in a little way to honor his turning 70, i am putting down 10 things i remember/ruminate about the past 34 years my father has been with us. they are not by any means a complete and total reading of the man or written in chronological order or by order of importance; they're more of little anecdotes of stuff that i remember at the moment, being the first-born son (that we know of, at least). i have an 11-year lead over his next child *lol*. there are probably better stories to be told by my family, or even his own friends and acquaintances. but these are mine. for now.
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Breakfast Clubmy dad always wakes up very early, even more so during the last decade. for some reason, he said needed less hours of sleep and this didn't seem to affect his energy during the day. being the first person up in the household, he usually prepares breakfast for everyone. it was simple fare, but i feel we kids didn't appreciate him enough, especially during our school years. what i miss most is having everyone together during mealtimes - each in their usual seat, exchanging stories and banter. when i lived in Manila and went home for summer vacations, or weekend jaunts, he would be waiting by our porch, as i disembarked from the bus (our home was just off the national highway). i usually took night trips, which means it would be breakfast time when i got home. we would complain a bit when we find that breakfast was just last night's recycled food, but we would eat it anyway, in those rare times he wouldn't open any canned goods. since then, breakfast is always my most important meal of the day, partially as a nod to his practice of having something - anything - ready for us when we open our eyes to greet the new day.
and i just have to mention this: the only time he ever made
tocino for us (made, not cooked from a bag of Pampanga's Best or Pampanga's Pride) - and that was the first time i heard of the word
salitre (saltpeter, the nitrate/additive that makes
tocino taste better, but yes, unhealthy, just like MSG) - he hit it out of the ballpark. way out.
Excite Bikeone of the earliest memories i had was him taking me to school in this old funny-looking bike - not a kid's bike, and not the predecessor of a mountain bike either (where you could brake by reversing the normal motion of your pedalling). it was of medium height, with a backrest, a ringer and a basket in front. the lengthy seat accomodated us both, and during my elementary years that was my "limo", although it was more of the hatid rather than the sundo. my dad used to wake up early (as he always does) and head out on that bike to get the newspaper and hot pandesal. it used to be my joy too to find him returning with my weekly fix of Funny Komiks (thought i was raised on
Sesame Street, comics, local or imported, was really my TV). this was also the first bike i used to learn how to ride (it was a movie moment: without any trainers, i thought my dad was still holding the bike while i was pedalling - and then i glanced at my shadow and i saw him too far away to be supporting me ... i'm riding a bike! on my own!). towards my latter years in elementary, i took that bike as my own and i had my own adventures with it. but it usually broke down with age, and considering my classmates had their spanky BMXs, this was a constant source of frustration. i think i got my own sort-of BMX later, but that first bike my dad used had all the best memories.
The Wander Yearswhen i was a kid, i had separation issues especially after my (biological) mom passed away, or even in her waning years. my dad's work took him through the backroads and far-flung towns of the Cagayan province, and more often than not, he had to take me along (perhaps mostly by necessity). i used to cry and insist on tagging along. there was one time i just woke up on a late afternoon in some transient house in Sanchez Mira. i looked out and the town was having its fiesta and there was a perya (local carnival) at opposite block. of course, a curious child will always wander around, which i did. and so at an early age i learned to be dispatched and left in strange places. further on, my dad used to ship me off with strangers (his friends/acquaintances) who were going to the big city (Manila) - sort of premeditated hitchhiking. we didn't have much money for bus fare then; maybe he paid them with legal advice. one thing for sure: if i didn't feel like doing that and dealing with strangers, he'd surely write me a letter - there was one where he wrote about growing up and strengthening sinews - and i'd feel a lot stronger. i think he wanted me to fend for myself at a young age because he did the same. how else did he manage to wander to Cagayan from Pampanga in the first place? how else did we wander as a family during my growing years (finally settling down back where i was born)? look at me: i wandered from Tuguegarao to New York. my kids should wander from New York to Mars.
