It has been a while…I know…hope you all have been very well and getting ready for the holidays.

I have been on an Asian trip recently and I never tire of learning about a country’s culture. I try to experience as much as I can. Here are some of the unique and wondrous things I’ve seen on my travels.

By AHM.

Mom was holding two jobs when we lived in Gagalangin, Manila. The first one was a full time teaching position with the Faculty of Torres High School which was one short ride from our apartment. Her second job involved teaching English at a private school in Sampaloc near the Justo Albert Elementary School. This school was a distance away from our home in Tondo. Mom had to board a train at a station near Solis and get off at the Sampaloc station near Dapitan. She would then either walk or take a jeepney to the school. Later in the afternoon, she would return home via the train back to Solis station and walk home to our apartment. She did this 2 or 3 afternoons a week when she was free from her Torres High duties.

As head teacher in English, she was also adviser of the school paper, the “Torres Torch”. This really kept her busy, correcting student articles, laying out the paper with the student editorial staff, and in the evenings Mom and her students would head to the printing press ensuring the paper came out according to their standards. Mom would frequently take me along during these sorties which I thoroughly enjoyed. Only later did I discover that part of the reason that I looked forward to these trips to the printers was that I was getting a “high” sniffing the glue binding the book pages to their covers! To this day I love sniffing new books!

On the days Dad was home from Bataan, he and I would go down to Solis station to meet the train that Mom took. Big vacant lots bordered either side of the tracks. No houses along the train tracks yet during those days. Dad and I would have a fun contest on who saw Mom first as she walked down the tracks from the distant station. Once spotted, I would run to give Mom a hug and received a kiss in return. Then, during pay day I guess, we would stop at a Magnolia Ice Cream Kiosk, at the corner of Solis and Juan Luna, to buy a Magnolia ice cream brick to bring home to Lola (grandma) and Ate Lina.  At home, we would all enjoy the ice cream brick, licking our spoons to the last drop as there was no refrigerator to store the ice cream in. Those were magical days.

By AHM.

He may not have been as brilliant, ebullient or colorful as Tios (Uncles) Andres, Fred, Maning and others. He was frequently content to stay in the background during family gatherings. But in his quiet, unassuming manner, he was a keen observer of the human condition and was really in his element when he was working and meeting the demands as Division Superintendent of Schools which were to provide for the educational needs, not only of the grade school and high school students of his provincial assignments, but of the out of school youths as well.

He rose from the ranks, first as a classroom teacher, then as principal, supervisor and finally as Division Superintendent of Schools. He had several provincial assignments throughout his career as Superintendent of Schools. First was in Albay, where he spent all of the war years. Then Bataan, right after the war, then off to Negros Oriental in the Visayas, followed by a 5 year stint at Leyte, then to his home province of Quezon for another 5 years and finished his career as Chief of Research and Development at the Central Office at Arroceros Street close to Tio Maning’s GSIS office.

 He met Mom during their student days at the College of Education of University of the Philippines (UP), then situated at Padre Faura. I don’t know how their romance started but it could have been a case of two country kids getting together, one from Bulacan and the other from Quezon. Luckily they both spoke Tagalog, though with different accents and some strange words indigenous to Quezon. He also spoke excellent Spanish.

Mom was a major in English with a minor in Math. I don’t know what Dad majored in but it must have been English too, because he co-authored “English Fundamentals for Filipino Students” of Jaranilla, Potts, and Manalo fame which was used as the English textbook of all public schools nationwide up to the time I went to high school. By then countless Filipino public school students had cut their English grammar teeth on this book! Dad was very proud of the royalty checks he periodically received and presented them to Mommy though the amount was miniscule. I guess that is where my kids gained some proficiency in English with Giselle garnering first place in the Feature Writing Competitions during the annual National Secondary Schools Press Conference held at Barotac Nuevo with Joe Quirino as judge. That conference took place during the 1986 EDSA revolution and we had no way of communicating with Gigi. Luckily Marcos was whisked away to Hawaii in less than a week and Gigi got home safely to Iligan as scheduled.   

 By AHM.

She was a vision – the little girl who suddenly appeared at the window of a house across from mine. She stared back at me, her face barely above the window sill, as mine must have been from my side. Then she looked over her shoulder at someone who must have called her, glanced back at me and smiled! Then she was gone. I had never before been exposed to a little girl, my size, in that manner. I knew she was a girl because of her long hair which was braided on both sides of her face. I was later to know that they were called “pigtails”.

