50 Days to 50 - Day 13

 Sep 23 – Day 13 to 50

The only father I had and ever knew was Alfredo Pena-Montilla Villaruel, Jr.  Through the years, we’ve called him daddy, dad, dagda, Baghdad, then back to dagda, but his friends know him as Nonong.  From 3, he was my dad until his passing in 2005.   I’ve written my tribute for him in my blog: https://maryannisms.blogspot.com/2005/10/he-sure-did-it-his-way.html

On my 4^th birthday, he got me a robot and some books.  Our love for science fiction and all things extra-terrestrial springs from him, the avid Asimov and Sagan fan. 

My favorite Dagda trait is when you’d give him a kiss, since I was little, he’d blow up the side of his cheek you are intending to kiss, like a puffer fish’s like your kiss is a treat he is savoring to get.  Up till Amber, that’s how he got kissed by us.

Every night from first grade till grade 6^th, whenever I’d hear the car coming in the gate, knowing my parents are home, I’d run to get his slippers.  As soon as he comes home, he’d sit at his favorite couch and I’ll place his slippers down next to his feet as he removes his shoes and socks and stretches his legs.  It just stopped because we moved to Manila and by then everyone had different schedules, but that was one of chores but also my way of being respectful towards my father.

After dinner, I’d be sent out on an errand to a nearby sari-sari store to get him his 3 bottles of beer.  Of course, the fun part was I get to keep the change!  His ice, cold San Miguel beers would be his relaxation therapy as he listened to his favorite crooners: Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennet, Tom Jones, Johnny Mathis, Sammy Davis Jr.

He battled the big bad C for 5 years before finally succumbing, a couple of months after his 65^th birthday.  Thank you Dagda for your wisdom and guidance.  I will always be grateful and honor your memory.

50 Days to 50 - Day 12

Sep 22 - Day 12 to 50

Selvino Linco was my great-grandfather, lolo Bino.  My uncle was named after him.  He was a short footnote in the long life of our great-grandmother, Lola Peling because he died when his one and only son was barely a year old.  Everyone knew more, the man who came after him, Lola Peling’s second husband, Lolo Pecto.  Still his progeny sired me and thus, I owe him my life.

Having nothing more to say about him, I’d like to look back in history to see what happened on this same day. 

In 1692, the last of the Salem witch trials were hanged.  In 1792, the first French Republic was formed by the National Convention, stripping the French monarchs their powers.  In 1965, India and Pakistan agreed on a cease-fire ending the Indo-Pakistani war.   Quite significant events worldwide for such an ordinary looking day.

A significant lesson learned here was that no matter how seemingly minute or mundane something is, that could impact greatly towards something else.  The quiet man, lolo Bino, in his short life impacted all us his descendants.  We carry a piece of him in each one of us.  He is no longer here but he is not forgotten.

50 Days to 50 - Day 11

 Sep 21 - Day 11 to 50

My maternal great-grandparents are Mauricio Jardeleza and Circumcision Belleza (yes, Circumcision!).  We called them Tatang Iciong and Lola Budo (glottal stop at the end). 

Tatang Iciong died young but Lola Budo lived until the ripe age of 92.  She lived with her sons, tio Julio was the eldest who married tia Muni (Filomena); tio Efren and tio Pido.  Her only daughter, my nanay Concing, she’d visit from time to time. 

When my brother Alvin was born, both my Lola Budo and Nanay Concing lived with us in Sta. Mesa, Manila.  I will never forget the funny scene, myself just turned 4, my Lola Budo was playing with Alvin, raising him high with her arms calling him a good, handsome baby when he suddenly peed straight into her mouth!  Good thing she did not drop the baby, putting him safely back in his crib as she ran to gargle and clean her mouth in the kitchen sink, my nanay Concing laughing so hard, she was in tears. 

Lola Budo was very fair, so white she said it was from the Chinese side of her ancestry.  She’d been a petite lady but when she grew older, her back started to bow, that by the time she was in her 70’s she looked like a walking question mark.

She was playful and told funny stories usually about her youth or about the war (1940’s) or about the troubles my grandmother got to.  She died in 1993 just before I left for the UAE. 

