.  A neighbor came by and told us the same thing about their television.

Then later that day, we made sense of what was going on.  Martial Law declaration was announced.

...August 21, 1983.

Where was I on that day?  Thirty-five years ago.  

How would someone, close to being senile, remember exactly.  When remembrance sometimes could be overwhelming; when memories are prejudiced, if not fragmented.  Blurry might even be more appropriate.

It was a day when the very first car I had, an old Ford Cortina, broke-down and had to be brought to the motorpool of the company I work with.  Mechanics, some personal friends, were helping me revive it.  They dismantled its carburetor, trying to look for that cog that prevents the fuel in correct proportion with air, from reaching the engine's combustion system.

Suddenly a flash news in the radio - Senator Ninoy Aquino was shot dead in the MIA tarmac.  

They have now assembled the carburetor and are testing it.  But I couldn't pay attention to the engine's purr.  It was supposed to be the sound of victory - of man prevailing over an old machine - and that means I have to dig into my pocket and sponsor a case of beer.

As the motor warms up and with the boys cooling down, thanks to that chilled pale pilsen flowing from a brown bottle, my mind is racing to catch up with the various possibilities.

A casual remark reverberates - "Ang tigas kase ng ulo, sabing hwag nang bumalik eh." [He was already advised not to come back, but the unyielding that he was.]  It came from the chief mechanic who hails from the south.

Try hard as I could, I couldn't come up with plausible scenarios, but I was certain there'll be more hard times ahead.  The company I work with, headquartered along EDSA, is in the real estate industry and business has not been good lately.  There were times when payroll for administrative staff would be delayed.  Us in the field doing site development operations would be luckier, we are quite pampered so to speak, but would not be for long.

I barely finished my bottle and have to beg-off from my friends.  I had a good excuse - to make good on a promise to take the family to the park if the car is repaired.

But reaching home, everything seems to have changed.  Wife is very much concerned about the fish still unsold (she tends a market stall) and may need to reopen by 4:00 pm to continue vending.  

The kids were disappointed.  I, too, was aghast over the bonding moments lost.  But, that was nothing compared to the momentary incomprehensible loss brought about by Ninoy's death.

Wife and me finally had the best bonding moment - during the funeral march, together, drenched in perspiration and I guess by heaven's tears as well, we sent off Ninoy to his final resting place.  That bond was to be cemented again in February of 86 when we offered ourselves as human shield in EDSA.

Fragments

Memories are now gushing and am brought down to the watering hole, adjacent our office building, where they cook the best pansit bijon guisado in town, which we often frequent with our Legal Division's lawyer friends.  I work with the Accounting Division.  There, Atty A., when karaoke was still unpopular, would stand-up at our prodding and sing John Denver's "Perhaps Love".  

But, there was one night, months after the tarmac tragedy, he suddenly erupted into "Bayan Ko" and had all restaurant patrons joining him in chorus.  Ending in a thunderous clapping.  Fists up in the air. [Goose-bumps while am writing this.]

There would be reprises of that scene in every watering hole we would go to.  There was also a time we rushed to QC Police HQ to bail out an employee who  got apprehended while participating in a flash anti-Marcos rally.  There, we got to meet MABINI lawyers, now faceless and nameless.

Our two main buildings are adjacent to Camp Crame and one fronts Camp Aguinaldo.  During the bloodless revolution in 1986, hundreds of people took shelter there.  

Now, I can recall [proof that memories are fragmented] in the early afternoon of February 24, 1986, some St. John Bosco Parish brothers were setting up a sound system - for rosary praying - in the parking area fronting our Tower I.  

When it was being tested, a lanky guy, dressed in yellow shirt, with Cory & Ninoy images printed on it, took the microphone and began with a "Naimbag nga malem kada kayo amin" [Good afternoon to everyone] greetings, in an all too familiar voice - the Apo himself.  The crowd started clapping and encouraged, the guy went on, still in Apo Ferdie's voice, with a message that he [Marcos] is now capitulating and even supports Cory, and the crowd chanted "Cory! Cory! Cory!"  There seemed to be tension in the air and that was enough for the John Bosco Parish brothers to pull-out and ran-off in their service vehicle.