From then on, I would stand by that window, hoping she would come into sight. I had no concept of time. Later on I was to discover that she only came to the window after we had had breakfast and Lola’s (grandma) radio was blaring the theme from a soap opera called “Ang Kasaysayan ni Dr. Ramon Selga” (The Tale of Dr Ramon Selga). Lola listened to this program every morning before another favourite tale “Gulong ng Palad” (Wheel of Fate). So straight after breakfast, I would bolt to my window with bated breath and soon she would be there! We would stay like that, simply smiling at each other until she was called away.

I don’t recall how long this morning ritual lasted but it ended one day when her entire family left their apartment for I don’t know where. All their belongings were packed into a truck and the last I saw of her was her back clambering up the back of the truck before it drove off.

I never saw her again but flashbacks would come to me whenever I hear the strains of the theme of that Dr. Ramon Selga soap. It was only many, many years later when I learned that the theme music was from Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet”!

By AHM.

There were heavy footsteps on the street. We peered out of the cellar window and watched pairs of boots pass by. These footwear and trousers were different from those of the Japanese – heavy and made of leather. A pair stopped by the window. Then a leg knelt and a face suddenly appeared. It belonged to a smiling American looking back at us. Mommy directed him to the other side of the building where the cellar door was. The Yanks had finally returned as promised!

Soon we had a squad of GI Joes as guests. They started handing out gifts – chewing gum and Hershey bars for me and my older sister Ate Lina, cigarettes for Tio (Uncle) Mario ( I don’t remember him smoking before!) and out of their knapsacks spilled tins of pork and beans, vienna sausage, powdered eggs, ice cream mix, and what was to become a lifetime favorite of mine – SPAM! Soon Mom was preparing a meal for the soldiers, cooking over the fire that Tio Mario had started in the clay stove. It was a fantastic breakfast for me – SPAM, scrambled eggs (I guess that’s the only way you could cook powdered eggs) and the sweet smell of the vanilla ice cream mix which we drank like milk.

Ahh…that chewing gum – you could chew to your hearts content for hours and only stop when the cool sweetness would wear off or when your jaw could no longer move from fatigue and ache – whichever came first. These treats were a far cry from the “binatog” (corn gruel) with salt or toyo (soy sauce), mongo (mung beans) with hibe or dilis (dried fish), bananas, camote (sweet potato) and camoteng kahoy (cassava) which had been our fare during the past few weeks. Although we on occasion enjoyed “champorado” (porridge) of corn or rice with chocolate tablea (cacao discs laced with generous amounts of ground peanuts). Milk and sugar were available.

That was a memorable day indeed. But what stood out for me was the wonderful SPAM – and to this day I still buy the “original Spam” in the blue rectangular can (though the GI version was in olive green) and stay away from the garlic, bacon, cheese, smoked, lite, sodium free and other varieties that have evolved through the years.

                             By AHM.

   ” A fine romance, my friend this is;  A fine romance with no kisses!”

Mom was born in Bocaue, Bulacan but grew up in Cabanatuan, Nueva Ecija.  She did her elementary grades in Cabanatuan, from 1912 to 1919 and finished as valedictorian of her class. She then went to the UP High where Dad was a year ahead of her. They met each other because of Dad’s involvement in a lot of extracurricular activities but no mention is made of whether any sparks flew between them. They apparently continued their friendship at the College of Education where Dad graduated in 1926 and Mom in 1927.

Mom immediately got a teaching appointment at Mapa High School right after her graduation. Those were apparently happy years because the friends with whom she frequently had get-togethers in their later years were mainly co-teachers from Mapa High. She remained with that faculty until the outbreak of the war in 1941.

Her communications with Dad apparently continued because she was able to recall Dad’s various appointments and travels. There is not much on paper or even orally told on how that romance progressed. But progress it did because they finally tied the knot on April 19, 1933 at the Lourdes church in Intramuros, Manila.

Dad was thrilled about joining that family of “intellectuals” recording that “Mom’s sister, Naty, and her brothers graduated as valedictorians in high school. Her two brothers were engineers and graduated Magna Cum Laude and Cum Laude from UP.” Though no mention was made of their names, I suspect that Uncle Andres was the magna and Uncle Mario/Maning the cum laude.

By AHM.

 To most Filipinos, Balintawak was where Andres Bonifacio made his famous cry which started the revolution against Spain, and that is where his famous monument stands. But to my family it truly was the site of the House of Hizon. The house which Andres Hizon built (or bought) and called “Fair Haven”.

To me “Fair Haven” was a magical place. 

