Pictures and Thoughts from a Break

During my last stay in Manila, a break I desperately needed, I took some photos of the area around the hotel I stayed in. Ever since childhood, I've always looked out the window whenever I needed to do some serious thinking. Somehow, the sight of all the life that goes on around me helps stimulate my mind. Although I'm going to present the photos I took, I'm not really going to talk much about the places shown on them. Instead, I'll write some of the thoughts and memories that came to mind as I cast my eyes on them.


The photo above shows the northern portion of Makati Avenue. This was the view from my hotel window. On the left is the Millenium Plaza Hotel. It looks spanking new but when the SO and I did some research about it on the internet, the hotel got some pretty bad reviews for customer service, safety, and in-house dining.

On the right side of the street, one will see a small white building with a maroonish-colored roofing and where the top three floors are all glass. That building houses the Great Eastern Hotel and the only reason I mention it here is that its first two floors also house the Aberdeen Court restaurant. This restaurant was a popular place for wedding receptions back in the 1970s. An aunt and a couple of cousins had their wedding receptions there at the time.

Back to the left side of Makati Avenue above, you probably won't see it but there's also a branch of the Barrio Fiesta restaurant where the SO and I had lunch one day. The kare-kare was still very good, exactly how I remembered it to be. We also enjoyed tall glasses of sago't gulaman.


Above photo shows the southern part of Makati Avenue. The SO used to work in one of the buildings shown, one where she got her start in the industry she's currently in. Yours truly used to work on Dela Rosa Street, right off of Makati Avenue. The building I used to work in is no longer around for it was demolished several years ago to make way for a high-rise condominium.

I absolutely love the area I stayed in. There was an abundance of 24-hour restaurants and fastfood places to pick from for a jet-lagged guy like me. So many changes have taken place in this town ever since I left years ago. No doubt that there will be more changes in the coming years for such is the way of Life.


I took the photo above to document, in my own small way, the passing of an old Makati landmark, the GilArmi Apartments. GilArmi was said to be one of the first serviced apartments and/or condotels (condominium-hotels) in Makati and in Asia. It was built in 1962 and was owned by the late Filipino millionaire businessman Virgilio Hilario and his wife, Armi Kuusela, who gained worldwide fame back in 1952 when as Miss Finland, she was crowned as the first Miss Universe.

Please accept my apologies but due to rather severe technical limitations, my camera wasn't able to zoom in enough to provide you with a much closer view of the building. It is the smallest building you will see in the middle of the picture, specifically the one immediately to the right of Rustan's, the one with a construction crane on it. You won't miss it while driving on Ayala Avenue because its demolition is in full swing. I believe that a high-rise hotel and condominium will soon rise on its site.


The photo above shows the stretch of Kalayaan ("Freedom") Avenue that lies west of Makati Avenue. Immediately to the left of Kalayaan Avenue, one will see the roofs of houses in an area that's part of the Bel-Air Subdivision. The vacant lots one sees to the right of the avenue mark the spots where the old International School of Manila used to stand. Kalayaan Avenue in Makati City ultimately leads one to the old Pasig Line in the neighboring Santa Ana district of Manila.

"Pasig Line" referred to a tram (tranvia) line that used to run on the entire stretch of what is now Kalayaan Avenue during the early part of the 20th century. The "Pasig Line" tranvia route began its operations in 1908 and commenced from Paco Station in Manila and ran all the way to Pasig. The destruction wrought by World War 2 permanently ended the line's operations. But as recently as the early 1990s, sections of that old tranvia line were still present on that stretch of Kalayaan Avenue that lies east of Makati Avenue and leading to what is now the Rockwell Center.

Going back to the picture above, a lot of the land around Kalayaan Avenue, specifically the sites of Bel-Air and the old International School of Manila (which opened its Makati campus in 1960) were developed in the latter part of the 1950s. Our family has had a presence in Makati since the 1930s back in the day when Makati was still part of Rizal Province. I was told by my uncles that prior to their development, a lot of the land surrounding Kalayaan Avenue consisted of wet fields of kangkong (water spinach) and rice fields.

It was a story related to me tinged with quite a bit of regret because some time during the late 1940s, way before the above land was to be developed into what is to become the Makati we all know today, some parties had approached my grandmother offering to sell some of the land for 10 centavos per square meter. My grandmother turned them down by remarking, "Ano ang gagawin ko sa kangkungan?" ("What am I going to do with a kangkong field?") Looking at the photo above, apparently a lot.

It was a lesson learned. For us, my grandmother's words have come to symbolize an opportunity lost and the need for foresight in planning out our lives. Thus, growing up, my father taught me to not only look at things the way they are, but to also consider the possibilities and opportunities that could arise out of them.


Above is one of the sights that greet me whenever I looked out my hotel window. Upon seeing it, I immediately thought to myself that here's another man's dream rudely interrupted. Except that I didn't realize until later how grand the dream was.

The property is now surrounded by GI sheets used as temporary fencing and on one of those sheets, hangs a sign that said "Eaton". Once I got back to the States, I did some research and found out that this was planned to be a 64-storey building and envisioned to be the tallest structure in Makati. 28 floors would have been allocated for a Holiday Inn Hotel and the rest would have been for office spaces, amenties, serviced apartments and residential suites.

I feel a certain sadness when I see projects such as this come to a standstill. Not only do I feel bad for the people who dreamt about it and planned for it but I also feel bad for the people who are desperately in need of jobs who could have found gainful employment in such a place. I hope for everyone's sake that the dream that fired this project up has not flamed out permanently.


Above is a shot of the northeastern view from my hotel. In the foreground it shows Makati City with the high-rise condos of Rockwell Center surrounded by homes. On the other side of the Pasig River is Mandaluyong City with its now impressive skyline. Took this photo mainly because my sister works in one of the buildings shown. The hills in the distance are the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountains. It is in one of those foothills where the school I spent my elementary and high school years is located.


This photo of the Touch of Hands Clinic & Spa was also another sight that greeted me whenever I looked out the window. Given its proximity to Makati and Kalayaan Avenues and to lively Burgos Street, this place must be doing very good business. A Korean restaurant on its ground floor called Gela caters to the Korean community in the area. Although smaller when compared to other Korean restaurants in its immediate vicinity, it also attracts a fair amount of customers judging from the number of cars I always saw parked in front of it whether day or night.

Tucked in one corner of this property is a Money Changer. There seems to be a lot more of them all over the metropolis these days. It's a good sign really because of the convenience such businesses provide. It allows one to exchange one's dollars to pesos in a legal, arms length transaction and a lot of them stay open 24 hours a day. This money changer was my favorite because I noticed that its rates were often better than the others in the area. Plus, it always advertised its conversion rate for the day through a sign it hangs prominently on its front window.


Finally, a shot of someone who left his bakeshop for a few days for some much needed R&R.

A Couple of Sentimental Favorites

It's a quiet Saturday evening where I am so I decided to enjoy the moment by listening to some favorite songs. My CD player has been quiet these past couple of months because thanks to a rather busy work schedule, I wasn't able to spend some time listening to any of my CDs. Anyway, with some free time on my hands finally, I decided to end the quiet streak to once again listen to some old favorites.

I've loved this Free Movement song from the very moment I first heard it played on DWRK 96.3.

It was the mid-eighties. I was in college and at the time, RK 96 (which was how DWRK 96.3 was known then) was the station I listened to whenever I needed my "oldies fix".

The radio station was still rather new at the time and during my first couple of years in college, the station broadcasted out of a building at the corner of Senator Gil J. Puyat Avenue (Buendia Avenue) and Bautista Street in Makati City. If my memory serves me right, the building's ground floor was occupied by a branch of the United Coconut Planters Bank. ("UCPB") The radio station set aside Wednesday of every week to play nothing but oldies songs all day. The folks at DWRK called this program "Oldies Wednesday". Or maybe it was "Sixties Wednesday"? Hahaha! I can't exactly remember now but anyway....

It was through RK 96's oldies Wednesday program that I was introduced to the song above. It's called "The Harder I Try (The Bluer I Get)" and was a tune that The Free Movement released back in December 1971. I love the song for the simplicity of its lyrics and the beauty of its music. Talk about true "easy listening". Too bad though that as a group, The Free Movement didn't last long for the group had ceased to exist by 1973.

