Coming Home

Back Home


Last Thursday had to pass our Western Union branch in Taguig (near
Libingan) for some OB.  It was later in the day & I found some free
time before my day was officially over.

The time of day was perfect. No longer hot. Almost 1700H, closing in
on sunset. Instead of going straight back to my flat I suddenly
thought of passing by the village since I was in the area anyhow.  For
dramatic and more of sentimental reasons, I intended to return to BNS
on May 19th, the 1st anniversary of the Eviction.  As I approached
Gate 3/Marine Gate I contemplated on it further.  There was
ressistance from somewhere within me.  I slowed down a bit.   I then
said to myself "what the hell", at my age drama & sentimentality
easily make it out of the window.

Something inside me told me to go in and make peace with myself & the
place I miss so much.


I did.


After about 10 months I entered the Marine gate & was met by
howitzers, bazookas, 90RRs, mortars etc. They are decommissioned
hardware installed at the gate for display. It shows that Marines are
now also into posterity (more like Queer Eye for the Camouflage Guy).
I anticipated sadness, hatred, frustration and other negative feelings
to swamp my being. Strange. Nothing.

As I passed the church, the grandstand it is as if l just left a few
weeks ago. The place just seems cleaner. There is a new jogging lane
dedicated to a late LtJG Muyargas.  It is filled with officers & EP's.
 I swing by the Grandstand and I am filled w/ memories too many at
once. I just know the place is great to see again.  The parade ground
is filled w/ kids on bikes, some are running around all over the place
with yaya's guarding them.  The kids are from a different set of
families.  It was the best time to hang out there.

The familiar smell of the village is now ever prevalent. After all
these years I guess it is because of all the plants/trees around and
all the trimmed grass.  I smelled home.


I enter 3rd Row. It looks the same. I pass the Punsalang & Viray
house. The Punsalang house is Marine barracks "themed" surrounded by a
chain link in yellow & red. The Viray house looks the same as when I
left. A LtCol lives there. I pass the Suratos/Ruiz houses & both looks
like they are not yet fully occupied.  The Pizarro/Varona/de leon
quarters pretty much also look the same. Gen. Espinosa's place is
occupied by Gen. Saban & is fully functional.


At this point I remember the eviction day. Marine and Navy Officers
were kicking down doors. I remember going down 3rd Row saying  goodbye
to neighbors like Beachy Viray, Mrs. de Leon, Gen. Ruiz, Commo.
Pizarro, Adm. Perez, Ina, the Varona family & Tic-tac Butchoy.

I slow down reaching the end of the road & turn right. It seems my
scoot was on auto pilot.


The Paredes Quarters looks the same. The happy hour tent is still
there.  Adm. Garrido's quarter is still unoccupied.

I see the FOIC's place. My heart stops. I say to myself "You will go
back to see a house that is no longer yours. No longer your family's.
You can go back & visit again when you are ready."



I say again to myself after a long, long time. "Navy, Fight".

My house now faces the parking lot. It is fully renovated. The side
door is now officially the main door. Clean. It has been landscaped a
little.  My heart skips a beat. I stop and stare. Memories flood. I
remember the 25 candles I lit the night before the eviction. No one
was home.


I enter 1st Row. It looks the same. The Maligalig house even looks
like it got a paint job. The rest of the houses seem unoccupied.

I enter 2nd Row. It still looks the same. The Cassilian/Codera house
just do not have much plants anymore. I see Royet's lola at the porch
of the Subida quarters. The Santos residence still has the small up
front house.

I turn back. I enter 4th Row. It looks the same. The Panes/Gallos
place also has lesser plants. Mrs. Panes was tending her smaller
garden. I see the Wong place (I stayed there for about 3 weeks after
eviction), It has been remodelled. It now looks like a spaceship. No
kidding.

The Guzman/Patino/Torres place looks kinda bare w/o the plants & the
gazebo.  The Gojo/Manlongat quarters look exactly the same.

I go to the pool.. Tita Cora or Mrs. Guzman were not there because the
store is operated by someone else. I chose not to grab a snack.


