Quirino Elementary School

WALKING

My father loved walking. I oftentimes would hear his expression “pag mahina na tuhod mo, madali ka na tumukod.” For him the truism was a mantra which he would hold closely for as long as he was active and conscious. On foot he completed basic education as a kid up until he reached the height of his career in government service and academe. It was the strength of his knees that carried him on every level of his profession.

His vocation was transformative---as a bank teller (PNB), Administrative Officer, Postmaster I up until Postmaster VII (Bureau of Posts). The same can also be ascribed with his life at the Academe---as tutor, instructor, interpreter, full time Professor (PCCr, Letran College, Language Institute of the Philippines). In all his assigned designations, he trod to office and school commuting and at regular times merely by hiking!

It was amazing to note that he used only the stairs daily, never boarded the elevator in proceeding to his last class in the evening which was situated on the 11th FLOOR of the school building! He was into this routine for years.

And probably that explains why Tatay’s storied longevity is unquestionable. He even outlived all his physicians! He was almost immortal! On all those times, he merely walked away from trouble.

Unfortunately, when he sprained his ankle while watering his plants at home sometime later, he gradually became weak. He could no longer pace a stretch. His knees buckled down. At 86, he serenely walked all the way to Heaven.

EXERCISE

If there is anything I have forgotten, if not forsaken, in the long years of my existence, it is exercise. You see, right after I graduated from college and reached the age of majority, I got employed in government service and from there assigned to an office nook to perform my workload. Thereupon, my career began in earnest and as I smoothly ended up retiring decades later, as a bureaucrat, I realized that majority of my tasks were spent on pushing papers.

In effect, almost the entire period of my youth was consumed on reading, analyzing, composing, drafting endlessly, writing memos left and right from the moment the sun rises until it sat down. I could not even recall whence I perspired walking, running or jumping. The whole period of my employment was expended in a sedate manner.

My body therefore neglected its design, its bipedal strength, capability for enduring stressful physical exertions, capacity to sustain psychological unease; in other words, when I reached seniority, I was like an extraterrestrial seated inside a flying saucer lost on earth!

However, retirement hollered me back to basics, a return to fundamentals, some kind of reversion to the physical side of living. I must forsake the table and confront outdoor. I must breathe the air from plants and not from electric fans or air conditioners. In other words, I must reinvent the physics of my being.

And that is where I realized that extra years after a career in public office is meant to be spent on exercise.

(REPOSTED IN HONOR OF A FRIEND---MANNY DE GUZMAN, 75, AN ARTICLE I WROTE SOMETIME IN 2017. GOD BLESS HIS SOUL. HE WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED.)

Manny de Guzman, the “LIDER”

Those were days when Manny de Guzman, erstwhile administrative officer assigned as head of Prison Document Section was elected leader of their agency’s union, the Bureau of Corrections Employees Association or Bucorea.

This was in the late 90s and early 2000s. He oversaw a 3,000 strong employee union and at a time when union busting was for real, he was virtually leading the life of a suspect.

Manny however never looked like an activist, neither he exuded nor projected the persona of a non-conformist. He was amiable and easy to get along with. He had a ready and helping hand on anybody. There was nothing in his bones that would veer towards greed. All his time was dedicated to his peers. He was always there at the forefront representing his members' requests. He had a soft heart for everyone. He was more of a “Mama-sang” than a “Ka Roger.” He was more “Eddie Ilarde” of Kahapon Lamang radio program than bombastic Roger Arienda. He was more of a Pope John Paul than an Osama bin Laden. Diplomacy seemed to run in his veins.

He was a lady’s man more than anything else. His refined manner, courteous at every turn, with ever gentle and gracious smile made him a likable person to love and to follow. He is from Balanga, Bataan where the famous Mt. Samat Shrine is located. His place is a memorable site during World War II.

Manny graduated from Lyceum of Philippines at the time when the infamous First Quarter Storm exploded and most of the youth encouraged to rebel against the establishment. He never allowed his studies disturbed by such temporary, faddist ideological exploration. He finished college and went directly to get employment in the Bureau of Corrections.