The Wander Years Part 2one thing i can marvel at my dad was his steadfastness and firm responsibility to a sick spouse in her decline. aside from my dad's work, which took us around Luzon quite a bit, was my mom's failing health and her choice of going to faith healers for relief. perhaps not also having the financial means to resolve those issues played a part in that. for the most part, we know that faith healers are quacks. however, they did provide some relief for her, and its to his credit that he went along with her wishes. i can barely remember the places where we went for her healing sessions - a house in Novaliches and Liliw, Laguna come to mind - and coupled with these trips was the constant nomadic journey, staying with relatives for a time, then moving on to the next. through it all, my dad persevered. when we finally came back to Tuguegarao, there was a sense of stability somehow. my mom died 4 years later, and we only moved once since (to our present home).
if i am to regret anything about journeys, it is that my dad's constant traveling (even after he retired) ultimately took its toll, and he suffered that heart attack a year ago while on a bus going home to Tuguegarao.
brownout + math - cards = knowledgebrownouts are still a common occurence in my hometown, even to this day. can you imagine not having electricity for better parts of the day, especially during the summer months? back then, we even had all-nighters. cursing the electric company was a frequent neighborhood pastime. but despite that, he still had this notion that maybe we should not waste our time idling even if there wasn't any electricity. case in point: in my grade school (i matriculated in a Chinese school, for reasons i will try to explain later), we had separation of English/regular classes and the Chinese language classes. in one of those Chinese classes, you have to memorize (by rote; hey i didn't like it either) the multiplication table, and then recite it in front of the class. in Chinese. i had difficulty then (who wouldn't? right, the Chinese!). one blackened night, i somehow learned to shuffle cards. yeah, learning how to shuffle cards at home during a brownout is a good way to pass the time. not according to my dad. he came home that night, and i proudly showed my potential as a casino blackjack dealer; he shook his head and said "
e yung multiplication table, alam mo na?".
this explains why to this day, i still calculate in my head in Chinese. no kidding.
Abode Acrobatwe used to rent the ground level of a 2-story home in Tuguegarao. when my dad remarried, they decided to get our own place (always the first important thing to do in your life, kids - always!). the place they settled for was on the hilly outskirts of the town - this is where we eventually settled, and the house exists to this day. this was during my high school years. my dad had this grand plan of building a
nipa hut/
bahay kubo at the back of the main house where we can sit back, relax and enjoy the country breeze. i had fun envisioning that, bring my friends over, having a good time.
the only trouble with that is: the
bahay kubo came first before the main house, and we lived in it for 2 years.
i quickly had to hide my disappointment during those days when i was with the work crew, building our first home (!) with bare hands. they even had to import the nipa (it was of the anahaw variation) from somewhere else. i couldn't believe it. i had already bragged to my friends then that we would be having a "rest house". turns out the "rest house" was the rest of the house. there wasn't even any running water, and my dad drove his trusty old Renault (bought from our last landlord) to pick up gallons of water everyday. yeah, money didn't come easy in those days. neither does it now.
the main house was finally built two years later, but parts of its main structure were built from the original
bahay kubo (which we moved, yes,
bayanihan style, from its original location). to my parents' credit, the location was primo mucho - my friends still came over and we used have picnics and swim in the river by our backyard. people used to visit us and always marvel at the place (i say used to, because now we have more neighbors and they have bigger houses). but for most of my high school years, the bahay kubo was my home. my siblings had their growing years there. by the time the main house was completed, i had moved to Manila for college. but i still remember how my dad pulled that hat trick on me.
Visitation Rightsback in 1988, i started my college education in the big city and for out-of-towners like me, you either have to stay at a boarding house with total strangers or stay with relatives. luckily, i always had options on the latter. my first year in college, i stayed at a grandmother's house in Malate and renewed ties with relatives i barely knew. i had a great year there, back when the jeepney fare was still a peso, the ROTC still existed, and simple pleasures included going to Harrison Plaza and blowing my scholarship stipend on music tapes. said scholarship stipend was a boon to my dad, because it relieved him from paying my tuition fees for 5 years. and perhaps to express his gratitude for his savings and to remind not to get too comfortable being let loose from the confines of home, he showed up one night (a 10-hour trip from my hometown, back in those days), and took me to watch a movie. yes, "
Die Hard" will always be memorable for me. it would be the first time he visited me when i would be living away from home, but it wouldn't be the last (i'm sure he did the same for my brother when he attended our provincial seminary for his high school education, where they were cloistered 6 days a week). back then, when telephones were rare, i used to get letters from him letting me know when he would be traveling. i always looked forward to those days. Yipee-kayay.