Passing the church I noticed a big wake. I realize it was for Adm.
Baylon. I swing by & extend my condolences to Cheryl's family. Jigger
was arriving that day.  I met Mrs Fajardo & chatted a bit on life
after the village.


It turns out that Adm. Mayuga also swung by earlier. The Old Navy
Ladies that were there were not too fond of his arrival. That's
understandable. It just goes to show that our eviction was not
personal.  Even though it hurt us so much, the people who evicted us
were just under orders. The Navy was just firm. We just had to go.

I saddle up & get ready to go. I have been in the village about an
hour. In that time I realize that I had no sad feelings, animosity or
hatred. Despite all my hardships that I had to endure after the
eviction, I felt no ill feelings.  Just memories.  Mostly happy.  That
entire time, I had a breathe of fresh air, a positive vibe. I felt a
sort of peace within. Relief. It was like going back to my old school,
knowing where everything was and at the same time it was either still
there or no longer anymore.

At that time it was close to sunset. I climb on my scoot.  I smile.

After almost a year, l went back home.


"Another aerorplane, Another sunny place
I'm lucky I know.  But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I've got to go home

Let me go home. I'm just too far, from where you are
I wanna come home…."



Home

Michael Buble'

A Letter 26 years late....

This letter was written and read in Greenbelt 3, in  a restaurant full of people.  36 long stemmed pink roses accompanied a pair of rings fabricated for the occasion.  This letter contains a message, a plea, a declaration of a man's feelings for someone that he never had a chance to do so in his youth.  Raoul finishes his mission.  He tells her.  He finally got it over with.  Raoul can only wish but he does not expect anything in return.  He gave his heart.

Ina, was overwhelmed.  She did not know what to make of it.  Ina knows that this is no joke.  She was flattered and felt she is not worthy.

To Raoul Ina, you are his world and like the song goes "If he could reach the stars, he would pull one down for you....."


Raoul and Ina's identities are known only to a few.  It is better that way.  The story of life continues for all of us.

Ina,

Since I met you 26 years ago, life was never the same for me.  As a youthful junior bro, I put off any concerted effort to woo you for there was a long cue for your heart.  I was young, careless, car-less and yes I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of myself, afraid to face reality.

Since 1987 you were my princess.   

Many nights, I dreamt of you, like an angel fallen from heaven and I, a mere mortal often listening to the lyrics of  a pubescent pre-"Livin' La Vida Loca" Ricky Martin singing with Menudo “If you’re not here” as I lay in bed.

Over time, many nights I cried wells of tears that dried up through the sands of time.  
Angst, regret even pain prevail my thoughts when I reminisce our younger years.  Longing for you to be here, by my side for you are the music and I am the dancer in the song that is called LIFE.

You on the other hand remain timeless growing even more beautiful as the days pass.  Truly, an angel you are, like a diamond shining star, so radiant, even more so beautiful from the inside as well.  Timeless.

Now, despite all odds, despite the embarrassment, despite my fear, Here, I am pouring my heart out.  It is about time I got it off my bursting heart.  It is time that I be a man and face my fear head on like that tinik (bone) of Bangus (Milkfish) I get stuck in my throat eating Sinigang sa Bayabas.  This is the toothpick, this is the cure.    Like Richard Marx sang in the ‘80s “I am right here waiting for you”.... It is my destiny.

Though I should have done this long before, Ina, I now kneel before you not as a princess but a Queen.  From the deepest caverns of my heart I ask that you be my Queen and I, your servant to spend our remaining years together.  

I plead for your love with this ring.  I beseech your kind heart to consider what I bring to you-the hard, awful but sincere truth of my feelings.  

Ina, I worship the ground you walk on.  You are the heaven that I need, Taytay needs a Queen.   You are my world, my song, my destiny.   

You are the one for me Ina since 1987, My heart cannot accept nobody, nobody but – you. 

Mahal kita Ina, mahal kita. 