50 Days to 50 - Day 10

 Sep 20 - Day 10 to 50

My paternal grandparents were Brigido Linco and Rosa Logrono.  We called them Lolo Brido and Lola Rosa, or sometimes, Mal-am Rosa.  It was a puzzle to me in my toddler years to discover that my Lolo Brido lived with us, his in-laws, and my Lola Rosa lived separately.  She’d come to visit and share news but they did not live under the same roof.  So I got to know my lolo more than my lola in my father’s side of the family.

My earliest memories would be waking up, maybe I was 2 or 3 years old, smell the coffee and breakfast being prepared.  I’d go down the stairs by our kitchen to the ground looking for my older brother, Manoy Allan.  Still sleepy, I’d scan our field – trees and vegetables abound – and I’d see my lolo, looking ancient already at that time, just finished weeding the vegetable plots.  He’d have his loyal dog beside him.  When he sees me, he’d give a tiny basket to his dog and send it towards me.  In its mouth, the basket would be filled with tino-tino (physalis fruits) freshly picked, just for me!   I’d pop the greenish covering and eat the tangy fruit yelling my greetings to the old man who picked them just for me.

He was a man of few words and soft-spoken.  He was really happy tending the land, a farmer by heart.  He had dark skin, like a negro but had really Hispanic features.  He said the Casas’ come from Iloilo and that the first Casas to come from Spain was a scribe of the priests, a learned man.  He’d had many sons, my uncles whom I’ve never met.  Thanks to Facebook, I’m friends with some of them.

When I was in Basilan on a Unicef-funded research project, we had to be given military details to guard us from being kidnapped back in early 1990’s.  One of the army soldiers assigned to us was Casas based on his tag.  We discovered we were related sharing the same grandparents! 

Stories about my Lola Rose painted her as a stern but smart woman.  She had an abundant amount of sons and raised them all to be rough and tough…feared by many in downtown Bacolod’s 2^nd Street.  The handful occasions I’ve met her, she seemed stiff and distant and the childhood me never really got to bond with her. 

Lolo Brido died in his sleep.  It was my Manoy Allan who went into his room, to wake him uo for breakfast one day, when he came running out crying, “La, patay na si lolo!”  Calling out my maternal great-grandmother Lola Peling to tell that Lolo Brido is dead.  We all went to his room.  He was already stiff and cold, my first memory of a loved one’s dead body.  His dark skin was grey and there were ants running up and down his arms.  The adults around me were crying and were clearly distressed.  I was just 3 years old then…I was trying to figure out who’d bring me my tino-tino now that Lolo is gone.

50 Days to 50 - Day 9

Sep 19 - Day 9 to 50

Mamang and Papang were doomed, star-crossed lovers.  Minda and Tom met, fell in love, got pushed into teenage marriage and grew to detest each other, leaving both broken. They were so in love when they had Noel, their first child.  Cracks were already starting to show by the time they had Allan, they second child after 4 years of marriage.  By the time I was conceived another four years after, both were ready to just legally separate.  Their love story had always been a cautionary tale and Minda always warned me not to be like her. 

Nothing was hidden from me growing up so I knew the real stories which I’m grateful for.  No family drama of me finding who were my real parents when I’m all grown up like in many telenovelas.    Mama Minda was like an aunt who came and went while my Papang was no show.  However their story was known to me and I’ve learned that too much love could also lead to too much hate and eventually to too much regret.

Papang never remarried and I’m unsure if he’d kept relationships through the years.  I was told he’d been a great uncle to his other nieces and nephews which I also never met.  Mamang, the hopeless romantic, fell in and out of love several times looking for “the one” and never really finding the right one.  My half-brother Rey was a bitter-sweet chapter of her search for love.

To my biological parents who have both since passed, Papang when I was in highschool in the 80’s and Mamang in 1999, I say a prayer of thanks and send them my whole-hearted forgiveness and love.  May you both have found the love and peace you’ve been looking for and may you have both forgiven each other as well.

