May 12, 2019. Mothers’ Day. This morning, at mass, Fr. Chris told us that aside from God, we will only feel real, unconditional love from one other person, and that is not our love partner, but our mother. He urged each of us to thank our mother and let her feel our love, while she is here.
I am fortunate to have my mother, Pilar or Dada as we fondly call her, still with us. White-haired, a little bent, much weaker, a bit forgetful, but still as beautiful as ever, Dada is now 84. She’s been through the toughest of times, having been widowed at 32 with five young children to bring up in a foreign land.
A no-nonsense, practical woman, she converted our house in the university belt to a boarding house, woke up each day at dawn to go to market, cook for her family and her boarders, get us ready for school, bring us lunch every day, tutor us when we got home, attend our school events, and love us unconditionally. She never remarried, and instead concentrated on taking care of us. And when we had all grown up, finished schooling, started working, fallen in love, gotten married and started having kids, she took it upon herself to take care of her grandchildren. Her love for us is boundless, limitless.
She was very strict, and there was a phase when we were very young that we got spanked almost every day for being naughty. Spanking stopped when my father died, and my mom had to work really hard to take care of us. I could see that life was difficult, but mom never complained. I vowed to finish my studies right away so I could take care of her and the family. I was hard-headed, strong-willed and impetuous, and must have given my mom quite a few headaches over the years, as did all of us children.
Drawing on my own experiences as a mother, I began to reflect on what it must have been for her as a young mother, far from her native Spain.
I wonder if she felt the same kind of excited ‘want to shout this news to the world,’ yet partly apprehensive love that springs forth when first she learned she was expecting me or my siblings. Did she worry too, when her body began to change? When she felt that first kick and realized that there’s this other person growing within, did she wonder what lay ahead? Did she also wonder what her children will be like? What kind of persons they will become? And if her children will love her too?
Did she, like me, feel that awesome love that takes root in a mother’s heart that precious moment when first we see our child, carry her in our arms and realize that life will never be the same? That this little person will always come first, and that our lives will be intertwined forever?
Did she feel that tender, nurturing love when we cradle the baby in our arms and croon her to sleep? The ‘grit your teeth, bite your lips’ dogged kind of love that lets her suckle, even when your nipples bleed, or carry her for hours even when your back aches.
Did she, like me, have that fierce, determined drive to protect our children from harm, and to discipline and guide them to develop the values they need to survive. Did it break her heart too each time her children cried from scruffed knees, doctor’s visits, failed quizzes, childhood scrapes, and later from the disappointments of break-ups or misunderstandings?
Did she feel proud when her children garnered honors at school, or acted in a play, or won a school competition? Did she too have that gut-wrenching feeling of seeing her children grieve over their father’s death, and of not knowing how to kiss this kind of pain away? How did she manage to pick up the shattered pieces and patch everything back so that her children will feel secure? How was she able to console her grieving children, when she couldn’t even breathe from pain herself?
Did she too experience the same hurt, when my once adoring children, now teenagers, begin to question me or worse rebel, and I feel them slipping away to become their own person, making their own decisions and living life apart from me?
Did she revel when she realized, like I do now, that the babies I once cradled in my arms, are now full-grown men and women? That these children can now stand on their own. Live. Laugh. Love. That they in many, many ways are a better me. And that somehow along the way, I must have done something good for them to turn out so well.
As I watched my children in the kitchen cook a special Mother’s Day lunch for Dada and me, I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Lord for blessing me with the inestimable joys of motherhood and for allowing me a taste of heaven here on earth.
Thank you, Dada, for bringing me into this world, and for loving me the same way Abuela loved you, with the same kind of unconditional love that makes women soldier on no matter what, through all the pains and heartaches of motherhood. Indeed, we carry our mother and our mother’s mother, and all the mothers before us, in our heart. As will our daughters do, some day.
August 5, 2018.. Yesterday, we launched the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines Basic Ecclesial Communities (CBCP-BEC) Fund Drive at Saint Andrew the Apostle Parish in Bel-Air 2, Makati City. The event went well, despite a spotty start involving a quick and frantic re-layout of the reception venue, with the help of Arlene and Rod of Saint Andrew, and the kind waiters of Wicked K.
Officiating priests led by Bp. Joe Cabantan.
Guests started to arrive and register at 3:30pm, just as the heavens opened and heavy rain poured. Fleeting worries about flooding were quickly dispersed as mass began, officiated by Bishop Joe Cabantan, Monsignor Manny Gabriel, Monsignor Ernie Joaquin, Fr. Dodong Billones and Fr. Didoy Molina. Soon, the church began to fill up. After the mass, guests went up to the Jubilee Hall to savor the delicious food and to renew friendships, young and old.
For those who have not had the honor of meeting Monsi Manny before, he is one of the best spiritual mentors and BEC supporters that I have been blessed to know. Charming, intelligent, insightful, funny, sincere, honest…all these and more describe Monsi Manny. No wonder he is much loved and respected. This was palpably evident as people from different parishes came up to greet him during the launch; people whose hearts Monsi Manny has touched in his spiritual ministry, leaving an indelible mark. Just as he has been there for me, through the many trials I have had.
Memories of the past four months came back. In March, my friend Wilma Leagogo and I received an invitation from Bishop Jose Araneta Cabantan to join the Finance and Funding Unit (FFU), tasked to provide financial and logistical support to the Commission’s operations and program implementation, and to establish the financial system of the office in keeping with the spirituality of Servant Stewardship. We were to coordinate with the Commission’s Executive Secretary, Monsignor Manny Gabriel. Wondering what this was about, Wilma and I hied over to Intramuros on April 5 to meet the Bishop for the very first time, and to be briefed on CBCP-BEC and its various projects. On that day, I also met the other members of the FFU who have since become real friends: Amy Cabal, Rory de Vela, Benny Araw, Marisa Calinap. Later, I met other members: Emily Calanog, Mon Jimenez and Bob Prevosa.
I remember voicing out that they must have made a mistake in asking me to be part of the FFU as I was not a finance person, but could help out in other areas such as communications, strategy, marketing, and events. Monsi Manny said we all had our own charisms that we would bring, but the most important ones were faith and a commitment to serve. With that, we set up a Viber group for comms and began meeting regularly in TeamAsia, as most of us hail from the South, to set plans. Always, Monsi was there to inspire us to give our best.
Monsi Manny suggested that we launch the Fund Drive on the occasion of his 75th birthday, and ask his friends to support the CBCP-BEC in lieu of birthday gifts. The date was set: August4, the Feast of Saint John de Vianney, patron saint of parish priests.
MonJ came up with a simple and beautiful electronic invitation: “Keeping the faith alive at 75.”
We looked for venues that would allow us to have a mass and merienda after, but they were either unavailable or too expensive. Then, Andre Kahn recommended we try Saint Andrew the Apostle Parish, across his office. Rory and I checked out the place but they were closed on a Monday. The next day, Monsi and the ladies went, and were welcomed with open arms by the parish priest, saying we could use the venue for free.
With Arlene, the ever helpful angel of St. Andrew the Apostle Parish, and Wicked Kitchen’s Jean Arce and Koochie Laxamana
I scouted for caterers comparing rates and menus, and just like that, two weeks before the event, I learned about Wicked Kitchen which is run by my classmate Jean Arce’s daughter, Koochie Laxamana. Wicked Kitchen offered delicious food within our budget, and was most helpful. It was the perfect choice, as several guests asked later for their number saying the food was excellent.
Bob came up with the encompassing launch PowerPoint Presentation, which I tweaked for the visibility in the venue. We used MonJ’s design to come up with a printed invitation. Then the finance wizards in the group set up the accounting system. Now, all that was left was to invite guests.
Clearly, God was opening doors for us.
The CBCP-BEC is the National Office given the task of coordinating all efforts to initiate, develop and promote BECs in all the dioceses and parishes in the Philippines. The projects they have lined up include:
– the BEC Faith Encounter, a 12-step experience initiating the participants to the BEC mind set focused on Christology, Missiology and Ecclesiology;
– priests’ training on Pastoral Management of BECs to equip them with practical approaches in solving critical issues that may arise in forming and handling the parish/BECs;
– Historico-Theological Reflections of BECs in the Philippines which will collect historical as well as theological reflections on how BEC has indeed become the new way of being Church in the country today;
– BEC Research with DLSU-Manila, a scholarly and comprehensive study on how BECs contributed to the Christianization of the Philippines these past 50 years;
– BEC National Directors Meeting which will gather BEC Directors from all over the country to meet, to update, and to share their experiences of ministering for the promotion of BEC;
– BEC National Assembly which will bring together all BEC practitioners and members from around the country to exchange ideas and experiences as a community of believers and to celebrate their being Church;
– and the more mundane office concerns such as website upgrade and redesigning, securing a new air-conditioning unit (it’s a sauna there!), getting new office desktop, laptop & printer to replace the antiquated equipment, doing minor renovation of office space, and obtaining office furniture & book shelves.
To fund these initiatives, we have to raise at least One Million Pesos each year. That is a formidable goal but with God’s grace, Monsi and Bp Joe’s guidance, our tight knit group at the FFU, and staunch supporters, it can be done, for nothing is impossible for the Lord.
If there is one thing that is totally satisfying, it is sharing one’s gift of time, talent and treasure to those who need it most. I daresay that the volunteers and sponsors get more out of giving than the beneficiaries themselves. We’ve been so blessed to have this opportunity yearly. Little did we know that what we started in 2008 would snowball into a yearly tradition.
For the eighth consecutive year, the Information Technology and Business Process Association of the Philippines (IBPAP) and TeamAsia organized “My Dream in a Shoebox,” a beloved tradition of collecting and distributing shoeboxes filled with school supplies to less fortunate Filipino children. With the increasing support of our compassionate industry friends, we’ve grown from 200 shoebox donations in 2009 to more than 50,000 in 2015. These shoeboxes were donated to public schools and foundations covering Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao.
Digital campaign #ShoeboxChallengePH
This year, we set ourselves a goal of 75,000 shoeboxes, which we are still on the way to achieving. So far, we’ve received over 60,000 shoeboxes, and pledges are still coming in. Early December, we launched a digital campaign called #ShoeboxChallengePH, where volunteers take a short video of themselves pledging to donate shoeboxes, then nominate three friends to do the same. Several people joined in the campaign, and this started the ball rolling.