Anyway, let me just share with you the lyrics of this little musical gem a great vocal group gave us from the distant past:

At night I find that I can't sleep
All day long I walk the streets
My heart is filled with misery and pain
Tears fill my eyes when I speak your name

The harder I try,
The bluer I get;
Lord knows that I
I haven't gotten over losing you.

I can't get over losing you...
I can't get over losing you...

I'm so lonely I've lost my pride
And I've got tears that I can't hide;
Every day I'm so sad and blue
Without your love, what would I do?

The harder I try
(The harder I try)
The bluer I get
(The bluer I get)
Lord knows that I
I haven't gotten over losing you.

Last night I held someone new
But when I kissed her lips I was seeing you
A kiss like this has no meaning you see
And life without you has no future for me

Oh, the harder I try
(The harder I try)
The bluer I get
(The bluer I get)
Lord knows that I
I haven't gotten over losing you.

I can't get over losing you...
(Losing you...)
I can't get over losing you...
(Losing you...)
I can't get over losing you...
(Losing you...)

As for the radio station DWRK 96.3, I was a junior in college when it moved from its humble digs in Buendia to its new and current location at the FEMS Tower 1 Building on Zobel-Roxas Street. I still make it a point to listen to the station whenever I'm in Manila. The building that used to house the station at the corner of Buendia Avenue and Bautista Street is still there. A UCPB branch still occupies its ground floor. Like the song above, this station has remained a sentimental favorite of mine because I remain grateful for the countless songs it introduced to me many years ago, songs I still love listening to to this day.

Lost Them..... For Now

I don't know how many people find themselves in a similar predicament but what has long been a source of personal frustration for me is the fact that I do not know enough of my family's history and heritage. And by this, I'm not just referring to one side of the family. I'm referring to BOTH my father and mother's respective sides of the family. I find it quite pathetic not because I didn't care enough to find out but it is mainly due to the very limited information available from close relatives.

Let me start with my mother's side of the family. My mother does not know where both my grandfather's parents are buried. My maternal grandfather, an only child, was born in 1897 and died in 1983. Both his parents had passed away by the time he was in his early 20s in 1920.

Being the seventh of eight children and having been born in the latter part of the 1930s, I can understand and even forgive my mother for this lapse. However, the situation becomes quite absurd when one learns that none of her older siblings also know where their grandparents are exactly buried. All I was told years ago was that the poor, almost forgotten couple were buried in a cemetery somewhere in Malolos, Bulacan.

However, when I asked my mom the very same question just this past week, she said that there isn't even a degree of certainty that my maternal greatgrandparents' remains even lie in a Malolos cemetery. All she now knows is that they were buried somewhere in Bulacan. Oh great. Just effing great. Now, all of Bulacan's cemeteries just became search candidates. If I had to start my search at this very moment, I would have to first come up with a master list of all Bulacan cemeteries that have been around for at least a hundred years and are still used today. God knows how many such cemeteries are out there. And worse, there's also the possibility that the cemetery those poor folks were buried in nine decades ago may no longer be a cemetery today. For all I know, on the cemetery's old site could now stand any of the following: a children's playground, a subdivision, a tiangge (flea market) or worse, perhaps a row of uber-trendy restaurants. I certainly hope that that's not the case.

At least I know my greatgrandfather's full name if in case I have to search through some birth and death records. Researching about my greatgrandmother would be more of a challenge. Although I know her first name, neither my mom nor any of her siblings know what her maiden name was. I guess I could attempt to find a marriage license somewhere that has both my greatgrandfather's full name and my greatgrandmother's first name on it.

On my father's side of the family, things are only slightly better. In contrast to my mother's side, both my greatgrandparents' names, their birth and death dates are well documented since they're both buried in the family plot at Manila's North Cemetery. However, even though I was told that my greatgrandfather was part of a rather large brood, I do not have any information as to the names of any of his siblings. Neither does my father nor any his surviving siblings.

I also know next to nothing about my dear greatgrandmother. I do not have any information as to who her parents and her siblings (if any) were, and where exactly in Manila she grew up. At least I know her maiden name and that would be a start. She was quite entrepreneurial according to my father. She was the brains behind a successful family business that operated in both Manila and Makati City back in the 1930s. She passed away from old age when I was four years old.

As for my greatgrandfather's heritage, I have mixed information. Looking at old family photographs from the early 1930s, my greatgrandfather had very strong Chinese features. From the photographs I saw, he possessed a rather fair complexion and Chinese eyes. I was also told that my greatgrandfather's father had worked as a cook somewhere in Binondo during the 19th Century. My father and relatives say that we are of mixed Chinese and Filipino heritage. That's probably right because it's quite common in the Philippines.

But again, nobody knows where my great greatgrandfather lies buried. I don't even know the name of his wife, my great greatgrandmother. No one in the family knows what her name was. I have no real information on any of my greatgrandfather's siblings either. My father has second cousins but I didn't find out who and how many they were until I visited Manila last year. What makes matters worse was that in all the many years I lived and grew in my hometown, I never knew (and my father never bothered to tell his children) that those folks had been living in a neighboring district all that time!

As for the origins of our family name, the answer I got was that the name was/is quite common in Batangas. In particular, our ancestors were supposed to have migrated to Manila from Batangas, Batangas. How nice and yet how generic. But here again, growing up, none of my cousins and I were ever introduced to any Batangueno relative. None of us were even taken to Batangas on a single sentimental trip to see an ancestral home. The only memories I have of Batangas were of family excursions to beach resorts in the summer. But no memories at all of any single trip that was taken for the sole purpose of meeting up with a Batangas-based relative.

Seriously, I have my doubts about our family's Batangueno roots. And the reason I say this is based on our family's collective command of the Tagalog dialect. Whenever we speak to each other, we hardly use deep or profound Tagalog words. Our vocabulary is pretty much limited to common or everyday Tagalog words. The deeper Tagalog words we learned along the way often came from school and from people who married into the family.

If still possible, I also want to find out what our original Chinese name was. This is due to the fact that our Chinese features are so strong that people often mistake quite a number of my cousins and I for Chinese rather than Filipino. When I was in Hongkong earlier this year, a lot of locals came up to me and spoke to me in Chinese. It may be close to impossible at this point but I still hope to set the record straight someday.

Given all this family history mess, I definitely have my work cut out for me. I plan to spend a good deal of time in Manila someday to work on sorting these things out. I hope I will still be healthy enough if and when that time comes. I want to know more about my family's past. I'm not very happy with the very limited information I have right now. I feel bad for my long deceased relatives whose names are almost lost to history. I feel bad that as a family, we haven't done a very good job of remembering the people who came before us.

I believe we owe it to our ancestors to keep memories of them alive. I also believe that we owe it to future generations of our family that they get a sense of where they came from and who they are. I fervently hope that records still exist in some government or municipal office somewhere that would provide me with leads or clues as to who they were, where they lived, and aside from us, who their other descendants are.

I'm still not certain as to what I'll do when the day comes and I finally have all the information I've long sought for in front of me. All I can say right now is I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Discovering Me

I want to live, I want to give;
I've been a miner for a heart of gold.
It's these expressions I never give
That keep me searching for a heart of gold
And I'm getting old.

I guess everyone goes through a phase where a person starts to depart a bit from the person his parents want him to become to that of the type of individual he thinks he ultimately wants to be.

I wasn't introspective at all during my childhood and early teen years. My needs were simple and shallow: I wanted to have fun but at the same time, I wanted to stay out of trouble, especially with my parents. Having fun was easy because I was an easy-going and gregarious kid. I stayed out of trouble with my folks by observing the appropriate conduct when in the presence of other people (except in the classroom), by doing my fair share of the housework (we stopped having maids when I was eight), and by trying my best to earn good grades at school.

Although I passed all my subjects in school, I must admit I passed a few of them without really internalizing or understanding them. I thoroughly studied the subjects I loved but for those that I didn't, I used fear of my father's wrath to motivate myself to study and pass them.

I made a lot of "friends" in school without really giving much thought as to why I even considered many of them as such. I ended friendships either through heated arguments or through fights and didn't think much afterwards as to why those friendships ended. I disliked and viewed some of my teachers with utmost contempt and yet at the same time, I wasn't certain as to why. At home, I did and accepted as truth a lot of things my folks told me.