50 Days to 50 - Day 8

 

Sep 18 - Day 8 to 50

Eufracio Belleza Linco is the only child of my Lola Peling and Lolo Bino.  Sadly, lolo Bino died when Tatay Pacing was but an infant so he was raised by his stepfather, Lolo Perfecto Enrile whom we all know as Lolo Pecto.  Pacing, being an only child was rather spoiled.  He studied at Silliman University and was a Math’s teacher.  He was an absentee father to all his children but to me, he was a very present grandfather.  When I was three, my Nanay Concing and Tatay Pacing took me to live with them in a farm in Iloilo.  There they looked like an old couple who married late and had me.  I was like their child.  He would come home from his job as a foreman of the farm and play with me.  He’d quiz me about my alphabets, numbers and the twelve apostles’s names in The Last Supper poster by our dining table.  He’d give me tummy raspberries which made me scream and laugh with glee.  When we lived in Cebu, he’d visit us regularly reporting to my dad the state of the Villaruel’s farm in Mohon.  Tatay Pacing was foreman of that farm then.  When he’s in Cebu, he’d sit on this rocking chair and sleep in the afternoon.  I’d sit on his lap and my tasks were to remove the white hairs on his head and clear the white heads off his enormous nose.  Yes, a bit yucky but each white hair was 25 centavos and the nose cleaning was a whopping 2 pesos!  Everytime he’d visit us, he’d have pasalubong (gifts) for everyone and for me, it was always a special chocolate bar, Mars, which was imported and quite expensive at that time.  I guess since I was his only granddaughter, I had a special spot in his heart.  My brothers were also rowdy troublemakers at this time and they usually got punished for escaping afternoon naps to go out and play.

Tatay died from a stroke travelling by boat from Manila to Bacolod.  He was only 63 years old.  The ship rushed to Bago, the port where it is to dock but it was too late.  He already passed still clutching the huge MY San biscuit tin which was his pasalubong for his mother, Lola Peling.  They had to pryi it off his dead hands.  We arrived by plane at Bago hospital but he was gone.  During his burial, was the first time I met my biological father…that I could remember.  He came to pay his last respects, telling my mom how sorry he was.  Then he went to me and we stared at one another…sizing each other up.  I was about 9 years old then and was in the 3^rd grade.  He touched my cheek and walked away. 

The last night of Tatay Pacing’s wake, his portrait by the wall was wet, like he was crying.  Blame was thrown around that he died because we made him eat humba, a pork dish which was his favorite.  Drama ensued but was suddenly hushed out of respect for the dead.  It was strange that Tatay, on the day he left Cebu for Bacolod, he woke everyone up to say goodbye.  Like he knew he was leaving for good.  Even us kids, whom he would usually not bother to wake as it is still very early, he woke us up and hugged and kissed us saying goodbye in a really jolly way.

He has had two strokes prior to this last one, both he survived unscathed.  It seems like 3^rd one’s the charm for him.  He died in 1983, and was outlived by his mother who passed away in 1994.

50 Days to 50 - Day 7

 Sep 17 - Day 7 to 50

I have been blessed to have so many mothers in my life, something that has got me to believe that there is indeed a higher power that looks after us all.  Mommy Lucy is my fourth mother, the second eldest sister of my biological mom.  She bought me my very first clothes and blankie.  Lucia Linco Casiendo was a shy and soft-spoken lady in her younger years.  A quiet presence who was the dependable sister for her siblings.  When my mom legally separated from my father, because remember, there is no divorce in the Philippines; she went out and dated other men.  One of them was one Genaro Casiendo whom she liked but only as a friend.  My mom set up a blind date between this guy and her sister Lucy.  One date and he brought her home, sat in the swing by the porch late one night.  They talked about life, getting to know one another.  Unfortunately, this was still in the early 70’s in conservative Philippines and Lola Peling, still alive and strong caught them sitting beside each other.  Immediately she sent them away and not come back unless they have a marriage certificate!  In haste, they were married just like that!  The fastest dating to wedding in our family’s history!  Still their marriage was blessed with four sons.  She kept all my baby clothes, shoes and even my toys, thinking someday soon she’d have a girl of her own.  Unfortunately, she’s had all boys and stopped after four.  So I enjoyed being her “daughter” too.  When we would vacation back in Bacolod, she’d borrow me and look after me when I was younger.  Her eldest son Junard was like a playmate and younger brother for me and Alvin.  I have vivid memories of us three kids chasing ducks and chickens in rice paddies in Trese y Media, where Lola Peling used to live. We’d fit our tiny selves snuggly and swing in the duyan (hammock) strung in the house.  We explored the farm and played by the deep well water pump, pulling it and rushing to the water spout to catch the drops or watering the plants and vegetables in plots dotted around Lola Peling’s house.