Raoul

The ONE that Got Away

THE DREAM OF ROMANCE

"Always there will be a woman in a man’s life

The one that got away

The true love

The perfect girl

The player

The one that never even knew him

Always there is one that fits that mold

Some look back with relief

Some look back and wish or even dream

Some never look back

Just that they are a memory

Lost forever in the sands of time"

-MV 2013

Every man has a love story.  Cheesy. I mean cheesy as something out of the most pathetic romance novel you can buy at a five and dime or like on TV, like those K pop mini series that make me puke.  I have my own. Some known, some buried, lost in oblivion, forever.

No matter how cheesy, complicated it is, every man still his own love story of a girl that that has no happy ending.  That story belongs to that man and that man alone.  

The one that got away, the one that never loved him back, the one that never knew he cared for her.  Each man has this rite of passage.  Painful.  But rites of passage are usually no sleigh rides.  Just like circumsicion, that was no sleigh ride for me.  (That's on an upcoming blog btw.). I have couple of experiences with this but that chapter was closed long, long ago.  I sometimes reminisce about those days but that is just it, plain reminiscing.

There is a poem that goes “Just because you love someone, that does not mean that that person will love you back.  You can just try to be lovable, the rest is up to them”.  The hard awful truth and it happens to the best of people.  Actually, it happens to all guys.  All men were rejected at one point in their lives.  Brad Pitt, Rudolf Valentino, Richard Gomez, Martin Velasco even Aga Muhlach, they all have a story to tell about a girl with a "not so happily ever after" ending.

Raoul had a thing for Ina, a campus heartthrob that earned a moniker of being “The Heartbreaker”.  Ina was smart, sexy and absolutely to die for.  Raoul being young, shy and innocent never made a move.  Raoul was also linguistically challenged.  Let's just say he has a different kind of English.   Raoul  was so afraid of failing that he never tried.  Adriana Lima, the supermodel believes that "one should never be afraid of failing but actually never trying".  Nice point.   Raoul never even tried until this time.

With Ina many tried, most failed.  Indeed she is beautiful.  Timeless.  She is the kind of beauty that makes you wanna wake up to see beside you, each day until senility. 

Sadly, Ina is engaged.

Yesterday a friend of mine and I hatched a grand plan for Raoul. Ina was in town and there was a dinner in her honor.  What started out as a joke became an ornate, well executed plan that made someone dear to us so happy.   

In 24 hours we were able to:

1.       Fabricate engagement rings;

2.       Get a bouquet of the finest long stemmed pink roses;

3.       Compile music memorable to this girl that she will forever cherish;

4.       Write down what this guy wanted to say to this girl for 26 years in a light, humorous, concise and sincere manner and

5.       Round up a group of guys from our crew to act as his “cheering squad”.

Raoul, despite his fear took after this poet  Rudyard Kipling.  Raoul “filled his 60 seconds worth of distance and ran” he ran and "risked it in one pitch and toss”.  In a public place, a restaurant in a mall teeming with people, he went in there, after drinking half a bottle of Scotch, flowers in tow, rings in his pocket, he knelt and read the letter that contained a message that he should have conveyed 26 years past.  This kinda courage is not easy, even for a man never married and in his 40’s.  

She was the one he loved.

Ina was flabbergasted.  In her face, she did not know of this was a joke.  I guess when the guy knelt and professed his love, punch drunk with emotion and Scotch, negated by adrenaline, she got the message.  She is engaged but this guy just had to try.  It was his last ticket, a “Last of the Mohicans” kinda thing and like like Bon Jovi sang in the '90's he was "shot down a blaze of glory".  The letter Raoul read to Ina was heartfelt and truly stunning.   It was worth the chance

Serendipity Happens

Serendipity Happens

Strange.  A drunk woman once tried to show the world how stupid I am by asking me if I could spell SERENDIPITY and if I knew what it meant.   

In disbelief, I calmly answered her that I think it has something to do with baking ingredients.  She got her kick.  I was an idiot to all of the 15 people in the bar that were her friends.

After they were amazed at my ignorance and Forrest Gumpnes, I excused myself to go to the Men's Room.  Before leaving though, I wittingly retorted to the intoxicated woman that was showcasing how smart she was at putting people down.  

