Songs of Life

Rock bands’ concerts gathering folks from all walks of life; young boys singing rock and roll with their acoustic guitars jamming under the trees; original upbeat Pilipino music (OPM) played on the airwaves; kids singing a Korean pop song; young girls pouring their hearts out through a song; housewives humming a tune as they go about their daily household chores; office workers taking a break to sing a line of a favorite song… Oh, my goodness! Where words fail, music says it best. Truly, music transcends time, ages, languages and status in life.

When my son was about three to four years old, he slept well with music. Whether it was nursery rhymes or folk music, we found it so effective to allow music to take him to the dreamland. However, among the many songs in the tape, I noticed that three particular songs made him sing as it played regardless of how tired he was. These had different effects on him. "Billy Boy" made him look sad while "She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountains" made him want to get up and clap his hands, otherwise, he marched to the tune. The song "Words" made him run near the radio or the tape recorder and sing with the singer even if his words were not as that of the lyrics. He may not have understood what the songs meant but it surely touched him.

Lately, other than the English songs that spread through the airwaves came the Japanese and the Korean songs too. Moreover, original Pilipino music were safe in their niche in the heart of its followers with the coming of those Filipino folk singers as Freddie Aguilar, Florante, Celeste Legazpi and the recent others. Pop and rock Pilipino music were elevated to a higher level of public acceptance then as new younger singers came to the field. The Filipino folk/rock bands soon gained followers that its influence to the teeners cannot be overlooked. Pepe Smith of Juan de la Cruz Band paved the way for our original OPM rock to penetrate the international crowd. Their songs had a blend of the western influence and the local touch. Well we cannot forget the group of the nationalistic Asin; the wacky Tito, Vic, and Joey; the music-revolutionary Eraserheads, and the others that followed, such that some of the OPM compositions won in the international competitions.

Hiligaynon songs, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped growing in number but Kinaray-a compositions have become a fad lately. Does it mean something? Are we lacking in Ilongo songwriters today? A friend defended this with a vehement, “No! No, there are so many talented young minds around here. We just need an inspiration.” Well said.

It’s alright; stimulation of ideas can come about with one’s intense feelings, amazing visions and fantastic experiences. With the myriad possibilities in the daily life of men… who knows? One Ilongo will rise to write another Hiligaynon song that will make us sing and dance with joviality through the next years... The type of Iloilo Ang Banwa Ko or the Ang Alibangbang will, definitely, not be lost but we do hope to hear a new, ‘to-be-classic’ Hiligaynon song again… soon.

Thanks for the inspiring messages sent to va_wiley50@yahoo.com.ph. It’s nice to hear from you guys: Jose Agregado, Tirso Lou Osano, Willy Zamoro, Helen Jamilarin-Nabor, Rose Giergos-Acosta, May Guinunsan, Mitch Fernandez, and all Trivia readers in the global and the local circle.

Fairy Tales

(How Stories Affect your Children)

When my eldest daughter was a little girl of three years, she asked so many questions about almost anything around her. One day, she cried in one corner of the house which made us all wonder why she was crying so bitterly. I took her outside the house for a walk. As I carried her in my arms she was hugging me tight that it puzzled me. However, with gentle persuasions she opened up and I learned why. She feared for our lives. It alarmed me until she asked if there is something we can do to ‘stop the mill under the sea from grinding more salt,’ I was relieved.

Bedtime is story time for our kids when they were small. The night before, their father told them a story about how the sea became salt. We never thought the story will bother her. So, we went under the Palawan Cherry as I answered her many queries related to the ‘mill’ in question. She kept saying, “Ahh.” while we talked until she suddenly asked, “Ma, where do all those water come from? They keep on running… they’re crying!” Interesting! I beamed at the girl and she pointed to me the flowing canal water with eyes so sad as if sympathizing with however she conceived it to be.

Definitely, we know that these canals are the wider passageways of the dirty waters that come from the little gutters of every home, establishments, offices and other areas within the locality. When these canals are well placed and without obstacles for the water, the water will have moved on fast as it drains itself towards the rivers or another bigger and much wider duct. The continuous flow of the water in the canal makes it appear to be like tears for the little children. How is it so? Hahaha! Only these little children can make up imageries out of the ordinary stories similar to the fairy tales of the Grimm Brothers or that equally touching for them as those written by Hans Christian Andersen. However, fantasy (romanticism) and reality are poles apart.

I smiled at her allegory even as I explained where all the flowing water came before they reached us. I also told her where the water will ultimately go. She listened wide-eyed and without interruptions.