Mommy Lucy is the only one left alive as her sisters, Minda and Connie have both passed on.  She’s now a grandmother herself, enjoying her grandchildren, finally having girls.  It is rare for us to meet due to work circumstances but last time we met, in 2014, she also had a chance to meet and bond with my daughter Amber. 

50 Days to 50 - Day 6

 Sep 16 - Day 6 to 50

The mother of my heart and my second great love is my mommy Connie.  After my nanay Concing, Ma. Concepcion Jardeleza Linco (who was named after nanay Concing),  was the most constant person in my life and cared for me like I was her own.

She was the third and youngest daughter of Pacing and Concing who everyone fondly calls, Inday Connie.  She was greatly influenced by lola Peling and like her she was also the glue that kept the family together.  Generous to a fault, she’d support any relative in need – whether a temporary home, some money, counsel – anything she could provide.

From the age to 3, I have lived with her and my adoptive father, Alfredo Pena-Montilla Villaurel, Jr.  When their only son, Alvin was born, I was already part of their family.  Back then we lived in Puresa, Quezon City and Alvin was born in Mary Chiles Hospital and baptized in the church inside Camp Aguinaldo.  Nanay Concing was there to help mommy Connie with her new baby and I was there because I bawled all night without my nanay and mama Minda sent me over, fulfilling their (with her sister Connie) agreement that if I were a girl, she would take me and raise me.

From Bacolod, I sailed to Manila with my tatay Pacing and tiyo Aging, to live with my new parents, the Villaruels.  Mommy Connie was my mother and Daddy Fred my father from then on. 

Mommy Connie is the voice of calm and reason in my head.  Often steering me gently towards better decisions in my life.  She gave me stability and love aside from usual care.  I never lacked for anything and though we were not rich, we were comfortable.  She was also quite the disciplinarian creating a schedule for me and Alvin with chores to do early on in our childhood so we grew up knowing essential household tasks like cleaning, dishwashing, laundry and cooking simple meals.

She was also spiritual prayerful, instilling in us praying the rosary daily.  We’d all pray together before going to bed. Sunday masses, novena masses on Wednesdays, are some of my memories of her who’d gift me prayer books, rosaries and religious medallions throughout my life. 

But she also liked to have fun.  She was a sociable person and had circles of friends – from work, our community, close and distant relations.  While living in Cebu, she became president of a Jaycee’s club and often hosted parties at home.  Friends would also often get together to play mahjong or just chat with her.  She always welcomed everyone and was a gracious host despite struggling finances or uncertain income.

She lived and worked abroad, in the US, for several years until dad got sick and she had to come home to care for him.  Mom cared for dad till his last breath, remaining loving and cheerful and sweet.  Their love story is for another tribute (watch this space!) in another entry. 

Mommy Connie was also a loving daughter to her parents and supportive sister to her siblings.  Everyone gravitated towards her.  And she never denied anyone.  Later on when she became ill herself, she never bothered anyone else about her difficulties.  Only those closest to her, me and Alvin, knew she’d been ill and for a time already.  Her death was a hard blow to us all and each day I still have to come to terms that she is truly gone. 

I’m fortunate she and Amber had some good memories together and that my daughter got to know and love her.  She was there with me when Amber was born and got to take care of my baby in her very first months. 

I’ve learned to love and care from the two Concepcions in my life, my nanay Concing and my mommy Connie.  From my mommy Connie, I have learned to be a woman and mother, and I will always be grateful to her for everything. I love her dearly and miss her always.

