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Reply to Recah Trinidad

My second favorite sports columnist, Recah Trinidad, wrote a column about “How San Beda’s Red Lions made it safely to shore.” (Bare Eye, PDI, 25/9/06, p. A32). I always read him but this article of his had me hooked the most—from the first letter to the last period. He wrote about my favorite collegiate basketball team.
        The article was humbling. Recah wrote that there is something sorely lacking in the newly-won NCAA championship, the one that ended the excruciating 28-year title drought.
        For the most part, what Mr. Trinidad wrote was true. I was deliriously happy when the Lions led by as much as 20 barely into the third quarter of the game. I was rendered speechless and unbelieving when the PCU Dolphins were poised to repeat what the Mapua Cardinals did to us in the ’91 season. With only seconds left, the Lions were clinging to a very flimsy one-point lead. Very ’91 indeed. I groaned to myself, “Oh no, not again!”
        I have three points against Mr. Trinidad’s article, though.
        First, the championship was won after 18 games. Even if the Lions played like they were in an inter-purok league instead of the “NC” in that last game, the fact remains that they won because they racked up 17 wins against a single loss.
       Second, I don’t know how closely Mr. Trinidad viewed the game. But I disagree that the Dolphins won it for the Lions. Recah should give more credit to the Dolphins, the team which boasts itself of three straight finals appearances. Dolphin Gabby Espinas didn’t just fumble or Dolphin Jason Castro did not just lose steam. They were stopped by the Lions’ defense. And if the Lions hardly scored in that last canto, I in turn credit PCU’s defense.
       Finally, my main point: I agree with Recah that the Bedan community appeared more thankful than truly triumphant at the final buzzer. That’s how I felt. But even if we won with a blowout rather than as we did last Friday, we would still appear more thankful rather than “truly triumphant.” Not being a Bedan like my favorite sports columnist, Renito Saguisag, he failed to understand what mattered more to us.
        See, the 28-year “NC” title drought was one of the most painful things of being a Bedan. We hungered for a title. And we are very grateful that our quest finally ended. We care less about how it was won. In this case, Bedans everywhere should be forgiven if they feel that the relief is greater than the sense of triumph in a season’s championship series. 

The Master Painter of the Pasig River

One of the things I want to do is to collect impressionist paintings. Since Van Gogh, Monet and company are way out of my league I settle for local, lesser known artists. One of only three painters in my very humble collection is Vicente Ido Larosa.
       I only have more than five of his watercolors. My poverty prevented me from snapping up even one of his oils, even when he was offering it to me for a song (four gives pa). He was also mean with pastels. Of his watercolors, I only have three framed. One was “sold” to my mother for a princely sum of P10,000.00 and another I gave to my ninong-lawyer, Ricardo Valmonte, as token payment for his years of pro bono lawyering for me.
      Mang Vic is only one of three visual artists whose work was made into a Philippine postage stamp. The others were National Artists Fernando Amorsolo and Cesar Legaspi. Larosa’s “Old Building & Tugboats Along the Pasig River (1997, 36” x 72”, oil) won the grand prize of the Piso Para sa Pasig Painting Contest. It was reproduced on an entire wall on the river facing Malacañang Palace and in thousands of special issue stamps. Woe is me, I only have a framed copy of the stamp—a gift from former First Lady Amelita Ramos.
       Mang Vic was known as the Master Painter of the Pasig River. For most of his artistic life, he had no other muse but the stinking dead river. Through his art, contemporary Pinoys know that the Pasig was and is beautiful.
       Larosa was a member of the Dimasalang group of artists. But he was unschooled, earning his artistic spurs painting movie billboards in Sampaloc. He was already quite old when he was given his first solo exhibit by his early collectors, Dr. Roger Mendiola and Mrs. Ramos.
        He was a bachelor and had no close surviving kin. Orphaned early, raised by spinster aunts in Iloilo, he ventured out on his own with no peso on his frayed pocket. He did not marry; did not have kids.  I suspect he was a homosexual but I am not sure.
       Needless to say, he was poor, unlike his illustrious colleagues. He began to fetch good money for his paintings in his last years but I don’t know if he saved or he was able to collect from all his customers.
        I introduced two budding artists to Mang Vic to be his students. Unfortunately, Jose Erwin Mallare was too temperamentally dark to see beauty around him and Edna Cahilog was too shy to pursue the partnership on her own.
        Being far less talented, I only gave Mang Vic my pictures of the Pasig River. I hoped that he would turn some of them into paintings. I also promised to drive him to Cavite to paint some of Kawit’s shoreline but I was not good with my promise. Sayang.
        In the last couple of years, Mang Vic vanished from sight. Last I knew, he was renting a room-studio somewhere in San Juan and still living on his own.
        It was my sister Karen who told me about the news report announcing Mang Vic’s death. When I asked June Alvarez, he told me that Mang Vic died alone and lonely. Only her landlady was there to bring him food sometimes, which he could not eat until they turned stale and grew molds by his deathbed. When June went to pay his last respects, he saw Mang Vic had a pauper’s wake. Donations and late payments arrived and were given to a colleague who made the funeral arrangements but June thinks that not much was spent for Mang Vic on his last days on earth.
       Mang Vic painted the Pasig River when it was a living waterway. He continued to paint it when the river died and turned black. I wish that the Pasig would not remain ignored and forgotten like her Master Painter.