Yet, children are children. Their simple hearts need only love and an anchor. This I saw when she countered thus, “Ahh, so the river is the mommy of all these waters? That’s why they’re crying because they miss their mommy.” I just hugged her as she expressed her childish sympathy to the dirty waters. Soon, she asked for milk and reality took over. While I washed the glass she used she tugged at my skirt and said, “Ma, do we also have the duct that drains the water towards that canal?” I smiled and her laughter rang… She has been listening to my explanations, after all.

The bedtime stories we choose for our children affect their behavioral growth. Whether we like it or not the belief that ‘children grow up with the bedtime stories they hear’ is true. When I asked my daughter lately how she was affected by that story about the mill she laughed and said, “Wow, of all the tales that you and Daddy ever told us, that made me remember to be considerate with others because… Hahaha! The selfishness of that one person made everyone in the village suffer too. Did you know that I spent some nights sleeping late for that because I was so afraid that the whole earth will be covered with salt? Thanks to you and that canal… It blew out my fear… remember?”

That was that! There are groups who say that children exposed to bedtime stories are easier to discipline. Moreover, paying attention to the tales develop their listening skills and creative faculties. Above all, the message in the stories of the parents (popular or thought up as the case demands) easily reaches the heart of the kids… they will understand the lessons easily than that taught with a stick or a pound of sarcasm.

Keep on with the storytelling time. The children will love to reminisce the times when you took them to the far away lands of beautiful princesses, handsome princes, dainty fairies, noble knights, and vicious goblins. Let them keep it in their heart as you both treasure your time together.

The picture above is from Google Home Images.

Casino Español de Iloilo

(Brgy. Sto. Rosario-Duran)

At the corner of Sto. Rosario and Duran Streets at the City Proper District in Iloilo City now stands in ruins what used to be the Casino Español de Iloilo. It was a private club whose patrons were often the aristocratic and wealthy members of the Spanish community in the city and province of Iloilo. The rich and the famous went there to socialize and hangout. They went there for the latest talk and to transact business. The language was, of course, Español. During its heydays, the casino must have been always full of damas, caballeros, y aleporezes. The picture on the upper right potion of this page is taken from the Google Images.

Ten years ago, the rooftop of the casino could still be seen as one passes the place on board a jeepney. All that remained of that grand place was a rounded concrete canopy which must have been its main entrance. Entrance to the main door was elevated four steps higher than the driveway. At its sides were concrete walls and posts now covered with vines and grasses. Atop one of the posts was a lunok tree whose roots wrapped half of it.

The area was later made as a parking lot for trailer trucks by a cargo-delivery company. The ruins are now completely out of view as there was constructed a high fence around it. What can now be seen at the place is a tanod/police outpost and an uninhabited barangay hall of Brgy. Sto. Rosario-Duran.

Sto. Rosario and Duran Streets are within the Fort San Pedro area in the city of Iloilo. Before the outbreak of the Second World War, the area was the night life capital of Iloilo City. In the mornings, presently, the Fort area is the best place to do stretching exercises with a bonus—a very refreshing view of the beautiful island of Guimaras. In the late afternoons, it is the best place to view the sunset—one could see the sun as it kisses the sea. Peace and order is not much of a problem—the headquarters of the Philippine Army is just a stone’s throw away. The Casino Español sat very near the Gen. Hughes Street—then considered the “high street” where the rich Ilongos had constructed their seaside villas and rest houses.

The city of Iloilo is among the very few places where the Spanish had established strong communities. The other cities are Manila and Cebu. In each of these cities, the Spanish settlers established a place where they could gather, socialize, and talk about business transactions. In Manila there is the Casino Espanol de Manila. In Cebu, there is the Casino Espanol de Cebu. These two casinos are still in existence today.

The Casino Español de Iloilo was not a gambling casino though. It was a private club established by members of the Spanish community to gather, socialize, and talk about business transactions. It was a club where members, their spouses, and their children enjoyed social, recreational, sports and cultural facilities and activities. The club was organized to foment unity among its members. The existence of the club solely indicated the vibrancy of the Spanish Community in the City of Iloilo.

The Casino Español (or what remains of it) stands within the territorial jurisdiction of Brgy. Sto. Rosario and Duran Street in the City Proper District of Iloilo City. The barangay was, once upon a time, a playground and entertainment place of the rich and famous Ilongos. Here’s the bird’s eye view of the barangay -Brgy. STO. ROSARIO-DURAN (City Proper District, Iloilo City): Population (2007): 1,851; Land Area: 8.12 Hectares; Income (IRA 2009): 847,355.04; Development Fund: 169,471.01; Calamity Fund: 42,367.75; Per Capita Income: P 458.00;No. of Households: 370.