That guy in yellow shirt was Kabao Ti Amyanan.

1.356525, 103.836874

In the backseat

You felt safer 
As I make my way up north.
While the guiding voice 
Seemed to whisper -
Bear right at the fork,
I maintained left and kept the course 
For all its worth.

But when I veered from the curve
We got lost.

Still you exuded grace 

Kept prodding me - yes, go on

You'll find a chestnut lush

In the next post.

Do we head to BKE Ecolink, 
Then loop our way?

Go south, down PIE, the voice faded:

You'll find Exit 20A.

You beckoned closer -

We're almost there. 

Then another fork, another miss,

I overshot the thoroughfare.

The U-turn slot, as it looms,

Seemed heaven's gate.
Further ahead, we have it made.

I parked. You smoked.
Here, I shall wait.
On our way back, somewhere,

You cried.

A week after

I cried.

THE WHISPER OF YOUR SMILE

You doubted

If ever I was listening to you.

I am.

You always had my full attention.

I just didn't cast my ears,

I wailed with your silent cries;

Choked with your imagined fears.
Grimaced in your unspoken vexations;
Drifted with your sighs.

My soul quivered with every beat

Of your pulse;
I am.
Be assured. 

I listened; 
Even subscribed 

To your subtle suggestions:

The diet, the fish oil, the futility of exercise.
I celebrated the glow of your glimpses;
How I wished I'd never miss 
Eternity in your eyes.

But if ever I'd be called in a while -

Back to where it all begun, 

Yonder my mornings will wake up 

To the whisper of your smile.

I HAVE SEEN MY FUTURE (BLOG IN PROGRESS)

"Okay naman po kami, sir." [We're just fine, sir] was my father's response when I queried about his health.  We siblings looked at each other.

Suddenly, our third-to-the-youngest sister unabashedly wailed, "That confirms my nagging suspicion, Tatang (father) couldn't recognize me anymore."

It was one of those days when all siblings are present.  We casually brushed sister's display of woe aside and tried to pay more attention to Tatang. We continued with our conversation, sometimes mentioning names of our former neighbors.  Our family happens to be one of yesteryears' informal settlers.  From Cubao we moved to Marikina where we have been relocated thrice.  When Tatang hears a familiar name, he would blurt out with a comment:  "Mayabang yon!" [He is full of air!]

Then time for parting came.  Tatang did not stand up to see us to the door which he usually does.  When I hugged him the response was not as tight as before.  I missed the blessing part, "Kawaan kayo ng Dios anak," [God bless you dear.]  Instead, he had that far-away look in his eyes.

My aunt (Tatang's sister-in-law) who walked us to the gate casually commented, "Ag-kabao ni Tatang mon." [Your dad's getting senile].

On the next visit, we found Tatang in a good mood and was sharing stories we never heard from him before.  We learned he was a long-distance runner and had won some athletic events in his elementary years.  There was one he won where every supporter threw their hats up-in-the air.  His eyes glowed as he once again basked in that moment.

I would get to see him every 6 months due to my overseas work.  But as days went by, there was a time, he would only sit by his bed.  He never uttered a word.  He was just playing with his pillows.

There would be times he would be calling aloud people's names which my sister, who was care-giving for him, says no one knows nor remember.  I would jokingly tell her that if it were a lady's name, probably one of his girl friends. If it were a man's name, someone who owes him money.  When I asked her to mention some, I could somehow recall those were names of his co-workers.  Tatang used to work as a barber in one of Quezon City's best men's hair salons in the 70s.  [A related piece is found somewhere in this blog thread.]

