Ka-Blog!

A haven in the valley

If you are from or have spent a night in Solano, Nueva Vizcaya chances are you've heard about the Ayuyang Bar.  If you are lucky you've been there at least once.

There are bars and there are bars.  But Ayuyang is definitely not your usual.  Let me elaborate.

Solano is not (yet) a popular tourist destination.  Aside from its regional university and their delicious tupig, the town is not much known aside from the fact that it is Nueva Vizcaya’s commercial center.  It is not even mentioned as much as the provincial capital of Bayombong. 

Bars resort to all sorts of gimmicks to stand out and draw in customers.  Very few succeed because only a few can be original.  Metro Manila bars now rely too much on things electronic such as blinding lights and very loud house music.  They probably think by offering the latest they are already licensed to charge exorbitant prices.  Then we have the likes of Mayric’s, 70s Bistro and Conspiracy Bar which capitalized/s on good music.  I couldn’t think of more successful bars than these three, which is instructive of the circles I move in and my preferences.

Anyway, Ayuyang has none of the contemporary feel of the modern bars.  It could have candles for lighting and would still be enjoyable.  Its main draw for me is its décor and atmosphere.  It's really a museum of old household items and farm implements.  This is the only bar where a charcoal press is not out of place beside a sweating cold bottle of San Mig Light.

Our friend and fellow Guilder Maita said the place was and is a work of love.  It looks like it. 

And the music?  It was refreshing.  The night we were there, Cordillera groups and artists sang folk standards as well as originals.  They have such lovely voices that blended beautifully and went well with the delicious food they got.  (The pinakbet!  Goodness!  The orig Ilokano kind!)  They also have other groups and solo acts some other nights.  Hindi naman nakapagtataka. The place looked very popular the Sunday night we were there.

I may not be an objective Michelin judge when I write these about Ayuyang.  In fact, we came as guests of the family who owns it.  We arrived there in time for lunch and we were able to marvel at the obvious patience and dedication to build its awesome collection of nearly forgotten items of decades past—wooden wheels, kerosene lamps, capiz shell windows, old biscuit tins.  Still, as any street smart salesperson would say, “Hindi ako mapapahiya” if you decide to give some currency to what I’m saying.

If ever you find yourself spending a night in Solano, drop by the Ayuyang.  It's on 115 Magsaysay Street, Solano, Nueva Vizcaya.  It lives to its name—haven.

Ben Laggui

Between our frantic search for Randy Malayao who was abducted and tortured by the Philippine Army and the shocking death of Ka Crispin Beltran some weeks back I received another sad news.  Our high school chemistry teacher Benito Laggui passed away.

            

I really wanted to attend his wake, moreso that it was held here in Quezon City.  It is to my shame I couldn’t although I really wanted to personally say goodbye to one of my dearest teachers.

          

There’s a tinge of irony in this, remembering my terror at chemistry even then.  I did not like the subject at all and not only because we have to memorize the damned table.  Like all sciences it involved quite a bit of math.  (I flunked my five-unit Chemistry course in college, if you must know.  I sacrificed an entire summer to get past this awful subject.)

            

Sir Ben had the classroom demeanor that justified my fear of the subject.  The class trembled for fear of being called during recitations.  I remember him asking me a question one time and I gave him a tentative answer. He said he wouldn’t say if my answer was correct but I have to find out in the library after class.  It turned out I was right.  I told him the next day and he said, “In science and in math, tentative answers are wrong answers.” 

            

Mr Laggui was special because he was among the pioneers in our high school.  Upon their shoulders that a once barangay high school grew to become a national high school with thousands of students every year.  (These included the late Mrs Rose Alisbo, Mrs Artogue, Dr Dancel, Mrs Panganiban, Dr Butch Gazzingan, and a few others).  It even spawned two other high schools in our town whose key faculty and administrators came from SPVIHS. 

            

Outside the classroom, Sir Ben  was as cool as they come.  He was always the most popular teacher in school.  He was very friendly and unselfish.  His popularity was such that not a few students stayed with him in his rented room after class and followed him around wherever he went.  I witnessed this first hand, being best friends with his nephew Henry Calizo.

            

Throughout the years when village politics was a great distraction to the school, Sir Ben was virtually untouchable because he was the most popular among all the teachers.  If they dared to single him out they’d would’ve tangled with Auitan’s youth. 