The sign greeted you as you entered the gate. Then as you walked into the drive, the castle loomed before you. To your right was the huge stairs made of stone which led upwards seemingly to the stars. On either side, stone balustrades beckoned for you to hold onto them during your breathtaking climb. To the right of the stairs was a cistern of water which seemed like a moat. At the top of the never ending stairs was a balcony. Standing from there you could see – forever.

Huge, heavy, wooden double doors opened to reveal a foyer that led into a grand hall where guests were received and on special occasions doubled as a ballroom. Separated from the grand hall by side panels was the banquet hall where guests (mostly relatives) would sit and dine. Farther, separated from the banquet hall by a wall and swing door, was the kitchen where all the delicious aroma of a feast being prepared arose.

To the right of the banquet hall was an alcove or anteroom with an altar where evening prayers were held. Opening through doors to this alcove were three bedrooms; a smaller one for Aunt Remy and two larger ones for guests (mainly relatives and their families).

The master’s quarters were to the right of the great hall as you entered from the balcony. In it were Uncle Andres’ personal effects and clothing (mostly Khaki uniforms). In it too was his library filled with books and 78 rpm records. This was strictly off limits to us kids and you entered it at your own peril. The kids followed this mandate strictly, except for Cousin Boysie who would enter it, when the master was out, and come out with a handful of records to play on the gramophone in the great hall. We enjoyed songs like “K–K– Katy”, “How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning”, “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” and other such ditties. My cousin would return them before the master came home.

Once home, the master rarely came out of his den. Once inside, there would emanate soulful and mournful sighs of longing and love and as we listened carefully through the walls and door, it soon became apparent that it was “Ning — Ning — Ningning” repeated over and over in a falsetto voice. During occasions when he did come out, it was still “Ning — Ning — Ningning” (apparently the most wonderful sound he ever heard!).

Grandma Oleng would lead the evening prayers in the altar room. All the children were required to attend together with the interested adults. It would start out very solemnly with everyone’s eyes closed in silent reflection. Then would start – a snicker here, a snicker there, one eye opening and then the other, then a growing cacophony of snickers and outright laughter (for no apparent reason) which would only stop when Grandma Oleng turned and stared menacingly at everyone. But it would soon start again during the litany so Grandma had to hurry it up just to get everyone to stop.

One of the guest rooms had an amazing feature. It was a door on the floor which could be lifted up revealing a ladder that you could use to get to the room below (ala Sweeney Todd). It was apparently an escape hatch against any invader to provide a hidden sanctuary for occupants. At least that was our fantasy. Uncle Andres probably built it as a fire escape!

 This downstairs room opened into the garage where, wonder of wonders, was parked a black limousine! A Packard! Another item to explore for the fearless and intrepid young adventurers! It was dusty on the outside and inside it had the musty smell of a car that had not been opened for a long time. But that did not deter us ten year old musketeers from turning it into a playground. We had a lot of fun turning the steering wheel, bouncing on the cushions, sliding on the trunk and hood, leaping onto the running board (cars still had running boards at that time just like in the old gangster movies) and generally having the time of our young lives.

 Then, from the inside of the garage, it was out to the driveway and back to the majestic stairs. I don’t remember where bathrooms were located. Maybe during those wondrous years we never used them!

Years later, when I was in college, Uncle Andres brought my mom and I back to see an apartment complex which he had put up at an adjoining lot. I was eager to revisit the scenes of my childhood but alas! Something happened during the intervening years. My castle had shrunk down to an almost ordinary structure. The stairway to heaven was only a little over a dozen steps. The balcony was just a little more than a landing. Forever had been replaced by rooftops and the grandiose halls were no more than ordinary living rooms and dining rooms. The Packard was long gone.

 And so what I saw with my child’s eyes was much different from what I saw as a grown up. But in my heart of hearts, I much preferred what I remembered as “Angelo in Wonderland”.

By AHM.

HOMECOMING  -  Daddy comes home

 My Uncle Mario answered the insistent knocking at the door. Then I heard exclamations of surprise and then laughter as Uncle Mario called up to my mom from the stairwell “It’s Biloy!”

 Mom jumped up from the dining room table and practically flew down the stairs. There was much laughter and sounds of joy and soon the three of them appeared at the top of the stairs. Uncle Mario and Mom were leading a third man by the arm into the living room. He was a short but handsome man, slightly taller than Mom. He wore a hat jauntily on his head.  He was carrying two valises, one on each hand. My grandmother was soon welcoming him with open arms while my sister and I looked on not knowing what to do until Mommy called us to come near saying “Here is your dad!” Only then did he kneel down to take us in his arms. And that was how I first met my father!

