Reunions in Bacolod

“In vino veritas” - anonymous

Last time, I wrote about the degrading condition of Bacolod city with regards to some taxi drivers’ misdemeanor, street cleanliness, traffic congestion and concrete roads that seems to get back to the ages where ruts are a norm due to the number of carriages that passes through it. Well, all still seems to be true in every place I’ve been lately. And this is just within the confines of the city where I live in.

I’ve come realize though that these are not the reasons why I still like to come here as often as time and money would permit – normally both happens every December. Well, I kept on coming back for the people I’ve known for years. I’ve kept coming back for my parents and family, for my classmates and friends – whoever is still here and haven’t left Bacolod to work (some left to permanently stay abroad for good).

From the time we arrived from Manila and within just one week, the calls for reunion – or more likely called, an invitation to drink - poured in through SMS.

The first one was with my IP brods. These are classmates and friends in college. I was one of the founding members of this informal group. IP stands for Iota Pi or International Playboy. I was clueless though where we got this name. Or just like any rock bands today, it was taken on the spur of the moment from one of our drunken misadventures with the aide of Red Horse or San Miguel beers, Toska Vodkas, Ginebra Gin or a mixture of all of the above.

Unlike our college years, this time we just now drank in moderation (ahem). We are just happy enough to spend some time reminiscing and checking what everyone’s been doing lately. Surprisingly, we ended the session early. If this was done more than 10 years ago, it would have been over by the wee hours of the morning and we would be going home reeking of alcohol and some other smell that we might have got in the process.

The second reunion was with my high school peers (batch ’90 SJHS). I’ve never expected that this year I’ll be attending a General Homecoming instead of the usual annual batch reunion. With Melvin and his wife, we arrived at St. Joseph’s High School – La Salle - it used to be just SJHS. No La-Salle - by 2pm despite the heavy downpour (it’s been raining for days since we’ve arrived). From the moment we entered the gate, the familiar faces bring back memories and stirred some confusion. I know some names but forgot the face (due to change in appearance) and some is the other way around - knew the face but forgot the name.

Registration was a breeze. So right after it, we wasted no time and went to tour the school’s ground. Most of the buildings are still there. Some of our 2nd and 4th year classrooms have been changed to a school chapel. The pavilion and former canteen is now nowhere to be found as it has been merged into a bigger activity center (Oscar Hilado Civic Center). Part of the football field has been consumed by this new building too.

At the rear part of the campus, our Library, Practical Arts Room (San Lorenzo Ruiz Building), and Home Economics building still stands. Some new structures already annexed the area beside the periphery fence.

Just like a trained bloodhound, I was so delighted to see the familiar beer bottle. Right behind the civic center is the new canteen where just for this event beers are sold. Some guys from the batches ahead of us were already drinking. At last, after 20 years, this is my first time to drink booze legally inside the SJHS campus – we used to smuggle alcohol before to satisfy our curiosity. Ti abi. Were we alcoholics in the making then?

Our batch’s attendance reached to almost 20 by the time dinner was served. Our allocated table was filled with smiling faces, exchanging news and pleasantries most of the time. The free dinner (supposedly for a fee during registration) was fairly good. It is also worth noting that most of our teachers are still there (some just paid a visit).

There’s Mr. Leon Sales whom I won’t forget for it is through him that I learned to touch-type fast enough (to the surprise of most people). There’s Mr. Baldomero who was our 1st year moderator and who introduced us the native yoyo called “El Diablo” (I don’t know if this is the real name) where an hour glass-type carved wood is balanced between a string held by both hands. Ms. Logrunio, Ms. Lupo, Mr. Lariza and our “psychic” Filipino teacher, Mr. Mahigne were also there. Then there’s Mr. Dante Amaguin who arrived late but nonetheless still got our attention with his magic tricks. He was our 4th year class adviser.

The enjoyable night was interrupted due to a problem of one of batchmate’s car. But that’s another story. I might write about it once I got time to kill.

I’m just now glad to be part of this series of reunions. It is always nice to see friends still in good condition, good health, successful in their respective careers or just plainly contented to just be still here in our hometown and yet survive (I actually find them lucky. I even envy them).

Time always flies. So before I know it, I will be here again back for another Reunion in Bacolod.

Home in Bacolod on the 25th…(and some of the Booboo’s)

After spending our Christmas Eve in Batangas with my wife’s family, we woke up by 4am the next morning and had to go straight to Park and Fly to leave our car while we are in Bacolod. From there we were whisked to the Manila Domestic Airport through their shuttle service.

We were on queue earlier than our 2-hour check-in time. Even then, the lines of travelers going to different destinations were already jam packed. Some lines even crisscrossed each other to the frustration of most people including myself. One of the noticeable things is the number of foreign visitors (British, Americans, and other Asians) going to places such as Kalibo, Cebu and Palawan. When I checked there’s no one in Bacolod’s queue. I’m wondering why.