A friend of mine, Bea Tan, vice president at Citibank, gathered her children and godchildren at her home one afternoon to stuff 50 shoeboxes and wrap them in festive paper. They all had so much fun wrapping the gifts, and I am sure the children will remember this for a very long time. I am so proud of her effort to instill the values of generosity of heart in the young!
Another friend, Joel Pascual of PEP Group, did a video on Facebook, and he says there were so many people interested to help, even some from overseas who contacted him through Facebook. Friends of mine from San Francisco have also donated willingly to the cause, as have personal friends who learn about this project. At TeamAsia, we rang the bell one day to signal the stop of work and the start of an afternoon of wrapping shoeboxes.
Last December, I’ve helped out at three gift-giving days, and would like to share what happened then.
December 10, 2016
Shoeboxes ready for distribution
Early that morning, we trooped to Barangay Payatas, Quezon City for our annual gift giving day of My Dream in a Shoebox at the Payatas Orione Foundation, Inc. (PAOFI). Run by the missions of the Sons of Divine Providence Congregation, PAOFI provides social welfare development programs and services to the poor, vulnerable and disadvantaged persons/families relative to their health/medical, nutritional and educational needs.
Fr. Julio welcomes us to Payatas.
That day, however, Fr. Martin was in Lucena tending to their communities in Barangay Dalahican and Talao-Talao in Lucena City. Instead, it was PAOFI’s executive director, the genial Fr. Julio who welcomed us at Payatas, together with Michelle and Shyla.
We expected 500 scholars at PAOFI, but sadly only 300 of the kids could attend the actual gift giving because of the National Achievement Test that was being administered that day. However, 133 volunteers had signed up for that session, and we were a bit worried that we had too many volunteers. This turned out to be a boon as the volunteers had more opportunity to interact with the children.
First, we grouped the children into tens and assigned each group three volunteers to serve as their big sisters/brothers, then had them come up with a group cheer. This was a tremendous success as each group tried to outdo the other in their cheering prowess. Thanks to Bea Lim and Armo Armovit for serving as judges for the cheering competition. The groupings also allowed the volunteers and the children to bond.
We had two games, the Newspaper Dance and The Boat is Sinking, with United Health Group (UHG) volunteers serving as game masters with the help of FIS Global. Emerson and UHG comprised the food distribution committee. The big brothers and sisters took charge of distributing the shoeboxes to the kids in their care, as well as, getting them hotdog sandwiches, orange juice and Picnic shoestring potatoes.
We also had a storytelling session in Filipino, which I led based on a story of a young boy who was at a loss as to what to give to his teacher on Christmas. He was sad because he could not afford to buy a gift because of his poor circumstances but was inspired when his mother told him a story about another young boy in a similar situation who drew on his creativity to come up with the best gift in the world. I told them that the gift of love is the most important thing in the world.
And love it was that we experienced that day. Hearty thanks to our selfless volunteers from Emerson, FIS Global, P&G, United Health Global, TeamAsia and IBPAP. Thanks too to Emerson for sponsoring the food and drinks for the activity, to P&G for providing the prizes for the games, to Megaworld for the Picnic shoestring potatoes, to Asia Brewery for the yoghurt, and to all those who donated shoeboxes filled with school supplies! And congratulations to TeamAsia’s Clah Salindato and Beverly Aguilar and to IBPAP’s Cholo Antonio for organizing this gift-giving day! I daresay that the volunteers left PAOFI with hearts full of happiness and contentment for sharing themselves and their morning with the children. And the smiles on the faces of the children were priceless!
December 22, 2016
One thousand thirty-six children from sixteen damayan centers. That’s how many children awaited us at the covered courts of Parokya Pedro Calungsod in Southville 3, Muntinlupa. This quasi-parish under the stewardship of Fr. Benjamin Molina, Jr., was established on October 14, 2012 to service the spiritual needs of the informal settlers that have located in the housing resettlement in a 50-hectare portion of the New Bilibid Prison (NBP) reservation.
Our family with Fr. Didoy.
Not one to be fazed by such a daunting task, Fr. Didoy organized two gift-giving days for the children of the community, each one with 1,000 children. We were assigned to the second outreach. Come to think about it, Fr. Didoy has always set big, hairy goals when it came to helping people lead better lives. He was our parish priest at the Ascension of Our Lord Parish for three years, and he was (and still is) very much loved by the community. Which is why there were volunteers from Southbay and Goodwill who came to help that day.
Fr. Didoy telling the story of the first christmas tree during his homily.
But before the actual gift-giving, Fr. Didoy celebrated Holy Mass to remind everyone that we must first give thanks to the Lord for his many blessings. During his sermon, Fr. Didoy recounted the story of the very first Christmas tree that wanted to give homage to the King. The children were enthralled listening to his story, as they were, to my Filipino version of the “punong-kahoy na Pamasko.”
The volunteers distributing shoeboxes to the children.
What is amazing is that despite the large number of children, they were all extremely well-behaved, following the instructions of the youthful volunteers. Soon, the volunteers from the different companies began arriving: Henkel, Alorica, Infosys, Intelenet, Northern Trust, Asurion, DSM Manila, Serenitea and IBPAP and TeamAsia. And just like the multiplication of bread, the blessings overflowed that day. Earlier, we had sent over 1,000 shoeboxes filled with school supplies for the children. On the day of the outreach, however, Henkel delivered an additional 1,500 shoeboxes, followed by Asurion with 150 boxes and Serenitea with 155 boxes. The children were so happy, as they each brought home not one, but two shoeboxes, ensuring that that their siblings too would have supplies for school.
The children sang, danced, and played games with the volunteers eagerly helping out, especially when it came to distributing food and beverages as well as the shoeboxes. I noticed too that some of the volunteers brought along their own children, which is a great way to teach them the importance of sharing with those less fortunate.
After the outreach was over, the volunteers gathered for a souvenir photo. There were so many that we could hardly fit them in the photo, and had to take it from the second floor of the gym.
December 30
Once again, the gifts multiplied, this time at the Ascension of Our Lord Parish outreach. Five hundred children from the developing communities of Estrada 1 and 2, Mangga, Aratiles, Silangan, Villonco, and Waterfun were gathered early in the morning at the parish church. Outside the church, another hundred or so children waited in the hope of being allowed to join the festivities. Earlier, we had delivered 600 shoeboxes to Ascension. To our surprise, Alorica arrived with another 500 boxes. This meant we could give more than one box to each child inside the church, as well as, to the children waiting outside. Wonder of wonders!
While the children were singing in the church, the parish commission and youth volunteers, the corporate volunteers from VXI, Alorica, TeamAsia and IBPAP, as well as, individual volunteers like Michelle Cruz, Olette Gonzalez, Lou Mercado, Juliet and Rene Cinco, Jun and Tess Latorre, the Liwanag family, and many more were busy preparing the games, food and drinks and shoeboxes that would be distributed that day. Everyone had a task to fulfill, some as game masters, others as marshals, gift coordinators, food coordinators, and so on. There was even a clean up committee to pick up debris left by the event.
That Jolly Bee surprised and delighted the children.
A surprise visit by the Jollibee mascot got all the children excited, as did the various games organized for the children, like the straw relay, balloon relay and Japanese walk. Even my storytelling was listened to attentively by the children.
After the children had their snacks provided by VXI, they lined up to get their shoeboxes and other gifts from the volunteers. After this, they had their photo taken at the belen together with Fr. Joseph Landero, parish priest of Ascension of Our Lord.
Tired but happy volunteers at Ascension of Our Lord parish.
When the happy children had left, the volunteers broke bread and had souvenir photos taken at the parish. From the smiles on their faces, one could see that they were very pleased with themselves. And that’s the real blessing one gets from sharing.
We spent the afternoon resting at home and getting ready for the flight out. Andrè and I took the 10pm red eye flight to Miami, had an hour and half wait at the Atlanta airport, and arrived in Miami at 9:30am. We didn’t sleep at all on the plane, and so were bleary-eyed when we arrived. We took a taxi to the home of Douglas Kamm by the Coral Gables, where we met his friend Angela Younger from New Zealand who was visiting and was just about to leave for the airport. Douglas was delighted that his Australian contact had finally met his Filipino contact after all these years.
Andre in Douglas’ kitchen
Douglas, Andrè’s best friend from his college days, lives in a nice, antiquated house. Feeling grungy from the long trip, I freshened up at his restroom, and was immediately brought back to my childhood days. It seemed that I was back in my grandmother’s house in San Sebastian as the furnishings were so similar. Douglas’ classic sense of style was evident in the blue and white ceramic collection he had in his kitchen, his paintings and his ivory pieces.
Douglas invited us out to his garden. A bit wild at the moment, his garden was the toast of the city back in its heyday, and was featured a number of times in magazines. You could still see what made it famous back then from the variety of foliage planted. Why, it even had a mango tree, which Andrè avers produces the sweetest mangoes. I hurried back to the house when I learned that a few days ago a crocodile had snatched a pet dog away from its master who was walking it by the creek, and that this had happened a few houses away from where we were. I certainly did not want to be croc breakfast.
Douglas driving us around Miami
Douglas gave us a grand tour of the city in his car, driving up to South Beach lined with art deco hotels and restaurants on one side and on the other, Sunday strollers on the beach. He had worked in hotels in the strip, and gave a running commentary that was entertaining. He even pointed out the exact spot where celebrated designer Versace was gunned down by a Filipino named Cunanan. After that, we did a quick spin of Coral Gables, Miami’s version of Forbes Park where the wealthy live. I loved seeing the massive banyan trees. What character they had and what tales they could share if only they could talk, I wondered.
For lunch, we went to Bangkok City for their famous crispy duck. There were several options on the menu but we settled for the basil version, along with tom kha (i.e., chicken soup cooked in lemongrass and coconut milk.) and pad thai. Andrè and Douglas have been going to that Thai restaurant for well over 30 years. We then went to Gilbert’s Bakery to get key lime pie to bring to Cachito’s home, and we ended up getting pecan pie, Grand Marnier and tocino del cielo as well.
The two men enjoyed ribbing each other over lunch, recalling capers over the years. After lunch, we headed to West Palm Beach. Just before Exit 35, the car’s left rear tire blew out, and we had to wait for AAA to come help us. Just that morning, I learned that Douglas didn’t know how to use a mobile phone, much less owned one, and so it was interesting to observe him using Andrè’s mobile phone to call AAA’s customer service. We were told it would take 90 minutes for AAA to arrive. So I began writing this blog while we awaited our knight in shining armor. I kept hoping the aircon wouldn’t conk out before the rescue vehicle arrived, as it was sweltering hot outside.