            

But he had a temper.  He was not to be crossed, especially when his hypertension kicked in.  But an apology and a lame joke would defuse him instantly.

            

One of my most treasured high school graduation pictures had Sir Ben celebrating with me.  Some years back when I addressed members of the graduating class, Sir Ben was always beside me, reveling in having tutored (at the time) a national teacher leader.  Whenever he saw Pom, he was profuse with his praises for me it was already embarassing.

            

I never grew to like Chemistry as a subject but I came to know and respect its importance in our lives.  Apart from this, the subject’s saving grace for me was my late high school chemistry teacher.

Summer 08's last gasp

It’s six in the morning and the geckos are calling.  A family of kingfishers has been silent for a few minutes and wild ducks are emerging from their nests (taking off like airplanes with beaks extended and leading their way).  The other birds are waking up and my ears are assaulted by all sorts of sounds I never hear in the blighted city.

Pom is still asleep.

An officemate-friend is already brewing coffee in the kitchen.  A creature of a few horrid habits he will light up his first cigarette as early as his first dark cup.

I’ve been trying to connect to the internet but I can’t, which is just as well.  I’m having a rare kind of morning, the kind I wish would stretch for a long time.  I wish for the clock to stop counting and allow me to sit here listening to my wife’s low snores, the birds, the geckos, the last of the crabs scampering into their sandholes.

I myself am waiting for the coffee.  A cup would make me move bowels and then I could start thinking about breakfast. It’s itlog, kamatis, at tuyo sa sinangag na kanin today.

After breakfast, I am sure Pom would be among the first on the water.  I would typically drag my feet but I will be joining her shortly.  I have to say hello to the fishes and slugs we got acquainted to yesterday afternoon.  It’s a wonder some of them dare stare at us when we were wearing snorkels and goggles that make us terribly ugly.

We are at a private beach hundreds of kilometers outside of Manila.  We are doing our best to make appearances we are normal people—the kind that go to the beach in summer.  None of us, except one, had been to the beach all summer and so this last hurrah.

These past two months have been spent giving tributes to great men both living and dead—Ka Bel, Ka Romy, Ka Dan and Ka Nes.  The tributes to the living were scheduled and happy events; the tributes to the dead were sudden, unexpected, numbing.

And these past four weeks have been emotionally and physically shattering for me.  Looking for a forcibly disappeared and, when found, learning he has been severely tortured are not what I call fun summer.  The road trip we took last weekend, it was fun in some parts because I spent time with old friends but there was something fundamentally sad about it.  And I’m not talking about my driving for three straight days because that only taxed me physically.  What saddened me really was seeing my friend inside a cramped and humid provincial jail being watched over by armalite-wielding soldiers.

And so this trip.  I looked forward to this for such a long time—three years in fact.  And while I can not admit how excited I was, I betrayed myself when I again did all the driving from Manila.

It’s sulit naman.  At dusk yesterday we were greeted by one of the reddest sunsets I beheld so far.  Ang ganda ng Pilipinas talaga. 

Where was I?  Ah, yes, the fishes.  Pom and I will be swimming with them shortly—a state I want to be in for a long time.  I would rather be thought of by the fishes as ugly rather be turned into fish food by the military.

Impolitic

This may be impolitic but, since this piece is just my personal opinion anyway, what the heck!

The problem may be the fact that I held Ka Bel in such high esteem and I still hold his memory and legacy in high regard I expect absolutely everyone to do the same. He was, after all, the person whose life and death rattled the ruling class. High society paused in between their spoonfuls of crepes and sips of Evian water to remark on Ka Bel’s humble house. They can’t fathom the concept of a three-term congressman living in a small, mortgaged and unfinished house in a poor neighborhood. It just shows just how long they’ve been farting around without accepting the stark realities of this country.

Anyway, here goes.

During Ka Bel’s wake at the IFI cathedral, I was so annoyed by this congressman who sang "My Way" as his way of honoring Ka Bel. I wish I have Cowell-ish vitriol to aptly describe his act. It was worse than a drunken karaoke singing in between a hotdog stand and a video game arcade in a crowded mall. It was worse than an off-key and loud neighbor’s sing-along racket at three in the fucking morning!