But my education and all the experiences I had up to that point were all catching up to me. After all the studying and living, I was starting to learn. I started to develop my own views and I started to question long-held beliefs especially in matters of faith, culture and tradition. I started to develop my own interests and views but yet lacked the confidence to voice them to my parents out of fear. In countless talks over the dinner table, I realized that although my parents worked hard to send their children to schools they believed would provide quality education, they were not exactly prepared to hear statements or assertions that went against their own beliefs and biases. Thus, ever the diplomat, I largely kept my views to myself. For the sake of maintaining harmony at home, I felt I had to maintain a semblance of conformity.

But outside the home, things were different. I became a lot more selective with my friendships. Although I continued to outwardly maintain a friendly demeanor, I became more guarded within. I distanced myself from people I deemed were mere users. I shunned people who felt the world revolved around them. Whereas before, I used to hang out with almost anyone in my class, I now started limiting myself to just four or five really close friends. Whereas before, I had accepted the majority's view as truth, I now started thinking on my own. I became more vocal with my friends about the hypocrisy I saw around me.

The process of self-discovery undeniably brought with it a fair amount of loneliness. Everything comes at a price I learned. My struggle and effort to become my own person brought with it a lot of arguments and misunderstanding both within the home and outside of it. I love my parents a lot but there are things in this world where they and I will never agree on. With other people, the process was a bit easier in a way because all it took was to cut off all contact with people I no longer trust or agree with. With the friends I have left at this point, they will probably remain my friends to my dying day. The relationship I have with them is such that they're never afraid to tell me things I may not want to hear and vice versa.

But outside of books and friends, music became a refuge for me. It was through music where I found strength and validation. One of the songs I listened to a lot during this time was Heart of Gold, a 1972 hit by Neil Young. This song had been around for many years when I first heard it as a sophomore in high school. The opening guitar and harmonica riffs conveyed the sense of loneliness one felt while in search of a true friend or a true love. I listened to this song a lot during those days when I needed gentle, caring souls to understand me. This song remains one of my favorites to this day.

Heart of Gold was a single cut from Mr. Young's 1972 album, Harvest. Let me just share with you below Mr. Young's beautiful live performance of this song from the early 1970s. Enjoy.

Dear Friends Long Gone

I'm publishing the following photo with the permission of my friend CL. It's a photo of his dog, Hobie. Hobie is a dachshund and is about a year old.


My friend e-mailed me this photo yesterday and upon seeing it, it immediately reminded me of the first dog my sister and I had. He was of the same breed and was of the same color. We named him Douglas after a dog my mother had when she was still in her teens.

My maternal grandfather was an avid dog lover. My mom said that as far back as she could remember, they always had dogs at home. After Douglas, my sister and I ended up having two other dogs. A German Shepherd came next whom we named Jackie, again named after one of the dogs my mom had back in the 1950s. The last one was Snoopy and not because he was a beagle like that popular comics character but because of his black and white color.

We loved the dogs we had very much. They were well fed and were always kept clean. We never tied or chained them. We always let them roam the yard freely for my sister and I couldn't stand hearing them cry during those rare moments when they had to be chained.

But as dog owners, we were not the sophisticated type. Except for the required anti-rabies shots that were administered by the municipality we lived in, they were not taken to any veterinarian for regular checkups. We fed them well and cared for them well but such loving care was given in the best way we knew how, which looking back now, probably would not have met the standards of a sophisticated pet lover.

To a dog, all three didn't live long. We lost Douglas after a year and two months. He ran out of the yard and onto the street one day while my sister and I were both in school. He was accidentally run over by a passenger bus that plied the streets of our subdivision. A neighbor saw his body on the street and was kind enough to bring him back to our mother. My sister and I were devastated once we got home to find that our dear pet was gone. It was the first time I realized that losing a dear pet was pretty much like a death in the family. My little sister ended up crying for days.

We had Jackie the longest at two years. She pretty much met the same fate as Douglas for she was run over by a school bus this time. Unfortunately, it was the school bus I was on. It ran over her moments after the bus had picked me up to take me to school. I didn't see it happen but I heard her cry as the bus drove away. I knew then that sad news would await me once I got home that afternoon. I wasn't wrong because she was indeed dead by the time I got home. Again, it was another heartbreak we had to endure for another pet we lost too damn soon.

As for Snoopy, we found him dead in our yard one afternoon. To this day, we don't know what caused his death. We suspect that he must have choked on something he tried to eat. Whatever that thing was, we do not know because we took great care of putting away things or liquids that our pets might try chewing on. His death was the last straw.

It's been many years since my sister and I last had a dog. I look back at those years with fondness but also with sadness. I envy people who enjoy many years of fun and love with their dogs. There are still days when I wish I had a dog, a buddy to accompany me whenever I go on my long walks. But memories of the pain of losing such a dear friend prevent me from taking on another one. Plus, at this point in my life, I don't think I have the time and energy to give the dog the proper amount of caring and loving it deserves. I haven't lost my fondness for them but then, I guess I will just have to be content admiring them from a distance.

Photo: CL (Dallas, Texas)

A Final Goodbye

I found a stack of papers lying on the desk one afternoon. I picked up a pencil and proceeded to draw cars and human stick figures on them. I drew and drew and had a lot of fun. But then, those papers turned out to be your students' examination papers that you took home to grade. Instead of getting angry, you laughed the whole thing off and simply explained to your students the next day what had happened and that your nephew did it. I was three years old then.

Dad and Mom took me to Manila's South Harbor one clear August night to say goodbye and to wish you well. They told me that you were going to attend some school in Hawaii on something called a "scholarship" from your old university. You boarded a huge boat called the SS President Wilson. It was the biggest boat I had ever seen then. I was five years old.

It wasn't until years later in December 1976 when I saw you again. It was your first trip home after years of study and it was the happiest Christmas reunion the clan had in years. Although, I didn't get to talk to you much, I remembered that you expressed surprise upon seeing me because I was no longer the chubby boy you last saw when you left the country years earlier. We were all happy to see you and we were all fascinated with the stories you shared about life in America.

Not long after you flew back to the States, I learned from Dad that you had become a professor at a certain school in Philadelphia called Wharton. It was the first time I heard of the school and all I knew about it then was based on what Dad told me. He told me that it was one of those schools that bright students attended. He was very proud of your achievement. So proud that Dad again reminded me that my cousins and I should try our best to do well in school so that someday we would have our own achievements to be proud of. I was 11.

A couple of years later, word reached the family that you garnered the Outstanding Professor award at Wharton. What made the award so special was that aside from making us all proud, not only were you the first Filipino to win it, but it was also the first time that the award was given to an Asian. You made us prouder still when you won the same award again two years later.

With your smarts, you could have easily made a lot of money working in private industry or in government. But you refused. You considered yourself a teacher, nothing less and nothing more. Teaching was your passion. Even if the other jobs would have meant a lot more money and personal fame, you steadfastly refused to consider them. You stuck to what you loved doing. In doing so, you showed us that although money was important, it wasn't everything. You taught us to place a higher premium on doing what we loved doing. I was 13.

It was also around this time when I noticed your generous and caring side. Your eldest sister, Tita M, was raising four kids on her own. Although you didn't make a lot of money as a professor, you shared part of your earnings to support her and her kids' education. Dad and his other siblings also did their part to support her with whatever resources they had to make sure that she and her children were properly cared for. It was a model of true family solidarity, one that my cousins and I still remember and respect to this day.

You came home for a brief visit when I was 15. I was in my teens and you had apparently heard of some mischief Cousin G and I engaged in at the time for upon seeing me, you slapped me in the arm and said "Walanghiya ka! Panay ang panood mo ng bomba!" ("Shame on you. You've been watching too much porn!") You laughed afterwards and knew that I was just being a teenager.

However, I still remember the day you informed Dad that you were diagnosed with diabetes mellitus. Your voice over the phone sounded apprehensive. We were all worried too because diabetes was the scourge of the family. At that particular point, no male member of the family who suffered from diabetes had lived past 65 years. Although we were all worried, we were optimistic that with the proper medical treatment, you would still end up fine. I was 17.

In college, I majored in the same field as you and Dad. Upon graduation, I was hired by the professional firm that you yourself almost joined two decades earlier. From the US you called to congratulate me. You even addressed me by the nickname you gave me when I was still a toddler. Through the use of that nickname, you expressed pride not only in your little nephew's achievement but also with the realization that he was now a young man. I was 21.