As elected chair of Bucorea, he was expected to represent the rank and file in every command conference. Failing to get the attention of prison leadership, he submitted one position paper after another and even sent feelers and advisories on the abuses committed by the senior staff. This did not sit well with the prison leadership until Bucorea was sidelined and suspected of committing foul and unprofessional acts. At that time, several poison letters had circulated and had reached media and the Department of Justice.

Bucorea was the instant dubious element accused of fomenting trouble. If there was anything unwholesome that would transpire in the agency, it was always Bucorea that was principally blamed. Its leadership was mostly denounced and given institutional sanctions.
Worst, a prison officer (Supt. VJ Tesoro) was even dragged into the fray as mastermind or the man behind Bucorea which had been alleged as a rebel movement already! The truth is that Tesoro was never into any of the activities of Bucorea nor he was privy to any of its policies and programs. It was merely a ploy by those advising the top to make it appear that Bucorea has penetrated the upper echelon of the agency.

Bucorea was never in the mold of a private union or in the league with leftwing union organizations. It was a pure employee association, the focus of which is collective welfare and individual well-being. There was nothing subversive in their existence although there were members trying to express sentiments which were lifted from the feeds of rebellious union. But that was only for show. There was nothing foul nor troublesome. Bucorea respects the prison leadership and adheres to all the dictates and rules imposed.

Those tumultuous times sent Manny, along with some of his senior members, for litigation. They were all charged administratively and criminally before the courts of law. It took a toll on Manny’s health. It was on his shoulder the entire weight of his organization so called fault had been reposed. He must have to watch his back and his every presence. There were too many factions in the agency that might volunteer to mark their importance in the circle of the prison leadership. To subdue or make Manny silent was an attractive mission for just about anyone wishing to be promoted.

Time changed and eventually changes at the helm of the agency, and it goes without saying, changes in Bucorea leadership eventually passed on. Manny was reaching the age of retirement and for a long while as the trailblazer of Bucorea, time has come for the parting.

For once and for a long period in the Bureau of Corrections, Manny de Guzman was called as the “Lider.”

“CHEAT DAY”

I was ordering “palabok” in one of Jaltan’s Food Chain in Tagum City, Davao del Norte when someone at my back said, “Today is Cheat Day.” The fellow, still with a patch of cotton adhered on his left arm, was about my age addressing his middle-aged companion, maybe the wife. The lady consented with a smile.

He ordered lechon, leche flan, sisig, bulalo, binagoongan, a plateful of fried rice and a pitcher of Coke! Looking at how overflowing his tray was, I suspected that he was deprived of tasty food for some time. I guess he could have been hospitalized since he exuded a certain scent that indicated a combination of green cross and Lysol! Or it could possibly be an instance he was allowed medical furlough.

You see, cheat day is any day of the week when one who is under dietary regimen may deviate from consuming prescribed food and feast on something prohibited. Doctors and nutritionists inculcate their patients with what to eat and as it were, unaware that there is such an occasion called cheat day. But for those who crave the good times, there is such a period.

A diabetic must adhere to a strict regimen of no-sugar, no-rice, no fried foods, no provisions high in sodium and no alcohol. A hypertensive fellow must share the same gustatory regimen. Anybody with heart, lung, kidney ailment including seniors should consume foods like fish, vegetables and fruits ONLY---on all days!

But on “cheat day” anyone, including one who just left the ICU and could already swallow, can have such a day. Of course, it must be with the consent of the person’s companion, anyone---better-half, caregiver, nurse, guardian, custodian even the physician. The risk is there but who cares.

If there is such a thing as cheating death, on a cheat day, one is cheating life!

YOU TUBE “ACADEMY”

The kids today are very lucky. They have almost everything and most specially, a limitless access to knowledge. Any issue, matter or concern, be it formal or informal, personal or impersonal, sensible or nonsensical, can easily be known just by clicking on Google and Youtube.

Fifty years ago, knowledge on one’s fingertip was just a pigment of imagination. It was part of science fiction. Nobody then could imagine that intelligence can be made artificially. Intellectual life before can only be conducted through struggle and with almost heartless determination.