“BUBON”

In the Ilongo dialect, bubon is a deep well where we get water. Once upon a time, there was one located within the campus of the Iloilo High School. It was near its Main Building, a protruding cylindrical cemented structure with a concrete cover on top. In our time, the bubon was already covered and not in use. Why was it covered? Why?

As High School kids, we were a bit curious. Some classmates “knew” about why the bubon got covered. They said that during the Tiempo Giyera, Iloilo High School was made into a command center of the Japanese military, the Japanese Army Headquarters. It had an interrogation and torture chambers. Definitely, it had to have a place as disposal for prisoners killed whom they did not want the civilians to know. They said that the enemy dumped the dead in that well. Our classmates further said that some of those thrown there were still alive. We imagined that the eerie sounds that others claimed to hear when going near the place were actually the screams of ghosts from the victims during the Great World War II. So we concluded that this must be the reason why they covered the bubon with concrete—to stifle the sounds.

After graduating from high school, I haven’t heard a tale about that covered well anymore - until Tiyoy Ading told me the story of Emong, their family helper. Melquiades ‘Ading” Cabarles is one of the resource persons in my compilation of stories about the Second World War. He is a native of Barangay Agboy, Leon, Iloilo and was about 16 years old when war broke out. He narrated thus:

“There was no mechanized transportation to haul farm products to the city then. In our case, we had a cart (karo). It was pulled by a white bull - a big strong bull. We load the cart with farm products the evening before. Very early the next day, we will take off for the Iloilo Central Market.

One day, we took the karo to the city. There were 3 of us: my brother Carlos, our helper Emong and me. When we reached the checkpoint located along the way, the Japanese soldiers apprehended Emong. They must have suspected him of being a gerilya. Emong was wearing maong short pants.

During that time, we were admonished by our parents against wearing either maong or khaki pants because these were supplied only to soldiers and guerillas. Wearing a maong or khaki will arouse the suspicion of the Japanese. Emong was 25 years old. I was only 16 years old. My brother Carlos was slightly older than me. The Japanese did not suspect the both of us. But they suspected Emong—probably because of his age and his maong pants.

After they took Emong, we proceeded to the Central Market and delivered the goods. Afterwards, we went home to Leon without Emong. At that time, when a family received news about someone being picked up by an armed group, they can do nothing. All they did is - keep quiet and cry their anguish in silence knowing that they have nobody to report the incident to. So if someone you knew was picked up by the Japanese, by the guerillas, or by the EPG (Emergency Provincial Guards of Governor Tomas Confesor), they are often given up for dead.

It was at the Japanese checkpoint that we last saw Emong. When we asked around, people told us that he was taken to the Iloilo High School. In 1942, the Japanese made the Iloilo High School as their main garrison. It was there where prisoners picked up from their checkpoints were brought to be interrogated, tortured, and sometimes killed. We heard that those they killed were dumped in the well located a stone's throw away from the bola-bola. Emong must have died there.”

The Iloilo National High School (INHS) Alumni Building allegedly stands near the place where that covered well used to be. I never heard of a story about some exhumation conducted to establish the veracity of accounts about those who died and been dumped there though. I’d rather not dare to know. If it were true however – let’s pray that in exchange of their painful death, they’ll be rewarded with eternal peace in the afterlife. The picture above was taken from google images.

San Antonio in San Enrique, Iloilo

“March winds and April showers…” goes the kids’ rhyme “bring in sweet May flowers…” Meaning there is fun in summer. Everyone’s excited making plans about vacations at the onset of summer, country hikings, outdoor campings, beach adventures, mountaineering and many other summer activities. As we grow older however, our activities become more subdued and mellow. Otherwise, we content ourselves with just sitting in one corner and relive the days of old to the kids. Think about this, when we are labeled ‘young once’ we still enjoy sharing the things that used to fascinate us and those that we have enjoyed as well. Oh come on, most young ones love listening to older generations too as long as they don’t keep repeating it so often, you know.

My kids were planning about their summer activities as my husband and I listened passively. Sounds familiar? Right, every couple with already grown up children will understand. Anyway, the eldest asked, “What activities have you enjoyed much when you were younger, by the way?” Without batting an eyelash their dad and I answered almost in chorus – country hiking or mountain trekking.