After much anticipation, the AAA rescue vehicle arrives!Waiting for Uber
When AAA’s rescue vehicle arrived though, we learned that they could not change the tire as the spare tire was riddled with holes. The only solution was for a tow truck to come and pick up the car. This would take another 90 minutes, we were told, but since only one person could ride in the car being towed, that meant Andrè and I needed to find some other way to get to West Palm Beach. And that’s when I called Uber to the rescue. I accessed my Uber app from the Philippines, and in 12 minutes an UberX came to pick us up. There we were, perspiring from the heat of the sun with our suitcases lined up on the shoulder, when a new Hyundai Sonata driven by a lovely Cuban young woman stopped to help us.
Zuy to the rescue!
Zuy Alejo, our Uber driver, was making frijoles (black beans) at home when the Uber call came in, and when she saw that we were on the turnpike, she figured that we had an accident. Kind-hearted Zuy decided to get in her car and drive to us. She was truly heaven-sent! Zuy drove us from the Turnpike all the way to West Palms Beach.
Charming Zuy shared her interesting story with us. At five years old, she and her family came to America from Cuba on a 21-footer boat with 22 other people. They were nine days at sea, without food or water. She said they had no choice but to drink their urine. What a life changing experience that must have been for her family! Now happily married and leading the parents-teachers association in her child’s school, she works at a restaurant, and started on Uber in the past two months.
And then Andrè popped the question: “Where can we get the best key lime pie in Miami?” And Zuy said, Key West of course! But the really good ones can be found in the airport, she added. Well, this we must try on the way to Seattle.
We arrived at the home of Cachito, Andrè’s younger brother, and were welcomed warmly. That night, Cachito and his wife Rocio hosted dinner at Hoes Asian Cuisine. It was a big group, and I was a bit overwhelmed at first. I met Andrè’s mom, Tita Dolly, his cousin Margie, his sister-in-law Margarita, and his nieces Stephanie and Angeline, and their partners Andrèw and Chris. The food was nourishing after that long day of travel, but we were so tired as we had hardly slept the night before on the plane.
October 17, 2016
Outside the Cracker Barrel with Andre, Dolly and Gerry
The next morning, we went to the 8am mass at St. Augustine Catholic Church with Tita Dolly and Gerry Humphries, who drove us. It was a beautiful mass, and I felt at peace with the world. We then had a hearty breakfast at Cracker Barrel, a quaint shop selling country items alongside a cafe. We enjoyed sunny side up farm fresh eggs, sausage links, grits with sawmill gravy, freshly baked homemade buttermilk biscuits, fluffy pancakes with old-fashioned maple syrup, jam and coffee. We didn’t know what to do with the grits, but after Gerry told us to mix it with butter, salt and pepper and gravy, the grits turned out delicious! I couldn’t help but explore the store and picked up some shirts. Just outside the store were some pretty rocking chairs, and so had some photos snapped there.
Enjoying a meal at The White Elephant
We then went to a mall to check the Apple Store if they had the iPhone 7 Plus available. No luck. We went back home to rest, and went out to dinner that night at The White Elephant, on the invitation of Andrè’s Uncle Jess and his wife Benguet. There we met Jess’s children, Chris, a lawyer, and Michelle, a public prosecutor.
Michelle and her Great Dane.
Beautiful Michelle had her Great Dane with here. What a stately dog it was, and extremely well behaved! The pizza was just right and the shrimp curry delicious, though a chutney would have made it amazing. For dessert, we shared a key lime pie. The search for the best key lime pie was still on, but this was more like a vanilla cream pie. Again, we were told that the best key lime pie could be had at Key West.
Jess then toured us around his Wellington Mall, pointing out the five schools that were there, as well as the Post Office. The mall seemed more like a museum than a mall as it had beautiful sculptures around. There were statues of game fish and horses of different kinds, including carousel horses and a unicorn, live fish in aquariums, grandfather clocks, and brass sculptures of children playing and having fun. I was happy to see the Philippine flag together with the American flag hanging in the activity area.
Andre and his Uncle Jess
An accomplished gentleman, Jess Santamaria was elected as County Commissioner three times. He believes in sharing his blessings and has two foundations that help provide education to children as well as help for less privileged families.
We stopped to look at a poster he had of Desiderata, and I was amazed when Jess and Andrè started to recite the poem from memory. Andrè’s favorite was: “Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.”
October 18, 2016
The next morning, we had breakfast together with Cachito and Tita Dolly. The night before, Rocio had prepared a Filipino breakfast of longganiza and fried rice. I fried the eggs and prepared the tomato and onion salad to go with it. Rocio’s longganiza was to die for. She said she got them at Kabayan, the Filipino store in West Palm Beach. That night, I asked her the secret for cooking it the way she did. I was happy she taught me how to do it properly.
Margarita then picked us up to bring us sightseeing at Worth Avenue, one of the most exclusive shopping streets in the United States. It is the equivalent of Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, where all the most expensive brands have stores: Jimmy Choo, Chanel, Ralph Lauren, Kate Spade, and more. I wasn’t paying much attention to the stores, instead enjoying the stroll and talking to Margarita.
With Andre, Mike, Techie and Margarita.
Lo and behold, who do we see at the corner of Worth Avenue, sitting down by the shaded bench but Mike Bilbao, hubby of Techie Ysmael. Turns out he was waiting for Tetchie who was meeting someone at one of the shops. Soon, Techie showed up with a copy of the book she had written on her famous mother, Chona Kasten.
After bidding goodbye to Mike and Techie, we continued to look for Pizza Al Fresco, a little restaurant tucked away inside one of the garden alcoves. We had a most delightful meal of Andrè’s favorite, shrimp cocktail, a Portobello mushroom salad, and their famous pizza alfresco, washed down with a Peregrino with gas.
Over lunch, we shared our life experiences, how sad and lonely we were when our beloved spouses passed on, how we needed to get a grip on our emotions and decide to accept fate and move on, how we adjusted to the difficulties of senior dating, and how fortunate we were to discover second chances at love, along with the complexities that come with it. After all, there is so much more life to be lived and happiness to be enjoyed.
We then visited the Palm Beach Outlet Mall where we visited various shops, and chanced upon GH Bass, which had the most comfortable shoes, which Margarita and I bought. We all ended up buying various items. A sudden downpour cut short our shopping spree, and we headed home, as we still had a dinner to attend. Angeline and Chris Gross were hosting dinner at Aglioli for the family. Margarita and I laughed when we realized we both had worn our new shoes to the dinner.
At Aglioli with Andre’s family
Aglioli is a family restaurant that allows its guests to design their own pizza and pasta using various types of noodles, sauces, meats and veggies. After sharing the fresh house salad, which came in huge bowls, with lots of black olives and crunchy baguettes, we had fun designing our own pasta. Andrè ended up with angel hair pasta with rich pomodoro sauce and a side dish of meatballs. On Angeline’s recommendation, I got a shrimp pesto angel hair with artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms and grilled garlic. It was sublime! When dessert time came, we were too full to order a key lime pie.
There was much banter and lively conversation over dinner. I learned that Angeline, despite her 5’2” tiny frame, is an accomplished industrial engineer, a wind blade specialist at New Era, which used to be the Florida Power and Light Company. She climbs wind towers that are hundreds of feet high to check on the blades. Cachito says that when she sent him photos of how high she was on her first climb, that he was so nervous he had to take a drink. Kudos to her, as she excels in a man’s world.
When Rocio learned that we were on a quest to discover the best key lime pie, she offered to bake us one for the next day when Margarita was hosting dinner.
October 19
Reliving breakfasts of before at Gabrielle’s
Early the next day, Andrè and I together with Tita Dolly and Gerry went to Gabrielle’s Café and Grille, voted 12 years running as the best breakfast place in town. Andrè recounted that this was a Sunday tradition for him and his brother Raymond, their uncle Tony and cousin JJ and a few other friends. He said it looked exactly the same, except the round table where they usually sat was now nearer the entrance.
After breakfast, we went home to Tita Dolly’s where we had dance lessons from Gerry. Gerry Humphries learned how to dance from the Fred Astaire Dance Studio, and eventually put up his own dance studio. His school produced several dance champions of the US. It was interesting how Gerry explained the science of dance so simply that we got it immediately. He made sure we learned the basic “box” and showed us how that box was applicable to various types of dance, how high our hands held should be (level with the woman’s eyes, he admonished Andrè), where to put my hand on Andrè’s shoulder, how to turn gracefully, and so on. I took a video of Gerry dancing with Andrè, and then with Dolly. A few more lessons, and I believe Andrè and I could conquer the dance floor!
Beautiful Dolly
I enjoyed talking to Andrè’s mom. At 92, she still exudes the special beauty that captivated the heart of Rene Kahn, Andrè’s father. Not only that, she was charming and sharp as sharp can be. She relayed stories of her youth, of their courtship, of being mother to 13 children, of being asked to be a blue lady but declining, of how she and her husband were so in love with each other, and how he would not let her dance with anyone else at parties.
She had met him when she was only 12, acting as chaperone to her older sister. Because she was tall for her age, her sister’s suitors would vie for her attention and start to court her instead. Her parents advised her to dance with other boys, but when she met Rene, she was smitten and all she wanted was to be with him. He would wait for her outside at parties, and she would escape to see and talk to him.
He got a job in Cebu, but after just three months, he could no longer bear to be separated from her that he left to marry her. She conceived on their honeymoon, and nine months later she had her firstborn, Butch. She said Rene vowed he would have just one child after he saw the pain of childbirth she went through. But it was not to be as the children came one after the other. Love was not to be denied.
Dolly and Rene were inseparable, and he would bring her with him on trips domestically and overseas, even living for a year in Hong Kong while he set up the San Miguel Brewery there. As I listened to her, I wondered how she was able to cope with social responsibilities as the wife of the Coca-Cola Corporation CEO, and as mother to all her children – four girls and eight boys. But cope she did, marvelously, as her children turned out wonderfully, with solid values.
When Rene died, she moved to the US. There, she gave in to her love for dancing, and would dance for hours. She told me that once her doctor asked if she did any exercise. She said none, but that she would dance for four hours a day. The doctor was floored! No wonder Tita Dolly has kept her slim figure all these years.