He then opened one of the valises and out came our gifts. I remember most – the caramelized pili nuts which I really enjoyed. To this day I still look for them at supermarkets much like I do SPAM! Childhood treats like food and music really last as favorites throughout life to be brought to the fore by subliminal stimuli!

 ***************************************************************************************************

War games in the late 1940s

Only rubber sling shots were used during these “war games”. There were no bludgeons or chains or any lethal weapons. I remember starting out with a rubber band between my thumb and forefinger until one of the older boys gave me a sling shot fashioned from the branch of a santol tree.

 There were certain rules of combat. Only paper wads could be used with the sling shots. Steel or wire staples were prohibited as they were considered dangerous. The best slingshot wad that could be used was made from cigarette wrapper. Its silvery sheen and stiffer consistency made a reddened mark on the skin which lasted for several days and the sharper sting which came when one was hit made it a much desired missile. The welts inflicted by those “silver bullets” were considered a mark of valor and honor!

Looking back now, though I only went through it for a year, I realize that it was just some sort of “growing up” competition. There were no basketball courts or soccer fields around where one could enjoy participating in sporting events as we know them now. Rules were established and followed dutifully so no one would really get seriously hurt. And there were no signs of hatred or viciousness as would become common in later gang wars and even collegiate sporting events. There were no drugs to get high on during those carefree days of my boyhood.

Later, a classmate in medical school claimed he came from the Solis gang and participated in those slingshot war games. We always had fun reminiscing about those days and wondered whether our silver missiles ever hit one another.

By AHM.

A Wounded Soldier

I don’t know who brought him to the house. I was 2 or 3 years old then. It might have been Uncle Fred or Uncle Andres. Who else would know where our house was? But one evening there was a knock on the door and men in dirty khaki uniforms came in carrying a wounded comrade with them. The wounded soldier’s uniform was caked in blood and he was grimacing in pain. My mother directed them to the bathtub so they could clean him up and fix whatever was wrong with him. He had a mangled right upper arm with a whitish object sticking out from his wound that looked like a broom handle. I remember Mom pouring water over the wound and cleaning it with soap and water. Uncle Mario then took hold of the arm and straightened it until the “broomstick” disappeared amidst piercing cries of pain from the man. A dressing of towels and strips of cloth were tied around the arm together with a piece of wood which was the length of the soldier’s arm. The soldier stayed with us for 2-3 days. He lay in the bathtub where he was fed and his wound regularly cleaned with boiled guava leaves from the garden. Mom, Grandma Oleng, Uncle  Mario and Uncle Deo took care of this soldier. After a few days, his comrades returned to retrieve him. We never saw him again. I’ve always wondered if he recovered from the Hizon ministrations.

That was my first glimpse of blood, gore, and patient care, not knowing that I was to make a career of it in my later adult life.

****************************************************************************************************

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow: From Home to Ashes

The youngish Japanese soldier burst through our door shouting at us. He told my mom and grandmother to vacate our house within the hour because the Americans were approaching and he and his fellow soldiers were ordered to burn all the houses down.

All things that we could carry were brought down from our house and we rapidly stored them in the basement cellar of an empty stone house across the street. My uncle did the brunt of the work. Mom proceeded to dig fairly deep holes in the garden where she buried plastic bags. A closer look showed that they were coins. Coins she had hoarded and hidden all through the Japanese occupation.

As soon as we finished carrying what we could (mostly clothing, beddings, mosquito nets, books, Mom’s important papers, firewood, a portable clay stove and whatever was edible from the kitchen) into the cellar, we settled down quietly and watched the unfolding events from high rectangular windows with iron grills (street level). We could see our house from the cellar. Soon the Japanese soldiers came, feverishly dousing houses with liquid from big cans (must have been gasoline) and then lighting them up. Fortunately the empty house we had moved into was made of stone (I guess my uncle’s foresight) and would not burn. The Japanese were in such a hurry that they just left it unburned as they retreated. Luckily they did not pour anything through the cellar window. Perhaps they never even noticed it. My mother and grandmother were praying the rosary. I still did not understand what had happened!

In a blink of an eye, our home had disappeared with nothing left in its place but glowing embers, cinders, ashes and a lot of smoke. Mom and Grandma just stood by the cellar window watching, tears in their eyes, while Uncle Mario sat slumped in one corner.

