(In 1954, I was born while Strike and Spare Lanes, a four-pair bowling alley and four-table billiards, was being constructed in Mabini St, the road crossing Session Road, Baguio’s main thoroughfare. Dad managed to be employed as clerk and rose to become the manager of the bowling and the billiards. Dad also got the lease for the canteen inside “Strike.” With the canteen as living room, dining room and kitchen, we stayed in a 5 by 6 square meter bedroom adjacent to it. I spent most of my childhood and adolescent life in “Strike.” It was home for at least 25 years; it was the setting for my blossoming (thanks to the Bogayong’s and the de Guia’s, who owned the place).
Games Children Play
For kuya Rudy and me, Strike was paradise. There was the mountain of Mabini St., adorned with sunflowers. There was the neighborhood, with the community of children, like us, with whom we shared a world of make-believe in the mountain. There was Burnham Park, along with Fred’s New Stand, the movies, and carnivals. There was school, with its share of schoolmates, the extension of the neighborhood of kids.
As I look back to my times in Strike, the times when I felt spontaneous, when I did not have to feel ashamed of anything and when I had nothing to hide, were the times when I felt truly alive and human. Those times had related to being pure as a child and natural as the butterfly. Those times also had to do with mom and dad entering our world or, at least, permitting us to penetrate their world.
Kids do need to exercise their basic freedom to play. Play was the nourishment, the “glow, grow and go” of our psyches, like the sun, water and food were for our bodies. We can’t do anything about the grown-ups. But we did something for ourselves in our own world. We were genuinely fond of each other, sharing our simple dreams, joys, the heartaches and the sorrows. We were also genuinely curious of the world around us, unraveling the world’s mysteries through mutual sharing of the little knowledge we possess.
I suppose humans are born in tune with nature’s ways. We start by living in a make-believe world, with the freedom to choose and act out our inmost wishes. We are not re-living the world of grown-ups; it is the opposite. Ironically, we act out as ourselves while mimicking the world of grown-ups. While the fantasies may be fantasies, the feelings were real. We are changing the patterns of the grown-ups, by acting out how it should be in our dream world, i.e., before we become adults immersed in the world of grown-ups (to actualize our dreams).
Best Friends
Kuya was a constant companion since I was born. But I did not consider him my best friend. He was big brother, a blood relation. He was a given, like mom and dad; someone you live with through time and tide. You may abuse one another, but brothers (or sisters) could not be replaced. But since he was older, he naturally sought out other experiences that did not include me. During those times, I was left to my own devises. I needed to interact with my own peers. It was during those times when I had my own set of friends, some of whom I considered as best friends. I suppose in becoming human, one needed others to serve as mirror.
During my pre-school until Grade 2, I was a mentor to Catchut. We were the two youngest boys in the neighborhood, and I was older than him by about two years. Although Catchut had older brothers, Pig-ol and Henry, he would rather join me in the games. I suppose, it was because I was trustworthy (i.e., brothers can abuse each other; friends can’t afford it). Kids intuitively know whom to trust. Kids also become bolder because they had someone either older or younger, with them. Catchut trusted me and followed where I lead. In the same way my brother took care of me, I took care of him.
Once, when I was 5 to 6 years old, all the pupils in grade 2 had a hike and picnic to the Baguio Zoo (now the Baguio Botanical Garden). There, I had so much fun with the animals and with the clay we got from a cave; I wanted to go back with someone. I thought of Catchut. So, one fine Saturday morn, we trekked to the zoo, with me recalling and retracing the path of the school hike. We passed through Gen. Luna St., came out at Teachers Camp, on to the bridge (which served as my guidepost) and reached our goal. It was a bold step for me, something I did because Catchut was with me. We hiked more than four kilometers and hiked back. We were amply rewarded; we carried home a bagful of clay and Catchut saw the zoo earlier than his peers.