My husband was once assigned in the town of San Enrique. In his every assignment he made it a point to reach out to the youth and barangay leaders and see them in their local habitat. To achieve this end there were week-ends when he goes to the far flung barangays to visit these guys… a task he can’t do on the working days since many other important things need to be done too in the office. Whenever he went to these areas, he’d take me with him (when I am free of commitments) and we’d go on his motorcycle. Sometimes he’d leave his motorcycle in the office since some of these places cannot be traversed by any vehicle except by foot. Hence, one of the last mountain hikes we had was with the youth leaders of this town. They were members of the Sangguniang Kabataan (SK) of the municipality.

The hiking party was composed of six SK chairmen from the different barangays, the two of us, and one barangay resident of our place of destination. We started off at 7:00 in the morning with our backpacks containing packed lunch and things we found handy to eat as we hiked. Those were merely corn chips, some candies, a little salt, and gelatins. No, we didn’t take bottled water because along the way there were springs and wells where water is potable and sweet tasting. Our purpose was to see the waterfalls of Barangay San Antonio which the SK chairman said their team hopes to develop as a local attraction of the place. From the dusty national road, we turned and passed through the feeder road until we reached the spot where we have to cross a river for the first time. I thought it was some sort of a joke they told to confuse me but it’s true. Hahaha! We crossed the same river seven times as we walked for about three hours… all pathways were going up passing the narrow trails at the side of the hills, climbing up the boulders as huge as dining tables or more, and going by about three little falls whose source is the one we wanted to see. Each of the waterfalls has its own natural beauty to boast. We reached our target at exactly one hour before 12:00 noon. Up there was all the embodiment of what “peace’ is. You’ll hear nothing but the rushing water cascading down the big rocky side of the drop and the sound of the birds that are not heard anymore in the lowlands

We enjoyed the swim in the cool water of the naturally curved pool below the falls with the diameter of about 10 to 12 meters and the depth of about up to over five to six feet. The big trees surrounding the area provided the shade that the welcoming coolness can warm the heart of anyone. Some of the guys went up to the source of the water yet. . More or less, the ascent towards the water source was about 30 feet high. They climbed up there through the huge, tall boulder itself where the water spills. Most of us though, enjoyed the time taking in the view of the water that drops down as much as we loved to see the places in lower grounds and the fresh breeze that carried the sweet teasing aroma of some wild flowers that may have been blooming somewhere in the area.

We descended at 1:30 in the afternoon passing another route. This time it was through the ravines, rice fields, coffee and coconut plantations and the rivers. The sceneries here were rustic and idyllic but so relaxing. About 3:00 in the afternoon we passed by several groups of houses. In one household, we were treated to a party of boiled camote and young buko meat with its sweet water. They offered their special menu too - chicken binakol cooked in a real bamboo. According to the man of the house they saw us coming down the slope and he knew we were heading in their direction so they prepared the meal to refresh us. He said they offer anything to eat to everyone passing their place because it will take them a long walk yet to reach the highway. This seldom happens too because no one seems interested to be in the mountains. We reached the town at about 4:30 that afternoon… tired but enriched with beautiful memories.

Friends Matter

As a social being, we need others to be near us, at least, once in a while if not always. We need them with us to share our joys with, to laugh with us in our happiness, to cavort in the sun in our abundance, to dance with us in our triumph... We also need friends to lend us a hand in times of weakness in order to strengthen us to carry on in life’s journey, to cry on their shoulder when sorrows overwhelm us, and to walk a mile farther with us when the road gets dark and lonely… Oh, that would be an endless list on why friends are friends.

Question: Why, when can someone be a friend to anyone?

Really, it’s hard to find a true friend and it takes time for one to say when a person has found one. So many circumstances and places, a lot of conditions… heaven knows what else but people tend to set standards in building friendship. That old woman I had respected so much, my grandma, once told me, “Real and lasting friendship, doesn’t have an exact measure for the other nor does it thrive on abundance and triumph alone, rather it’s there constantly in all state of affairs as it comes freely and grows in the heart of both. It is not selfish to seek only for personal growth nor does it count neither the dismal passing of the time or the extent of distance. Friends do not have to see the presence of the other always because they trust that the other will be around in time when the need for the presence of a friend comes.”

