My Papa lives in me

There are stars whose light only reaches the Earth long after they have fallen
apart. There are people whose remembrance gives light in this world, long after
they have passed away. This light shines in our darkest nights on the road we
must follow.

The Talmud

The run-up to All Saints Day or Todos Los Santos or All Soul’s Day (Dia delos Muertos, as the Hispanics call it) makes me miss home the most.

For every year since I was 11 – except the time when I headed a local government task group that manned the help desk in public cemeteries and when my late boss Joe Burgos sent me on a mission to Mindanao – I was on top of preparations when the fam hies off to Papa’s final resting place at Loyola. Since transforming into an expat worker close to three years ago, I’ve become incapacitated to perform this task.

My Papa died on the first hour of September 3, 1980 at the Philippine Heart Center for Asia. His death certificate says Papa died of cardiac arrest. Seems simple, but the road to Papa’s passing was a long painful route.

My father – a lawyer – worked for the government. He was involved in the management of housing projects of the GSIS and at one time was even in charge of the demolition of the Manila Hotel. His work required him to travel a lot, visiting many places in the provinces. I’ve gotten used to seeing him fly in and out, coming home with baskets or crates of fruits and all sorts of stuff like live giant blue crabs and souvenir items.

Then one day, he got sick. He was shivering that night. When he got a bit better, we went to the Cardinal Santos Hospital where he was supposed to undergo further checks. The nurse at the hospital was rubbing people the wrong way. She talked to patients like they owed her a favour. She wanted Papa to wear an identity bracelet, but he refused. She was rudely insistent and that got the goat of my old man. He pulled off the white bracelet that was forcibly strapped on his wrist and stormed out of the hospital in a huff (Had he submitted himself for a check up, his ailment could've been detected early and diagnosed before it got out of hand).

Several months after, my usually energetic father started slowing down. Later on, I learnt that he had a “kidney problem”. I was clueless. I was too young to even know what a kidney was. I didn’t care much as my own world was revolving around how the earth’s machine “heroes” where faring in their battle against the Boazanians, the Brahmins, and Dr. Hell.

My father tried to live as normal as possible. We’d still go out and travel like we used to. We’d curl up in our sofa as we watch late night movies on TV, go to Recto or Avenida to see new films on the big screen or eat hotdog waffle at Jopson’s in Bustillos. He and Mama would still bring me to school on their way to their office in Makati.

Papa’s meals, however, changed. He was no longer touching the sumptuous nilagang baka or pork humba specially prepared by Ate Isa every Sunday. His food was prepared separately -- bland, no salt. A big, tall glass of “banaba” tea has also become standard together with a fistful of medicines of all shapes and sizes.

Once a week, an entourage would escort Papa to the Heart Center where he’d undergo dialysis. The procedure – I was told – was very painful. Long needles are inserted into the veins on each arm where blood is drawn and passed into a dialysis machine for cleansing and injected back into the body. The session would zap Papa’s energy and he had to lean on my cousin Awe or whoever is at hand in climbing the flight of stairs at home.

One day, Auntie Evie – Papa’s sister – came over and they had a serious talk. They were speaking in Bicolano (or whatever was the lengua franca in their hometown in Masbate). I couldn’t fully understand what they were talking about, but I remember hearing them discuss “transplant” and “organ donation”. I’d later find out that they entertained the possibility of Papa getting a kidney transplant, but the operation could only be done overseas as the technology was then not available then in the Philippines. Auntie Evie was willing to donate her kidney to his kid brother, but she was understandably edgy until the option was abandoned.

Summer of 1980, Papa, Mama and I embarked on our usual summer trek. We went to Bohol for the Holy Week then visited Papa’s pet project – an hacienda named after me – in Pilar, Sorsogon. It was my first trip to Bicol and I was awe-excited to see the majestic Mt. Mayon, thrilled to cross the sea between the Sorsogon mainland and the island where “my hacienda” was located and feel gung-ho taking my first horse and carabao-ride. Back in the capitol of Legazpi, we spent several nights in a hotel as my father had to meet some old friends (I’d say it was his farewell call) before flying back to Manila.