Your love for your nephews and nieces knew no bounds. The following year, you expressed joy and pride upon learning that I was coming to the US for an 18-month long assignment. Within a few weeks after my arrival, you invited me to see you and our relatives in New York. You proved to be a very good tour guide for you showed me the sights around Manhattan. The tour was also memorable for the "long walk" you and I took where we started from Battery Park in downtown Manhattan, made our way through the Wall Street financial district and New York's Chinatown, and trekked all the way up to Penn Station in Midtown Manhattan, a distance of at least 60 city blocks.

You visited me a couple of times afterwards and helped me shop for things I needed. You even helped me clean and fix my apartment up. You even stayed up way past midnight one time to make sure that the whole place was neat and tidy. I was 22.

This was a time when I began to really know you a lot more. You loved to talk and joke around. You were the life of every party. As a sign of affection, you loved giving everyone a funny nickname and these nicknames were often bastardized versions of people's real names. Matthew became "Matias", Nicholas became "Kulas", and Toby became "Tobias".

Sometimes the nicknames were based on how people looked or worse, the opposite of it. You called a friend who sported a mustache "Max Alvarado" after a Filipino actor who always played the role of a villain in Filipino movies back in the 1960s. You called a friend with a number of deep pimple scars on his face "Mr. Pogi" (Mr. Handsome). A lady friend named Bel became "Bella Flores" after a Filipino actress/villainess also from the 1960s.

But you were indeed intellectually sharp. I enjoyed our talks about academic stuff and I learned a lot from you then and in the years that followed.

You also were a great friend to many of your former students. Even when many of them became successful in business, not once did you approach them to ask for personal favors. You never used those friendships for personal gain even when a nephew or niece badly needed work. You wanted us to believe in ourselves and in our capabilities. You wanted us to make it on our own steam. It was a valuable lesson in character development for it helped us develop both self-confidence and independence.

However, although you still had a lot of energy, I sadly noticed signs that the effects of diabetes mellitus were starting to take their toll on your body. By then, you had quit teaching and had to settle for a desk job with the government. Your kidneys were starting to fail to the extent that you no longer had the energy required to conduct lectures on your feet for long periods of time. I also noticed that the skin on your feet were quite dry. There were deep scratches that would have made a healthy person wince in pain but you obviously were numb to them. I realized then that you weren't getting the appropriate medical treatment.

In the years that followed and through the 1990s, although you still tried to put up a brave front, there were more signs of physical weakening. You got tired easily and you began showing signs of congestive heart failure. You always felt cold and needed a sweater on you even in the heat of summer. Problems with blood circulation limited movement on your arms and legs.

You showed some renewed energy and signs of improvement after the doctors performed a quadruple bypass surgery along with a removal of your kidneys back in 2000. You were forced to quit your job not long afterwards. In spite of the fact that you now had to go through regular dialysis treatments, your spirits improved and you regained some of the weight and appetite you had lost. However, we all knew you were living on borrowed time.

Problems with blood circulation reappeared within a year after your surgery. It manifested itself through the dark spots we started seeing on your feet and lower legs. A few years later, you had a series of mild heart attacks. It seemed that some of the problems were coming back.

You asked me one day to see you in Philadelphia. It was a rather sad day because when we met, you started leaving instructions on what to do in the event of your passing. You spoke to me of your desire to be cremated and for your ashes to be brought back to our hometown in the Philippines for internment.

You left the East Coast a couple of years later to move to the Western part of the country, closer to the Pacific and closer to home. Although we talked on the phone for several more times since then, I didn't realize that that would be the last time I'll see you alive.

Two Sundays ago, July 13, I drove down to Alexandria, Virginia for a one-week assignment. Aside from Philadelphia, Alexandria was the other city you lived in and loved in the East Coast. As my car drove into town, a feeling of sadness suddenly came over me. I couldn't explain it. As soon as I got into my hotel room, I immediately called loved ones to check if they were alright. They were. I tried to rationalize the cause of such sadness by thinking that maybe I was in Alexandria for the first time without any close relative nearby. The sad part about the whole thing was that it never occurred to me to give you a call to ask how you where.

It was in the evening of the following day, July 14, when I finally found out. While having dinner with a co-worker, I got a call from your youngest sister, Auntie E. She had just gotten a call from the police who informed her that you had died. People at the dialysis center you went to had called the police when you failed to show up for your scheduled treatment earlier that day. The coroner said you suffered a fatal heart attack and died peacefully in your sleep. After all the years of suffering and pain, your heart finally gave up. You were 64.

You probably felt and knew the end was coming for close to the spot on the bed where they found your body, they also found a news clipping that dated back to 1961. The brief news item was about how your high school had awarded our dearest "Nanay" (my late grandmother) the "Mother of the Year" award because you graduated as the high school valedictorian.

Last Tuesday, July 22, we had your funeral and performed it according to your wishes. Auntie E will be flying you home for one last time this Wednesday, July 31. As you wished, you will be buried in the town we all love.

Thank you very much for everything that you've done for us, Dear Uncle. Although there may have been times when you and I had disagreed over the approach to take, never for a moment was there any doubt that we both meant well. You were an inspiration to your many nephews and nieces and I hope you will be proud of the fact that to a person, all of us obtained college degrees. Thanks to your help, Cousin G, one of Tita M's four kids whose education you supported, became the closest to you in terms of academic brilliance. Like you, he was a product of the public school system and graduated cum laude.

There were a lot of other things you did for all of us, too many to mention. Aside from the achievements, we will always remember you for your selflessness. Goodbye, Dearest Uncle. Rest well and in peace. We love you.

A Long and Winding Road

The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away,
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day;
Why leave me standing here,
Let me know the way.

Many times I've been alone,
And many times I've cried;
Any way you'll never know
The many ways I've tried.

I will be away for a while, folks. Some items on the personal side of life came up in the last few days. There are some matters I need to attend to and some pieces I need to pick up. You all take care for now.

"Damdamin"

If I'm going to write about my first Original Pilipino Music (OPM) blog entry, then let it be about a song performed by the great Rico J. Puno, the "Total Entertainer" himself.

Rico J. Puno's songs dominated the airwaves during the 1970s and this particular song was no exception. This song, "Damdamin" ("Feelings"), penned by Joseph Abando and Baby A. Gil, was a single from the "Tatak Rico J" album and became a hit for Rico Puno in 1978.

The song was typical of many of Rico's songs for its words struck a chord with many of the song's listeners. This particular song spoke of unrequited love, a love that never came to be because both parties denied what they truly felt for each other. I'm writing about it because I count it as one of my personal favorites.

This is how the song went and below it, I'm also including its lyrics for your reference:

Kahit ako'y 'di mo ngayon pinapansin,
Nakatanaw man sa iba ang paningin;
Kailan ma'y huwag akalain na aking daramdamin
Ang pag-ibig ko ay nililihim ko rin.

Kahit tuwina'y aking napapangarap ka,
At alam kong gayon ka rin sa 'kin sinta;
Kailan ma'y 'di sasabihin na minamahal din kita
'Pagkat lihim din ang damdamin ko.

At kung tayo'y 'di na muli pang magkita,
Kapwa tayo malulungkot na dalawa;
At duo'y sisihin damdaming sinungaling
Na 'di nagsabing mahal din kita.

At duo'y sisihin damdaming sinungaling
Na 'di nagsabing mahal din kita.

On a personal level, although I liked the song when it first came out, I was way too young to appreciate its message. The words didn't really leave an impression until years later when I myself had to deal with the pain of a lost love. However, unlike the song, it wasn't an unrequited love for this girl M and I were an item for a little over a year.

We both knew from the very beginning that it was a love that was bound to end sooner or later because by going out with me, she had defied her family's wishes. M came from a traditional Chinese family and in many of those families, falling for a non-Chinese person was not looked upon with approval. As for me, although my family wasn't as conservative as hers, my mom was also a product of her time and had some anti-Chinese attitudes as well. I had no such problem with my father. None of our parents knew about us. But even then, when the end eventually came, it still hurt.

M's married now and to a gentleman her parents obviously approved of. When I flew home to Manila last year to attend to some family matters, my college classmates hosted a mini-reunion in my honor. I saw her at the event and was surprised to learn that she was the one who organized it. I also found out later from my parents that she had tried to reach me at home while I was out. Of course, my parents were clueless about who she really was.

Although the feelings for her have long gone, the memories remain. And whenever I hear this song played, memories undiminished by the years bring her back. I have moved on with my life and I'm pretty happy where I am at. All I can do is to wish her well with hers and hope that she's happy too. Farewell, M.

