...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.

...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.