Silver Wedding Anniversary
Tita Dolly showed me her treasured albums, especially that of her Silver Wedding Anniversary. It was a beautiful album with black and white photos. Rene and Dolly looked so happy together, and they had a beautiful family! I eagerly looked for photos of Andre as a young man. He was quite handsome!
Andre and his mom’s portrait. He was in her womb when this painting was made.
In her living room, she showed me a painting of her as a young mother, and she told me that she was pregnant with Andrè at the time the painting was done. She looked absolutely gorgeous! No wonder Rene loved her so much, and as Andrè said, put her on a pedestal, teaching his children that this was the way a man should treat his wife. I asked Andrè to stand beside the painting so I could take a photo of him with her.
After the dance lessons, we went to BJ to see what they had on sale. BJ is like Costco, and also has food samples in each lane. We were tired, so we went back home. For lunch, Cachito, Andrè and I made a quick run to Jon Smith Subs for some sandwiches. Andrè and I shared an 18-inch meatball bomb sub. A poster boasted that Jon Smith Subs was voted the favorite French Fries. There was also a cute poster of a forlorn dog with long ears that said “I hate Jon Smith. No leftovers.” Poor doggie, the fries were so good there was none left for the doggie bag.
That night, we went to Margarita’s home and met her Colombian family and friends. There was her sister Beatriz and her hubby, Andrès Gutierrez; Jon Duque, the husband of her best friend Vicky; and the Kahn family. Margarita prepared a delicious roast of prime rib, served the Kahn way with horseradish, creamy mashed potatoes, grilled Portobello mushrooms, and a green salad with avocado dressing.
For dessert, Margarita made a flaky jackfruit (langka) and plantain pie. She told us her jackfruit tree from the Philippines planted by Raymond bore a lot of fruits and she had been wondering what to do with it, so she froze the fruit and made pie. It was heavenly! But, dinner wasn’t over yet, because Rocio arrived with the promised key lime pie she had specially prepared for us. I loved it so much I had seconds! Andrè was naughty and gave me a whole slice rather than the sliver I had asked for. What a wonderful time we had at Margarita’s! Andrè and I agreed that the Colombians were a fun group.
October 20
The next morning, Cachito prepared breakfast for us: toasted Thomas English muffins with melted butter and honey, sunny side up eggs, ham, and Starbucks coffee. It was delicious! Earlier, Tita Dolly had gone to 8am mass to pray for safe travels for us. She came by to bid us goodbye.
Margarita then arrived to drive us to the airport. She was going to have lunch with Douglas and give him our “little fishies” gourmet tuyo in oil pasalubong. This was going to be a long flight, first to Atlanta and then to Seattle.
On the plane, I remarked to Andrè that there were a lot of pumpkins around. The malls were full of all sorts of pumpkins, from large ones I couldn’t carry to tiny ones, with different colors and textures. Restaurants all seemed to incorporate pumpkin as an ingredient in their dishes. There was pumpkin pie, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin risotto, pumpkin sauce, even pumpkin perfume and pumpkin wine! I guess it’s that time of the year, nearing Thanksgiving. But before that would be Halloween, and the malls were replete with Halloween costumes and décor being sold. Several of the houses we had passed were already adorned with Halloween décor, from giant spiders to witches and goblins to eerie lighting and even some cackling. Halloween was going to be interesting, but now we were off to see my side of the family, and I was terribly excited for them to meet Andrè.
Invariably, whenever I would bump into an older graduate of the College of the Holy Spirit where I studied, I would be asked, “How is Miss Maria Luz? How is Dean Julia Iturralde?” And then they would launch on how the two sisters left an indelible impression on them, how much they missed them, and how thankful they are for the values and learning they received. Sadly I would tell them that my two aunts, younger sisters of my father, had passed on.
My brothers and I grew up in the family compound right behind the Basilica of San Sebastian. My mother was widowed early, and so we were raised in a maternal environment: my mom, my father’s mom Lola Ingga, my father’s aunt Lola Teta, and my two maiden aunts: Julia and Maria Luz. My father had another sibling, Tita Rory, but she had entered the nunnery and became a Sister Servant of the Holy Spirit (SSpS) and so we hardly saw her.
My two aunts figured largely in my growing up years, and this is my tribute to the two women who I love dearly.
Maria Luz Iturralde
My godmother and aunt, Maria Luz Alvaro Iturralde died in the wee hours of December 31, 2008 while I was in Texas. I can still remember my sister Pinky’s sobbing voice trying to tell me the sad news over the phone, which she had received from Paz, my sister-in-law in San Francisco, who had in turn been called by my brother Paul. The news had traveled swiftly around the world.
I quickly called my mother in Manila. She had not even heard the news yet. All she knew was that my brother Paul had brought Maria Luz to the hospital at midnight. Then, I woke up Bea and asked her to go to Quiapo to be with my mom and help out with arrangements. Like real troopers, my daughters Bea and Cara, with their cousin Monchoy, took charge of the wake while my brother Paul made the funeral arrangements.
The rest of us siblings (Johnny, Pepito, Pinky and I) felt helpless being so far away. All I could do from the other side of the globe was write down my memories of our aunt for an online memorial. Maria Luz loved to write. This was the best way I could think of to pay her tribute.
Maria Luz or Lucy or Frenchie as her friends would call her or Dada Uds as her grand nieces and nephews called her was a writer non par. She was the longest running moderator of Action (1947-51), Veritas (1980-94), TheProfile, and The Faculty Review. Udsy was also the editor of The Search and We the Alumnae. She was an excellent writer and would write under the monicker Sub-Rosa (or chismis queen). I remember many trips to the National Printing Press in Quezon Avenue to check on various publications. She guided the exhibit for the College of the Holy Spirit’s 75th anniversary.
An English teacher at the College of the Holy Spirit, Udsy dedicated herself to helping students learn to love the English language. Quick-witted, she entertained her students with stories about family and life, making her dearly beloved to all of them. She was my English teacher as well, from the time I learned how to speak, read and write. In college, I studied English under her. She prodded me into writing and editing for the school paper. My baptismal godmother, she was always there to watch over me and guide me. And I had to study extra hard to make sure that I earned good grades.
She taught for 49 years at the school that she loved with all her heart, and was guidance counselor for a long time. I remember her anguished crying when she was replaced as the guidance counselor. Her life revolved around that school, and when she was forced to retire, she was terribly disheartened. Writing and editing kept her alive, and when she was removed by the CHS Alumnae Foundation as editor-in-chief of We the Alumnae on the pretext that the newsletter would now be computerized, she lost all interest in life.
As a young girl, Udsy excelled at sketching. Sports-minded, she won two trophies for marathon running. She studied Elementary Education for Teaching Children at Holy Ghost College (now College of the Holy Spirit).
A frequent visitor of the school’s bodega when she was a youngster, Udsy was always sent there for being the naughtiest girl in school. She was the bane of Erundina Fernandez (who later, for a time, became my mother-in-law and wrecked her revenge on me), Teofisto Guingona who called her “kabayo” because of her kicking him with her boston, and Alejandro Reyes who later became dean at San Beda.
Udsy was brave to the point of carelessness. During the Japanese occupation, a man was shot by the Japanese on our street. Without thinking of her own safety, she ran to him to give him the Last Rites. She would always take the side of the oppressed, and if she felt any of us were being given a hard time, she would take it upon herself to defend us.
Udsy loved to clean. Cleaning was her thing. She was very OC about this. The wooden staircase was not acceptable until it was gleaming. Her room was off limits to all us, unless it was story-telling time. She never liked the kitchen, and could not cook as far as I know. Kitchen duties were reserved for her sister Julia. But, oh, how she loved to eat! To the very end, she was always hungry, even if she had just eaten five minutes before.
Story telling was her thing. And for this, no one came even close. She was a master storyteller. And we lapped it all up.
I always credited my love of reading and literature to Udsy. When my brothers and I were young, we didn’t enjoy the usual fairytales like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, or Cinderella or Snow White. Instead, Udsy would regale us with stories of Greek, Norse and Roman mythology. Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Apollo, Athena, Hades and Ulysses. These were our heroes and heroines. The Three Fates – Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos – caused me nightmares. When would Atropos cut the string of my life, I anguished? Why, before The Lord of the Rings became a hit serial movie, we knew the entire story from beginning to end.
We eagerly looked forward to her payday because she would bring us to Goodwill in Escolta or to Bookmark and Alemars in Avenida Rizal and let us buy whatever book we desired to read. We had a complete collection of Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books. When I got into my teens, she even indulged my love of Barbara Cartland and pocketbook love stories. On my 16th birthday, she got me a dozen pocketbooks. That was a special day!
Hot-tempered, Udsy easily got agitated. But when she was calm, she was very gregarious. She was always the life of the party, or so I remember. She would force my brothers and I to perform for her guests (mostly nuns, teachers and students) during parties at home. We had to recite a poem, dance or sing. Rock-a-bye-baby and Joyce Kilmer’s Tree Poem were favorites of mine.
When Udsy was angry, she was like a grenade, hurting everyone within reach. It was wise to stay out of her way. She would run over everyone. She would fly off the handle if she could not find a book, and would accuse us of getting it without permission. But when she would find it, her way of apologizing was to treat us to a Coke. And, oh, how she loved to drink Coke!
She wanted us to be serious about our studies, and thought anything unrelated to school work was the Devil’s work. One time, I was invited to become a model. Udsy was so angry, she threw a basin of water from her second floor window over the agents who came to take my photo. Naturally, that was the end of my budding modeling career.
Near-sighted in one eye, Udsy always wore glasses for as long as I can remember. Red lipstick was her trademark. She kept her shiny black hair short and hated it when white hair started to appear. She commissioned us to pick out her white hair with tweezers and would pay us a centavo for every three white hair we got out. She had her breasts removed when she was in her early twenties because of a cancer scare. She told me the surgeon made a mistake and took out her good breast, and when he realized his error, removed her other breast. She heard him talking about his mistake during her operation through the haze of her anesthesia. This caused her lifelong fear of doctors and medicine. Otherwise, she was in the pink of health for most of her life, all 5’4” and 98 lbs.
Udsy secretly admired my late husband, Mike, and would cut out his articles from different newspapers, save them in a brown envelope and give them to me each time I visited San Sebastian.