Anyway, we have heard of stories about great friendships like that of David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, even that of Ruth and Naomi but I’d like to share with you my favorite. It has been told to me many times by my late father. Below is the summary of the story:

The Selfish Giant

by Oscar Wilde

There was once a lovely garden with soft green grasses. It was bordered by beautiful flowers and its orchard grew peach and apple trees that break delicate and fragrant blossoms in the springtime and bore rich fruits in the autumn. The owner is a big Giant who went on a long vacation to a friend’s palace – an Ogre living in a faraway land.

Children come here on their way home from school to play or listen to the birds… The birds come here to sing their sweet songs as they chase each other on the branches.

One day the Giant came back. He was so angry when he saw the children in his garden that he drove them screaming so loud, “My garden is only for me to enjoy.” The children ran in fear while the Giant put up a wall and a huge notice board saying, “TRESPASSERS WILL BE PUNISHED.” The people saw it but they didn’t wonder because they knew that he was a very selfish Giant.

The children didn’t play in the Giant’s garden anymore but they sometimes play near its walls and talk of their happy times inside it.

Spring came – all over the country the little blossoms broke from the tree branches and little birds began to sing their songs. Inside the Giant’s garden, though, it remained winter. The little flowers refused to be aroused from their long winter sleep and the birds didn’t come to sing anymore. Snow and Frost were so happy that they have a place to live in all year round. They invited their great chum, the North Wind to stay there with them and he did. So they covered the garden of the Selfish Giant with a thick white cloak of snow as the North Wind roared about it all day. They invited Hail to visit and the friends enjoyed romping around their new abode, roaring as they go.

The Selfish Giant wondered why Spring never came to his garden, neither did Summer and Autumn. It was freezing Winter that stayed long in his garden. He was so alone in the cold and lonely too.

One morning, the Giant lay awake in bed deciding if he was hearing right. He thought he was dreaming of a lovely, melodious sound, the children’s laughter and what more? He sniffed again and again and he was sure that it was a delicious perfume carried by the breeze. Have his trees been touched by Spring? Full of anticipation, he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. He was eager to see Spring touch everything in his garden.

His eyes popped at what he saw… the hole in the wall where the children crept; the children sitting in the branches of his trees; and he can’t believe to see that in every branch where a child sat, the tree has covered itself with beautiful blossoms. The tree seemed to wave gaily at the children and the birds to come closer and have fun. The little flowers that bordered his garden walk were gladly peeping through the green grass too. They were beaming with pride in their colorful petals. It was a perfect scene until he noticed that in one corner of the garden, it was still winter.

The Giant saw a little boy standing under the tree looking up at the branch which he tried so hard to reach. He was crying bitterly. The Giant’s heart melted and he realized how selfish he had been. He cried, “Now, I know why Spring would not visit my garden. I had been so selfish. I will put that poor boy on top of that tree, and then, I will knock down all the walls so that my garden shall be the children’s playground forever.

That very morning, the villagers saw the Giant playing with the children in the most delightful garden full of blossoms that none in the world can compare. Some saw how the little boy stretched out his arms and flung them around the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. The little boy taught him the joy of caring and be accepted by the other.

All day long the children played and they bid the Giant goodbye in the evening to go home. The Giant sought out the little boy whom he learned to love best but none of the children knew where he went or where he lived. Every afternoon thereafter, the Giant played with the children when school was over but he never saw the little boy again. Everyday too, he would tell the children, “How I would like to see him… that boy who never showed fear of me because he kissed me… my first little friend.”

Years went by and the Giant grew so old and weak. He can’t play with the children anymore but he sat in a big armchair and enjoyed watching them at their games… He would often whisper, “I have many beautiful flowers but the children in my trees are the most beautiful flowers of all.”

One winter morning, the Giant saw the most marvelous sight… He saw that the tree, where he played with the little boy, on the farthest corner of the garden was covered with lovely white blossoms; the branches have turned golden where silver fruits hung down from them. His heart jumped when he saw that the little boy he loved stood beneath it. He was beside himself with great joy.

He hastened to the garden and when he came close to the boy; his face grew red with anger because he saw that on the palms of his hands were prints of two nails and the prints of two nails were also on the little feet.

“Who has done this to you?” cried the Giant. “Tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.”

“No,” answered the child. “These are the wounds of Love.”

The Giant was so awed that he fell on his knees to ask, “Who are you?”

The little child smiled and said, “You let me play once in your garden; today you shall come with me to my garden… which is Paradise.”

That afternoon, when the children came to play, they found their friend, the Giant, lying under the tree, all covered with the fragrant, white blossoms – dead.

End of the story.