Soon after returning home, Papa was back in the hospital for his “regular check up” but this time, he was not allowed to go home anymore. He stayed at the Heart Centre until his condition deteriorated. My once spritely father – the source of strength and guiding light of the entire clan – was helplessly strapped to his bed with a countless number of tubes and a life-support system by his side.

One fine night, I was whisked to his side as my Papa had insisted on seeing me. Hard of speaking as he had tracheotomy to help him breathe, Papa struggled as he talked to me in whispers, telling me to be good and to take care of my Mama. Several weeks later, he was gone.

Years have passed and I still talk to my Papa. Going to Loyola was not a once-a-year exercise to follow the pack. I’d go visiting whenever I can to talk to my Papa.

Like Forrest Gump – but in silence – I tell him what I’ve been up to, how I feel, what I need, what I want. I still snuggle up to him and seek his guidance just like when he was still physically around.

Papa has never failed me and has remained my source of strength. He still talks to me in whispers from above just as how King Mufasa explained to Simba, what the stars from above are doing.

Simba: Dad?
Mufasa: Hmm?
Simba: We're pals, right?
Mufasa: Right.
Simba: And we'll always be together, right?
Mufasa: Simba, let me tell you something my father told me. Look at the stars. The great kings of the past are up there, watching over us.
Simba: Really?
Mufasa: Yes. So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I

Daddy's girl turns 12

I’m struggling for the right words and thoughts about my other daughter – Stella Marie Isabelle or Aia.

Writing between deadlines is tough for someone who is not an essayist.

Several months back, I wrote about my son Andre – when he turned 8 last March – and later my eldest princess, Ara – on the eve of her graduation from high school.

Aia wryly asked: “Bakit ako wala, Dad?”

To soothe her ruffled feelings, I assured her that she’ll have hers on her birthday which is about an hour away from now in Philippine standard time.

My Aia is turning 12.

I’d dare say that my baby girl is his “Daddy’s Girl” as she’s always there to lift me up when I’m down.

It was Aia who’d always ask me if I’m OK. She could sense when I’m in low gear and she’d spring up and try to flag my sagging spirit.

When I grew my hair long to reflect how indignant I was with the way things are going my way here, Aia would egg me to get a haircut. And when I reasoned out that I can’t find a good barber here in Dubai, she told me that, “bukas, may darating nang magaling na Filipinong barber dyan” and she’ll be praying for it to become a reality.

And that became the cue for me to reconsider and give in to my family's wishes. I just waited for the right time to finally shed my locks and mark a new beginning.

No wonder, my little Miss Congeniality was selected to join her school’s cheering squad and was even chosen as “muse” of an all-girls school.

But looking back, Aia really has the charm built into her system.

When she was still in her nursery years at the Little Angels of St. Therese School in Galas and at St. Joseph’s College, she already got ribbons for being “Most Friendly.”

When she moved to Angelicum and later to the Holy Spirit School in Quezon City, her classmates would gravitate around her as her warm and cheerful disposition was infectious.

I saw her former mates at Angelicum jump for joy and bust their lungs out when they saw Aia at the Sto. Domingo courtyard where we waited for Andre last January.

My baby girl has also taken over and is continuing my life-long relations with the Labayos where – like me – she was “adopted” as a member of the family.

Ara, who was so aloof when she was a kid, has made a turnaround. She was even described in her yearbook as someone who has “built a friendship with almost every being”. I suspect that Aia’s charm had rubbed on to her big sister.

Aia is also somebody who is full of surprises.

Emerging from the shadows of her ate, Aia surprised many in the family circle when she excelled in taekwondo where she rose to become a red belter at the age of 10.

A few days before I left for Dubai in February 2006, she came home with a bronze medal after competing in the Women’s NCAA (WNCAA) where she represented her school.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm for the sport died down. But her feat still remains my source of pride and joy.

How I wish it was easy for me to get teleported back home just to kiss my baby girl and wish her well as she starts her last year as a pre-teener.

I may be thousands of miles away but deep in Aia’s heart – Daddy’s at home.

Happy birthday Daday!

My Daddy and Mommy

Today is GRANDPARENTS DAY and I remember my Daddy and Mommy (my mom’s parents) who – more than 20 after their passing -- are still regarded with awe and referred to with utmost respect by friends and relatives in our hometown in Dauis, Bohol.