When I was 10-11 years old and in Grade 6, my best friend was Noli, a classmate from lower Mabini St. Together, we brought along four young ones to the “forest” at the back of the city auditorium. There, by the brook, we pitched tent and set a camp fire. We had fun catching the tadpoles and swimming, until we discovered that leeches abound. Nonetheless, we went home contented. We had our tadpoles and near-frogs (frogs with tadpole tails). Months later, we found out that water from the brook flowed from a huge drainage pipe located under the Baguio Circle, beside the Baguio General Hospital. Regardless, for me, that day was particularly special – I was a bigger boy, a near-frog.
Through my friends, I was affirmed as a person. With them, I gained confidence as new phases in my life unfolded. Through our interactions, I learned to view the world from another perspective and therefore to be better. A lesson: You would need another person to trigger what is naturally inherent. When you complete your lessons with one, then you’re ready for other relationships, another set of interaction to bring out other or deeper sets of values and skills.
Dream Weavers
My kuya and I also owed so much to the greatest (but unheralded) “dream weavers” (and to mom and dad, when they entered and nurtured our dream world). Their works were overshadowed by a lot of grown-up stuff, such as the Bible and other scriptures, together with the works of the great scientists and philosophers. Their names had also become anonymous. Nonetheless their legacy lived on, keeping the world sane and in touch with the secrets of the universe. They continue to inspire people all over the world today, going right to the core of the kid’s heart. They were the authors of the comic books and makers of movies, especially of cartoon shows.
Dad started our love for comic books. During the occasions when mom and dad were at peace, dad would read to us (including mom, who can’t read) local comics books, such as Pilipino Komiks and Tagalog Klasiks. Dad would be lying down, with a pillow under his head or sitting in a chair. Mom would lie or sit beside him, while kuya and me, would sit by their side, following the picture-scenes. The tales would flow through the spoken words of dad, like how Gagamba (the local Spiderman) would defeat all adversaries (Those times were heavenly; moments when I felt one with family).
When I learned to read, I spent most of my allowance hiring comic books from the popular Fred’s News Stand, located a block away from Strike, and which lent comic books at five centavos for two comics. I got especially hooked with the DC superheroes – the Justice League of America, the Legion of Superheroes (example, Saturn Girl, Colossal Boy) and the Teen Titans (Kid Flash, Robin). I also collected copies of the Junior Classic Illustrated (such as Push N’ Boots and The Emperor’s New Clothes), which numbered more than fifty. As I grew older, books and the appreciation of art were added to my repertoire, but the comic books remained to this day.
Through comics, I stretched my imagination and exercised my creativity beyond earth dimensions. I followed the exploits of Superman: born as Kar-El, from the late planet Krypton, who grew up in Smallville, Illinois and became the reporter Clark Kent in love with Lois Lane. I loved the “original” Princess Diana, who was born in Paradise Island, but gave up immortality, migrated to the US as Diana Prince (to follow the love of her life, Capt. Steven Trevor) and championed “Justice” as Wonder Woman. I shared the secret lives of Bruce Wayne (Batman), Barry Allen (the Flash), Ray Palmer (The Atom) and Hal Jordan (the original Green Lantern). I swam the seas with Aquaman from Atlantis, soared the air with Hawkman, and the universe with the Martian Manhunter.
Movies And Radio Dramas
Mom started my love for movies. Before I learned to walk, I was already familiar with movie houses, with her tagging me along. Because of mom, I was exposed first to Filipino movies. I loved action fantasy movies, especially those adapted from the comic serials. I joined the exploits of Captain Barbell, the local version of Superman, Darna (local Wonder Woman), Gagamba (Spiderman), and Palos (Eel, figuratively “agile,” no foreign version). I specially liked “Ang Apat na Agimat” (The Four Talisman). Joseph Estrada and Fernando Poe Jr. were already popular at that time. (Who would have predicted then that Erap would be president of the Republic of the Philippines and the late FPJ would also run as president?)
When I was only four years old, I, alone, watched a double program in Aurora Theater, located just in front of Strike (free for us in the neighborhood). I entered during the first showing, which was about 1:00 PM. I breezed through the first movie, but fell in love with the second one, especially the last scene (The bludgeoned Spartan was flogged by soldiers as he crawled his way towards the object of his affection, a princess seated at the throne. He made it to her and she forgave him for his misdeeds, then they kissed).