The 845am flight was delayed for more than an hour. If not for the Delifrance’s Christmas Ham Clubhouse sandwich (surprisingly, it’s one of the best sandwich I had tasted) that I was eating for breakfast, I would have been grouchy as I always am given the situation.

Boarding time came. To my wife’s dismay we had to walk from the departure area to our designated plane. It used to be a short one. Now it’s some 300 meters walk and longer exposure (this is what she actually hates) to the glaring morning sun as the plane themselves (also to other domestic places) were also on parallel queue. One can just imagine how many people are traveling even on this Christmas day.

Except for being not on the window seat, the flight was smooth as usual. The on board “bring me” games was held just like every Cebu Pacific flight. This time though my wife was too tired to actively participate. The addition of tokens and corporate items for sale (nice gifts for those you realized you forgot), made it even more interesting. And of course, the beautiful flight stewardesses are still there.

Landing wasn’t bad either. I was at this point thinking that we can leave the airport in a jiffy after alighting from the plane. But that just isn’t going to happen. The “new and improved” arrival area and baggage claim answered (just maybe one of the reasons why) the question why we haven’t got any foreigners on board. In these times of high-tech, innovative and “whatever-you-call-it” technology, one would be shocked to see how the bags are handled. After manually unloading the bags from the cart, these were just either dragged or tossed on a metal barricaded floor where you can easily claim it if you’re lucky to get the attention of porters handling it. Damn, I should stop watching the Discovery channel.

After some frustrating time, I was able to claim our bags. These is one of the times I’ll recite in my mind “Good things come those who wait” as a mantra.

As it has been our practice to avoid the taxis right outside the airport terminal as they would normally overcharge, we walked out of the airport vicinity to flag down an empty taxi just along the road. Unfortunately, two consecutive cabs I got were Grinches (or they could have thought of me just the same). I find it so shameful when I am being swindled by someone who’s a kababayan (town-mate for this matter) just because I got bags (obviously coming from the airport). I can just imagine if it were especially Caucasians. It’s now reason # 2 why the foreigners aren’t queuing for Bacolod?

I gave up hailing a cab right in front of the airport. We decided to board a jeepney instead that would take us to downtown. Along the way though I couldn’t help but notice the scattered garbage, uncut grasses in the city plaza & the stagnant sidewalk canals. This is not the Bacolod I used to know for years. What an un-welcoming sight. Reason # 3.

From downtown, we were lucky enough to get an honest taxi driver as I’ve observed that there were only a few of them (pun intended) on duty on this Christmas day as the streets are somewhat empty than usual. Well, at least my resolution (for some years already) of not generalizing anything or anyone will still work. At least just SOME of them are bad. NOT ALL.

Eventually, we got home. My tatay and nanay were there with some of my siblings. It was almost 11am. And as expected a good lunch of seafoods were served. Tatay cooked sweet and sour fish, tanigue kinilaw (both which are his specialty) and with some fruits for dessert. It was another hearty lunch.

Thankfully we are home. Home sweet Home. And it’s still Christmas day.

December Weddings

Today I almost missed attending a friend’s wedding (Villafuerte-Espinosa) due to sore throat. Since I’ve prepared for this day for quite some time so I can see this normally rugged and casual person marching down the isle in barong tagalog (Filipino native male costume), I dragged my aching throat & drove my way to Tagaytay.

I arrived at the Ina ng Laging Saklolo Church late, but not late enough to be included in the photo op (which I swear is the most stressful part of any wedding. Imagine one had to endure and maintain the perfect smile frame by frame, regardless of mood or condition) with other friends and co-workers. Indeed, he wore a barong but still sporting the ponytail just like I did when I got married.

As if by reflex, after the entire photo ops were done, I with a couple of friends sped to the reception (lunch) area at Lake Garden Hotel and arrived there first. And it just dawned on me that I could win an Amazing Race series if all the pit stops are event reception centers. I’ve done this a couple of weddings already.

The tables and buffet meals were set at a picturesque view of the Taal Lake. The weather was good and the view of the volcano was a perfect background for the bride, groom and all the guests which were either smiling, chatting, munching and drinking – Iced Tea at this time of the day. It would have been more perfect if there were liquors to somehow warm up our body from the chilly atmosphere. But then again, I got the damn sore throat.

Unfortunately, I have to leave early to catch up with my doctor’s appointment. We will drink to that someday.

Another wedding I attended this month was my in-law’s 50th Wedding Anniversary celebration.

It was a celebration my wife, her siblings and other relatives had been preparing for almost two years. The funds were raised and saved regularly to ease up on the expense. Each one also got assumed responsibility (work term) to accomplish. I got to donate a Lechon (roasted pork) that was never served. But it’s another story.