Rocky Mountain High

The song featured in this post was originally written as a tribute to a place of great natural wonder in Aspen, Colorado. "Rocky Mountain High" was performed by John Denver and it's a song which he co-wrote with Mike Taylor. The song was released and became a Top 10 Hit back in 1973. I remember as a kid, that I had enjoyed listening to this song even though the words didn't really make much sense to me at the time.

It was years later when I "rediscovered" this song. Even though its words spoke of deep affection for mountains, for some reason I found strength and inspiration in them while in the midst of making a life-changing decision.

Aside from economic reasons, I needed a profound change in my life and a defining one at that. From a professional standpoint, I felt there were constraints that prevented me from delving into areas I had technical expertise in but could not practice in my country. On the personal side, I wanted to prove something to myself and I wanted to start anew in a place where nobody knew me, where my academic background, especially the college I came from, didn't matter much. In short, I wanted to see how far everything I've learned would take me.

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin' home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door

When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin' by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changin' fast and it don't last for long

It was at that age when I made the difficult decision to pull my stakes up and try my luck in the States. I gave myself six months to see if things would work out for me. I promised my parents that if the six months ended without my finding a job, that I would immediately head for home. I told them that they did not even have to remind me to come home. Should I fail to land a job, I promised them that I will board the first flight home on the exact day the six-month period would end. That was the deal.

I landed in the States in early December and stayed with an uncle while I looked for a job. But it was the Holiday season, not really a good time for jobhunting since a lot of people were in a holiday mood. Plus, most of the companies were busy with their yearend wrap-up activities. So I hunkered down and prepared for myself for the possibility that it may take me at least two or three months to land my first interview. But still, I looked through the classified ads of any newspaper I could get my hands on, even ones I saw that were left on a bus seat, at a supermarket, or on a park bench.

My uncle didn't have a computer at home and thus I ended up using his office computer on weekends. The internet was then at its infancy and thus, all job applications were mailed through the post office. My first job interview came a month later in January.

Although I was a little nervous prior to the interview, I felt that my work experience and skills satisfied all the ad's published requirements for the job. That first interview was followed by two more rounds of interviews with the same company. Within a week, I got offered and accepted a job with the first company I interviewed with. The rest, as they say, is personal history.

I will be one of the first to admit that I'm not the sharpest tack in the box. In fact, I could be quite dense at times. However, if there's anything I can share with people who are planning to try their luck overseas it is this: a very good work ethic will always be appreciated anywhere you go in the world. We may trip or fall from time to time but whenever we do, we should always try our best to pick ourselves up, brush the dust off, and keep going.

And the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high

Just a few notes on the video. It was from the Tonight Show in 1973, back in the day when the late Johnny Carson, Jay Leno's predecessor, hosted the show. John Denver's performance on the show was live and the video also shows Mr. Carson's interview of Mr. Denver afterwards where the latter talked about what inspired him to write the song.

The video shows a young John Denver. He projected innocence and a youthful naivete during the interview, still awed with his success and expressed pride that his parents were able to watch him perform at New York's famed Carnegie Hall. He went on to enjoy many years of success as a recording artist scoring hits such as "Sunshine On My Shoulders", "Take Me Home, Country Roads", and "Annie's Song". He even went to the Philippines for a series of concerts back in the early 1980s. Yours truly even saw him perform on the noontime program "Eat Bulaga".

Unfortunately, Messrs. Carson and Denver are no longer with us. John Denver died in a plane crash in California back in 1997 while Johnny Carson died from natural causes in 2005.

Of Terms of Endearment and Steamed Buns

As a sign of affection, we often hear couples use words like "Sweetheart", "Love", "Honey", "Baby", and "Darling" when they lovingly call out to each other. Among married couples, I've observed a lot of instances where the wife called the husband "Papa" or "Hubby" and where the husband addressed his wife as "Mama".

The above are some of the examples of the terms of endearment that couples and lovers use. Most of these terms, as you may very well have observed, have favorable associations with sweetness or the nature of the relationship.

But there are instances when some couples veer away from such conventions. They decide to use terms that are unique to them and their relationship. In a lot of ways, the term used is akin to an insiders' joke, something that only the two of them can relate to.

I know of this couple where the woman decided to focus on the man's facial cheeks as basis for coming up with her own term of endearment. You see, the guy's cheeks are of the "pinchably" chubby type. The reasons for it are not only weight-related but also genetic. Quite a number of his family members share the same physical "problem". Hehe

As a result, the woman has resorted to using the term "Siopao" (pronounced Shaw-pow) as her term of endearment for her dear boyfriend. Siopao, for the benefit of non-Filipino readers, is the Filipino version of the Chinese steamed bun. It is a popular food item in the Philippines for it does not require utensils to eat and can be consumed on-the-go. There are several stuffing varieties to the Siopao that use pork, chicken, beef, shrimp, eggs, and possibly chopped scallions and water chestnuts.

Anyway, whenever they're together, the woman pinches the guy's cheeks whenever she gets a chance. For some reason, she absolutely loves to see them turn red or rosy. With her thumb and index finger, she would often grab a rather sizeable portion of his cheek and pinch it. But whenever she pinches it, she doesn't do it for only one or two seconds. No. The pinch is not complete until she has done several rapid left-to-right-and-back movements that sort of create a ripple effect on the rest of the poor man's face. According to the him, the "torture" could last for a pretty good amount of time.

However, in spite of all the pain, he continues to care for her deeply and doesn't really seem to mind the term of endearment she picked for him. After all, substance should always matter over form, right? Plus, it was a term reserved for their private moments and thus should be ok, right?

Well, not quite. There were a couple of instances a couple of weeks ago when the woman kind of "forgot" where the couple were.

First instance was one weekday morning when the man decided to pick the woman up after work. He called her at work and they decided to meet at a Starbucks near her office. A few minutes before their scheduled rendezvous, the man arrived at the Starbucks and, after smiling to greet the security guard that stood nearby, took his place in one of the five or six tables that were set up right outside the coffee shop.

So there he sat whiling away the time and watching the passersby when a few moments later, and in a voice that was clearly heard by everyone around them, the woman came out of her office building and called out to him, "Halika na, Siopao!" ("Let's go, Siopao!")

Upon hearing that, the man quickly lowered his head, picked up his stuff, stood up and quickly walked away with the woman. He never bothered to look back to see how the security guard and the rest of the coffee shop's patrons reacted to his girlfriend's call for he was certain that they must have been all laughing at him upon hearing his bun-inspired nickname.

The second instance took place two days later in close quarters: aboard a jeepney. After having a nice breakfast at Chow King, the couple decided to go to Kopiroti to grab a few of the store's famed roti bread. Since the store wasn't too far from where they were, they decided to take a jeepney.

The woman hailed a jeepney and once one pulled to a stop, she and the man proceeded to board it. As they got in, they noticed that there were only two seats available and each were across from the other.

The woman boarded first and picked the seat on the left. As she was about to sit, she turned to her boyfriend and once again, in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone onboard, said, "Diyan ka na maupo, Siopao!" ("Take that seat right there, Siopao!") while pointing to the last empty seat across from her.

The man quickly took his seat and, in almost a repeat of what happened a couple of days earlier, spent most of the ride with his head bowed, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with any of the other passengers. In the moments that he did look up, he made sure not to direct his gaze at any of the other passengers who were probably either smiling or laughing at him now that they had become aware of his nickname. Luckily for him, the jeepney ride was a short one.

The morale of the story is simply this. Coming up with your own terms of endearment is fine. Depending on what they are, be mindful of where and how you use them so as not to put yourselves in an embarrassing situation.

(Definitions and photo source: Wikipedia)

I Was There

I'm proud to say that I was one of its regular customers when this place began back in the 1980s. :D The photo below was taken one weekday morning last week at GoodAh's Valero Street branch in Makati City.


I didn't realize until I saw the signage above that hung on one of the restaurant's walls (if not its only wall) that the company was marking its 25th year of existence this year. Boy, time surely does fly.

I remember that it was back in college when I became a regular GoodAh customer. It was born out of the desperate need for a very satisfying meal while on a tight budget. I was a student at the time and whatever money I had were those that I managed to save from the allowances I received from my father.

On a sentimental note, it was a favorite place to take girlfriends out to lunch or for a dinner date. As a student going out on dates, I also operated on a rather tight budget. All of the date money I had then were culled from my savings. Not once did I ever ask my parents for money to spend on dates. Aside from an independent streak, I was also careful not to let my conservative parents know that I was going out on dates. But if there's a will, there's certainly a way. I made sure that my romantic operations were conducted with utmost secrecy. :D Naks! Anyway....