"Ending 28 at 82"

Will it finally happen this year?  Will the San Beda Red Lions end the shameful 28-year NCAA title drought?
       Earlier this week, the Lions barged into the National Collegiate Athletic Association Finals by escaping from the Mapua Cardinals.  This year would be their first Finals appearance in the New Millennium.  Their last stab at the Championship was nine years ago.  Previous to that was in 1991 when the Cardinals dashed all Red Shirts’ hopes by a mere point made at the dying seconds of a pulsating game. 
      That was a heartbreak I have not forgotten.  I was a senior then, the editor of the student paper and we were ready to come out with a special issue of The Bedan.  It did not happen.
       The last Red Lion Championship was in 1978.  It had been so long.  So long in fact that the team was bannered then by Chito Loyzaga, JB Yango and Frankie Lim.  Even judging by their Philippine Basketball Association careers, Chito and Frankie are already generations removed from the current pro hoops stars. All the current players weren't even born then. 
       Since that year, Letran has overtaken San Beda in the number of titles won.  San Sebastian has won Grand Slams with players that my school has foolishly rejected.  We watched outstanding San Beda Red Cubs hoopsters play for other schools thinking that they will never get to taste a Championship wearing the Red and the White. (Okey, the University of the Philippines Fighting Maroons of 1986, the University Athletic Association Champs that year, were recruited en masse.  And those who played for the De La Salle Green Archers were promised sums, cars and apartments.)  Our only consolations are that the Jose Rizal Heavy Bombers are suffering an even longer drought and that we never stooped to the level of the other schools who bribed our high school stars into changing jerseys.
       I still remember the first NCAA game I saw.  A couple of days previous to that, we have been masterfully brainwashed to give all out support to our team with a pep rally and a bonfire.  Girls from St. Scho were even bussed to Mendiola to make the event more raving and, uh, moving.  I even memorized all of the songs and cheers that were as old as the retired monks they had tucked somewhere in the Abbey.  We won that game against the Perpetual Help Altas.  It turned out that during the 1988 season, the Altas were the only worse team than ours in a field of seven.  Well, what do you expect from a team made up of models, singers and playboys? 
       But I went home that night so flushed with joy I took on the color of terra cotta flower pots.  And I regaled my dorm mate Ate Lani with incredible stories which she listened to with amusement.  For four straight years, I kept coming to the games.  This, despite the fact that we lost more games than we won. 
       To salvage an iota of pride, we just tried to be the best at alaskahan.  But other schools even get the better of us by their incessant chanting of “Beda tulo laway!”  In retort, we shout that all the other schools’ coeds are “pokpok” claiming that Bedans have bedded girls from each.  It was a foul and pikon reply, one that the Benedictines really frowned upon.  (Selos kasi si Dom at si Father sa mga girls, hehehe!) 
       As for myself, I became really good at alaskahan.  Not a few rivals would hurl open fistfight challenges outside the coliseum after the games because I so got into them.  It never happened though, the fistfights.  (Buti na lang or I would have been creamed like our team.) I was told it wasn’t so in the 1970s when games had to be played without spectators who almost always end up rioting.  (Bedans then had to wear shirts and ties!) In fact, for seven years, San Beda pulled out of the NCAA because the league was making boxers out of its students. 
       One could expect I’d stop going to the games after the 1991 heartbreaker and after I’ve (finally) earned my degree in 1993.  But, no.  Time and finances allowing, I still went.  Not regularly but every time there was a glimmer of hope that a Championship is about to be won.  I even asked Pom to come to a couple of games with me.  In the past few years though, whenever I read stories about the Lions’ campaigns, I wondered whether I get to see the day when I will wear a red shirt saying we are hoop champions once again.  (I had a collection of Red Lions shirts then.)
       This year, the Lions have the best record among all collegiate teams in all collegiate leagues at 13-1.  (Of course, De La Salle has been suspended from the UAAP this year for cheating.)  What makes it even more exciting is that the King Cats are going against the only team that gave team a taste of defeat this season, the Philippine Christian Dolphins.
       I will be there to see the game when the Lions may finally cop it.  It would be interesting to cheer the team along with Lionesses. (San Beda’s College Department has turned coed three years ago, more than a decade late in my opinion.)  But I am sure I can not be pa-cute already with them.  Chances are they might call me “Tito” already.  Tang-na if I would allow that to happen!  Besides, I don’t think I can suck in my gut the entire game. I have talked to fellow Bedans on how to get tickets.  But they are saying it might have been sold out already, even when they hold the games at the Araneta Coliseum.  But I will break down their doors if need be.  I will be there!
       I have one simple message to the team: C’mon, guys!  Have pity on us.  (Have pity on me!  I have this bet with my wife.)  It’s been such a long time already. 