And so, D-day came.

Although the weather last Dec 9 was flip-flopping, the folks in Batangas got things going by very early morning. The bayanihan spirit, which is not uncommon in their place during every celebration, kicked off in high gear.

(Disclaimer: just this next part is not for vegans. Sorry. ) The guys slaughtered the pig in the wee hours of the morning and prepared the pork parts and cuts for various recipes.

The ladies (and lolas) were busy chopping and getting the spices ready, while the rest did the cooking. The smoke-filled dirty kitchen (no pun intended) was bustling with activity. The aroma of typical Batangueno food reaches every corner of the place. And almost everyone else was getting back and forth to get things done.

Despite the threat of rain, the wedding started on time in the local chapel. The guys wore barong tagalog, while the ladies had the aptly golden yellow colored dress. The little girls (granddaughters) had butterfly wings on them. It was a festive sight and I felt the excitement and joy of all the family members radiating from their smile.

After the ceremony and photo ops (did I just say photo ops again?), inay po and itay po went with us (well, our humble car was the bridal car. No choice but to be there first) as we drove back to the reception area which was set at the basketball court just outside their house (another typical Filipino setting).

Unfortunately, the wedding entourage tables, which were set under the shelter of a tarpaulin, got flooded still, due to the uneven portion of the ground (a remnant of the last typhoon Milenyo). The show (in this case, eating) must go on so some guys who are still in barong, neatly ironed pants and shiny shoes armed themselves with dust pans and broom sticks to clear the area so that the rest may be seated.

The rest of the night went on to be rainy. Everyone had to wade in inches of flood to get back to their tables to eat. Others had to take shelter under their own plates while lining at the buffet area for food. But as most people would believe (depending on the situation. A rain during a funeral would be taken as “the Heavens mourning the death of”), the rain is a sign of blessing. In this case, so be it.

For it is indeed a blessing for my in-laws to reach 50 years of being together. A blessing for their children to have such parents; for their grandchildren to have been able to see and be with their lolo and lola. And of course a blessing for us in-laws to have someone who trusted us with their children whom we had as either husband or wife.

For me I have nothing but praises for them. Being together for this long is a feat itself. It takes more than just patience, love and understanding to hold on to such relationship. In these days of loose moral values, fast pace life, consumerism and materialism, marriage is always threatened and compromised. It is always easy and sometimes mushy to say, but it’s a fact that God had to be in the center of one’s marriage or family to get over with every trial the “new” world gives. No more No less.

To everyone who had or is just about to have their wedding this December, my congratulations and best wishes to all of you. I’m sure your Christmas and New Year will never be cold.

 

Age…and Age We Would

“How I was born, I do not remember. How I will die, I do not know” – Russian Proverb

My father and I celebrate our birthday always on the same date. Our ages are 40 years apart. And just recently, I turned 33.

My wife asked me one time, if how old is my tatay (filipino for father) going to be this year, and I said “73”. “Do you think you’ll reach that age?” was her quick reply.

Assuming she meant well with that (just kidding), that one quick discussion made me think somehow. Would I still be alive 40 years from now? How would I look like by that time? In what condition would we be? Would we be financially stable by then? And a lot more questions I could possibly think of.

A decade back then, when I reached my early twenties I said to myself that I’d be happy to reach the age of 50. I actually feared (even until now) thinking that I would eventually get old and helpless. And that, I wouldn’t want myself to be in.

But as I grew older, started to work and soon got married, I’ve come to appreciate life even more. Now that age goal had to be extended – as if I can do something about it. Every now and then, I would daydream about a laid-back, idyllic farm setting, my wife and me just lazily sitting outside and watching a golden sun set over the horizon. Children and / or english bulldogs running around are always included, of course.

Sometimes though, these hopes of living longer would be snapped out each time that I would get sick. I’m often so paranoid that a little bit of headache would send me thinking of my mortality. Only the paranoid survive, huh!? Thankfully, I had somehow recovered and got medications (and as far as I’m concerned, is effective) for my “new” migraine. Now I can once again start dreaming of happy thoughts.

Whatever will be, will be. Or Que sera sera, as nanay (mother) would often sing.

So true. And whether I like it or not, I’m indeed getting older. And one obvious fact would be the number of white hairs my wife would happily pluck from my head. On some days I would ask her to leave it alone as I would feel proud having those and see them in the mirror peeking out of the still majority black hairs. When it would be fully covered in white/grey locks, I can only guess.

God willing, I will appreciate it a lot if the time comes that I’d be 73 yet still be able to walk, to enjoy each day and still be together with my loving wife. And so, until that time comes, I’ll let my daydreaming continue.