In her later years, Udsy became schizophrenic, thinking everyone was out to get her. It was truly sad seeing her fall into deep depression. She would physically hurt her caregivers, and so we decided to put her into a nursing home in Calamba run by nuns. We felt then that she and my aunt Julia would have better care there. We brought the family’s Christ the King statue to Calamba to watch over them. I was relieved though when my brother decided to bring them back home to San Sebastian. This was their home where they were happy.
Julia Alvaro Iturralde
On February 8, 2015 while vacationing in Rome. I received word from my mom that my father’s only remaining sibling, Julia Alvaro Iturralde had passed away. In a way, I was relieved. She had been ill for a very long time, her brilliant mind long gone, her once robust body withered and thin. She still managed a cherubic toothless smile whenever I would visit and remind her that I was Monette, her niece. Sometimes she would remember me. The last time, she did not, and it saddened me greatly. She asked why it was taking her parents long to fetch her.
Julia was born on October 7, 1931 to Jose Manalo Iturralde and Dominga Alvaro. The youngest in a brood of six, Julia or Jill as she was fondly called, was an extremely intelligent individual. She graduated Magna Cum Laude with an AB-BSE degree from Holy Ghost College, and finished two masteral programs: Master in Sociology from Ateneo University and Master of East Asian Studies from Radcliffe, where she enjoyed a scholarship. Jill held the deanship of the Liberal Arts Department of the College of the Holy Spirit for 23 years. She was also moderator of Action, Veritas and The Profile from 1964-67. A prolific poetess, Jill expressed her emotions in beautiful words.
My first recollection of Tita Jill (and later Dada Nings), as we fondly called her, was playing in my grandmother’s warm kitchen with a white porcelain tea set decorated with flowers that she had given me. I must have been less than three then. Pouring real milk tea in the tiny cups, she sat with me on the floor, and we pretended that we were having guests over. Sometimes, we would collect the moss in the garden, place them on the tiny plates and pretend it was salad. Other times, I got lucky and we actually ate food that had just been cooked in the kitchen.
When she came back from taking her masters at Radcliffe University, she brought home a huge walking doll for me. Oh, how I loved that doll with curly blonde hair! It was almost as tall as I was.
Tita Jill taught me how to pray before I slept: “Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love entrusts me here. Ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord, my soul to take. Amen.”
Summers, when we were growing up were spent in that kitchen. She would teach us how to bake, decorate cakes, and then let us experiment in the kitchen. I remember crying when my cake didn’t rise because I had forgotten to put baking powder in the mix. My brothers and I would fight as to who would clean up the leftover fudge in the bowl.
I loved watching how she cooked, and she would let me be her little assistant, though I was not allowed to wield a knife. I was assigned to mixing food. Getting egg whites to stiffen up was the hardest task ever. “Whip it 100 times, Monette, and don’t lift the spatula up or the air would escape,” she would admonish me. I would try valiantly to soldier on even if my arms felt like they were about to fall off. Looking back, I realize now that she had nurtured my interest in food.
Dada Nings taught Asian Studies at the College of the Holy Spirit, and to drive home learning, she would host parties at our ancestral home in San Sebastian for her students. They would cook Asian dishes, and wear dresses from the different countries they were assigned. My personal favorite was her sukiyaki. I loved watching them prepare the food, and then perform Asian songs or dances after. Oh, that was a lot of fun!
And she made life fun for her nieces and nephews. On Holy Saturdays, she would herd us into the dining room, give each of us a brush, and we would paint dozens of eggs for the Easter Egg Hunt the next day. I guess she must have hidden the eggs in the garden while we slept because we had fun hunting for them after mass on Easter Day.
We would have our own version of Flores de Mayo. We would dress up as saints using her clothes and stack of ribbons and scarves, parade up and down the house, then have a raffle of little knickknacks that she would collect. Oh, and we were not the only ones who had fun dressing up under her guidance. Her students were also in on it. I remember one Marian festival where she had her students dress up as different versions of Mama Mary and stand up like statues around the garden by the CHS Mendiola chapel.
She was a consummate writer, poet and story teller. She wrote plays about the Old Testament which her students performed in school. She wrote poems for the school paper, the CHS alumnae newsletter, and later for the newsletter she and her sister Maria Luz put up. She penned a book entitled Family Treasures which revealed all of the Iturralde secret recipes, and which I use to this day. Her friends gathered some of her poems and published them together with pieces written by my other two aunts, Maria Luz and Sister Encarnacion.
Early on, she encouraged us to perform during parties at home (Actually, I think a better word would be mandated). We either had to sing, dance, or recite a poem to the guests who invariably were their fellow teachers and nuns from the College of the Holy Spirit.
She was a very kind soul, soft-spoken, and yet you knew you were in deep trouble if you ever crossed the line. When I was in first year college, a classmate from elementary asked if she could visit me at home on a Saturday. I had not seen her for some time and was excited to see her. She came to the house with her father who was an advertising executive. A popular soft drink brand was giving away a car to the lucky person who found the tansan (bottle cap) with the winning mark. Apparently, he was running the contest, and he told me that he would make sure I would win the car, but in return I would have to sell the car and split the proceeds with him. I was to let him know my decision on Monday.
Naturally, I was very much tempted. Since my father died when I was ten, we were hard up. The funds would come in handy so I could pursue my dream of studying law, buy things I’ve always wanted, give my family a more comfortable life. At that time, I was studying on scholarship. I discussed the options with my Tita Jill, who advised me of the importance of being true to the values of honesty and integrity. That night, she gave me two cards she had drawn. Depending on my decision, I was to open one of the cards. That weekend was excruciatingly difficult for me. I decided to turn down the offer, and opened the card. Here’s what was written:
“Dear Monette,
You lost. W-a-a-a-a-h… sob sob… Boo hoo… Boo hoo. Hikbe… Sniffle… Sniffle…
But to me, after Monday, you are taller than a giraffe, taller than Empire State, taller than Mt. Everest.
You are one of us – born losers whose poverty is their (sic) our wealth.
At any rate, I’m so proud of you, so proud that I can treat you to a Shakeys pizza tonight!!!
Love,
Ninang
October 23, 1975″
And then, I opened the other card. It said simply:
“Dear Mongga,
Hooray!! Tsup!!!
Love,
Nings”
I knew then that she was very proud of me for making the right decision. That for me was the most beautiful gift she had ever given me. I treasure those two cards to this day.
I always wanted to study Fine Arts but we didn’t have the funds for this. But the summer after the softdrink incident, Tita Jill enrolled me in a summer class in painting at CHS. I was in heaven! The next summer, she enrolled me in theatre class, along with my brother Pepito.
She was always looking for ways to encourage our various interests. I remember the day the encyclopedia set she had purchased arrived. Pepito and I who were in grade school then were so excited, we spent the entire summer reading the encyclopedia from A to Z. We also played Scrabble and Monopoly with her. Tita Jill’s bed could be spotted a mile away because of the mountains of books and papers that littered it.
College studies was a different matter. Because I was on scholarship (which was the only way I could afford studying at CHS), I had to study very, very hard. It was made more difficult because my aunts worked at the school: Sr. Encarnacion taught Theology, Maria Luz headed the English Department, and Julia served as dean of Liberal Arts. They were stricter on me than anyone else, because they wanted to prove that I could make it on my own. They were thus ecstatic when I graduated with a Summa cum Laude.
Although she was the youngest sibling of my father, Tita Jill appeared to be the head of the family when it came to decision making. She was always protecting her older sister from harm. When Tita Jill and Tita Udsy (Maria Luz) were forced to retire from CHS, they started a newsletter to keep their minds busy. I suspect that Tita Jill used her retirement funds for this as Tita Udsy who had unceremoniously been removed as editor-in-chief of We, the Alumnae, had gone into deep depression. She wanted to make her sister happy. Tita Jill bought a computer and learned to use it.
Things got worse when my cousin Jose Rene and his mother Vicente died and Tita Jill was left to cope with the legal issues on inheritance. The stress was too much for her, and she suffered one stroke after the other, with complications from diabetes. She lost her eyesight, and this was a crushing blow to someone who was as widely read as her. As the years went by, she became less and less interested in life, and would just lie down, seeming to wait for her parents to come and fetch her. And now, they have finally and they are all reunited in their real home in heaven, with Christ.
Though I miss them terribly, I am happy that they are now at peace. I thank the Lord for the gift of having had them both as my aunts, and will always keep them in my heart. May they rest in God’s embrace forever.
The moment we arrived at Amarela and wooden steps were put to help us alight the van, I knew we were in for some serious pampering. And we were not disappointed.
Seahorse Gargoyle
Everywhere I looked there was something interesting that caught my eye. It seemed a magical place where artists, sculptors and artisans were given free reign to create and do as they please. Whimsical creatures were carved on posts and repurposed old wood. Animals, birds, people, flowers, sea creatures were released from bondage in discarded tree branches, trunks and roots.
Here was a tarsier, its big torchlight eyes oggling at me. There was a cat lazily reclining on a bench, a dog by its side. A newborn babe with its umbilical cord still connected to his spent mother was carved out of a huge root. A child nested contentedly in her mother’s warm embrace hung on the wall. A carabao seat served as a swing by the main entrance. Serving as a downspout, a huge wooden seahorse thrust its neck out on the balcony like a gargoyle, seeming to lunge out into the waters.
Old Bohol is Amarela’s theme, according to its owner, Atty. Lucas “Doy” Nunag whom I met the next day. He wanted to showcase Bohol’s unique culture, incorporating woodwork and woven textures into the place.
Triptychs
Gracing the wall along the stairs were “urnas” or personal saints, some done as triptychs, or three panelled paintings that were hinged together and could be closed. Doy said he wanted to revive this lost art, and encouraged local artists to paint them. Prints and paintings of scenes from yesteryears lined the walls.
Kitchen mixer from yesteryears
Doy had a collection of antique kitchen utensils and equipment, including a large shell as nutcracker and a paddle board for mixing dough. He also had an antique telephone, the kind that hangs from the wall.