In memory of my Auntie Nena

The Dumale-Villanueva families buried our dear Manang-Inang-Auntie-Lola Nena last Tuesday, September 12. Her years outnumbered her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. And that is saying a lot.
       My Auntie Nena was the eldest of eight and has outlived three of them. While working at the San Jose City Public, Uncle Imong (Benjamin Sr.), who was then the marketplace toughie, saw and  kissed her for no apparent reason. With the family’s reputation at stake, they had to be married.
       She married under conservative pretexts but auntie Nena was modern in the sense that she did not silently suffer her husband’s other girlfriends. I distinctly remember Kuya Robert’s amused narration of how Auntie Nena loudly announced herself as “the real Mrs. Dumale” in Uncle Imong’s office with his rumored girlfriend cowering behind a cabinet.
       Despite having married early and having kids of her own, Auntie Nena became her younger siblings’ parent when they were orphaned early. She braved the hardships of the postwar years raising a young family with her farmer-merchant of a husband. Well, it was actually two families merged into one. My father and his two younger brothers grew up with their nephews as playmates, coworkers and partners in crime. It was her sad duty to send her sisters to live with relatives so they could stay in school. It was her pain to see her young brothers work from dawn ‘til dusk, braving the perils of darkness and ill-intentioned men in unheard of places to keep body and soul together. It was her sorrow to part with her siblings and children who flew and sailed abroad to better their lot in life.
       Even when her siblings and children grew up and had families of their own, Auntie Nena never ceased to be everyone’s parent. As far as I can remember, she had been our succor of last resort. When we needed money or we had trouble in the family, it had always been Auntie Nena who had the most initiative to make things right. She could be incredibly wealthy one day and be dirt poor the next. That’s because she never keeps the money to herself. She used to give me fare money whenever I come visit her. As a kid I came to expect my regular crisp Peso notes from her every Christmas season. Her house had always been an evacuation center of sorts, the retreat of the troubled and the needy. I don’t remember her house ever been quiet or without visitors, be it at Nichols, Ireneville or Jackilouville.
       Truth to tell, I don’t remember all my cousins’ names by her, much less my nieces, nephews and grandchildren. I seldom see most of them, having migrated to different States and Protectorates in America and in Europe. I am continuously amazed and pissed at the same time when people who are older than I greet me as “Lolo” (grandfather) whenever I visit their Sucat home.
       Even without the gifts, the money and the food, Auntie Nena is such a joy to visit. In the last few years—weak, deaf and with unintelligible speech—the long travels just to pay her a visit were worth it because she perked up whenever she saw us. She always asked all sorts of questions. She never forgot my wife’s name and always asked whenever she did not come. 
       There were comparatively less tears shed during her wake and burial. There were no theatrical wailings common in other Filipino families’ wakes. In fact, right after the burial, we filled up a large Chinese restaurant in BF Parañaque. There were nearly two hundred people in there, mothered by the woman we just buried in a sun-kissed plot beside tall trees and a pond. We ate until we all felt like bursting and we laughed at every excuse.
       It wasn’t callousness. We just did what felt right. We do not know anything about self-imposed observance of grief. I know this may sound patronizing, but Auntie Nena is best remembered with smiles, laughter, food and love.
       Her long and well-lived life deserved nothing else.
       Auntie, maraming salamat po.