Now with YouTube and Google, knowledge can only be fun. As a matter of fact, even at the twilight period of my life, I still could learn several skillsets! Clicking on Youtube, I learned various ways on tying knots, far advanced even on my basic scouting knowhow on using the rope. There is also calligraphy, how to write the way monks did in ancient times. I got a ringside tutorial on martial arts, public speaking, polymer clay sculpture, plaster of Paris moldings, silicon rubber impressions, watercolor mixture, the art of Arnis and nunchaku, bass guitar strumming, a little piano/ electric organ playing, marinating pork and chicken, even applying the secret of using baking soda to flush a clogged toilet bowl!

There are hacks I have noted with interest like the multiple usage of WD40, preparing avocado leaves for tea, planting and propagating herbs, reinventing the use of bamboo canes, pogo sticks, empty plastic bottles, used motor oil, chicken manure, even green leftovers!

So many ideas, so much practical tips, so many mind ticklers and conditioners. Children today mature earlier, their cognition greater and they can tap as many reasons as possible and concepts using portable technology which old people have belatedly learned only recently.

Enrolling for a degree to be educated was old school while merely clicking on Youtube is almost akin to accumulating units in an Academy! I wish to have more time to commit in my bag of interests, numerous approaches, philosophies and every knowledge under the sun and moon combined!

The Millennials indeed have literally everything at their disposal at this time!

HAIRCUT

I held the record as the longest reigning Division Chief of Bureau of Correction’s Reception and Diagnostics Center (RDC) and had the privilege of observing closely how convicts from all over the country were turned over to the National Penitentiary to serve their respective time. RDC is the first facility where prisoners are initially ushered formally in. This was in the late 80s and early 90s.

All incoming convicts were admitted for a period of 60 days in RDC; within which they were grouped into batches, given physical examination under quarantine, provided with prison numbers, subjected to a battery of examinations (psychological, vocational, educational) and all throughout guided with orientation on group living and institutional discipline.

Foremost however, after checking the court, jail documents and related routine, the basic procedure an inmate goes thru on Day One before anything else was haircut.

And that was where I got my baptism of fire.

One cloudy Monday morning during that time, the security staff of my office were confused on what to decide. Three inmates were admitted from Batangas and one of them was a burly and hefty 105-year-old farmer. According to the relatives who joined the escorting party from the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology, the old man must be treated reasonably.

The group appeared before my office and when I asked the old man’s kin, his youngest child and already an 85-year-old fellow, what specific treatment they implore. They said that we should not subject the old man to the regular haircut prescription. You see, all inmates, per rule, must be given a crew cut haircut as far as practicable upon admission on first day. And that was the crux of their prayer.

I said no problem if the old man was observing a certain religious discipline. The relatives however maintained that the old man does not even have a religion just an honest belief that his crown is the secret for his longevity.

I ruled that the old man must have a haircut, nonetheless. The office security graciously brought the fellow to the institution barbershop, given the regular crew cut and after seeing the full face and the beaming smile, the old man fainted. He was rushed to the hospital in a jiffy and was declared dead.

For almost a semester, I was battling with my conscience!

HOLY COW!

More than a decade ago, when I was still in the prison service, a foreigner--- Australian Christopher Woolcock--- went to my office and offered his talent as artist to teach prisoners how to make toys. As an educator before I became a prison officer, I was impressed. I vetted the guy and noted that indeed, the fellow was top notch woodcraft artist in Down Under. Thereafter, I organized a program to accommodate the toymaker in the Maximum-Security Compound of the National Penitentiary. After a couple of years on the ground, the Ausie was a picture of excitement. He was able to teach several prisoners the art of transforming a piece of lumber into an expensive figurine!

When I retired however, he found his program orphaned and without institutional support. He withdrew his creative course, bid his students adieu and packed away his tutorial samples. He wanted to follow me where I established my domicile---in the outback of Mindanao. At that time, he wanted to organize a toymaking shop for indigenous natives in nearby boondocks. But age became a challenge, and I could not cope up.

He was five years my senior though. And I was already contented as a sedate senior citizen stuck in my study. My foreigner friend never liked simplicity. He would rather be out in the field teaching, exposing his talent in arts and earning his upkeep. He scoured the Visayas. He was almost athletic, a man of outdoors, a fellow interested also in hydroponics. He even got a nice local partner in Bohol who was also into agro projects and swine production like him.