I go in a clear crisp loud voice: "Did you mean serendipity as in a fortunate accident as defined in the Webster Dictionary or Serendipity as in the 1994 movie with John Cusack and a gorgeous Kate Beckinsale where Annie Lennox went solo and sang her version of "Waiting in Vain" originally done by Sir Bob Marley?"

When I got back from the head, all of the people in the bar were quiet and had a strange stare at me.

Anyways.  this is about Francis and hs late wife Bessie and not about that self aggrandizing gangrene brained woman.  Their names have been changed for anonymity.  Those that know me can figure them out.

SERENDIPITY
Beg all you want
Demand
Force
Things that a person can do for want of
something or
someone
An act of Serendipity?
Hope
Pray
The only way
-by the same Author

I have a friend I hang out with a lot I spend night at his house where it warm, tranquile and plain chill.  We go back 26 years.  College.  Francis was an honor student, I majored in Pale Pilsen.  We were dorm mates and we joined the same fraternity.

Francis is bright, a born leader and an achiever.  He is no stranger to adversity; hard times have befallen him and his family.  Death, disease, money, they’ve endured it all.  All these trials made Francis stronger. One thing I noticed is how resilient and tempered Francis came to be.

Francis has been a widower for a couple of years.  Another thing that I admire is how much he pays tribute to his late wife, he lights her a candle daily at home and prays for her.  Now that’s love in my book.

Oftentimes, Francis would recall the happy times, how they met and this is where the story starts.  Pictures abound his home of all the happy times they shared as a couple, as a family.

Over a decade ago Francis was working in a stone manufacturing company as GM,  as such, he entertained numerous clients.  One day, he was with a cousin in a bar in Makati when a lady sent her some drinks.  Surprised, he graciously accepted the gift for this girl that turned out to be an architect that was once his customer years ago,  Meeting in that same bar years later is serendipity in itself but it gets better.

They started a friendship.  Spoke on the phone for hours of this world and of the next.  They got it on.  Four years of dating passed and they were official.  The way Francis told me how it went was like it was so natural.  They understood each other, shared common interest.  They were soul mates.

Later on Bessie admitted that when they met, she KNEW Francis was the type of guy she would want to marry. Someday. 

Bessie was a rock chick.  She was pure Soungarden, Steely Dan Rock and Roll.  She was smart being an architect and yet still had that artiste attitude and remained compassionate particularly to the workers she does projects with.  I saw this myself.  

Francis was the more sedate contemporary music "Country" kinda guy.  Opposites.  Yet they matched.

By the time Bessie and Francis got together, she was a single mom to a wonderful four year old daughter that Francis took in as his own.  The kid was bubbly and even innocently asked him to be her daddy because she did not have one,  another gift was bestowed to Francis.

I lost touch with Francis for a while.  In the few times I visited him I saw that he was happy.  Married. Thriving business, growing child.  I even saw one of Bessie’s gift to Francis, an official billiard table.  All of them were so happy.

A pattern in my life as a bachelor is once a close friend settles down, I try to keep out of their way.  Nothing personal or anything like that.  I just want my friends to enjoy what they now have. Families, kids, a home.  In this case, Francis was in total bliss, living in a humble quiet home surrounded by family and his local friends.  To me, distancing myself is the best for all.  My friends have more on their plates.  I chose not to fill mine.  It’s cool.  It is my destiny.

Years  passed and I would see Francis on occasion.  I learned that Bessie had a condition.  Something about her kidneys.  I shied away from the details. That was just me.  More than 3 years ago the tragedy came.  Bessie passed away after a long battle with her illness.

The way Francis recalled Bessie's passing was that they were about to check out of one of their numerous visits to the hospital.  Bessie felt faint.  Francis was holding her in the room.   Their daughter Marie was looking on.  Bessie’s last words were “Papa”.  She went limp.  She was gone.  Just like that.  Simple. Quiet.  Her father passed on so many years before....

Years have passed.  Life goes on.  Francis still lights a candle, says a prayer and misses his Bessie.