Do The Write Thingmy dad never wanted to be a lawyer. he said he only took up law at the behest of his grandfather; he wanted to be a writer/journalist. he never stopped writing, be it long letters of instructions to people, his child's latest essay or sweet words to his wife. if only for the loss of that particular joy after his stroke, i weep for him. perhaps doing good in English classes, ending up as editor of our college journal, writing prolific love letters in my heyday, and currently, maintaining this blog, that's still his genes and blood flowing through me. he wrote with a pen; my pencraft had long deteriorated ever since i got my first computer. i can only imagine if he thrived in this digital age of blogging, instant messaging, dictaphones and what not. he'd probably be an internet activist or an e-columnist. i wished i kept all the letters he sent me, whatever state of mind they were written in then. rummaging through my pile, i recreated
one for this piece.
He Does Not Computespeaking of computers, it is always amazing to think that he invested his retirement money in something he didn't know a thing about - computers - by putting up a computer school in Aparri, which is among the northernmost enclaves of the region (don't believe the phrase boasting of the length and breadth of the Philippines: "mula Aparri hanggang Jolo" - if you wanted to be accurate, it'll be "mula Batanes Islands hanggang Jolo"). this ran completely against logical business sense, because that area wasn't exactly that economically viable then (back in 1995). but he didn't want the profit - he loved helping people, even to his own detriment. so instead of settling for a tour abroad, he sank his money into a small place, cajoled friends, recruited new ones, and kickstarted a venture that is celebrating its 10th year at this time. the school, which offers vocational and technical courses, doesn't seem to run out of students, and its fortunes have risen and fallen along with the economic climes of the area itself. they've moved to a new, bigger and better location, which is always a good sign, and presumably each graduating class have gone on to seek their own fortunes elsewhere, instead of ending up as the stereotypical disenfranchised. i would think, and i know he felt the same way, that only those who don't strive enough end up as failures. i hope he'll still be able to witness the continued success of the school for a long time.
and he never learned how to use a computer. imagine.
Chinatowni have these weird Chinese ties. my kindergarten year was spent in a Chinese school in Dagupan, Pangasinan. when we moved back to Tuguegarao, i had my grade school education in a Chinese school. that means most of my classmates were Filipino-Chinese. i even had a classmate who transferred to our school in Grade 5, and it turns out he spent his kindergarten year in ... yep, in the same Chinese school i attended in Dagupan. imagine the catching-up of two 10-year olds who had barely anything in common. why did i get into Chinese schools in the first place? my dad had this vision ... even before anyone noticed the Chinese population explosion in the last 2 decades.
'Learn Chinese, and you may be able to use it in business someday', he said. all i learned was to curse in Fookien. this seems to elicit laughter in some circles.
my first job - and my present job - is still with the same ... yes, Chinese software company. my dad found the ad in the newspaper back in 1994. i was lollygagging around, passing my Engineering board exams but had no clue what to do next with my life. and then he sent for me and showed me the ad, brushed up the resume, and my mom went along with me for my interview. she was even mistaken for being the applicant. honest injun. i got accepted, then the rest is history. stuff of legend.
and where did i go for my first-ever trip abroad? no place other than ... you guessed it ... China! with 4 trips in 6 years, that must be more than what other people could ever want. anyway, it kept with the 'stranger in a strange land' theme from my growing years, and it led to better places, like where i currently reside.
guess what, dad? i didn't learn Chinese much. but thanks anyway - you got me here.
the cover of his latest album, Dekada 7for 30-plus years of nurturing ... through thick and thin ... thank you, Dad.
my ants usually converge on the sink when i leave used pans and plates temporarily, and try to salvage any scraps they can find. when i catch them milling about the area, its deluge time, baby! there's a certain amount of glee (and ok, ok, sadism) to wash them insects down the drain. hey, what do you want me to do, pick them one by one and deposit them on the window sill, say hello, bye-bye? you crazy.