And since we are already in our twilight years, I merely stayed the course, waiting for time to drift away by re-reading the classics and writing books. In between periods, I go for hospital check-ups which were regular to determine what maintenance pills to take and manage my ageing physicality. My foreign friend on the other hand continued with his healthy lifestyle---no vice, no excessive food, no stress, no meds, always on the move, always on the romantic side.

Then one day, I received a note in email that he was hospitalized, underwent knife in his hometown in Australia, his heart had trouble, thrice it was to be bypassed and what was amazing, a plug in his heart was replaced with a bovine heart valve, that is a piece of spigot from a cow! Indeed, medical science in Australian is far advanced and eons away from Philippine medical expertise. And what is even wonderful is that my friend’s heart operation was conducted without cost!

My friend is recuperating swiftly and almost ready to return to his love affair with arts along with his inamorata in agricultural trade. His health is back, a cause for rejoicing and who cares if he surprisingly smells like hamburger!

HONEST POLITICAL FAMILY VS DISHONEST WANNABE

There is the issue of political dynasty which has virtually become a socmed content and regularly debated among the netizens. Even the Philippine Constitution included a policy that negates political dynasty to be frank about it. Well, except that said constitutional prohibition cannot stand alone without legislation. “No way” says majority of legislators. Let the people decide through election, they insist. Vox populi and forget constitutional dreams.

On second thought however, why bar families from running the affairs of government if people wanted them truly. We are in a democracy, aren’t we? I mean through election; it is the mainstream that makes the final say. So, what if society stagnates because of the vote, if that is what tradition and personal if not voting preference of the majority in the first place---- Let it be, to paraphrase the Beatles.

Now, if election is rigged, where electoral votes are corrupted and behind such a mess is a political family intending to win unfairly, then that is another story. S**t must be thrown at the cheater. The point is to have a sound, near perfect, true and honest election. Whatever be the result.

In the 50s, Filipinos voted for Magsaysay, the mechanic and shun Recto, the Bar Topnotcher. West pointer Fidel Ramos won over Judge Miriam Santiago; Actor Joseph Estrada clobbered at the tills journalist and political negotiator Joe de Venecia; college graduate Noynoy Aquino was preferred over Law Topnotcher Gibo Teodoro. And, swaggering Duterte smacked scholar and technocrat Mar Roxas. There were indeed a lot of times when Filipinos were given the choice to define their future. Majority thinks that they have decided correctly yet expect prosperity that eluded them always. They knew it coming though. Or probably, folly runs deeper in the collective DNA. I don’t know.

Whatever…. Even if I am not a Vilmanian, my vote goes to the family of Vilma Santos anyways.

DESTINY?

My father owned two vehicles, but he never knew how to drive. He just didn’t want the effort. According to him, there were drivers anyways. When I pressed on, he said that he need not learn medicine to treat himself since there are physicians anywhere; or barbers, tailors, fisherfolks, farmers. Father was in the academe; a professor of languages and he would rather be an expert on one line.

Well, not me. Unlike my father who was a specialist, I am a generalist. Hence, earlier on, even if I do not aspire to be a driver as profession, I took the wheels and tried to learn driving. Not only that, I also wanted to learn everything, sort of Jack of all trades. Well, I never got to be a master of anything, just a basic knowledge on so many lines.

Seriously, it’s some kind of psychological phenom. The child usually would be the exact opposite in terms of interest of his father. The result, the kid becomes almost a clone of his grandfather.

That is the reason why I felt sometime that I have an affinity in terms of destiny with that of my old folks, well, who were all generalists.

JOSE RIZAL

Philippine national hero. Pride of the Malay Race. Writer, physician, rebel, polyglot, scholar, ladies man, traveler, artist, poet, etc. In other words, he was closest to be called a genuine Renaissance man. He was admired, respected, followed and to a certain extent, even worshipped. His statue is on every plaza, his name emblazoned as label on anything commercial, from banks (Rizal Commercial Bank), religion (Rizalistas), locale Rizal Avenue, Rizal province to matches (Posporo Rizal).