Then it suddenly dawned on me - if I would be at Tatang's age, I might be like him.  I have seen my future.

To be continued...if I won't forget.

APRIL RAIN

"Am not a gem; again, you aren't right,"
This you firmly declared one night.
"I may want a diamond, but can't agree,
Nothing on earth can represent me."

Sorry, but could you be the north star,
The sky's brightest from afar?
Perhaps, a glorious moonbeam
Guiding an itinerant dream.

Or, could you be the mellow sun
Chased by dusk, forever on the run?
Or, the clouds adrift in a billow,
Hugging an old man's furrow?

Might you be the gentle April rain
Gushing to soothe my hopeless pain?
Prolly a cosmic glow from distant past -
Here to take me home, at last.

IF SACRIFICE HAS A NAME, IT MUST BE...

Remember the restless pet feline:
To the driver you have to surrender, 
So it's taken to the vet, get cured for an

ailing bladder.

You did it for your furred knights,
Voiceless fellows, would kindness be returned?
Yes, perhaps in ways only them and Ida
can comprehend.

Battered, ignored, left cold, cigarette butt
Flicked like you were a living ashtray.
You still held on for duplicates' sake
Come what may?

So the bugger found another second fiddle
And now wants you to stay as he plays;
Follow his sordid wishes, buy his
Despicable ways.

You wept not at passion's passing
But tenderly wailed at motors lost.
Hormones raged on wheels, while you've borne
All the cost.

If by chance, fate summons you to choose:
Seek your dreams by this path untrodden
Or, would you rather be with hell's familiar host
Again, yet again?

AN OFW FATHER'S LAMENT - THE EULOGY

Once upon a time, when snail mail was still the fad, my daughter conveyed a project which required Overseas Filipino Worker [OFW] parents to write a eulogy for their children who were enrolled in their school which, incidentally was founded by Maryknoll Sisters.  I have since forgotten what the teacher's rationale for this rather odd requirement - eulogy for the living - was, but rummaging through my files, I found the draft of what I sent her.

The Draft

I am afraid I hardly knew my daughter and therefore, consider myself less competent for this task at hand.  I don't even know what her favorite color was.

Ethel was just ten years old when I started working overseas and would only get to see her for 21 days every 6 months.  During those intervals, I would always look forward to spending quality time with her but more often than not, she would be busy with her classes in school.

And, when she's not in school, she seemed to be always asleep.  I wonder what kept her so close to her bed.  It seems to me all her life, her mind was not able to prevail over mattress.

Despite all these, being a doting daughter, as she always was, Ethel tried to bridge the necessary evil of separation by writing letters.

Those seemingly eternal, "Musta na po kayo? Sana'y lagi kayong nasa mabuting kalagayan, mahal na mahal po kita"  [How are you? Hope you're doing fine, I love you much] greetings and assurances in her letters always appeared fresh to me and were enough to make my day.  She wrote so neatly but it kept me wondering until now how her teachers were able to suffer her size 8 fonts.  If she managed to extract 3.5s and 4.0s from them, she also made me keep on upgrading the lens of my reading glasses.

She has a penchant for coming up with codes and acronyms.  I've grown very fond of her KTMD, which dictum I would admit had helped me a lot in surviving the rigors of an expatriate's life sans the family.  As long as I live, I will always cherish such compact but meaningful aphorism, "Konting Tiis, Maraming Dasal."  [Have a bit of grit, pray a lot.]

Instead of reminding me to make ingat [take care], the conya that she was, she would write CHESS.  This is the real chess from where she gleaned a lesson early in life.  She learned the rudiments of the game when she was just about 6 years old.  All the while, we thought we had a child prodigy in the making.  Such thought, however, was cut short by an overlooked enemy bishop lurking along the diagonal line leading to her queen.  She seemed to have lost her interest in the game after that.