In this present time of the internet generation where human interaction is not given so much quality time, where friends and pets can be had in the virtual world without worry of personal adjustments and material cost… it will take a lot of painful efforts to be ‘a friend’ and no doubt, it will take more time to look for the ‘real friend.’ What do you think?

The Measure of Love

Months ago, we celebrated the 13th death anniversary of a very good friend, Joyce. After the usual prayers and dinner, there was a short program to give tribute to this, once, kind and smiling lady. She may not have done something great to change the world situation but please bear with me to dedicate this column to her today with the family’s permission.

Joyce died of cervical cancer which got her so fast as to pass away after barely eleven months after the diagnosis of her ailment even as she was treated too. She was a young mother of two girls and so in love with her husband of 14 years. Married to a teen-age sweetheart, she was so full of faith in her dreams for her family.

If there was ever a time that we saw her in a bad mood, none among us, her friends, can remember, In fact, she had the capacity to go on smiling through life despite its bitter twists and turns. We have always admired their family – the husband seemed so responsible and loving and the children were so behaved and intelligent. However, in the short tribute to her, the husband shared excerpts of the letter she wrote to him which was entrusted to the husband’s sister before she died. As she willed it, the letter was given that night after her interment. The reading was followed by the husband’s very brief confession that sounded so full of remorse and sincerity that it kept tugging at our hearts long after we have parted that afternoon.

He never knew that Joyce had discovered his blooming love affair with a co-worker about six months before she passed away. The wife, in her usual, sweet way reminded him then, “Dad, despite all your flaws, I will love you… I had vowed to love and understand your faults as best I could but please, don’t give us a reason to lose that trust and respect in you as husband and father.” He was so taken in by the seductive charms of his co-worker then that he failed to understand what his wife meant. He described the other-woman as very aggressive. Joyce worsened each month thereafter that she stayed in her mother’s house for proper care as the husband continued working. The gifts sent to Joyce through her husband by his relatives and family friends were mostly taken by this woman from his table drawer as if it were her own. Often, she took it amidst tantrums and a lot of pouting. Looking back according to him, it was only when he decided to part with her that he realized how foul-mouthed and an opportunist she was… the very opposite of his wife.

Each time he came home late in the evenings (after dinner with the other woman), he’ll always find Joyce sitting up in bed in deep prayer or was meditating with her bible in hand. Asked what she was praying about, she’d answer weakly, “I always pray for you to see truth in all you do that you may live in the light, Dad. I pray for the girls too that they may be strong as they meet difficulties. I may not be with them all the time…” Still, he said, he was blind yet to see what she was referring to. He was so engrossed in the belief that true love had come to him through the other-woman because Joyce will soon die with her cancer. When that happens, they’ll marry and he’ll be even happier.

Contrary to that, his way of life changed when she died. He came home early one evening; Joyce asked him if he still believed that her love for him was never altered by their years of marriage… He had said ‘yes.’ She was so weak yet, there was no complaint from her. In between bouts of pain she pressed the hand of her husband to say “Thank you for staying up with me.” At about the first chimes of the church bells that dawn; she expired, still praying for everyone she remembered.

The husband said that had he known he’d lose her that soon, he could not have done many things he did to hurt her feelings like giving her heartaches on top of her own pains, or he could have done many things he never did as in filing a long vacation just to be with her, and others. Indeed the most painful phrase is, “I could have done… but couldn’t do anything anymore now.”

These days, when many families are separated, marriages wrecked and husbands enticed to seek cheap thrills elsewhere to be in to the crowd of the ‘macho men’ or in the company of an adventurous woman, only a handful of wives can be like Joyce. She never raised a voice of reproach to him but her loving kindness made him, according to the husband, a changed man – a very caring father of their children and a proud grandfather today. Most of what was written in her letter was not shared with us but she ended it with a poem that is written below:

How Do I Love Thee
By: Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints – I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

We all love to hear changes for the better. You don’t really have to be a big-wig of society to create a ripple… an act of goodness from the heart of one can surely spell a difference in this world of strife and greed. After all, we can all be heroes and heroines. How? Oh, by simply doing simple things in our very own grand way. A smile is a good start for it. Go!

Las Estrellas

Las Estrellas

On clear evenings, in summer, we used to sit in the garden located just outside the house, on weekends, and spend long hours watching the heavenly bodies up there… far away… and tell endless stories about anything. These stories were from real experiences, to those shared by other people, or those that we have read in books. Definitely, they ranged from the most sublime to the most ridiculous that we, children in the extended family, love to tell, re-tell and hear again. They seem magical as they transport us, the listeners, to another time, place and dimension.

