My First

 After that firm decision to go for it, that first step is the most difficult. Difficult as it might be, it must be made. I had always dreamed to be a writer of some sorts...but things did not turn that way. I never knew that technology shall become the way it is now. That we can instantly relate with the rest of the  world in an instant. For someone born in 1954, I lived to experience the leaps in technology that were just science  fictions in my mind. One article that I keep so well in memory was the entry in the Encyclopedia Americana 1977 Edition,  discussing about the future of communications technology focusing on the almost obscure magnetic tape used in the early tape recorders and cassette players. What I found somewhat incredible then (but I hoped to be achieved) was predicting the technology about CD disks. Behold! Tell that to any millennial and watch the reaction. 

For somebody who wanted to be a writer, who so admiringly likes the Bard of Avon, John Keats, Thomas Gray, Ben Johnson, Cristina and Dante Rosseti, the Longfellows , Francis Bacon and many more while in High School, the prospects of making a dint in our present world of information, makes me squirm. Thus, I am to limit what I write about to not more than 300 meters away from the bed where I woke up today. I will make an attempt to write about the few things I see...in the manner that my heart feels about it.

Finally, I Had the Will to Resign as President of the Procrastinators Club!

Big, big Cheers to procrastination...I shall definitely write on to this blog page starting tomorrow!

Childhood is growing up. Now that I am in my senior years, I have much better appreciation of allowing children to have and to enjoy a world of their own. A world that is private and very exclusive to them alone. Looking back, I would have wished that there was an adult with full knowledge of all things was at my beck and call to answer each question that comes to my mind. I am not sure, maybe there was precisely that person or persons in my life by then, but it was myself who just did not realize their presence. Maybe my mind as a child was not aware that there in fact that ideal person that I wish there was during those years.

The Death Of A President

It was barely past lunch. I see women setting by the staircase, one per step. I see boys and girls playing around...I find the children noisy to almost annoying. Can't they behave properly. Suddenly the women seem to talk in serious tones. What happened? I see some of them in tears, yes I see real sadness in them. Might I be sad as well to show that I am in their league and not with the boisterous children horsing around?What is wrong, I dared to ask?

"The President is dead! Magsaysay is dead...his plane crashed." I did not know much about a President, but the name Magsaysay, I remember well. Plane crashed...are they telling me that the speck moving in the clouds, fell to the ground?

Instantly I felt like crying too. We rarely see that "flying cross" in the clouds, maybe once a week, sometimes it takes months! Does it mean that I shall never see that flying cross again. Oh, I have every reason to cry! On the other hand I will not have stiff necks again, at least I will spend less time looking at the clouds, hoping to see the flying cross.

Amidst the sadness of the women in the stair, their "kuto" (lice) must be celebrating for the reprieve. The lice in those long hair will live to bite for another day...I see the women lost their excitement in Kuto-Picking that afternoon.

With the sad mood in the stairs, I moved to join the children playing. The oldest among the group was telling everyone; "The wristwatch exploded, so the plane crashed". I have many questions to ask him, but I have the feeling that I know more than he does.

NOW THE POSTCRIPT. History tells us that President Magsaysay died in a plane crash in Cebu in the summer of 1957. If I was born in the summer of 1954, so I was about 3 years old by then, seems like a tender age to be aware of the what were going on. I was not very sure, but many full-moons before  that sad afternoon by the stairs, I was humming the song: "Mambo, Mambo Magsaysay, Mambo, Mambo Mabuhay.

My Brother Was Born

It was dark, and I must have fallen asleep already. Then I was awakened by by conversations. The local midwife, we called "Partera" was in our house. Yes, the familiar voice of "Tiyang Upeng the Partera" was clear to me. It only means one thing, that my mother is about to deliver the next child in the family.

I remember our house and its limited space. Only one room (called Kupite), a somewhat spacious sala, and at the farthest end is a kitchen which goes down by 2 bamboo-stair steps to bare soil as floor. At the front of the house is an appurtenance structure that is a store. (We never referred to is as sari-sari store that is common today). I remember King's Cup and Golden Coin cigarettes, Lifebouy bath soap, Royal Tru Orange, Liwayway Gawgaw, Aniel, Purico, Vics candy, Rose Bowl and Ligo sardines among the stuff in the store.

Mother stayed in the Kupite  as instructed by Tia Upeng the Partera and I heard her instructing my father to ensure that all windows be closed. "Hindi dapat mahanginan ang nanganganak". (Mothers giving birth must not be exposed to the wind draft). I noticed that my father took a tin of Ligo sardine from the store and proceeded to the kitchen to boil water as requested by the Tia Upeng. I tried to sleep, but I could not because of footsteps in in the sala that almost smack into the mat where I was lying down. The new "puraw" (coarse abaca cloth) mosquito net is not enough to shield me from the distractions. I could not sleep, the wisp of the Ligo sardines being cooked in the kitchen, I smell.

I must have slept well in that evening! Very early in the morning, I was down below right by the window with my father. I was holding a lighted candle and there was a glass of water in front of us as father buried the "inulunan and pusod"(the placenta with part of the umbilical cord) to the ground. There was a  profusely flowering"Secreto der Amor" very near the spot where the placenta/umbilical cord was buried.

Growing up later, I would repeatedly hear from mother that the spot where your "inulunan" was buried will always be your reference spot and you are drawn to the place for life. In essence, she explained that is is the point "North" in your compass, it will always be your reference for life. (Now that I am old, I ask myself : "How about those born in the hospitals whose placenta and umbilical cords were disposed of.". I should find out about this later on.

It is interesting that my parents do not recall much of these events. They suspected that it must be the birth of my other brother that I recall. But the fourth among us kids was born in daytime, and by then I was big enough to know almost everything that was going on around. I remember that when my third the brother was born, I was big enough to do small chores in the house.

These are the records: I was born in the summer of 1954, a Holy Tuesday most probably,according to my mother. My brother next to me was borne in October 1956. I was barely two and a half year old! There were historical events that followed shortly afterwards that I would remember, I wish to write about this next.

Our life is but a memory. A concept of events happening over a period. Each of us has a story to tell, as the adage goes. Some are good storytellers, and I think many of us are; but a few may be impaired by lost or failing memories. The best life stories are nothing if carried to the grave. These stories must be told for whatever it is worth. I feel that memories fade, perhaps " bad sector" appear in the mind beginning at certain point. Maybe some lucky ones have better and more durable memories than other. I wish, but I might belong to would-be failing ones. What follows are vignettes, as I recall, who knows, it could be a Life Story.