50 Days to 50 - Day 5

 Sep 15 - Day 5 to 50

To say that my relationship with my biological mom had been complicated is an understatement.  We were always at odds with one another.  I could say she resented me from the moment she knew I’d been conceived and was doing things to have me aborted.  My stubbornness may have sprung from that moment I fought to live within her.

And yet, she is still my mother and owe her my life.  Luzviminda Jardeleza Linco was the eldest daughter of Pacing and Concing who grew up smart and had a beautiful singing voice.  She was always up on stage getting academic awards and performing, singing songs, and was the pride and joy of her family.  She was loud and bossed her younger siblings around.  She bullied her youngest brother, teasing him for having a cleft palate.  But she could also be protective and fierce if she wanted to be.

Everyone called her Nening Minda and when she was in the final year of high school, she fell in love…hard.  She met high school baddie, Pacifico Logrono Casas who was nicknamed Phantom or Tom.  Yes, she should have picked on that nickname and ran away but then bad boy was like a magnet and she, like the moth to a flame, got drawn and she got pregnant at the tender age of 17.  She had two children, Noel and Allan when she realized her husband, my father, would not amount to anything much but just be the sperm donor of her kids.  He was always late for work and would show up drunk or nursing a hangover, and sleep on duty.  He’d spend nights gambling and drinking with his friends not even bothering to go home.  She’d even bring him food to where he’s gambling, stringing along her two young sons, a toddler and a baby.  She regretted falling in love with Tom and was at the point of asking for legal separation (divorce is not allowed in Catholic Philippines), when I was conceived.  By this time, Tom suspected her for having lovers and denied I was even his.  She was trying to get rid of me when her sister, my Mommy Connie, asked her to stop what she was doing and just let me live.  She promised to take me as her own when I’d be born, and if I were a girl.  I wonder what would have happened if I had been born a boy.

These stories were never kept from me so I know who my real mother was and who may adopted mom was.  I knew who my father was, whom I’d never met until I was about 3 and again when my maternal grandfather died when I was about 9 or 10.  So I know who Mamang  (Mama Minda) and Papang (my father Tom) were, and knew their stories, which probably influenced how I saw them in my child’s mind. 

There had always been this small part in me that was sad that they were not together and we didn’t live as one family but that is more a wishful thinking than a reality.  Mamang was big on life’s realities and took time to often remind me not to commit the same mistake she did.  She came and went in my life while I was growing up.  Like an aunt who visited and brought stories and gifts and warnings.  We’d be fine for like 24 hours but beyond that, cracks will start to show, arguments and disagreements would start. 

In her own way, I know she loved me as her child.  But she was also conflicted with her own desires to be free from any responsibilities against her need to prove she’s a good mother.  Being a romantic, she was always chasing after her great love.  First, my father then a few others who also turned out to be major let-downs for her.  In the end, she became a more loving and caring grandmother to my eldest brother’s children, whom she helped raise.  She was even more mother to my adopted brother, actually my cousin Alvin, who called her Mama Mokmok – sharing their own songs and daily rituals with one another. 

My regret was she died before I got married and had my own daughter.  She would have loved Amber who took some of her traits – her posture, being comedic and singing well.  They would have been best buds and would have probably ganged up to go against me.  I can only share her memories with my daughter now.

I celebrate the headstrong woman that brought me to this world and thank her for instilling in me to learn from her mistakes, it sure made me strive to become a better mother.

50 Days to 50 - Day 4

 Sep 14 - Day 4 to 50

So many interesting and life changing events happened in this day, 14^th September across history.  In 1938 Graf Zeppelin II, world's largest airship, makes its maiden flight resulting in disaster that killed 36 people.  In India, in 1949, the Constituent Assembly adopts Hindi as an official language and celebrates today as Hindi Day.  From this time, ten years later, 1959 Soviet Union's Luna-2 is the first spacecraft to land on the Moon, yes, not the US.  A year after that, in 1960 Iraq, Iran, Kuwait, Saudi-Arabia and Venezuela form the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC). 