The advent of Catholicism in the Philippines by Nene Borja-Lungay
Giving me a quick tour of the place, Doy pointed out several paintings that were done by Hermoginia “Nene” Borja-Lungay, an 85-year old Boholana who had studied under Amorsolo and was a contemporary of Joya and Abueva. Using her gift of art, Nene is a master storyteller. In Amarela’s museum was a painting that showed three scenes flowing into each other: first on the left is a friendly encounter between the Spanish conquistadores bearing gifts and Datu Sikatuna, then in the canter is a Spanish priest preaching to natives with the galleon anchored out at sea visible behind him, and then to the right is a scene of Filipinas dressed in Maria Claras apparently coming from a church. What an ingenious way of portraying the start of Catholicism in the Philippines!
Ravenous from the trip, we settled in the dining room with a breathtaking view of coconut treetops, lush greenery, beautifully landscaped gardens, and the brilliant sea. Brunch was filling and delicious, and the staff solicitous. Exhausted, we retired to our rooms for siesta. The air-conditioned rooms were spacious and bright, the beds comfortable and inviting. I loved the little design accents scattered around the room.
The first night, Niccolo developed a high fever. Feeling light headed and wretched, he asked if we could bring him to the hospital. I approached Chef Nick Matias who quickly arranged for transportation to bring us to the Tagbilaran Community Hospital. Upon reading his test results, the doctor said it might be dengue, but it was too early to tell. He sent us off with a prescription for meds and instructions for Niccolo to rest and have lots of fluids. Learning that my 81-year old mother was sharing the room with us, the doctor recommended we keep her and Niccolo apart as she might catch what he had.
The ever-friendly staff who made tawa-tawa tea for Niccolo. The Filipino hospitality and warmth shines through brilliantly in Amarela.
Luckily, the resort had one last room free which we quickly took. When the staff learned about what happened the next day, they searched for some tawa-tawa and made an herbal tea for Niccolo to take. What a thoughtful gesture!
We decided to stay in the resort on Good Friday. Ramon, Cara’s friend, arrived from Mindanao to take photos of Cara’s new bikini line for DiwataSwimwear.com. I took to writing, Dada to watching her Spanish telenovelas, Bea to reading by the beach, and Niccolo to resting in his room. Cara came back from her photoshoot giggling, looking like Princess Leia from Star Wars.
Hamming it up as Princess Leia.
She was wearing a yellow towel which Ramon had fashioned into a headgear that could serve as a travel head pillow. In stitches, we took turns wearing his invention. In the afternoon, we gathered to pray the “Siete Palabras” in a quiet little room to the side of Amarela’s art museum.
That night, we broke our fast and went to Giuseppi Pizzeria and Sicilian Roast on the recommendation of Ramon and Cara who had visited it before. We enjoyed a repast of pizza Siciliana, pizza quattro formaggi, rigatoni arabiata, and tagliolini limone e gamberi, washed down with a Montepulciano red wine. To complete the meal we had warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream and a tortino de cioccolato.
Saturday morning, the girls and Ramon decided to go to Balicasag to visit the marine sanctuary, swim and snorkel. Niccolo continued his staycation to recuperate.
Dada at the chocolate hills mirador. One more site ticked on her bucket list.
Meanwhile, Dada and I decided to go off sight seeing. The chocolate hills and tarsiers were on her bucket list, and she intended to tick them off her list. I, on the other hand, wanted to see the churches of Bohol. I’ve been feeling guilty about going off on vacation with the family instead of serving at the parish for the Easter triduum, and not going to church Thursday and Friday. I also wanted to visit some markets and see if there were any nice handicraft I could bring home. Our driver cum tour guide Rey was very accommodating and would point out places of interest, like the manmade mahogany forest and the Shiphaus, a hotel made to look like a ship along the roadside with nary a drop of water around. He also made sure we went to senior-friendly places so that Dada would not have a difficult time getting around. We went to the Philippine Tarsier Foundation in Corella because the trails were easier for senior trekking. At the Chocolate Hills, we took photos at the roundabout as Dada would not have been able to climb the 200+ steps to the top of the lookout. I had been there before, so after snapping a few photos, we left for the rest of our tour.
Do you want to see a python, Rey asked, and when I said yes, he promptly stopped at Bilar Hill Park & Restaurant in Casumbol, Bilar. Conquer your fears, the sign outside said. After paying the entrance ticket, we entered the dimly lit hut.
The colorful kalaw
Inside, the first thing we saw was a large colorful bird perched on a branch. It looked menacing and squawked shrilly. I moved away quickly, but my intrepid mother approached the bird, a kalaw, and started to pet its head.
Dada petting the kalaw.
The bird appeared to be enjoying the petting it was receiving from my mom. Further on, I saw a bench where two women were posing gingerly with a large albino python draped across their laps. We were up next, and I was given the python to carry.
Do you want to carry the albino?
It seemed easy enough but quite heavy. Next up we were invited to enter the large cage where a dark Burmese python and another albino python slithered slowly. Don’t worry, the caretaker said, you’re safe; they have just eaten a chicken each. My stomach started to knot at the thought, and so we quickly posed for the souvenir photo and got out of there.
Sandugo
Rey then told us about the tug-of-war that was happening in Bohol. To seal their friendship on March 15, 1565, Bohol chieftain Sikatuna and Spanish explorer Miguel Lopez de Legazpi performed a blood compact or Sandugo, paving the way for the friendship between Filipinos and Spaniards and ultimately over 300 years of Spanish influence. This we learned in history books. The issue revolves around the actual site and date of the blood compact. Both Tagbilaran and Loay are laying claim that the Sandugo happened in their area. Loay’s marker says it happened on March 25, 1565 aboard the flagship San Pedro which was anchored off Hinawanan Bay, with the leaders drinking wine mixed with blood from cuts they had slashed on their chests. Tagbilaran’s version says the Sandugo happened ten days earlier on shore. Following the local custom, Datu Sikatuna and Lopez de Legazpi drew blood from a small cut on their arms, mixed this with wine, and drank from the goblet. The National Historical Commission upholds the version of Loay. Whichever version is true, the fact is Sandugo happened in Bohol and Rey says he is happy about this.
We stopped at Bohol’s famous heritage churches along the way: Saint James the Apostle parish church in Batuan, Paroquia del Senor San Isidro Labrador in Bilar, Church of San Pedro Apostol in Loboc, Holy Trinity Church in Loay, the Sta. Monica Church of Albuquerque, the Church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Concepcion in Baclayon, and the Assumption of Our Lady Church in Dauis. We were unable to do the Visita Iglesia on Holy Thursday, and so I was happy we completed the seven church visits on Holy Saturday. The 2013 earthquake that shook Bohol had sadly destroyed most of its churches turning them into rubble, and reconstruction was ongoing for most of them, making it difficult to enter.
Albuquerque Church
Of the seven churches we visited, Albuquerque seemed the only one to have survived the earthquake intact, perhaps because of the massive tree trunks that supported its roof. Looking up at the ceiling, I saw the beautiful religious paintings and trompe l’oeil that covered it. The altars were made of intricately carved dark wood, decorated with saints, angels, flowers, and sea shells.
The risen Christ.
In front were two carrozas covered with colorful flowers — one of the risen Christ and the other of Mary – made ready for the salubong next day.
I felt saddest at Dauis, recalling how beautiful and vibrant the church was when I first visited it many years ago. It was empty now, with scaffolding covering the altar. Even the miraculous water well at the foot of the altar was covered. Outside, however, a temporary structure was set up, beautifully decorated with an angelic scene for the risen Christ.
Getting ready for the salubong
At the patio behind the church, several carrozas bearing saints were being readied: San Juan Evangelista, San Pedro, Santa Maria Magdalena, Santa Cleofe, Santa Jacobe, Santa Salome, among others. As it was well past 1pm, we decided to have lunch at the Dawis Café, and sample their Ube Kinampay Souffle. It was divine, well worth waiting for.
Despite the sad state of the heritage churches we visited, I observed parishioners busy cleaning the temporary structures built for the celebration of masses and decorating carriages for the processions that would take place for Easter. In some of them, parishioners were practicing for the Easter Vigil Mass and the salubong that would follow. I realized that no matter what hardship Filipinos go through, they keep their faith steadfastly burning. I felt humbled, suddenly missing the Lenten services I would serve at back in our parish.
The beautiful expanse of sand and sea and sky.
Each afternoon Dada and I would walk along the beach, determined to complete our exercise goal of 10,000 steps per day target. We saw lovers embracing and frolicking on the beach, families sharing a meals, fisherfolk bringing their boats in, teenagers pitting their strength against each other in a tug-of-war, and children playing with their dogs.
Arm in arm, we walked, sharing family stories of days long past, loves gained and lost, highs and lows, always ending with the realization that no matter how far you travel away from home, you come back to the people you love.
Saturday night, we decided to go to the Bohol Bee Farm. As there was no van available, we went by tricycle, while Bea, Cara and Ramon rode the motorbike. Bea had always regaled us with stories of her vacation there after college graduation, how serene it was, and how good the food was. She was spot on. We enjoyed the delicious dinner, starting with crisp cassava chips paired with a pesto vinaigrette and warm squash bread with a duo of honey mango and malunggay jam. The organic flower salad, clear vegetable soup, honeyed ribs, red rice, and fresh cassava lumpia were all delicious, as was the homemade malunggay ice-cream in cassava cone that I had after. Before leaving the Bee Farm, we visited their little store for some pasalubong, and bought some honey for home. Easter morning, we spent cooling ourselves in the pool, and enjoying each other’s company. At last, Niccolo left his room and joined us. Before we knew it, it was time to leave for the airport and return to Manila, but not before finally trying out the carabao swing by the entrance.
Once again, I was just a little girl having fun on the swing.
As I swung back and forth, I thanked the Lord for the long weekend spent with family. Often, we are too busy with the daily grind of work and school commitments to spend time catching up. It was indeed a lovely time to bond, not just with my children but with my mom. Salamat, Lord!
On the way to a meeting in Makati today, I was shocked to learn that a friend, Hilarion “Laloy” Guia had passed away early this morning due to cardiac arrest. Memories began flooding in of how I first met Laloy. I rued that I had not been able to catch up with him the few times he was in Manila. He had called me a few times saying he was in Manila and asking if I could meet up, but this always happened while I was having an event.
I hear that his remains are in Palawan. His granddaughter had planned to bring him to Manila for further medical attention, but unfortunately, he was not able to recover.
In his memory, I post a reflection I wrote in January 2012 after meeting him. Here goes…
Overcoming the Biblical Disease
(Palawan. January 26, 2012) I met a most extraordinary gentleman at the First Leprosy Stakeholders Symposium we organized for the Department of Health and Novartis Sustainable Development Foundation on January 25 at the Legend Hotel in Palawan. Hilarion Guia, Laloy for short, was a quiet, unassuming man but when he spoke to the delegates, he exuded a powerful, larger than life figure.