It’s my 33th Bday…or is it 34th?

Life is full of ups and downs. The trick is to enjoy the ups and have courage during the downs – Author Unknown

Nov 30th 2006 was one of the most exciting times of my life. The week prior was eventful either.

Since I’ve got to learn to write my birthday, I’ve been writing it as Nov 30, 1973. Lately though, while I was processing my Transcript of Records from where I got my Bachelor’s Degree, I had a frustrating and confusing time at the Registrar’s office. I learned that they’re reading or interpreting my birth certificate’s photocopy as showing 1972 instead of 1973. Ti abi. How could this happen? I argued. I’ve been using 1973 in my passports, government issued ID’s, licenses, including gun license (I don’t know if it would have helped in convincing them if I brought this one along). But it all fell on deaf ears. I was short of choking someone’s neck that day. Good thing, my good side prevailed (Psycho thriller movie music playing).

I left school that day with a confused mind, wondering if I would be turning 33 or 34 this year.

So yesterday, I anxiously went to claim my birth certificate from our NSO (National Statistics Office). And there it was. 1973. Legibly typed written on my birth date space. I’m a certified 33-year-old man, indeed. Never before have I appreciated my age.

November 29th. Coming from Starbucks near Shangri-La Makati, by the wee hours of the morning, I drove and made my way to SLEX on our way home. At one intersection in Pasay Road, going East, I was made to decide which way would took me to where I should be. I have the right, which is Skyway ramp. I have the left, which looks like a direct way to where I am going.

So left road it is. Wrong decision. Upon exciting that lane, I was apprehended by what appears to be a policeman and was asking for my license and who radioed for back up. The back up came and was implying that I could get an easier way out of it. Now this is where another dilemma occurred. To bribe or not to bribe. I was anxious to go home and get over with it. But I’ve been a firm believer that bribing someone, in this case a policeman, is making one a part of the problem and not a part of the solution. So I chose the path less taken – i.e. I got my ticket and left the policemen with nothing but my driver’s license. I drove away disappointed but proud of what I did. That would cost me more, but at least I stand up to my belief.

November 28th. This day was unique for the T3 folks. That’s what I call my wife’s group. Instead of the usual Japanese buffet at Saisaki, this time, they’re turning Chinese (sort of). We had dinner at Tong Yang Hot Pot in SM Megamall. Majority of the guys is newbie to this sort of dining. Nevertheless, they enjoyed preparing their own hotpot and grilled foods coming from a variety of selections from the counter. There are oysters, dimsums, tuna bellies, chicken innards, tuna, salmons and veggies just to name a few. And the boys’ favorite was of course not missing – free flowing beer for P50 ($1). And surprisingly, it was San Miguel beer. I was at first thinking that it was home-brewed. And if you’re wondering, yes I followed the 1 bottle per hour rule for a driver like me.

Other than the beer-deal surprise, my wife went creative too. She got me a cake, delivered right into our table by the waiter while a repertoire of birthday songs played over the whole restaurant. And that was all for me. What a wonderful way to have an advance birthday party.

Right after that belly busting dinner, a bowling match followed. Yes, bowling. Good thing I didn’t got confused if I was picking a bowling ball or some else’s round stomach.

To cap the night we went to Nipa Hut bar in Pasig where we met up with a couple of ex-intellites, had some chitchats. We also had a couple of killer sisigs and killer gambas. And what could be more perfect match to those killers than beers. Yes. Beers. 1 bottle per hour again. Hik.

November 27th. The longest day. At least for a badminton game, we have ever played. We played and stayed at Lotus Badminton Center Inc. for almost 6 hours (rest and lunch included). If I remember it right, we started playing badminton since 3 years ago. Fairly enough, we have improved our game (in my opinion). We left the court by past 3 pm.

While on our way to the mall and pondering on pampering ourselves with much needed body massages and hot oil treatments, our car broke down. Luckily I was able to park it at the mall and did the troubleshooting right there. It was a busted alternator (again, since I replaced it approximately 6 months ago). I have no other choice but to buy and 2nd hand part that cost the same as the painting my wife was planning to buy. Ti abi. Good thing she hasn’t bought it yet.

I went home tired and dirty instead of refreshed and shiny.

November 26th. As a Sunday routine, I bought my copy of the Philstar (www.philstar.com). I was surprised upon reading that one of my favorite writer Max Soliven (also this paper’s Publisher) passed away last Friday, November 24th. While on his way home from Japan. Sanamagan.

I’ve admired him for his articles in By the Way. He wrote with courage and charisma and his style of writing almost never fails to amaze me. Well, that’s life I guess. Although I know that the list of writers with such caliber as Max are now dwindling in numbers, I just do hope that someone will come at par with the way he does.

Wherever you are, may you rest in peace.