But enough of history, as I’d like to use this day to honor my grandmother, Concepcion Jardeleza Linco or my nanay Concing.  Incidentally, today in 1985 "The Golden Girls", starring Bea Arthur, Betty White, Rue McClanahan, and Estelle Getty, debuted on NBC, so it’s really fitting I use this day to pay tribute to my lola who I only call nanay (mother).

She was my first mother, my first love, the one who I know truly cared for me and loved me.  Nanay Concing raised me as her own, helping my biological mom, her eldest daughter, who was breadwinner then.  Nening Minda was a full time worker and was very busy so Nanay was my caregiver from the moment I was born.  Yes, she was my hero.  She made it a point to be there, when one of her children would be having a new addition to their families and stayed for several years taking care of the newest baby. From my eldest brother, Noel, who is the oldest grandson up to the youngest ones, Nanay had been the very first "yaya" - caring for each one of us like a grandmother and mother rolled into one would.

She was the only girl amongst her siblings and naturally enjoyed special love and treatment from her parents and brothers but never grew up spoiled.  One of her best friends growing up was my grandaunt, tia Meding, or Remedios Castro who was often visited and even lived with us.  Together, they’d cook up a storm of native delicacies, or have sewing projects while talking about relatives from near and far and how everyone is doing.

She's lived a hard life but she never complained.  She found ways to earn extra income to support her family.  For years she was both mother and father to her five children when her husband was in Manila.   After a while she decided to look for my grandfather, taking in jobs as house help and washerwoman to wealthy families so she could, on her off days search for him.  When they finally reunited, no questions were asked, no accusations. Her capacity to love and forgive is boundless and I admire her for that.  Later in life, when all grandchildren had grown, she went to live with us in Manila. When I left for the UAE and my mom was working in the US, Nanay was again acting mom and caregiver for my younger siblings and even to my dad.  In June 2009, she passed away in her sleep.  She was 87.  All her life had been of service and caring for others.  Despite all her hardships, she never became harsh or cold.  She kept her humor and kind nature intact.  Today I honor her and her memories as I continue to share stories about her to my own daughter. 

50 Days to 50 - Day 3

 Sep 13 - Day 3 to 50

On this day in 1975, famous novelist Daniel Steele married Danny Zugelder in a prison canteen.   Quite an interesting fact and one that reminded me of how may maternal grandparents met and married.  It was during the second World War in 1940.  My grandfather was a college student in Siliman University in Dumaguete, it was at that time about 8 hours travel time from Murcia.  Since all able bodied young men are to go to war, my Lola Peling decided to hide his son away in Murcia mountains, in Canlandog.  My great-grandmothers are both Bellezas and are distant cousins, yes.  So their families were from the same place and hid in the same mountains.  My then 20 year old grandfather, Eufracio Belleza Linco met my then 16 year old grandmother Concepcion Belleza Jardeleza.  I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight but times were uncertain and everyone was afraid of the war.  Yet being hidden together, in really harsh conditions must have triggered something in both young individuals…they fell in love.  And were married by another distant cousin, who was also a priest (how convenient!), hiding in the same mountains. 

I called them Tatay Pacing and Nanay Concing, my grandparents.  They raised me when I was really young.  They even took me with them to Iloilo when my grandfather had to work there for a year and we, just us three, were like a family – them looking like they had me when they were really old. That time I think my grandfather was in his early fifties and my grandmother was in her late forties.

But their love story traversed troubled waters.  After the war, my grandfather who had completed his studies went to Manila to become a teacher leaving his family, this time he’d had five children, in the care of his parents.  That’s why my moms (yes I have two but that’s a later story), had always acknowledged that Lola Peling and Lolo Pecto stood as their own parents growing up, aside from their own mother, of course. 

Nanay Concing raised her kids with her in-laws and times were truly hard after the war.  She’d sell fruits harvested from the farm, placed in a cart with her youngest son still breastfeeding.  She sold her fruits at the nearby school, nearby being like an hour’s worth of walking, where her older children studied.  For years this was their norm.  My grandfather barely sent anything so she and her in-laws had to find means to raise five children until such time that they even had to sell their farm and move to the city.  The children have grown and are going to high school or university and money was needed for all that.  In the city, nanay had to accept odd jobs like washing laundry or selling native delicacies to make ends meet.