****************************************************************************************************

LIBERATION: The Long Road to Gagalangin, Tondo

Uncle Mario slipped my arms into the makeshift straps of a knapsack-like bundle, he had made from a blanket and which contained a banana woven mat, a pillow and other items which he thought I could carry with little difficulty. The bundle extended from my shoulders, down my back, and securely tied to my waist. I nearly toppled over when he hitched me to it. So he had to remove some of the other things he had placed in the bundle like books and some canned goods until I could walk straight.

Thus started our long trek from Pennsylvania (as Leon Guinto was known then) in Ermita to Gagalangin in Tondo. I don’t know how long it took us to get there; I cannot recall if we got a ride or stopped somewhere along the way for the night. All I remember is how the straps would bite into my shoulders and armpits, and had to be loosened or released every so often to prevent the skin from breaking. 

What I distinctly recall was crossing a pontoon bridge over the Pasig river at Nagtahan. It had been put up by the Americans so they could advance across the river. It was about 5 feet wide and swayed precariously from side to side as people walked across it holding on to the thick wire strands on either side which served as a barrier to prevent you from falling. Something, midway along that span, had stopped traffic and people were walking more slowly as they stopped to carefully step over whatever it was that was blocking their path. As I got closer, I realized that it was a Japanese soldier, in uniform, sleeping on the bridge. He was laying face-up with mouth open and some flies flying over him. Uncle Mario tried to lift me up over the sleeping soldier but the size of the bundle on my back plus I guess our collective weight made it too difficult and prevented him from doing so. I had no other recourse but to step on the soldier’s tummy to get to the other side. Funny, but I don’t remember being scared at that time. I just wondered why the soldier did not get up and just allowed me to step on his tummy without even waking up. That was my first close encounter with death.

By AHM. 

Recently seeing my small grandchildren (all girls) brought back memories when my own 3 older children were invited (so many years ago) by Mother Angelina Fernando, the RVM Superior of St. Michael’s College, to be among the angels who were tasked to shower with flower petals the meeting between the Resurrected Jesus and the sorrowful Mother Mary during the traditional Dawn Welcome on Easter Sunday.

Mother Angel even prepared the white gowns and wings for the girls. All three were still in their primary grades at St. Michael’s. They looked positively angelic in their apparel, toting their baskets of bougainvillea and hibiscus petals which we had gathered from the De La Salle Academy fence near our home.

The Welcome was at 5:30 a.m. so we were promptly in place near the cathedral by 5:00 a.m. There was an arch which spanned the street and at either side of the arch were two makeshift wooden balconies where the angels were to stand and shower the statues of Jesus and Mary with petals as they approached on their carosas (carriages). Every thing was all set. The angels were in place. The procession started and as the two carosas met, the angels showered them with petals. Then, what could have been a disaster nearly happened.

As the angels were showering the petals on Jesus and Mary, people were jumping up trying to catch the petals. Pretty soon some of them were clambering up the scaffolding support of the balcony to get closer to the petals. Some started to grab them from the hands of the angels before they could even release them. Soon the balcony was creaking and starting to sway.

The angels started to cry. I climbed up the back stairs of the balcony to get my children. Other parents followed suit. I grabbed my three angels telling them to throw their baskets into the mob which they did. Soon we were down the steps and onto the ground. The people, likewise, climbed down from the scaffolding when they realized that there were no more flowers to get and the angels had all flown away. Mother Angel was profuse with apologies to the parents and children saying that this had never happened before.

The children were perplexed as we rode home, puzzled as to what had happened. I explained to them that people wanted the flowers for medicinal and healing purposes. I went on to tell them of an elderly healer, whom I had befriended from one of the villages where I spent some time with the poor. She collected various branches which had what she said were images of the Lord during Good Friday and the petals thrown by the angels during the Easter Sunday Welcome procession. She would keep these petals in various bottles soaking in oil and would use it for her patient’s varied ailments and replenish them during the next Holy Week.

The children objected and said “If they wanted all those flowers for healing ailments, why couldn’t they just go to La Salle where there were lots of them?” I had no answer to this remark. I couldn’t explain about faith and the magical powers of little angels.

A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
  Life is but an empty dream!?
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
  And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!         
  And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
  Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
  Is our destined end or way;   
But to act, that each to-morrow
  Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
  And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating   
  Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
  In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
  Be a hero in the strife!   

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
  Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
  Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us   
  We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
  Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
  Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,   
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
  Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
  With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,   
  Learn to labor and to wait.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

How do you measure success? To laugh often, and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a redeemed social condition, or a job well done; to know even one other life has breathed because you lived this is to have succeeded.

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall.

Think of it – always.”

Mahatma Gandhi

When You are Old

 When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

****************************************************

 Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet,
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.