Before I had children of my own, there was this one last chance that our extended family had a reunion. That was two years before my paternal grandfather passed away but just about eight months before his wife, my grandma, died.

One evening a 5 year-old niece came to me with an old book. She must have unearthed it from the old books packed in a box to give space for the newly acquired ones. Holding the book in her little hands she implored that I read one story she’d marked. She called all her other cousins as I happily obliged. It was one of my favorite stories that I never got tired of telling my siblings and cousins.

The story was about a little girl who wanted to give a birthday gift to her mother. She had no money so that every night she prayed that she’d find something precious and unique that she can give to her mother to make her really happy. One night she was looking out of their window admiring the full moon when she noticed the brilliant stars on the northern portion of the sky. She stared hard on that direction and an idea entered her mind. She’d search the sky within her vision and choose the brightest star. Then she’d pray for it to fall inside her room so she can wrap it and give it to her mother.
The longer she stayed by the window, the farther the stars seem to go… until, as if on cue, they silently left their places in the sky. By then, it was dawn. She did the same on the following night and the nights after for a week. Her mother’s birthday came. She kissed her mother that morning as she excitedly waited for the evening stars. At dusk, it started to rain which progressed till dark. The girl was so downhearted but she prayed harder. Just before dinner, the rain stopped so she opened her windows in case God decided to let a star fall into her room – for her mother. Before she went out to dinner, she placed a little box in the middle of her bed in order to catch a star that God shall send.
After dinner, her father gave his gift to her mother – a prettily adorned comb for her long hair. She excitedly went to her room to see her box with all the belief that her prayers will not fail. What did she find? She was awed to see a twinkling something entering her window that she forgot to switch on the light. It went into the room and hovered about her head. With the speed of an athlete and the deftness of a fairy she caught the thing and held it firmly in the hollow of her hands. Holding it against her breast, she went to her mother with a special glow in her face. For fear that it might escape; she didn’t bother to wrap it up. She said, “Mama, I cannot buy you something dear to give on your birthday but I have prayed so hard for this gift in my hands. I love you Mama so I am giving you this star. It fell from the sky right into my hands… May we turn off the lights for a moment Papa, please? Here, Mama.”
The mother and father were puzzled but they put off the light and the mother accepted the gift with open hands. They saw the twinkling thing lay almost contentedly in her hand. The parents laughed as the mother hugged her daughter tight and kissed her. They turned on the lights and with misty eyes; the mother spoke so, “Thank you so much dear. This is the best gift I ever had in my whole life. Now I know how much you love me.”
“Mama we can put her in a new home. Maybe a bottle… then it will shine here for us day and night… then, everyone will know that my love for you is as bright as that star,” the girl whispered with a giggle.
“Dear, do you know how sad I’ll be if I lose you? I will die of sorrow… Maybe I failed to tell you that stars have mothers too. You have just given me the baby star which I am beginning to love right now. If this baby star takes you with it as a gift for her mother, will you leave me?” the mother asked. The girl stared at her with eyes wide; then she hugged her mother and whispered, “No Mama… I’ll just go with it to tell the mother how much this baby loves her but I’ll be back for you after that. Is that alright with you if I do that?”
Soon the little girl, with her parents, was looking out of the window watching the little star fly into the darkness … towards the sky … and back to her mother who loves it most.

In many ways children want to express their affection. Sometimes it seems silly for adults but there is nothing that faith cannot make possible for the innocent hearts that love. The story has always touched me and even my children today. It’s a pity that there are parents out there who claim to love their kids but they failed to be good examples of what loving in a true sense is. Sometimes the children are not given the opportunity to communicate about how they feel at all which is very important to their growth. As mothers there is much we can do to influence the children into doing that which are essential into becoming humane people than teaching them to go after materialism that will make them covet the world with all its greediness and malice. Essentials are values they can hold on to in life. Moreover, most of the essential things in human beings cannot be seen… but they can be felt.

The first time I read the story to my two girls; the eldest sat on my lap and said, “If we can only be stars… I’d shine brightly for those without somebody to love them… and tell them that they have me to watch over them.” The second girl hugged me and announced, “I’ll do that too and warm the homes of families with my light. They’ll gather around me and they will never think of going far away.” We laughed at these as I tried to keep it in the recesses of my heart.

Like the stars in the sky… we all are. We can choose to shine brilliantly as we give warmth to a broken hearted staring up at the heavens at night or we can opt to shine dazzlingly to just show off our light... yet remain aloof or cold as a corpse to the sufferings and pain that we may inflict to others in our bid for public attention and praise...