Daddy (Valeriano Aranas Penales) was a public servant. He worked for the General Auditing Office (now the Commission on Audit) where he rose from clerk to provincial auditor. He was often referred to as the “first Filipino auditor,” but I won’t take that hook-line-and-sinker until I get that fact confirmed. The nomadic nature of his work prompted Daddy to take his family – and countless numbers of nephews and nieces and extended family members in his entourage– to places where he was posted (Lanao, Leyte, Cebu, Capiz, Negros) while Mommy (Clara Aba Reyes of Tanjay, Negros Oriental) managed the huge household.

Daddy – fondly called as Tiyo Ano – was the “godfather” of the Penales clan. He was the youngest in a brood of 16 and as expected outlived his siblings.

He was a tall mestizo with a statesmanlike bearing and charisma. He was always dressed to the nines with a Dick Tracy hat and two-toned Fred Astaire shoes. His Zippo was secured by a silver chain attached to his belt loop. His porma was accented by a cigar or a pipe (Mixture #79 was his favourite). Godfather na godfather ang dating!

When I was about two years old, I thought Daddy was part of the detective series “Streets of San Francisco” and I was made to believe that my Kuya Lou (Penales) was Michael Douglas (Karl Malden’s sidekick in the series). My confusion – or excitement – was heightened everytime the show Kojak goes on air as my Daddy shares the same hair-state with Telly Savalas.

Daddy was so simpatico, gentlemanly and affable. He could make women swoon even while already way past the golden age. Tita Moni once told that when Daddy went to Congress to visit his friend, Speaker Cornelio Villareal, he was mistaken for US President Dwight Eisenhower when he stepped out of the fin-tailed limo that took him there.

My late Tita Susing (My mom’s elder sis) would sometimes refer to Daddy as “Valentino” – punctuated with a naughty wink for whatever reason I yet have to discover. But true enough, Daddy died on St. Valentine’s Day in 1986 when he was 85.

Mommy Car – we were told -- was a “super OC”. She’d always win the “cleanest and most orderly” house contest wherever they lived. I remember Mommy – although she with a failing eyesight – dutifully inspecting all rooms in our ancestral house in Dauis every morning and directing whoever was at hand to fix this or that, making sure that not a speck of dust was on the ledge or furniture. Daddy and Mommy’s house could pass as a living proof for Johnson’s Floor Wax for having the shiniest floor and banisters in town. While leading the nightly orasyon – where all members of the household are gathered before the family altar when the bells toll at 6pm – the series of “Maghimaya ka Maria” (Hail Mary) would sometimes be cut to give way to sudden instructions on how to cook our dinner or to ask if all the Petromax (paraffin lamp) were already lit up (there was no electricity in Dauis until the late 1970s).

Unfortunately, I have faint memory of my paternal grandparents. I only saw my lolo (Brigido Gutierrez of San Jacinto, Masbate) once when he went to Manila for a visit when I was about 2-3 years old. He died about a year after Papa died in 1980. I never saw my lola who passed away before I was born. A giant picture of my lola adorned my Papa’s study. One of my paternal aunts asked for lola’s portrait when Papa died.

My kids are fortunate to have their grandparents – my Mama and Tita Moni -- looking after them and from afar, their Lola Sita and Tiya Perlita (Mara’s mum and auntie).

Me and my Mama

The kids with their Lolo Orling in 2002. The old man died in Nov. 5, 2006, a year after seeing all his grandchildren (including Arlene's kids) in one roof.

With my Ate Luisa- my mom's cousin. She took care of me when I was a kid.

To cap this entry, I’m reposting the following piece which I first read on its English version (I presume, it was the original). The essay was written on a hand-made poster displayed at the visitor’s lounge of the St. Joseph’s Home – the retirement home of nuns belonging to the Religious of the Virgin Mary congregation – which I saw while visiting my dear auntie, Sister Diosdada Loquellano. It was after reading this piece that I came to value more and understand my Mama, Tita Moni, Tito Pito and my aunties and uncles and even cousins who are now ageing gracefully.

My mom and Tita Moni (3rd and 4th from left) with my dear aunties Sis. Zenaida Cinches and Sis. Diosdada Loquellano at St Joseph's Home

Sa Aking Pagtanda
Rev. Fr. Ariel F. Robles

Sa aking pagtanda, unawain mo sana ako at pagpasensiyahan.