But the lesson was deeply ingrained in her.  To her, chess is the way of life itself.  Early on she realized the dangers lurking everywhere.  That, somehow, an enemy bishop is always out there to get you if you are not careful; if you don't plan well enough and focus.  I'll never forget that.

She may no longer be with us but I will always see her smiling and laughing heartily at my oftentimes corny jokes.  I will always feel her love in every letter neatly written for a father oceans away.  I will always feel secure in her admonition for my safety - to be always on the look-out for that wayward bishop, in every step of the way.

May God bless her soul.

End of draft.

Kabao Ti Amyanan on Candidate Noynoy - 24-Mar-10

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kabao_ti_amyanan  (posted on Mar 24, 2010 08:19 AM) Member since Sep 02, 2007 “ Passenger ship, SS Pilipinas, on dry-dock, is undergoing major repairs. She is on the look-out for a new captain as well.  During the interview, shortlisted applicants were asked about their plans on how they would ensure the ship won't be on the verge of sinking like the last voyage. Candidate Acosta, before he could say anything, was sent out by the interviewer. Candidate Aquino says he would be unlike the previous captain. He will see to it all funds intended for the ship's upkeep will be spent as such. He would also recommend the investigation of the erstwhile skipper for other cases of dereliction. Candidate Estrada says he's been at the helm of this ship before and seems nothing changed. He even could not forget the secluded place at the starboard where he used to sip his JW blue. He would love to be given another chance. Candidate Gordon couldn't say much but promises to make this ship a tourist destination. Candidate Teodoro says he is a scholar and with his intellectual prowess he will make sure that ship will never sink with his idealism. He also doesn't buy the idea to make the previous captain accountable anymore as it was him who gave the recommendation to apply for this position. Candidate Villanueva beckons he would always be prayerful and would seek God's protection and blessings for calm seas ahead. Candidate Villar, in his usual low key and simple self says, he will buy another ship. „ Report abuse | Reply

...Tatang and his birthday

He would be 90 years old come 25-Feb-16.  But now, he is ageless having passed on to that place where time and age doesn't matter anymore.

...Tatang and Christmas Day

This space was created sometime 2014 and since then I have been meaning to start posting remembrances yet can't find the right time and on which stage in my life should I begin with.

But the mind was supposed to work like a RAM chip.

This being Christmas Day, I tried to dig deep into my cache and accessed early 70's and what I could remember is waiting for my father at his place of work at a barber shop somewhere in the vicinity of Araneta Center, Cubao.  It was eve of Christmas and shop closing would be around 9:00 PM.  Going back home, we would walk down Aurora Blvd and head down to where we live at Virginia Street, a secondary road, which is parallel to Highway 54, now EDSA.

Tatang was very busy that day.  If my count was right, he must have had cut hair for more than 20 customers.  That's many a head considering that Tops Barbershop in those days has about 20 full time barbers.  But it was the holidays and many a male would want to be looking more guapo.

Tops Barbershop reminds me of Mang Salong, Ninong Val, Mang Teddy, Mang Ben, Peter, Danny, Nonoy, all of them skilled haircutters.  It was considered as a first class man's hair salon at that time and would count celebrities in various fields among its customers.  From the customer's waiting section you could see Stella Maris College clearly, directly opposite ShoeMart.  Next door was Commander Drug and across was Mercury Drug.  Then, further down was Ma Mon Luk Siopao and Mami House.

On our way back that evening, I would glance at the toys and gifts being peddled by vendors along the bangketa.  I was praying hard that father would consider buying me a toy gun as my consolation for having accompanied him, but no chance.  We passed by a bakery and he bought a loaf of bread and that was it.

Despondent as I was, we reached home and the stark reality greeted me.  How would Tatang ever think of buying me that toy when we could not even afford to have electricity run into our home.  Mamang greeted us at the door of what was then called a barong-barong and along ran my 6 other siblings.  We would partake of the loaf later, sans any spread, not anything in between much less some juice to wash it down.

To us, that was to be our noche buena.