Tatay Pacing was MIA (missing in action) yet Nanay Concing held on, to keep the family together.  She even went to find tatay in Manila, finding odd jobs as cook, laundry woman, domestic helper, just to get news of her missing husband.  There had been fears that he’d remarried and had another family.  Still, there never had been any proof of that and nanay held on to their marriage vows.

Tatay did eventually come home and when I was born they spent precious time with me in Iloilo.  It was like them rediscovering their bond.  Tatay was a swimmer and taught me to swim in the river while nanay would wash our clothes in the riverbanks. 

Many marriages start with interesting events.  But the substance of any relationship lies in how the years were spent.  Tatay wasn’t what one would call a good husband or father but nanay was a great wife and mother, and eventually grandmother.  She was the rock that stayed true and her strength was the core that held her family together. 

Their marriage wasn’t perfect, far from it, but they stayed together until tatay passed away in 1983 and nanay stayed his widow until her death in 2009.  I’d say tatay was nanay’s true love and tatay was one lucky bastard to have met her in the mountains when the world was at war.  I honor their union that eventually resulted in me coming into being.  I thank them for their love and care and pray that both are still together, wherever that next stage may be.

50 Days to 50 - Day 2

 Sep 12 - Day 2 to 50

It is often said that for one to move forward, one has to also look back.  Today in history marks key events that could help us as people in general to move forward into the future.  On this day in 1217, French prince Louis & English king Henry III signed a peace treaty.  49 days into my birth, Sep 12 is also special in that in 1910, the first known female cop in the US, Alice Stebbins Wells was appointed by the LAPD.  Likewise, in 1992 the first African American woman to go into space aboard Endeavour STS-47, Mae Jemison, who was also a physician takes off.

Today, on the 2^nd day of my 50 days to 50^th, I pay tribute to the first female influence in my life, my great grandmother Felisa Belleza Linco who passed away in 1994 at the ripe old age of 110.  My lola Peling was a jack of all trades.  First and foremost a farmer and landowner, she worked the land and would be up before daybreak tending to her chickens and other farm animals, cooking meals for the family and harvesting the day’s crops whilst caring for other plants and trees to ripen or bloom.  She knew herbs that can heal, leaves to boil and drink when you have the flu or stomach ache, and prayers in Latin that she piously said three times each day.   She was a woman ahead of her time, having been widowed early, she remarried and kept only her one child from her first husband, Selvino Linco.  Her second husband Perfecto Enrile or Lolo Pecto became the father-figure for her only son, Eufracio or Tatay Pacing.  Together, they too would raise their grandchildren, all five of them when they were living together in the farm in Kawayway, Murcia.  Life was hard but the land was generous and bountiful.  Lola Peling was the hardest worker of them all but also the most gracious provider. 

No one knew exactly how old she was but sometime in 1990, when everyone thought she was at death’s door, we all came home to Bacolod to visit her and perhaps, pay our last respects.  I was already in college then and asked her if she knew how old she was.  She candidly replied that she can no longer remember and stopped counting when she reached past 70 years, but the one poignant memory she has, which she was certain that she was 12 or 13 years old at the time, was when our National hero, Dr Jose Rizal was shot in Bagumbayan.  José Protasio Rizal Mercado y Alonso Realonda was a Filipino nationalist during the twilight years of the Spanish colonial period of the Philippines and was indeed shot on December 30, 1896 in what is now Rizal Park in Manila.  If she was certain to be 12 then, it would be a simple math calculation to infer that, at that time in 1990, she was already 106 years old!  And yes, she recovered and was up and about, feeling so happy that she had visitors.

To this day, I remember her smell of tobacco and nganga (betel nut) that she liked to chew, and the fragrant coffee beans she boils early in the morning.  Her famous power-giving and health-enhancing “laswa” a broth cooked from garden vegetables with salted fish.  Her scrumptious duck adobo that she prepares when we visited her.  Her colorful patadyongs (native, long, woven cloth worn around the waist) and how long and silvery her hair was.  She never became senile except for a couple of episodes when she would start speaking in Spanish, telling my aunt who must have resembled her sister in their younger years that they are taking the carriage to a baile (dance) or to swim in the river.   Most of all, I recall how she would kiss.  This is the “besar” of the old people, when they would use their nose to vigorously sniff your cheeks or temples of neck. It’s like she is inhaling you, your essence but in a good way.  Reconnecting you to your roots.  I taught my daughter how to kiss like that…reserved only for family, those we dearly love. 