Kapag dala ng kalabuan ng mata ay nakabasag ako ng pinggan o nakatapon ng sabaw sa hapag kainan, huwag mo sana akong kagagalitan.

Maramdamin ang isang matanda. Nagse-self-pity ako sa tuwing sisigawan mo ako.

Kapag mahina na ang tainga ko at hindi ko maintindihan ang sinasabi mo, huwag mo naman sana akong sabihan ng “bingi!” Paki-ulit nalang ang sinabi mo o pakisulat na lang.

Pasensiya ka na, anak, matanda na talaga ako.

Kapag mahina na ang tuhod ko, pagtiyagaan mo sana akong tulungang tumayo, katulad nang pag-aalalay ko sa iyo noong nag-aaral ka pa lamang lumakad.

Pagpasensiyahan mo sana ako kung ako man ay nagiging makulit at paulit-ulit na parang sirang plaka. Basta pakinggan mo na lang ako. Huwag mo sana akong pagtatawanan o pagsasawaang pakinggan.

Natatandaan mo pa ba anak noong bata ka pa? Kapag gusto mo ng lobo, paulit-ulit mo ‘yong sasabihin, maghapon kang nangungulit hangga’t hindi mo nakukuha ang gusto mo. Pinagtiyagaan ko ang kakulitan mo.

Pagpasensiyahan mo na rin sana ang aking amoy. Amoy matanda, amoy lupa. Huwag mo sana akong piliting maligo. Mahina na ang katawan ko. Madaling magkasakit kapag nalamigan, huwag mo sana akong pandirihan.

Natatandaan mo pa ba noong bata ka pa? Pinagtiyagaan kitang habulin sa ilalim ng kama kapag ayaw mong maligo.

Pagpasensyahan mo sana kung madalas ako’y masungit, dala na marahil ito ng katandaan. Pagtanda mo, maiintindihan mo rin.

Kapag may konti kang panahon, magkuwentuhan naman tayo, kahit sandali lang. Inip na ako sa bahay, maghapong nag-iisa. Walang kausap. Alam kong busy ka sa trabaho, subalit nais kong malaman mo na sabik na sabik na akong makakuwentuhan ka, kahit alam kong hindi ka interesado sa mga kuwento ko.

Natatandaan mo ba anak noong bata ka pa, pinagtiyagaan kong pakinggan at intindihin ang pautal-utal mong kuwento tungkol sa iyong teddy bear.

At kapag dumating ang sandali na ako’y magkakasakit at maratay sa banig ng karamdaman, huwag mo sana akong pagsawaang alagaan.

Pagpasensiyahan mo na sana kung ako man ay maihi o madumi sa higaan, pagtiyagaan mo sana akong alagaan sa mga huling sandali ng aking buhay. Tutal hindi na naman ako magtatagal.

Kapag dumating ang sandali ng aking pagpanaw, hawakan mo sana ang aking kamay at bigyan mo ako ng lakas ng loob na harapin ang kamatayan.

At huwag kang mag-alala, kapag kaharap ko na ang Diyos na lumikha, ibubulong ko sa kaniya na pagapalain ka sana … dahil naging mapagmahal ka sa iyong ama’t ina…

May affairs

The month of May is full of events as far as my family is concerned.

Birthdays . . .

Today - May 25 - is my eldest daughter Ara's 16th birthday! Oh how time really flies. I can still remember endlessly pacing to and from the delivery room at Chinese General Hospital waiting for my baby to come. We exchanged text messages last night and she asked me to come home on her next birthday or be at her next graduation. I'll try my best gang-gang.

Today is also the birthday of my sister-in-law, Arlene Lanzaderas. Yesterday - May 24 - was her son Jiggy's birthday.

Last Friday - May 23 - was my dear Mama's 70th birthday (oops kelangan ba sabihin yon)! Wuz planning to give her a big bash to mark this milestone, but the good Lord has other plans. Will make it up to you, Mama.

My Papa would've turned 80 last May 15. We've been marking his birthday without him with us for the last 28 years.

More May events . . . .

My cousin Britta May Borromeo-Navarro was born this month (sorry, the exact date slipped my mind as I write this).