A cheesy blog for two lovers

In the midst of the killings and pitiless persecution against progressives, media persons and civilians, some friends and comrades paused a while to celebrate love. It was Len Olea and Fred Dabu’s wedding last August 31.

       The lovers longed to be wed for so long. Their nuptials have been postponed several times already. Both are fellow activists and writers. Len is also fighting her greatest battle to save her mom from cancer with Fred providing unshakeable support. To get married in the midst of unrest are only for brave lovers.

        Len and Fred are.

        Pom and I, along with many others, were committed to help to make the couple’s wedding their happiest day. But we did not know when to go full blast with our own plans for them. We finally got word that it would definitely push through three days before the wedding.

        We had no choice but to do our best despite the short notice. My wife conscripted my father in law to prepare his incomparable biko for the reception. She even crafted a special necklace for the bride to wear to the rites but somehow it wasn’t given on time.

       Ilang-Ilang Quijano took time off to chaperon Len to two malls on two straight days to shop for a wedding dress. This is no little sacrifice given Ilang’s own hectic schedule. In the two times they went shopping though, guess who bought more clothes. But a sexy white dress was taken off the racks in time nonetheless. Ilang was also Len’s, uh, stylist and photographer on the big day. Future paralegal and Ilang chaperon Julius Matibag was tasked to buy pancit for the reception.  He absented himself from his law classes and job to attend the wedding.

       Trusty Batik was utilized to fetch the bride’s family from where they met up having come from different locations.

       My Kodao colleagues and I hastened to fix up the reception area, using wilting roses and baby’s breath flowers. Risa Jopson livened the place even more by putting flowers on the window grills. Felix Latuna set up the sound system while Ariel Saturay burned a collection of progressive love songs on a CD. Ariel and I tried to video-document the proceedings but the batteries gave out on us.

       At the QC Justice Hall, the judge who presided over the rites had halting English but was romantic herself, embellishing the proceedings by proffering her own marriage vows. The couple politely said yes to her unsolicited offer and repeated after her. The courtroom was full with friends and family, warming the couple’s heart no end.

       As with all weddings, a relative just had to pop a surprise to try to grab a share the limelight. An aunt insisted on treating both of Len and Fred’s families to an impromptu meal at a nearby Chinese restaurant despite the fact that nearly a hundred well-wishers were already restlessly waiting for them at the Bayan conference room.

       Two hours later they finally arrived. Averting more grumblings, the couple agreed to have their guests partake of the potluck food before the program. As I assured Len that enough food would be brought by their friends and families, there were indeed enough for everyone and then some. 

       I would like to commend the current CEGP for preparing and presiding over a short enough program. They even braved through two songs to serenade the newlyweds. Sweet-voiced Sarah Birong offered a song, accompanied on guitar by Nato Reyes. But my favorite part was when Len’s brother sang the couple’s favorite song, Madonna’s “Crazy for You”. He asked the couple to give each other a kiss whenever the word “crazy” was sung. Hoots and gales of laughter greeted their every kiss. Nakarami si Len kay Fred that time.

        Unbeknownst to the couple, I asked each guest to pitch in for a hotel room for their first night as husband and wife. I made them believe that they will spend it at our new dorm. Everyone was in on the surprise but them.

        Len and Fred never suspected anything. When they saw Ilang and Jules, who we asked to go there earlier, entering the hotel they actually believed that Ilang and Jules were going to check in! Ehehehe! But our ruse was worth it. The look on Len and Fred’s unbelieving faces when we gave them the room key was nearly worth gma’s ouster.

        I am in no position to divulge what happened in that room that night. But today, Len looked radiant as she clung to Fred’s arm when they dropped by the office. Well, you know what they say about…

    Mabuhay si Len at Fred! And long live lovers everywhere!