Today, I light a candle and send a wish that I may gracefully grow as ancient and full of wisdom as my first female lodi (idol), my lola Peling.  And that like her, I too die peacefully in my sleep when it’s my time, welcoming death like an old friend who finally has come to take me home.

https://www.onthisday.com/events/september/12

50 Days to 50 - Day 1

 Sep 11 - Day 1 to 50

9/11 is a date etched in history.  The lives lost, the destruction, the horrors and the heroes.  It also marks my path towards my 50^th year in 50 days.  Aside from this poignant memory, I’d like to add a personal memory commemorating my 50th year’s journey on planet Earth.  Yes, I’ve lived 18,200 days thus far or 26,208,000 minutes. 

Auspicious events happened on 31^st October 1971.  One notable international news was about Swiss women who voted for the first time for elections of 200 seats in the National Council.  At least 3 women were elected to the Lower House of the Council, as reported by the Los Angeles Times. (3 Swiss Women Win Seats in Parliament", Los Angeles Times, November 1, 1971, p. 5)  Yey for women!

Growing up with brothers and all-male cousins, I had been quite a tomboy as a child.  I enjoyed the outdoors and played with boys a lot.  My first BFF was a boy named Vicente who was three years old when I was two and I lived with my maternal grandparents in Iloilo.  My first pets were a rooster I named “Baduy” and a sow I named “Baday”. 

On 31^st October 1971, Sunday, a young boy by the name of Ayman Munir Kamel, who what six years old then, decided the fate of three Papal candidates of the Coptic Orthodox Church in Egypt.  Bishop Shenouda, Bishop Samuel and the Reverend Timotheus El Makary were the three candidates voted by the Coptic clergymen and whose names were placed inside a silver box.  Ayman was then blindfolded and made the pick in order to fulfill the requirement that the choice represents "the will of God".  Nazir Gayed Roufail, Bishop Anba Shenouda of Abnub, was picked as the 117th Pope at the Cathedral of St. Mark in Cairo to replace Pope Cyril VI, who had died on March 9^th that year. . ("Leader Is Chosen by Coptic Church— Blindfolded Boy Pulls Name of Bishop From Box", by Raymond H. Anderson, The New York Times, November 1, 1971, p. 13)

Born into a Catholic family, I also had relatives who were of different religions like Jehovah’s Witness and Aglipay Church.  I have vague memories as a toddler of relatives gathered round some party, drinking tuba or coffee and discussing religion.  On some occasions, these talks could get heated and my maternal great grandmother Felisa or Lola Peling would intervene.  A pious Catholic woman, she was respected by everyone and even feared.  As head of the family, she led the six o’clock Angelus prayers everyday in Latin.  If you weren’t home before 6PM prayers, you are in big trouble.

Speaking of trouble, a bomb caused severe damage to the Post Office Tower in London on October 31, 1971.  At that time,  the Post Office Tower was the tallest building in the UK at 620 feet (190 m). A caller claiming to represent "the Kilburn battalion of the I.R.A." took culpability, Kilburn being a suburb of northwest London with a large Irish population. (“Blast Rips Post office Tower, The Tallest Building in London", The New York Times, October 31, 1971, p. 1)

I was born quietly on a Sunday morning.  My aunt, Lucia had to go early to the Central Market in Bacolod to buy me some baby clothes as my biological mom, her elder sister, Luzviminda hadn’t gotten me any.  She’s been busy working and had even been driving to work till her 9^th month of pregnancy.  It was already the start of a long weekend and everyone was busy preparing food for the feasts of All Saints’ Day (Nov 1) and All Souls’ Day (Nov 2).  I arrived at dawn just before sunrise.   October 31, 1971…50 days from September 11^th…my life would have just begun.