The GoodAh restaurants back in the 1980s were not airconditioned as they are now. Dining was of the "al fresco" Filipino-style type. (Naks! That means dining out complete with the ever present langaw or "fly" hovering over one's plate. Hehehe) My favorite GoodAh locations were the ones on West Avenue and in Greenhills. My favorite dish was the Longsilog (with extra orders of both the fried egg and garlic rice) while my girlfriends often preferred the Tapsilog.

Romantic dinners by candle light at GoodAh became possible courtesy of MERALCO, NAPOCOR (National Power Corporation) and sometimes, even the New People's Army (NPA), whenever these folks decided to tinker with the Luzon Power Grid.

Looking back, I was glad that my girlfriends at the time were very understanding of my situation. Given that they were Chinese girls who came from rather well-to-do families, I appreciated the fact that even if eating at such a place must have been quite an adjustment for them, they remained very supportive and didn't mind that I took them to such a place. To a person, not once did I hear a complaint from them. To this day, I give them a lot of credit for that and I remain proud of them for the understanding they showed me. Plus, I give them a lot of credit for dating a less than average looking, middle class Filipino boy like me period. Hehe

Because of those dates, GoodAh brought back a lot of happy memories for me. And by having breakfast with the SO at its Valero Street branch last week, I simply added another event to my list of happy GoodAh-related memories.

Photo Credit: MQ

Not Good Enough (Yet) for TV

I drove home Friday from Maryland upon the conclusion of a two-week assignment there. Since our company's office in Maryland was about 190 miles (approximately 300 kilometers) from my place, which was between three to four hours' driving distance, I decided to just drive down instead of fly.

I had rented a car instead of bringing my own. And part of the rental agreement I had with the car rental company was that I was supposed to return the car with a full tank of gas. Failure to do so would surely invite additional charges to an already sizeable rental bill. After making some mental calculations based on my trip route, I noted that there was a rest area that was about 10 minutes away from the car rental facility. I could certainly stop by the rest area, have the car filled up, and drop the car off at the car rental facility without worrying about any additional charges

So that's what I did. I stopped by a gas station in one of those rest areas along the New Jersey Turnpike. The gas station had four fueling bays (or "islands" as we call them in the Philippines) with two fueling pumps each. I noticed that lines of cars, four cars deep on the average, were lined up on each bay. I picked a particular bay and promptly fell in line to wait for my turn.

After a few minutes, I had noticed that the lines on the other bays seemed to be moving a bit faster than the line I was on. At first, I couldn't figure out why that was so when most of the cars in line ahead of me were either compacts or medium-sized cars. So I rolled down my windows and popped my head out of the car just to get an idea of what was going on.

Well, what I saw was a lady with a microphone interviewing the driver of the car that was about two cars ahead of me. Right next to her stood a TV cameraman who had one of those rather long and heavy tv cameras on his shoulder and was busy filming the entire interview. My initial reaction was "Oh man, not now." I was tired and in a rush to get home for I had been on the road for more than three hours at that point. I quickly checked my rearview mirror to see if I could still back my car out to get to the other bays. Too late. There were already at least two cars behind me. Thus, I had no choice but to stay put and keep waiting.

The "interview" and refueling eventually ended after what seemed like an eternity. The car in front of me then pulled up to the first available pump while I pulled up to the second one. But then, guess what? As soon as I asked the gasoline attendant to fill up the car, I saw the lady reporter and the TV cameraman quickly come up towards me.

The lady reporter quickly introduced herself and said that she was a reporter for CBS News. She said that they were doing a piece on the rising gas prices in the country for broadcast that evening. She asked me if I would mind if she ask a few questions about the state of the country's fuel situation. Since she was nice enough, I agreed to be interviewed. However, in a flash, some thoughts quickly zipped through my mind. "Are we already on the air?" "How do I look? Do I look good for the tv camera with my sunglasses on or off? Where's my comb, damn it?!?!" "Will they broadcast this piece in the Philippines?" "Would they let me say hi to my folks and friends back home?" "Could there be any Hollywood agents out there watching who may be looking for some fresh-faced Asian talents?" Ahh.. I guess you can scratch that last thought.

Anyway, once I agreed to be interviewed, the TV cameraman quickly trained his camera on me. The reporter asked me for my full name and thanks to my father's excellent choice of a first name, she asked me to spell my name out for her. Then came the questions.

CBS Reporter: Do you have any travel plans this summer?
Panaderos: Yes, I do.

CBS Reporter: Do you plan to drive or fly?
Panaderos: Fly.

CBS Reporter: Will the continued rise in gas prices affect your travel plans?
Panaderos: It will certainly affect some of my travel plans, but not all. I might have to cut back or cancel some trips.

CBS Reporter: Will you think that many other Americans will also cut back on their travel plans and why?
Panaderos: (Trying to appear scholarly.) I believe so. A lot of families are running on a tight budget these days with both the rising cost of fuel and food. Quite a number of people lost their jobs too as a result of the subprime mess. Those factors all add up.

With that, both the lady reporter and the cameraman thanked me. I paid the gas attendant and drove off to the car rental facility to drop the car off. I then quickly called my SO with the news (no pun intended) that I was interviewed by CBS News. I told her that it was for a piece that they were scheduled to broadcast later that evening.

I rushed home, turned the tv on and tuned it to CBS while I unpacked my stuff. After an hour, the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric came on and sure enough, the news on the rising gas prices was front and center. In a moment that would have made Ayn Rand quite proud of me, I eagerly awaited for my face to be shown on tv, to heck with the gas prices!

But then, by the title of this post, you surely must know by now what happened. Sadly, my face didn't end up on the news report. They ended up picking some lady whose face I did not see while I was lined up at that same gas station. I guess in the interest of time, they had to pick one out of the several that they had interviewed that afternoon. Oh well, that's life.

Better luck next time. :) Later, Hollywood. (Naks!)

The Lords of Discipline

The following little story took place years ago on a college campus somewhere in Manila. This was in the period after Senator Benigno Aquino, Jr.'s assasination.

College Boy Panaderos was hanging out with a couple of his college buddies in an empty classroom one weekday afternoon . He and his buddies were talking about the hot-button issues of the day namely, the murder of Senator Aquino and the awful state of the country's political and economic environment. Their talk centered on how evil the country's leadership was and in what ways he and his buddies could help in bringing the Marcos administration down.

College Boy Panaderos had idolized the late Senator ever since he was a kid. This was due to the fact that Panaderos' father was an avid follower of Philippine politics and was a frequent viewer of news programs and news talk shows back in the pre-martial law days. In those days, especially from 1970 to 1972, Senator Aquino was often on tv blasting the abuses and corruption of the Marcos administration. Thus, his was a face that was immediately recognizeable to many Filipino kids who tuned in to those news and public affairs programs.

The late Senator was a gifted speaker, was mentally sharp, and had popular appeal. In the early 1970s, a lot of Filipinos had already assumed that he was destined to be elected the next President of the Philippines come the 1973 elections. However, martial law intervened in September of 1972 and sadly, the rest is history.

Anyway, the discussion about the ills of the Marcos administration made College Boy Panaderos' blood boil. He needed an outlet for his seething anger. Thus, he walked towards the front of the classroom, grabbed a chalk and scribbled "Death to Marcos!" in large letters on the blackboard. However, unbeknownst to our stupid hero, one of the university's Discipline Officers was walking by the classroom at the time and happened to see him scrawl his anti-Marcos rant on the blackboard.

The Discipline Officer walked into the room while Panaderos' back was to him and asked, "What are you doing?" College Boy Panaderos turned around and was shocked to see the Discipline Officer glaring at him. He then replied, "Sir, I was just expressing my anger at the President." The Discipline Officer, looking at what was written on the board, proceeded to ask, "Do you know that what you just did is considered vandalism?" "No, sir," said Panaderos and tried to reason by saying, "I used a chalk anyway and if you'll let me, I'm going to erase what I wrote."

The Discipline Officer then said that such attempt at undoing an offense was no longer necessary. He asked Panaderos to hand over his Student ID. "See me at the Discipline Office tomorrow," were the Discipline Officer's stern parting words to a bewildered and dismayed Panaderos.