You wonder what the little girl caught for her mother’s birthday gift? Hahaha! It was just a tiny firefly, dear. If you were the mother, what would you have done?

Mount Ope

Treasures of Mt. Ope

Nine caves and hidden springs in Mt. Ope make up the natural treasures untold and unknown to many but are taken for granted by the residents of Brgy Lincud, Dingle, Iloilo.

Brgy Lincud is about 20 to 25 minutes ride in a tricycle through the dusty and bumpy road from the heart of the municipality but it’s worth the idyllic sight that one passes by.
The caves of Mt. Ope are yet to be explored and mapped out, says Mrs. Mary Hazel Vivien P. Pineda of Dep-Ed Regional Office VI. The residents in the barangay; however, know that it holds therein the natural wealth that the barangay can boast of. Stalactites and stalagmites inside the caves are nicely formed and they stand like sentinels clad in gray guarding the secrets of the caves while the phosphate deposits and lime stones abound nearby. They are use to sugar planters and fruit tree growers. The adventurous can enter the caves with a flashlight. Darkness makes the caves a good habitat for bats that their waste (guano) scattered inside has come to be in huge volume. Bat droppings are good organic fertilizers. It is not a wonder then why chico fruits from this area are sweet and juicy.
Spring water in the barangay is abundant and naturally sweet-tasting. A cool blessing to the residents when people from other towns have to buy every drop they need for drinking. Bgy Lincud is separated from the municipality of Dueñas by the Jalaur River.

Barangay Lincud
Dingle Iloilo
Population (2000) 1341
Income (IRA) 726,387.00
Land Area (Ha.) 549.62
Classification Inland Barangay
Type Rural
Dominant Religion Roman Catholic
Barangay Captain Rodrigo O. Dote
SK Chairperson Joe Arvon V. Hifarva
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reactions and contributions are welcome. Email to:
va_wiley50@yahoo.com.ph

Laguda Mansion in Iloilo

Old local folks say that it used to be the most prominent edifice in what used to be the “high street” of the city and province of Iloilo before the outbreak of the Second World War. It is located in Brgy. Gen Hughes-Montes in the City Proper District of Iloilo City. It still stands there. Its grounds are still vacant and not so punctuated with illegal structures.

Despite its being in ruins, the structure that remains definitely still stands strong. It must have been done by capable and competent carpenters and masons. The structure appears to have some tint of Greek architectural design. The building is supported by columns—Corinthian columns. These are rounded pillars or columns that support a heavy load. If you happen to pass by this Mansion, try to look at the columns. Some are gone—but the building still stands. Were the other concrete columns blown away by the Japanese bombs?

The construction of rounded and intricately designed columns requires particular attention to shapes and proportion. By just looking at it, one might think that it is just an easy job. But it is not. Try measuring the columns and you will find out that the perimeter at the midsection is bigger than the perimeter at its base or upper portion. This is done in order to create an optical illusion that the columns are “straight” and not skewed. In doing it, one has to follow a prescribed mathematical formula applied in architecture. There has to be a correct design. And the design should be adhered to strictly. In implementing the work to be done, one has to have competent persons to do it. Surely, it must have involved a lot of money.

On the occasion of the Commemoration of the Liberation of Panay, Guimaras, and Romblon last March 18, we happened to listen to a Col. Lataquin who was a WW II veteran when interviewed over Aksyon Radyo. He said that along with the Army Headquarters at Fort San Pedro (now Camp Delgado), the Laguda Mansion was also directly hit by the Japanese bomber planes. Maybe it was mistaken to be an official residence or something.

With the passage of time, the Laguda mansion stands as among the most visible reminders of the woeful effects of the Second World War. There it stands silently still — like that bombed out building in Hiroshima, Japan. The first atomic weapon used in warfare had exploded 600 meters directly above its roof. Now, only the steel reinforcement of its concrete ceiling remains. The Japanese preserved it in order to remind their future generation of the devastating effects of attacking a giant country in its sleep.

The Laguda Mansion still stands there almost 70 years after being bombed. It has survived earthquakes and typhoons. It will most likely survive another 70 years. Thanks to the internet, its existence is now known worldwide. We thank the Tourism offices and other concerned Ilongos for featuring it in their websites. Thanks too, to local tour outfits for including it in their list of historical places to visit in the city of Iloilo. Maybe its time that moves should be done to have it physically protected and preserved against a more destructive force: the “bakal” boys.