Often I ask Francis about the good times.  Always I get a remark from him that if he could do it again, with the same outcome, he would still go through it again, in a heartbeat.   

Francis dates at times but none measure up to what he had.  I can't blame him.  Bessie was a class of her own.  It would be unfair to compare her to other women but with how she was with Francis, that is just too hard to do.

Lucky man, I ALWAYS tell him that.  I never will experience what he did. The joy, the pain and the love.  What a blessed man.  I cannot help but envy men like him and some of my other friends that truly love their spouses.  To elucidate:

One asked me to buy flowers late at night for his wife which I gladly did because he was overseas and did not have a chance to get them himself.  Another married a woman and never ever cheated on her....until now and its been like 15 years.  One married his high school sweetheart.  They have been together since.  She always supported him, even if he is jumping out of planes or getting shot at by Abu Sayyaf.  Another couple, both medical professionals give out to charity and practice their profession with people like me.  The difference is, they REALLY care about my well being and are not merely "clinical".  Another has such an understanding and loving wife that allows him  to freely hang with friends, go out at night follow his passion for music.  

Some guys just have all the luck.

There are horror stories as well but this is not one of them.  Those are the stories that make me wanna stay alone and single.  Sadly, more have this condition than the previous I mentioned.  I would rather be alone than make my life a living hell.

To me, this is a true story of love.  Real love and not the kind movies with great soundtracks or of cheesy soaps are made of.  Like Kalapana once sang this is "the real thing".  Growing old with each other.  Sharing thoughts.  Caring for each other in sickness and doing the gross stuff for each other that is never depicted in movies.  That is real love.  Genuine and true for love this is, me.

Serendipity does not juat happen.  There are no coincidences.  It happens because God had a hand in it.  It was no fortunate accident for Francis and Bessie.  God brought them together.  It was meant to be, a move in a cosmic game of chess.

Though I also feel your loss Francis, I still maintain that your wife never left you.  She lives in your daughter.  She is near you.  She is in you. Your home brims with her presence.  You are such a blessed man.

This is for you Bessie.  Fly to the angels, heaven awaits your call and flowers bloom in your name... RIP.

A Mannequin Moment on my Vespa published on Oct 26, 2011

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mannequin_(1987_film)

Those of you from the ‘80’s remember the 1987 movie with a much younger and already uber smoking hot Kim Catrall and a circa St. Elmo’s Fire Andrew Mcarthy.  The film was about a guy working at a mall display section and a mannequin comes to life and she’s such a hot and a cool chick.  This is kinda related to what happened to me the other day.

As I was scooting in Makati, I was at a stoplight by Greenbelt by Paseo de Roxas.  On my way to a meet with HS classmates, I saw two ladies setting up display mannequins for this new bridal shop.  The mannequins were in ornate wedding gowns that needed to be fitted properly like they were on real people because of the lattice and beads and whatever goes with wedding gowns that guys do not have any idea about.  They were indeed works of fine art.

The stoplight took a while to turn green as I admired the beautiful dresses being displayed until the fair, and taller lady turned around.  My jaw was on Paseo de Roxas, it fell as I saw this lovely and clearly stylish lady that was fixing one of the displays turned around.  

Her beauty complemented the gowns with elegance. From my angle, I could easily imagine like it was some CGI SPFX how she would morph into the mannequin and look in that very dress she was fixing.  In a word, she was stunning.  Like my vespa she had the curves, she clearly had the style and was plain beautiful.  The clear halogen lighting, the elevated perspective or my plain boring loveless life could have  contributed to having this moment while on my vespa. 

Paseo de Roxas tasted good after a while.  My jaw was still there, my tongue out of my mouth.

This “mannequin angel”, saw me looking and pointed at the real mannequins.  She was motioning how nice the clothes were.  In my adlibbed sign language I responded with a thumbs up sign and also pointed to her with the same.  I was trying to tell her that she was prettier than any of the dresses.  I also motioned taking a pic of her in an effort to convey to her that she was the real work of art. 

Paseo de Roxas was getting salty by this time.