The book “Rizal: His Life and Times” was the first book I read cover to cover. This was during my elementary years. And from there, not only was I smitten at Rizal’s heroic image, but I also even had this yearning to become one like him. I know its irreverent to equate because Rizal was a difficult act to follow---his intelligence beyond measure, his devotion to his craft beyond compare. One can only trail him on the basis of his inane acts like courting girls, placing bets on lotteries, playing pranks.

Well, I tried hard to be Rizal-like. I also indulge in writing (as columnist, novelist, blogging), medical field (as Psychologist), poetry, arts (sculpture, painting, designing), martial arts (wushu), organizing (Action Leavener), community leadership (as Corrections Officer). I even named my first born as Rizaline.

There was a time during my first two years in college at Letran that I oftentimes would spend my off period in Fort Santiago, a short distance from my school. Rizal’s personal and numerous mementoes were displayed. It was at the Fort where his last few days were spent before he was marched to Luneta. It was a sacred trek in my college days until his spirit possessed my aspirations. But after I graduated and faced reality, there was no “Guardia Civil” to overpower, no “Andres Bonifacio” to conspire with, no friars to challenge. I was almost a century ahead of Rizal time. It was, well, another period.

Looking back, I could only sigh that I outlived Rizal twice his age. He died at age 35, I am 70. He was imprisoned, I became a prison officer. He was banished in Zamboanga; I became chief of Zamboanga prison. He was meted with death penalty, I figured as one of the officers who performed the lethal injection. Our lives corresponded in different ways.

And lastly, there is only one aspect that we are the same---height.

THE WRISTWATCH

My father continued working as college professor even if he reached the compulsory retirement age as government functionary. He was a veritable faculty member in the academe. His teaching sched was always on full load. Meaning, he had arranged classes in the morning up until the evening. He was a pioneer instructor in the Philippine College of Criminology on subjects Spanish and Rizal Course.

My old man was also an afficionado when it comes to jewelry---he was proud to display his 24 K Cuban curb necklace, a classic hammered chain bracelet, wrist watch, 18K solid gold eyeglass frame, rings and even an anklet! In front of his students, father was glistening. But after his last class hours, father would sit at the back of the classroom, fixes his attache, opens the empty Vicks vaporub bottle and fills it up with alll his dangling ornaments. That was his regular regimen on way out of school. En route to his domicile he was just a pedestrian.

But one day, on his way home, while on board a public transport jeepney, three juveniles jumped inside the passenger row, with drawn knives. A lanky fellow threw his baseball cap on the floor and shouted. “Lahat ng mga alahas, ilagay dito sa sumbrero.”

My father who was nearest the one with two knives, opened his bag, retrieved the Vicks bottle, poured all his jewelry and threw down his wallet too. The robber noticed father was still wearing his wristwatch---a golden Breitling series. “Tatang, ilagay mo rin yung relos mo diyan!” the other robber insisted.

Father scowled and said, “Nailagay ko na lahat nung sa akin diyan, itong relos hindi akin.” The juvenile pointed the knife on the neck of father and yelled,” Wala akong paki-alam, ilagay mo yan kundi sasaksakin kita!”

Father retorted, “Hindi ako namimigay ng hindi sa akin!” Then he folded his arms close to his breast embracing his bag, his right hand wrapping his wrist, protecting the watch.

Peeved, the robbers took turn in stabbing father until all the passengers began to respond violently resulting in chaos. The robbers left in exasperation immediately as the jeepney driver hastily drove my blooded father to the nearest hospital.

After I learned of the incident, I hurriedly took off to see my father and felt relieved that he survived the assault. When I approached my father inside the ICU, he smiled and slowly raised his hand and handed over to me my watch and said, “Napa-ayos ko na yang relos mong yan, umaandar na.”

It was only after a week of confinement when I drove father back home that I learned that he almost died defending my watch! Iba talaga ang prinsipyo ng matatanda.

(Postscript.: Thereafter, I located the jeepney driver who took my father to the hospital and the hospital security guard, who pawned his salary so that father will be admitted---all of them heroes. I sincerely paid my respects to them.)

MY EVER DEAREST SISTER, DORIS

You are always loved, missed and remembered.