So to the Discipline Office went Panaderos the following day. He expected a scolding from the Discipline Officer for what he did and he also expected further sanctions. As soon as he walked in, he saw Mang ("Mister") J, one of the Discipline Office's head honchos at the time. Mang J had a reputation for being a tough but fair man. But even with that, once Panaderos saw him, he (Panaderos) immediately assumed that Mang J was going to hand down other punishments to make sure that our hero learned his lesson.

Mang J motioned for Panaderos to take a seat. Panaderos did so and anxiously waited for Mang J's verdict. "I'm not pleased with what you did, young man," said Mang J, unsmiling as he proceeded to pull a book out of the file cabinet that stood adjacent to his desk. The book turned out to be the College's Discipline Manual.

He put his thick-rimmed glasses on and leafed through the manual until he found the page he was looking for. "I want to show you the offense you committed and I want an assurance from you that you won't do it again. Is that understood, young man?" "Yes, sir. I understand perfectly well, sir," a rather antsy Panaderos replied.

"Very well, this is the offense you committed," replied Mang J as he proceeded to show Panaderos the particular page, section and rule the latter violated. Panaderos' eyes settled on the part of the page where Mang J's finger was pointed and saw the offense he was found guilty of:

Unauthorized use of chalk.

"Never do this again, young man. Am I making myself clear?" warned Mang J. To which Panaderos promptly replied, "Yes, sir. It won't happen again." With that promise, Panaderos' Student ID was promptly handed back to him and he quietly left the office.

Time

Time moves slowly when I'm not with you.

The Samurai

I don't know how many Filipinos still recall this particular television series. It was quite popular among adults and kids during the late 1960s to the early 1970s. It was a television series that was imported from Japan and was noted for its magnificent and skillful swordplay. The following video clip shows the program's then familiar opening scene:

This show was called "The Samurai". It was a weekly series shown on Channel 11, a television station the Elizalde family owned that existed during the pre-martial law years.

The show's hero was "Shintaro Akikusa" or more popularly known as "Shintaro", a wandering swordsman played by a Japanese tv actor, Koichi Ose. His sidekick was "Tombei the Mist", played by the late Fuyukichi Maki.

In the story, Shintaro and Tombei battled the evil Koga Ninja, a clan of ninjas that were clad in black in 17th century Japan. Shintaro and Tombei were, in turn, aided by the good ninjas of the Iga Ninja clan.

The show which ran for about half an hour every week was noted for its brilliant swordplay, authentic period costumes, magicianship, and special effects. The ninjas were also noted for their high leaps and lightning fast movement, abilities that impressed so many a Filipino kid that it became a hugely popular tv show at the time.

The show was produced by Japan's Senkoska Film Company and originally ran in that country from 1962 to 1965. It became a huge success in Australia, Japan, and the Philippines, the three biggest media markets in the Asia-Pacific region at the time. Originally produced in Japanese, the show was dubbed into English for release outside the Japanese market.

The Elizalde-owned Channel 11 tv station closed upon the declaration of martial law in 1972. The showing of "The Samurai" was then transferred to RBS-7 (Republic Broadcasting System, the forerunner of GMA-7), a tv station that was then owned by the family of the late Robert "Uncle Bob" Stewart.

In spite of its low budget, the show was a gem. Although the story line was of the simple black-and-white, good-versus-evil kind, the show was so well made and well acted that it was able to successfully capture the imagination of a generation.

Reruns of the show were shown on Philippine television on and off during the 1970s. It made a brief comeback in the mid-1980s but the reruns ended permanently not long afterwards. It is one of those great shows from my childhood that I truly miss.

A Sin I'm Guilty Of

I know you know I've been guilty of this. In the time we've been "US", we've come to know each other very well. Our relationship has had many ups and it certainly has had a few downs. But as we continue our journey, I want you to know that I love you very much. And I'm sorry if I overdo it at times.

I was dreaming of the past
And my heart was beating fast.
I began to lose control.
I began to lose control.

I didn't mean to hurt you.
I'm sorry that I made you cry.
Oh no, I didn't want to hurt you.
I'm just a jealous guy.

I was feeling insecure
You might not love me anymore.
I was shivering inside.
I was shivering inside.

I didn't mean to hurt you.
I'm sorry that I made you cry.
Oh no, I didn't want to hurt you.
I'm just a jealous guy.

I didn't mean to hurt you.
I'm sorry that I made you cry.
Oh no, I didn't want to hurt you.
I'm just a jealous guy.

I was trying to catch your eyes.
Thought that you was trying to hide.
I was swallowing my pain.
I was swallowing my pain.

I didn't mean to hurt you.
I'm sorry that I made you cry.
Oh no, I didn't want to hurt you.
I'm just a jealous guy, watch out.
I'm just a jealous guy, look out babe.
I'm just a jealous guy.

- John Lennon "Jealous Guy" (1971)

A Life's Guide

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" (1922)

I've loved this poem from the very moment I studied it in high school English class. I was awed by Mr. Frost's genius in the simplicity of the words and the imagery he used. It was like a fresh breeze for it seemed, on the surface, a poem that was easy to understand especially when compared to the other literary works we had to study at the time.

I was also profoundly struck by the poem's last stanza. Although the last stanza has been the subject of years of debate among literary critics, for me, it left a message of responsibility, of priorities, and of mission.

I've seen so many lovely woods in my life. Each presented itself to me at a time of its own choosing. All were very enticing and all, in its own way, could have changed my life in one way or another. Some maybe for the better and some, probably, for the worse. I will never know for certain because the last stanza's words constantly reminded me of my responsibilities, of the need to attain a number of goals although quite mundane some of them may have been.

I had to admire those woods from a distance then, sometimes with much sadness. There are times when I deeply regret that I did not stay to admire them a bit longer. Who knows? Maybe I would have learned a thing or two about myself, things that could have helped me later in life.

But I had work to do. I had goals I couldn't compromise on. To compromise on them, would have certainly proved fatal not only to me but also to the ones I love and will love. And so I had no option but to move on.

Many summers have passed since I first read this poem. More summers, God willing, lay ahead. I've accomplished a number of my goals but at the same time, because of changes in my priorities along the way, I've also had to change or give up on some. But what this poem has been and always will be to me is a source of strength and a reminder that although a number of things have been accomplished, there are still a number of things left to be done.

I Need You

I need you like the flowers need the rain,
You know I need you;
Guess I'll start it all again,
You know I need you.
Like the winter needs the spring,
You know I need you.
I need you.

This is a live version of a beautiful song from 1971 written and performed by the folk-rock band, America.

From simple words and simple music, a beautiful love song emerged. "I Need You" was one of the tracks from America's eponymous debut album. Formed by Gerry Beckley, Dewey Bunnell, and Dan Peek, all sons of US Air Force personnel, the group hit it big in the 1970s with songs such as "Ventura Highway", "Sister Golden Hair", and "Horse With No Name".

But "I Need You" is my personal favorite for although the words may be quite simple, for me, they capture the sadness, desperation, and longing a man feels for a love he feels he might have already lost.

Dearest BT, this song's for you.

A Sentimental Trip

The Panaderos family never had a true ancestral home. If we ever had one, it should have been my great grandmother's old home on P. Campa Street in Sampaloc. Her home was built some time in the early 1900s. As was typical of the homes at the time, it was primarily a wooden structure, had capiz (seashell) windows, and a flight of stairs that led one from the street level up to the living quarters on the second floor.

However, after she died in the early 1970s, one of her sons, a great uncle of mine, inherited the place. Since he lived by himself, it was easier for him to visit the rest of the clan who resided in my hometown. Thus, the Panaderos family home in my hometown became the sort of de facto family ancestral home even though it was much newer.

As for my hometown, under the 1987 Constitution, it formed one of Manila's six congressional districts. Back in the pre-martial law days and under the 1935 Constitution, it was one of Manila's four congressional districts.

To share just a bit of its history, in pre-Spanish times, the district I grew up in was originally part of a rather large Muslim kingdom that covered what are now the cities of Mandaluyong, Makati, and Pasay and the Manila districts of Paco and Pandacan. I guess you could say that the kingdom was a precursor to today's Metro Manila. But when the Spaniards acquired the territory in the late 1570s, control of the area, my district in particular, was handed over to Franciscan missionaries.

In the 1800s, the town became one of the favorite vacation places for some of Manila's affluent families. A number of their vacation homes used to stand by the southeast banks of the Pasig River, at a time when the scent emanating from the Pasig was still described as "sweet". The famed tranvia ("electric streetcar") used to run along one of the town's major roads and the tracks ended practically at the footsteps of our centuries-old Franciscan Church.