The light turned green.  My jaw had to be lifted. Gravel and dirt was on my tongue.  I did not want to leave but I had to go because the Range Rover behind me was honking his horn too loudly.  I waved goodbye with a flying kiss.  Cheesy, but for a 300 pounder on a vespa that’s all I could do.

I got to my meeting a few minutes later in Greenbelt and we discussed stuff for our LSGH homecoming.  All this time I had that girl on my mind. Who was she? Was she married?

In true La Sallista fashion, I mustered courage to scribble an impromptu version of what I saw earlier in a note.  I just had to let her know what I was motioning to her.  I recall writing that:

1.       I hope I don’t get killed for this (I do not know if she was married).

2.       Her beauty was is in a word, “timeless”.

In true La Sallista “kapal ng mukha”, I walked back to that shop, (the flower shops were closed by this time) knocked and asked that this note be given to that beautiful lady fixing the design out front earlier.  They were already giggling.

In true La Sallista fashion, I ran away as fast as if I was still on my scooter.  

Her name was……

The Cards Dealt

There are times when I feel I am just at the lowest of lows.

You know, at the bottom of the barrel, the unluckiest guy on this earth.  This was more common in my youth - college and after.  Pretty much all my life actually, I was plagued with that insecurity – inferiority complex if you will.  Thoughts that I was not good enough that I was unlucky, did not have the clothes, the car or the girl.  I am not this or that.  Get the picture?

I later found that this feeling is very human and is not at all uncomon.  This is made worse is if there was no action to even attempt to uplift the way one feels about themselves.  If no steps taken to improve in any little way, then that would be really bad. 

As I went to start my life in the 40’s, this “paradigm” drastically changed.  Though it was always drilled to me by friends and family that I am fortunate, I never realized how "blessed" I really was.  I guess 40 years of life and a year of sobriety does alter one’s perspective and contentment level.

I am unemployed.  I do not think I am still employable.  Living alone, single, I do not have children and do not think I will ever will.  I never experienced a truly meaningful relationship.  Liked by many, loved by some and hated by a few.  in varying degrees, that is how it is for a lot of people my age and beyond.

Despite all this, I am so grateful that I have:

a.      A roof over my head.  It ain’t no Forbes Park, but there are no leaks on the roof and I have more than enough space to live in.

b.     Food on my table. I never went hungry.

c.     The very few friends that I consider tried and true friends.  Some relatives that are truly compassionate and I can still call on anytime.

d.      My education. Despite my pathetic academic record, I made up for it in Graduate School.

Though unemployed, I still get by somehow.  I am so fortunate to have some things provided for me already.  I also still have other options, opportunities to explore.

Recently, this gratitude was reinforced when I got hold of an old classmate.

Johnny (not his real name) was classmate in High School.  He was a great bud, fun to be with, full of scams, funny and even athletic.

Johnny had a sister that I contacted via text.  Let’s call her Mary.  She also went to a decent all-girl high school in Makati.  I kinda had a crush on her back in high school.  I remember she was cute, kinda strong willed and confident.   

I texted Mary to contact Johnny and this is what started what I am writing.  The text was like this:

“Hi Mary this is Martin, Johnny’s HS classmate, wanted to contact him for a get together”

She answers: “Hi I will send you his number”

I reply: “Great! Maybe you can join us? Do you remember me? I went to your place a few times when we were kids.  Are you married already? Where do you work?

This is her reply:

“OK, maybe I can go with my brother.  I am not married but have kids, maybe if I see you I will remember.  I have no job for 7 months because our agency contract was not renewed, I was a Lady Guard at the airport Cargo Bay”

OK.  I know what you are thinking.

That’s right.  No typos.  You read right.  She was employed as a lady guard at the cargo bay of the airport.  Where it is noisy, hot, dusty and God knows what can explode at anytime.  In our society, if you are educated, being employed in minimum wage jobs such as guards is not common.  That is why parents in the country “invests” in sending their kids to good schools, to avoid this kind of scenario.  