Here was a man, orphaned at three, diagnosed with leprosy like five other siblings in a brood of nine. Because of his intense desire to study and the promise of a cure, he agreed to be separated from his family in Batangas and to go and live with other afflicted persons at the Culion Leprosarium in Palawan when he was but eight years of age.
Learn he did, under the tutelage of the Religious Congregation of the Society of Jesus, and the sisters of St. Paul. But the promise of a cure did not. Slowly but surely, he suffered the harrowing pains and the disfigurement of the dreaded Biblical disease. Open wounds and nodules made their appearance. But more than the intense physical suffering was the emotional and mental upheaval of its social stigma.
But Laloy was no ordinary person. He believed that everyone is born equal and can accomplish great achievements, given equal opportunities. After graduating from high school, he transferred to Tala in Caloocan where he pursued a college degree in education. He then returned to Culion and taught for the next four decades, helping children similarly afflicted expand their minds and believe in themselves.
Laloy dreamed of a day when Culion and its residents would no longer be spoken of as the Isle of the Living Dead. He sought the help of local politicians such as the late Speaker of the House Ramon V. Mitra and worked tirelessly to have Culion recognized as a municipality, and for its residents to have the right to suffrage. His efforts were not in vain, and in May 1995, Culion became a municipality. He ran for mayor in the local elections against nine able-bodied healthy opponents, and bested them to become the first Mayor of Culion.
When Novartis introduced the drug MDT in the mid-80s, his physician Dr. Art Cunanan asked him to undergo the chemotherapy. He refused at first, believing it was a just a waste of time. Over the years, he had undergone different treatments hoping to be cured of the dreaded disease, only to have his hopes dashed time and again.
Laloy was ecstatic when a year after taking MDT he was pronounced free of leprosy. If only it had been available when he was a child! Then he would not have to bear the physical marks the disease has left. But it was wonderful news for the residents of Culion. Today, not a single case of leprosy exists on the island. Culion stands as a testament to the country’s success to eradicate the disease.
I feel blessed to have had this opportunity to meet Laloy, and to learn about the tireless efforts of the Department of Health, their selfless medical staff and health workers, and the generosity of Novartis which provides the MDT for free for leprosy patients, and who together with the World Health Organization leads the global drive towards a world without leprosy.
The symposium strove to get the different stakeholders, which includes the country’s sanitaria, NGOs, the church, DepEd, DOLE, DILG, media and the like, to address the burning issues in disease eradication and management. There is much to be done, and those present committed to join the drive to fight leprosy. I’m glad I had the chance to listen and learn, and contribute to the meeting.
Some things stand out from that symposium. One, that this dreaded disease is curable with MDT. Two, that education and information dissemination are necessary so that early detection and treatment are possible. Three, that the loss of dignity, and the pain of isolation and rejection inflicted on those affected are so much more than any physical pain. And that we all can contribute in our own way to erasing the social stigma of this disease, simply by getting the word out. I’m starting with this.
I salute Laloy for proving to all of us that “anyone with leprosy, even with severe deformities, can perform with excellence and unquestionable efficiency, just as good as or even better than those with sound health.” He said that “Charity begins at home, and that the initiative to overcome the disease must first come from the victim.” These words ring true for all of us, whenever we are faced with problems that seem insurmountable.
Thanks for the reminder, Laloy! God bless you always!
Taywanak, Alfonso. July 12, 2015. On a whim, I decided to escape Southbay and come to Alfonso yesterday afternoon with Jeovanie and Bleng, our caretaker couple from the farm who have been helping me clean up the house. My girls allowed me to drive since I had company in the car. Besides, they all had Saturday night plans, which didn’t include mom. Funny that I always had to ask Mike for permission whenever I wanted to go out, and when he died, I have to ask my children.
No longer used to driving long distances, it took awhile to get to Alfonso in the rain. It was dark when we arrived. I had agreed to have dinner with a friend in Tagaytay, so I left right away. Jeovanie was worried as it was dark and raining and I was alone, but I told him I would be all right. I promised to text when I headed back so he could open the gate.
Arriving at Bag of Beans, I was surprised to find it full of guests. The main dining area was welcoming, brightly lit and warm, but quite noisy. Looking for a quiet corner where I could write while waiting for my friend, the waiter led me to a lone table outside, and I took that. I was not sure if she would show up, and I was pretty hungry by this time, so I ordered soup and started to write.
Challenge taken. Solo at Bag of Beans.
And just for posterity, I asked the waiter to take my photo so I could post it on Instagram, as a response to a challenge made to eat alone in a restaurant. I actually enjoyed the solo experience. No one bothered me, and I was able to concentrate on writing. To top it all, the broccoli soup with warm bread was delicious and filling on a cold, wet night. Soon my friend showed up, and as usual, our lively conversation ran the gamut of family, friendships, pets, work, and current events.
As BoB was about to close, we paid the bill and left. On the way out, she teased me about bringing my laptop as a clutch to the restaurant, saying I was not really alone. Baby steps, I told her. My friend insisted on driving tag to make sure I got back safely to my farm. I was thankful for this kind gesture as the fog was thick enough to slice in Tagaytay, and I could hardly see, and in Alfonso, the provincial road was very dark and wet. Knowing she was driving behind me made me feel safer, like having a guardian angel behind the wheel.
Back in Alfonso, I looked up at the sky and there was nary a star in the dark sky. Normally, I would look up and enjoy the stars twinkling like diamonds as I walked the long red brick road to our house. This time they were hidden behind the heavy dark clouds.
Snuggling into my bed, I prayed with my wooden holding cross in hand, a Christmas gift from a dear friend. The cross fit snugly in the palm of my hand, calming me down. I asked the Lord to watch over my children, my family and friends and keep them safe. I am usually not scared of being alone in the farm, but another talk this week about malicious spirits and exorcism which I had with another friend, played havoc on my mind. I woke up early this morning, still holding on to it.
The fierce rustling of the leaves outside my window warned me the weather was still cross. Nevertheless, I put on my bright yellow parka to tour the farm. Hugging the tree beside the house, which had the first station of the cross, I whispered an “I love you” to Mike, remembering all the lovely memories of time spent in the farm with him. There was a big butterfly with pink-tipped wings that stayed in the veranda the whole morning I was in Alfonso, as if loath to leave. ‘Twas Mike, I believe, keeping me company.
Walking around the farm, I once again marveled at the awesome beauty of God’s creation. Everywhere I looked, it was lush and green. I was worried that the wind had toppled over some trees, but luckily they had held their ground, though some were bent over slightly. The stepping-stones were covered in moss, reminding me I had not visited in awhile.
I saw fallen mangoes on the ground forming a carpet under the trees, and spied some green santol that had suffered the same fate. Ah, santol season has come! I asked our caretaker to pack some for me to bring home to Southbay. Near the gate, the champaca tree was in full bloom, its fragrance wafting through the air. Herb seedlings nestled in the rudimentary nursery.
Walking by the caretaker’s cottage, I didn’t notice the chickens nesting in the trees. Suddenly, a flurry of cackles and feathers greeted me. I don’t know who was more surprised, the chickens or me, but I was ready to run away.
After a hearty breakfast and some writing on the veranda, I drove to town to hear 9am mass with Bleng and her children. I was pleased when the parish priest introduced the parish youth leaders. There were so many of them! The church was packed full with the faithful, with latecomers forced to stand at the back.
Back at the farm, we packed ready for the long drive back to Manila. I would have stayed longer except my girls and I agreed to have lunch together. And the spotty Internet connection was unnerving. It was a very short visit made on a whim, but well worth the trip. I’m looking forward to the next one. I wonder who I can cajole to come with me next time?
This week, there has been a slew of posts about Father’s Day, and I feel somewhat cheated that I only had my dad with me for a very short time. Earlier this week, I viewed a post of a father giving away his beloved daughter at the altar. His speech was funny yet so heartwarming I cried. It was obvious how much he adored his daughter. And I wondered what my father would have said if he had been alive when I got married, or when my marriage broke up and I filed for annulment, or when I got married again, happily this time. I wonder if he would have been proud of me when I graduated with honors, or when I got my first job, or got promoted, when I was first published, or when I set up TeamAsia. That father in the video obviously was very proud of his daughter. So many unanswered questions. So many what ifs.
My father died when I was but ten years old. All these years, I’ve wondered how my life would have turned out if he had not died early. How I wish I had more time with him! I even wrote a blog about it one Father’s Day (https://monettehamlin.com/2014/06/15/how-i-wish-i-had-more-time-with-him/). While thinking of the many conversations I wish I had enjoyed with my dad, a memory long forgotten popped up.
Do you believe in angels? In 2003, I met a woman by the pen name of Avi Maria at the home of a friend. She told me she had died one day, and gone to heaven where she met angels and Jesus Christ. She described her experiences in heaven, and said it was beautiful beyond imagination. What she thought of first as gentle rain, turned out to be shimmering glitters of all colors and hues. When she asked her guardian angel what it was, the angel said the glitters were all the answered prayers of the faithful.
Avi Maria wanted to stay in heaven, but she was told she still had many things to accomplish on earth and a son to take care of, and was thus sent back. She told me about seeing her baby son about to fall from the bed unnoticed, while her whole household was crying over her dead body. She rushed back into her body and woke up. All these had happened in the span of an hour during which time she was thought to be dead by her anguished family.
When she came to, she started seeing angels. One day, she ended up in a bookstore and bought a lot of painting materials. When the cashier asked if she was a painter, she said no and wondered why she had done this. From that day on, she started to paint guardian angels of people she would meet, even if she still had not met them by the time she painted. Before this happened, she had never even used a paintbrush.
Avi Maria’s paintings were sought after; in fact, my friend had several in her home. She confided in me that each angel painting had a designated owner, and she could only sell it to that person. She once sold a painting upon the insistence of someone who wanted it, and by the time the person brought the painting home, the angel in the painting was gone. It was returned to her, and the angel once again appeared when she finally met the rightful owner. She was compelled to paint, as if she were a puppet in the hands of a master. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but it was quite an interesting story.