The Panaderos clan moved into the district around 1940 from the neighboring town of Makati. Makati, at the time, was still a rural town with rice fields and was one of the towns that made up the province of Rizal. In Makati, the Panaderos family had lived in a house in one of the streets behind the Makati City Hall's current location. In my hometown, the Panaderos family rented a house that was part of three or four blocks of homes that were built and developed by the landlord, the Yutivo Corporation.

Unlike the Ermita and Malate districts, my town was generally spared from the large-scale destruction brought on by the Liberation of Manila. However, it was not without its share of war casualties. A couple of very close family friends lost loved ones during the war. Aling Violet, a next door neighbor and close family friend, had a Polish-American father who served in the USAFFE (US Armed Forces in the Far East). He fought the Japanese in Bataan and ended up losing his life there. Mang Roy, whose family lived next door to us, had an older brother who served in the famed Philippine Scouts. He was picked up by the Kempeitai (Japanese Military Police) one night on suspicion of aiding the guerillas. He was never seen alive again.

The district showed a lot of progress during the 1950s and 1960s thanks to the success and hard work of a lot of its residents. A lot of the old Spanish-style homes were demolished by their owners and replaced by new and modern-looking apartment-style buildings. Quite a number of stylish American cars also became present on its streets.

The 70s were a fun time for me. I became familiar with the places and personalities around the neighborhood. In the process, I made quite a number of friends, a lot of them were the children themselves of my father's friends. I participated in a summer basketball league one year (a topic that would be the subject of a future blog entry), climbed the big acacia trees that were a common sight in a number of the streets back then, helped put up streamers for the town fiesta, participated in games and contests held on the day of the town fiesta, and "helped out" with the Santacruzan processions. I also remember the dance parties my older cousins hosted at home with the lights turned "down low".

We also had some so called neighborhood personalities. The neighborhood pediatrician's last name was Jayme and so we took to calling him "Dr. J", patterned after the NBA star Julius Erving who was quite popular at the time. There was also Dr. G, the older brother of a Sampaguita Pictures matinee idol. To the boys in the neighborhood, he inspired fear for he was known as "The Great Circumciser". Hardly a summer vacation went by without his name being mentioned by the parents back then.

We also had Aling Linda, a lady who sold a variety of cold refreshments, "ulam" (viands) and snacks during the hot summers. She had to do so for she had to support a rather large brood. Sleek and Tomas were the town tailors.

Unfortunately, the 70s also witnessed the beginning of a decline in the neighborhood. By then, many of the old-time residents had either moved to the suburbs or had migrated to the US or Canada. A lot of newcomers moved in from various places and provinces around the country. Sadly, these people did not share the feelings of ownership and respect old-time residents had for the place.

My family moved out to the suburbs in the mid 1970s although we still made it a point to visit on weekends. My visits to the place became less frequent during the 1980s once I got busy with college, got into romantic relationships, and worked on starting a profession. The last long visit was back in the early 90s when I drove around the neighborhood's streets as some sort of goodbye before leaving for the States.

I haven't been to my hometown in a while. Although I was in Manila last August, I was only able to stop by it once to see a very dear Aunt and my dear cousins. It was a shame that due to a previous commitment, I was not able to stay more than a couple of hours. Given such short stay, I was not able to spend some time to savor the neighborhood of my childhood.

Although a lot of changes have taken place, in my brief visit I saw that a lot of the nice old Spanish-style homes are still there. Many still belong to the same families that have lived in the town for generations, some of whom have had a presence in our town since the early 1900s. The old acacia trees are now gone. In their place stand new apartment-style buildings. Although these new buildings look quite trendy and modern from the outside, neighbors told me that they were not as well constructed as the old ones.

Dr. J is retired now and one of his sons have taken his place as the town pediatrician. His clinic still stands on the spot where I remembered it to be. Dr. G, like his matinee idol brother, has long since passed away. So too has Tomas, one of the tailors. Sleek has retired too. Both of their shops now gone. Mang Roy passed away recently after a long bout with cancer.

My great uncle who lived on P. Campa Street is no longer around too, having passed away in the late 1980s. My great grandmother's P Campa residence is no longer there. The property was sold to a Manila businessman who had the house demolished and a commercial building put up on its old site.

Aling Linda, happily, is still around. All her hard work in the summers surely paid off for she has become a landlord and now owns at least two apartment buildings in the area. Most of her kids have done quite well too for themselves.

Those are the stories and there are much more, too many to fit into one blog entry. The town occupies a special place within me for all of the above helped me to become what I am. I don't know when I'll be back for another vist. But when I do, I'll probably stay awhile.

A Little Story (Conclusion)

I knew I was falling for this lady. Her smarts and her way of writing enthralled me. In the days and weeks that followed, I found myself brooding over her and my situation. Should I move on with my life and simply admire her from a distance? I didn’t even know what she looked like and who she really was. Should I even give the whole thing a try?

Knowing myself, I knew that a question left unanswered was something that would bother me no end. I therefore decided to give the whole thing a shot even if the chance of success seemed pretty slim. Better to have loved and lost, right? But of course, nobody likes losing. So to significantly reduce the chances of losing, I had to do some careful planning.

Although I was already quite active in that online forum, having posted numerous entries in quite a number of threads, I still decided to plan my “moves” on the assumption that she knew nothing of me, that she had neither read nor come across any of my posts. Although the forum also had a private messaging facility that allowed members to send private or personal messages to other members, I also decided not to go that route to introduce myself. I felt that it was a risky move had I approached her from out of nowhere. My intentions would have been suspect and she probably would have rejected me right there and then.

So I opted for a subtler, albeit slower and more deliberate, approach. I wanted to do things right, old-fashioned guy that I am. I decided to wait. My plan was that if I see her post an entry on threads I was interested in, that I would respond directly to her post. I was hoping that by doing so, she would respond back and that it would lead to an exchange between us and she would then know that I exist. In other words, the geek in me borrowed a page from my Marketing course in college in terms of raising “brand awareness” on a particular target market. She was the target and I was the brand, so to speak. (Wink)

The approach I took required a lot of patience and did try my patience for it ultimately led to weeks of waiting. The time difference between Manila and the US did not help matters either.

Until one sunny spring afternoon, IT finally happened.

I was busy at work drafting a report for my boss when I saw a post from her show up on one of my favorite threads. The thread was actually a game where a member, say Member A, would start off by asking to no one in particular if he/she would still be loved in spite of some quirk he/she may have that he/she will mention. Another member, Member B, would then post a response by either saying a “yes” or a “no” and give a reason or two why he/she would still love/would not love Member A in spite of/because of his/her quirk. Upon responding, Member B would then throw a similar question but this time mentioning a different quirk.

So once I saw her post a question, I immediately dropped what I was doing and immediately started to formulate a response. I hurriedly drafted and posted a witty reply not only to hopefully attract her attention but also to beat any other member who may also have been thinking of responding to her at that very moment.

Luckily, my response went through and got posted before any other members’ responses did. Then I waited. To hell with the draft report I was working on. The boss wasn’t expecting it until the following week anyway. I waited for what seemed like forever, hoping that she would respond.

A few minutes later, she did. Yes!

I pumped my fist into the air and quickly answered her post back. A few minutes later, she did the same. Great!! This back and forth between us went on for a good couple of hours. Along the way, a few forum members tried to join in but I shooed them away. (She can attest to that.) That game thread was mine at that very moment and no member was going to deny me the golden opportunity that I had long waited for. I wasn’t going to walk away from it without making sure that she had become fully aware of my presence and existence.

We had fun because after that first session, she and I continued with our one-on-one exchanges on that thread for several more days before I finally sent her a private message to introduce myself. That led to us having nice little chats daily where we got to know each other more. We also exchanged photos and I was pleasantly surprised to find that this smart lady was also a very pretty one. A week or so later, we finally exchanged phone numbers and I finally got to hear her sweet voice on the phone.

We had to coordinate our vacation and work schedules to prepare for our first meet. But when it finally took place a few months later, it was very sweet. Since then, not a single day has gone by without us keeping touch with each other in one form or another. We've met a few more times since then, each meeting lovelier and more memorable than the one before.

It will be close to a year since that lovely spring day. The ocean that separates us remains a challenge but with each other's love and support, we'll hopefully make it.