I could not sleep that night with that thought in my head.  I imagine how life is for her.  I know since I worked in an airline myself.

A few days later, I contact Johnny and drop by his place.  I have an idea of his situation and decide to buy drinks and food to bring him and his family.

Poverty.  Sadly, that is what I saw in a word.  The neighborhood was crowded, typically urban poor though wel lit and relatively peaceful. 

My classmate had no teeth because of the drugs he took.  He had that kind of tattoo you don't get in a parlor.  He had no job.  In the past he did odd jobs, he worked being a taxi, tricycle driver and a messenger.  He already spent a couple of days in jail.  Half naked on the street he waited for me that night in the street.   Johnny told me he was resting when I called because he was driving for a production company on weekends. We chat and catch up.  For someone that abused so much drugs for so long, his memory was still keen.  We laugh at the old times. 

Johnny lived with his family of about 8 people in that place.  Not exactly an ideal situation.  The place he lived in was a typical urban poor housing bordering on being a shanty.  Going up to his place, I could not fit in the pathway and had to squeeze through.  This is the kind of setting where everyone dies in case of a fire.

His “living” room was about the size of my bedroom, though clean and tight, it was full of stuff with hardly any space to move around in.   The family could not have dinner all at once on the table.   From where I sat the bedroom above looked like a stock area for regular apartments.  The stairs were steep and rigid.  I do not think I would fit or if the rungs could bear my weight. 

I was told by Johnny that Mary also took drugs, got pregnant and was living in the South eking out a living with her kids. It is sad how thing went her way.

Johnny also had a brother that went to school with us.  For someone like Paolo (not his real name) that went to a private school, a great sportsman, he now delivers water for a refilling station.  He lives right across that refilling station, in what looked liked an abandoned house boarded up and all.  I went there with Johnny looking for him.



Sad.





I told Johnny that I will try to help them.   

After such experiences, I am grateful for my blessings and appreciate the cards dealt to me.    Comared to others, my cards were easy to play.   All the hang ups, regrets or “what if’s” are irrelevant and flew out the window.  Again I realized just like Phil sang back in the day that "its just another day for me in paradise"... What do I have to complain about?

Johnny also has his blessings.  His only child is a full scholar at college!  Johnny is so proud and has hopes to the hisghest heaven for his kid.  The kid also works at the local church as an altar boy.  I also noticed that Johnny also loves and cares for his wife.  Though much older than my Johnny, I also see that she also cares for my classmate truly and deeply.  Living in a shack with so much blessings makes it a castle to the occupants.   


Blessings are truly abound.



I will try to help Johnny and Paolo.

Memories of Green:1-D LSGH

Scrounging through my stuff at home I came across a bunch of 110 film negatives. Like an archaeologist finding King Tut type of treasure, I decided to have the processed and was surprised to find stored in a lot of dust, surviving the sands of time. Just like Tut.

Typing class.....ASDF, JKLN...

I saw my mom and according to my calculations she was my age now around the time of the pic. My dad was younger than me present day, about 35. Now a 35-year old these days to me is a kid. There were pics of me as a doting toddler, my brother as a baby but more interestingly, a bunch was taken when I was part of class 1-D, the rowdiest, rambunctious, deranged bunch of LSGH High School brat/chicker wannabes at that time.

Like entering a mummy’s tomb time stood still in these pictures. I saw a glimpse of me that seemed like a dream. Surreal. Like it never happened at all. This is what I saw….


Back we were in time when Marcos was still president, the hottest car was a Ford Laser, some Senator got shot at the airport, Al Jareau just became Jareau and sang about some cheerios in the morning and get this : Marl smokes were PhP 5- A PACK!

Horsing around....

In La Salle, we had the most flexible academic enhancing schedule in high school land a.k.a. HALF DAY!!!!!!! In first year we had to come in at 7:30 in the mawnin’, recess at 10:20 and out scot free by 12:30 pm. That was not bad and it afforded scholarly kids like me to hit the books with reckless abandon after class…. Seriously. By 13, I could already read.

Pergola?