I didn’t think much of it, until several months later when I got a call from her, saying she had my painting ready. I protested that I had not commissioned anything, but she insisted I get it because she had made it for me and it could not be owned by anyone else. Besides she said, it was different from all the other paintings she had made. I asked her why, and she said that a big handsome man had sat beside her and asked her to paint it. It took her just 20 minutes to paint it, a mean feat considering its size.
When she had finished painting, he asked her to tell me that I was not to worry anymore, that everything would be all right, that I would never want for anything again. He also asked her to tell me he was sorry that he wasn’t there physically when I needed him most, but that he was always there, watching over me. I asked her to describe the man, and she described my father exactly. By this time, I was gripping the phone tightly and crying, prompting Mike to ask what was wrong. Needless to say, I bought that painting and it is hanging in my home.
My angel painting by Avi Maria, circa 2003
The painting is that of a beautiful angel coming out of what seems to be a dark blue tunnel. At her feet are three angels, and a little to the side is another angel. I asked Avi Maria what the painting meant. She told me that the angel was my guardian angel; the tunnel was all the hardship and pain I have gone through, and is now behind me. The angel’s wings are spread over the children, protecting and taking care of them.
My first born, Bea.
The slightly larger angel to the right represents Bea, my first born. Avi Maria said Bea would always be there for me, watching and taking care of me. And this is exactly what is happening now. Bea came back from the US after finishing her masters with honors to take over the reins of TeamAsia. She is doing a wonderful job at it too.
Cara bonita
The quiet little angel in front of me represents Cara, my middle child, who we’ve always called Cara bonita, being so fair. Avi Maria said that Cara would always be close to me. I’ve wondered about this because Cara has the wanderlust and loves to travel and explore. But it is true that she comes home often, and would call out “Marmee” the minute she enters the door.
Niccolo
The little angel flying around to the left represents Niccolo. Avi Maria said he was a happy angel. Niccolo was just five when the painting was done. He is now in the United States visiting kin and learning to be more independent.
Mike
Mike was the one to the left, seemingly engrossed in something, yet always there to keep me company, making sure I was safe. Little did I know that just ten years after I got that painting that God would claim back Mike. But I know in my heart that he is there, still watching over me.
So, do I believe in angels? Yes, I do. Do I miss having my dad around? You bet I do. But then, I have him in heaven watching over me, as I do Mike and Rollie. And I am sure all other dads in heaven are doing the very same thing. So Happy Father’s Day to all!
April 4, 2015. Moalboal Fam Trip. It’s 6:00 am, and I am all alone in the lanai, waiting for my children. We’ve reserved a banca for a 7am trip to Pescador, an atoll where they claim the marine life swim in abundance. I’m excited yet apprehensive, not being a strong swimmer. The lifeguards told us that the drop off is quite steep so I was undecided about joining the children.
I get nervous when I can no longer see the bottom while swimming. When Mike and I would snorkel in Club Paradise, he would always hold my hand and lead the way. I felt safe with him always. Now, he is no longer here. Still, I’ve decided to go with the children, especially since Mama Becky told me I should go and that she would take care of Dada while we were exploring.
When Mike died, I vowed to do the things I’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance or the courage to do so, like wearing a bikini, jumping off a cliff, riding a bike, going paddle boarding, traveling by myself. And that’s what I’ve been doing these past two years.
Hale Manna where we are staying is true to its name. Hale in Hawaiian means good energy, and Mana means home. So it means home of good energy, of which there is much in abundance. Mama Becky Pestano-Smith, its owner, wanted to praise and thank God for His many blessings by spelling Manna with a double n. My children were right in deciding to spend Holy Week in this place. I feel at peace and happy.
Months ago, Bea and Cara were backpacking in Cebu and chanced upon Hale Manna as they were exploring the beach. They said a nice lady called out to them from the cliff, inviting them over. They accepted the kind invitation of the lady who turned out to be Becky Pestano-Smith, the owner. The girls said they immediately felt at home as the kindly Mama Becky enveloped them in her warm embrace and treated them to merienda. They vowed they would return, and so we are here now.
Arriving at Hale Manna Thursday afternoon, we were welcomed warmly by Mama Becky. She had prepared hot cassava chips drizzled with honey and the most delightful lemongrass tea to soothe our thirst from the long drive. Ravenous, we feasted on the lechon and puso, which we had bought at the Carcar market on the way here. Our spacious room has eight comfortable beds covered with colorful quilts, which beckoned us to sleep. And that we did since all we had was a couple of hours sleep the night before.
Just as we were going for dinner, there was a sudden brownout. We were worried about the trip because super typhoon Chedeng was expected to hit the Philippines the next day. Also, Bea had just finished regaling us with stories of how she and her barkada ended up one summer vacation in an island in Cebu when there was a massive brownout, and they had to survive for days without electricity and mobile phones and with just one vat of water for all of them to bathe in.
Using our cellphones as flashlights, we walked over to the lanai where the other guests were already having dinner. It was quite romantic, with just candles lighting up the place. Halfway through dinner, the lights came back on. Bea commented that she had enjoyed the candlelit dinner more. Still, I welcomed the return of electricity.
The beach at Hale Manna is rocky, not sandy, but there are kayaks to bring you to a floating raft where you can swim. I did this the first afternoon we were here, but preferred yesterday morning to just write at the Inspiration Point, the highest part overlooking the water while the children swam in the waters.
Hale Manna has several secluded areas facing the sea with bright red lounging chairs where you could laze all day. There are also cabanas, with mattresses and large soft pillows, set far from each other so that you could enjoy the serenity of the place. Despite several vehicles at the parking area, we hardly bumped into anyone, except for meal times when we would all congregate at the lanai.
Yesterday morning the children were bitten by jellyfish, so they came back early and we decided to go for an early lunch at Club Serena, two resorts away. CSR boasts of a sandy beach and more modern amenities, but there were a lot more people around. I prefer the quietness of Hale Manna as the houses are far apart from each other. We took a tricycle going there, and it was bumpy and dusty, an adventure in itself.
Arriving at Club Serena, we were warned that they were full and we would have a long wait. We decided to stay as the girls who had been there before were adamant we should try the suman with tsokolate and mango. It was well worth the wait, though it was way past 2pm before we had our first nibble. While waiting, the children played Places, Animals, Names and Things (PANT) while I sketched Niccolo and his girlfriend Sam from a photo I had snapped a week ago. Earlier that morning I did quick sketches of Bea and Cara at the house.
It was almost 3pm, and we wanted to pray. I tried accessing my mobile bible, but unfortunately, CSR did not have wifi and Globe Internet was spotty. I walked over to the bar and asked our amiable waiter Rolan if they had a bible we could borrow. He had one, he said with a smile, except it was in Bisaya, which only Cara would have understood. I went back to the table sad, but when I checked my phone, there was my mobile bible online!
Niccolo wanted to go back to Hale Manna to pray because CSR was a bit noisy, but we insisted to stay as the hour was near. Reverently, Niccolo read the book of Mark from the Last Supper to Christ’s death. As I listened intently, all the ambient noise drowned out, and I was there at Gethsemane witnessing Christ’s agony as the apostles slept, beside the anguished Peter as he realized he had denied the Lord three times, amongst the angry crowd as calls for crucifixion rang loud, beside Simon of Cyrene who was tasked to carry His cross, at the foot of the cross as Christ gave up His spirit, and beside His mother as she embraced His dead body. We were all quiet as Niccolo finished reading, each engrossed in her own thoughts.
We were aghast when we learned there were no more tricycles available for the return trip to Hale Manna. They had all gone home to observe Good Friday. We were worried about how Dada would be able to walk back to Halle Manna. Kind Rolan offered his vehicle, which could not carry all of us, so Niccolo and I walked back along the seashore. It was good to be with him alone, and we talked about plans for summer.
We slept siesta, then went back to the beach intent on going swimming by the raft, but the lifeguards refused to let us go, warning us that the current was very strong. Instead, we plopped down in one of the comfortable cabanas and shared stories, as we are wont to do when together. Soon, we were joined by Niccolo and Cara’s boyfriend Ramon who had arrived from Iligan. We stayed at the cabana until sundown. As we watched the sun go down, Bea asked, “with such beauty around you, how can anyone not believe in God?” We all agreed.
We turned in early because of the planned boat trip. And now, I have to stop writing and pack up as the boat has arrived.
12:00 nn. We’re back, and we just finished a delicious brunch of Arroz a la Cubana, Paksiw na Isda, and Ampalaya. The children and Dada have gone back to the house to sleep, and I once more have the lanai to myself.
I am so glad I joined the boat trip. There we were in the middle of the vast sea, basking in the early morning when the boatmen pointed to dolphins far away. We went nearer, and the playful dolphins decided to put up a show.
As the boatmen tethered the boat at Pescador and we were getting ready to jump in, I realized that in our excitement, we had forgotten to bring along life jackets. Cara, Niccolo and Ramon are all strong and confident swimmers and don’t need the life support. On the other hand, I am a floater, meaning I have a very difficult time diving, and I get nervous swimming in the open sea without a life jacket. Luckily, the boatmen were able to borrow two life jackets from another boat, one for Bea and another for me.
Once in the water snorkeling, I was lost in the beauty of the marine life teeming around me, sporting a myriad of colors unseen on dry land. Truly, there is a God, I thought! After Pescador, we traveled to another place where they said the turtles could be found. I was told to put on my life jacket as we would have to swim to where the turtles were.
As we were quite far from the shore, I worried about the drop off. As the bottom kept dropping and the water became darker and colder, I began to feel afraid, but then the kind boatman took my hand and led me swimming along the drop off, spotting turtles and pointing them out to me. Once in a while, he would let go of my hand, and Niccolo would take over. Soon, the excitement of seeing the huge turtles overcame my fear of the deep, and I happily relaxed, even getting over the sharp stinging I would feel once in a while as jelly fish brushed against me.
Our final destination was where the sardines were. Oh, and it was amazing! The school of silver sardines, why, there must have been millions of them, was like a gigantic ribbon undulating and pulsating in the sea as far as I could see. The water would alternate between very cold to warm as the sardines swarmed around us. It was truly an exhilarating and awesome experience! Mama Becky was right. It would be a pity to come to Moalboal and not see the marine life. Next time, I intend to swim with the whale sharks.
TeamAsia founder and president, trainer, event organizer, food and art lover. President, Philippine Association of Convention/Exhibition Organizers and Supplier Philippines · teamasia.com