Her Mom, my Tita Susing, died on May 19, 1986. I miss her so much.

The kids last saw their Lolo Orling when we went home for a two-week vacation in May 2005.

And so on...gotta stop, the boss is here.

My baby is now a lady

Paraphrasing a line from a baby powder advert . . . yup, my baby is fast becoming a lady (I'm still in a state of denial that the time is NOW).

My eldest daughter -- my pride and joy

Maria Aurora Patrice Ramirez Gutierrez

or simply, Ara, will be marking a milestone in her young life.

A few hours from now - as I write this -- she'll be going up the stage to receive her high school diploma from the College of the Holy Spirit-Manila.

March 30, 2008 (Sunday) will be remembered as the day when Ara will start her transition to a new chapter in her academic life.

And I'm saddened that I'll not be there to stand up, cheer and beam with pride.

I initially planned to make a quick trip to Manila to attend her graduation, but things got iffy and Mara and I had to tweak our plans for this year.

Ganito pala ang feeling ng may anak na ga-graduate. Totoo pala yung mga eksena sa mga TVC like the mobile phone ad that I'd often see on CNN kung saan mangiyak-ngiyak yung isang tatay while watching her daughter in a toga tapos nagfla-flashback yung mga scenes when his kid was just learning how to write her name hanggang sa lumaki na at humantong na nga sa graduation. Parang ganun rin nangyayari sa akin for the past few days. Sounds corny, but it's true.

Ang bilis ng panahon. Parang kailan lang I was there on a string of Ara's seeming unending graduation from nursery (twice at St. Charles Learning Centre), then pre-kinder then kindergarten then elementary (all at St. Joseph's College-Quezon City). . . .

(picture taken at Ara's graduation at St. Joseph's College in April 2004)



I still vividly remember the time when I escorted Ara to CHS to apply and eventually enroll as a freshman. We were thrilled to see the dolls dressed up in a CHS uniform at the then bare High School Library and we were also excited as the school's official seamstress took her measurements for her uniform. Kahit na medyo mabigat sa bulsa, I really pushed that she be part of history -- by being a member of the pioneer batch of the school's comebacking high school department -- and by the time this gets posted, she will be hours away from realising that moment.

Ara's graduation and subsequently Aia and Andre's will always have a deeper meaning to me. Starting with Ara, I've come full circle . . . and hopefully will still reach the roundabout when its time for Aia and Andre to cross the line.

I had my moment 22 years ago.

Now, it's my girl's time. And what a way for her to go . . . her class even voted her as the grad ball's "princess". And my goodness, mabuti na lang nagmana sa ama etcetera, etcetera . . . .

Mabrouk to Class 2008!

* * *

Nakakamangha talaga. Parang hagibis na dumaan ang 16 years.

Was it only yesterday when this little girl would sleep soundly in my arms and wasn't it just last night when she giggled and clapped her hands when I came home from work?

Parang kailan lang my mornings and evenings were spent watching Lion King dahil gusto niya na palaging ginagaya yung presentation scene ni Simba or mimic fight scenes from Power Rangers -- siya yung Pink Ranger ako naman yung kalaban -- or see her jump from the sofa and shout "sa kapangyarihan ng hiyas ng puso" while flashing Starla's "magic jewel." Ito na ba yung bata na dati-rati'y ang hirap awatin sa panonood ng Ghostfighter, parang kit-kiti kung gayahin ang pagsayaw ng original na Marimar at wala ring sawa sa pakikinig ng mga kanta ng F4 kahit na "Oh baby, baby baby" lang ang naintindihan?

* * *
Since moving away, I've lost track kung ano-ano ang likes and dislikes ng mga bebe ko.

From watching cartoons, Ara and even Aia are more interested in going to concerts. A few months back, pinapanood ko sila ng gig ng Fallout Boys (wonder if I spelt that right) and instead of dolls and other girlie stuff, they asked for iPods as pasalubong.

When I went home last December, Ara and Aia would prefer "fraps" at Starbucks to Happy Meal or Jolly Kiddie Meal. And Andre is still very much fixated with his Battle B-daman.

I miss our lazy weekend afternoons. I miss my kids.

Simple priceless pleasures that I had to give up.