Now LSGH Class 1-D was one for the school’s records. They were a mix of Miguel Ortigas/Lorex Yam exquisite with equally upscale Arnold Sta. Catalina meeting a dash of Mon Capistrano, a big serving of Paul Genito with a pinch of Raffy Caeg add Doy Maloles/Eric Arboleda to the mix and you end up with quite a motley, motley crue with yours truly as garnishing. 



High school was promising, in the first week of class, we were rounded up, about 8 of us strong and “preemptively” suspended by Ms. Pilalpil, without cause. That meant guard duty at the HS office as a warning because of our “stellar” decorum in Grade School. We were already marked. I actually enjoyed that standing the whole day for all batch mates to see. Things like that bonded us more as a class. Funny, but it was fun to be suspended.


After school, we were in the soiree’ organizing “Keep Feeling Fascination” mode and we would hit St. Scholastica’s College to practice our La Salista Martial Arts like “Pa-Cute–Fu” and “For-ma-Do” with the wonderful ladies in blue. To someone who grew up in the Greenhills, QC, Ft. Bonifacio area, Taft Ave. was a different galaxy far, far away. To the pipsqueak Lasalistas like us, DLSU was like the NBA and we were in the La Salle barangay league. That’s how I felt. The new territory made our daily after school trips to St. Scho an even more exciting adventure. Clad in tight fit black baston pants LSGH threads, some in topsiders with petroleum jelly filled heads. We would hitch, get on a bus and if need be walk to St. Scho FROM Greenhills just to make their dismissal at 3:00 pm. By then, we wore the petroleum jelly on our faces aggravating our acne and still stood by it because we felt we were Billy Idol in the flesh.


Somewhere between 1 to 2:30 p.m., we morphed into our alter “green” egos. We became the “cooler” Lasalistas pare’. We started to speak with that Lorex Yamish twang and with the Martial Arts we earlier practiced, we were hitting on the babes in blue, La Salle style. Our voices went lower an octave or so despite the super tight MJ “Thriller-era” album baston pants that was actually trying to make me a falsetto. For the record, I am proud to say our pants had no “New York Strutt-Darwin Tuason-Dance 10” zippers at the hem. It was the jeans that had the zippers but that was worn only on weekends.


Lines like “Can I buy you Coke? or Do you want a smoke?” were what we practiced and dished out to the ladies. Lines like “Fancy a shag” were still to be learned. It was still puppy love. What else can a pimple face 13 year old schmuck with a 20 peso daily allowance offer (That’s after skipping recess and paying for the bus a whopping 4 pesos!)? I did not need Mr. Nuñez’s algebra for that kind of calculation. Thank God batch mates like Demy Zagala, Jun Lota and Ton Frias were living in the area. We free loaded lunch and oftentimes a ride on numerous occasions.

Those were the days. Learning about things other than reading and writing after class, at St. Scho.

I made some really good friends. Who could every forget Cherie Wicker, Stef Dedel and the rest of their Scholastican ’87 gang. They were my first experience in the then unknown, unexplored and never conquered world of women. They breathed the same air, drank the same pre-diabetic, pre-diet, pre-Zero Coke.

Why, they even laughed in unison at this guy that slipped and fell on his face on the stairs of Food Trip. After all, I found out they were human too.

In front of Food Trip

I distinctly remembered how cool I thought of Scho chicks in general back in the day. They were not the “Eeeow/Gawd/Whatever” types of the other school. For me they were the au contraire, they were “real”. I wanted to marry one of them but could not make up my mind which of my numerous crushes to propose to. They were about 68 of them to choose from starting with…. Hahahahahahaha!

Eons later, the friends I made at SSC remained friends and some became friends again.

Bizarre. Like I heard in a song I somewhere, it was great “growing up, getting down” around this time, early in the ‘80’s.

If not for the pics that I found, this part of my pubescent life would have been lost, forever. Just like Tut’s treasure, these snapshots of from the past have been raised and are now part of the museum of memories in my mind that I now share them with you all.

I wonder if we can have a soiree’ soon. Tara, St. Scho mamaya!

Lorex in the background....