Then there’s Etta Rosales shoving her wide ass in between Rep Satur and the bereaved family at the church one night. She again showed up at the necrological ceremonies at the House of Representatives and proceeded to hug Ka Osang in full view of thousands of people at the gallery. Now, am sure Etta has a right to condole with the family. But we should never forget how she caused Ka Bel many problems. If this woman had any good taste she should have condoled with the family when there were fewer people and the media absent. It would not only be more sincere, it would have also spared us the aggravation from seeing a traitor in our midst.

Now, I don’t know how to ever describe the Roman Catholic bishop of Albay. According to my officemate Cris, Ka Bel’s grandson, His Grace (puke!) simply rolled down his car’s window and addressed Ka Bel’s widow and orphans on the street. Nato Reyes best described it as "astang prayle!" Well, according again to Nato, His Grace later apologized but not after reinforcing the growing belief the church is detached. It took the saintly Fr Joe Dizon to apologize in behalf of the church.

Senate president Manny Villar may be the country’s next president, if only for what he is already spending for his premature campaigning. But he did not win my vote for delivering a campaign speech instead of a proper eulogy befitting Ka Bel. What has "tatlong banyerang hipon" got to do with Ka Bel, pray?

Then there was the Philippine National Police posting honor guards and giving Ka Bel a gun salute at his gravesite. What rankled me was the fact that the PNP Band was so good when they played for Ka Bel inside the Batasan and while Ka Bel was being escorted to the gates. I would have been grateful were it not for the fact that the police hounded our hero for most of his life. It was the police who massacred his fellow unionists at the Yellow Taxicab Company. It was the Martial Law Constabulary which raided his house and made his strip naked. It was a police officer who nearly choked him to death at the Manila Hotel picketline. It was the PNP which arrested him and imprisoned him illegally and unjustly. I would like to think many police officers realized how wrong they were to persecute Ka Bel for half a century. It is a bit consoling though to see the notorious PNP organization paying tribute to a hero.

While Ka Bel was being lowered to his grave I resented the cemetery’s owner giving orders to just about everyone as if he was family and one of Ka Bel’s closest comrades. While he donated Ka Bel’s grave plot he gains more from the deal than what a grave costs. A genuine hero is buried in his unknown private memorial park, for goodness’ sake.

Rep Darlene Antonino-Custodio should hire a better writer and seek the help of a public speaking tutor. She was awful delivering her eulogy.

Not a few were surprised when former President Joseph Estrada came to the wake to pay his last respects to Ka Bel. Remember that Ka Bel played a leading role in his ouster from the Palace. It was big of him to come. But it would have been bigger of him if he said he holds no rancor against Ka Bel despite Edsa II. He missed his chance to be truly magnanimous that night.

This piece wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Senator Jamby Madrigal. Well, she is proving herself to be a firmer ally than what was previously suspected. But she was just too much! She out-cried everyone outside of Ka Bel’s immediate family and staff. She rode the funeral truck from Fairview to Angat. She jostled with family for a place at the gravesite. The gesture is not unappreciated but she should’ve let better manners prevail. Had she stayed in the background it wouldn’t be lost on everyone that she was there anyway. (She still has my vote though.)

I lump Rep Edcel Lagman with the likes of Etta politically. But Lagman knows how to speak. Speaker Nograles’ eulogy, while contrite enough, was sorely wanting in what the people wanted to hear the most-that the House under his leadership shall work for the passage of Ka Bel’s bills for wage increases and genuine agrarian reform. (Who? Nograles? Yes, I’m daydreaming here.)

What lifted my spirits up a bit during the whole thing was how the House of Representatives kept quiet when one of Ka Bel’s daughter called congressmen and congresswomen "manggagatas" twice. This word defies direct translation; the closest I could think of is "someone who sucks the people dry." Of course it was a mispronounciation. But I think it is really a Freudian slip on how the Beltran Family and the entire Filipino people think of the blood-sucking social elite.

There are two other prominent politicians seen at Ka Bel’s wake-Sen Loren Legarda and Isabela governor Grace Padaca. Padaca stayed the longest and texted everyone how amazed she was by Ka Bel’s life story and integrity. That night she texted many people to tell them this. Now, here is a politician who makes my province proud.

Indeed, Ka Bel’s life and struggles was and is a fierce criticism of the system. Indeed, everyone just had to be there to bid him goodbye. On the day we buried him even the elite had to bow their heads in respect and awe. It was just a pity that some politicians couldn’t contain nor restrain themselves.