I loved that scene so much that I watched it again, which meant sitting inside the movie house for another four hours. When I went out of the movie house, I was surprised to find out that it was late evening (that was 9:00 PM), way passed my curfew. I was also surprised that the household was already alarmed about my absence. Lucky for me, that time was also the height of business with the bowling full of people, which kept mom and dad busy. They were simply relieved to see me safe. Unlike my movie hero, I received only a reprimand, not the whip.
Since then, I sustained my love for romance and fantasy. I particularly remembered being touched by movies about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table (those knights who helped damsels in distress), the Three Musketeers, Sinbad, Ali Baba and the Arabian Nights (the three wishes and the magic lamp), and the exploits of the Gods of Olympus (Achilles, Hercules, Jason and the Argonauts). I also followed James Bond (Agent 007), since Dr. No. (I watched all the Bond movies, which span two generations and around six actors - Sean Connery, Peter Sellers, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Jim Dalton and Pierce Brosnan.)
Like movies and comics, radio dramas also nurtured my imagination. Thanks to mom, we had our first “state of the art” radio, which was a radio with a clock (actually I won the radio from a bingo game at Camp John Hay, but mom paid for my bingo card). So, every week, the family would be glued to the radio set to listen to “Tiya Dely,” a drama anthology and “Tang-Ta-Rang-Tang,” a comedy show. I forgot the episodes of the shows. But I remembered how fulfilled I am in the company of mom, dad and kuya.
The Music Touch
Through the radio, we had our share of tuning in to America’s Top 40 and Dyna’s Dynamic Ten. Thanks to dad, we also had our first phonograph, a turntable playing 45 and 33 rpm (long playing) records.
Looking back, songs from the 1960s to1970s evoke emotions of bygone years. They were not old songs (they were timeless), but new songs when I was younger. Listening to songs from my youth kept me in touch with my generation and the generations before and after mine. Music is the statement of the youth of the day. Depending on the theme and when it was played, I remembered a particular setting.
The song “Sad Movies” evoked memories of one of my first crushes during the summer of 1960. She was a little acrobat girl in a ballerina dress, singing that song on a carnival stage. “How could someone so young be so cute, beautiful and talented at the same time?” That was when I was around 5 years old, with kuya and me watching with the crowd in the football grounds of Burnham Park. (In 2004, I had a chance to walk down memory lane with my big brother. After more than forty years, we both discovered that we shared the same fascination with that cute little girl. She is probably in her fifties by year 2004, never to know that she touched the heart of two souls from Baguio.)
The song “End of the World” reminded me of Cousin Linda (daughter of dad’s oldest sister), who stayed with us. She was sixteen in 1964 and shared her crushes with me, who was 10 years old, with my own crushes. It was also during that year that typhoon “Dading” ravaged the country, killing scores of people, while the sun did not show up for a month. A version of “Souvenirs” reminded me of mom, who swooned and boasted like a teenager (she was already 49 in 1973) that she has a signed photograph of Eva Vivar, the local singer who popularized the tune.
I practically grew up with the Beatles. In Grade 6, I bought a set of laminated pictures of each of the Beatles – John, Paul, George and Ringo (half the size of an ID card, bounded together by a small chain), which I hooked to my belt. Songs like “Yesterday,” “All My Loving,” and “Help” bring back memories of times spent in a family friend’s house, the home of my most treasured young love.
When I was in high school, I envied rich classmates who brought long- playing albums of the Beatles (Abbey Road and Rubber Soul) to share with other rich classmates. I had none of those; I just had 45 rpms. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the music as much as the rich kids do. When the tunes were played, everybody listened regardless of class distinction. I suppose, music and any art form which comes from the heart is free and can be equally enjoyed by the rich and poor alike. The difference is just a matter of choice or taste. To expand this to nature, i.e., the grandest natural art form, the best things in life are free. Nobody needs to pay to feel the touch of the morning mist, listen to the humming of the birds, and watch the sunset.
Blossoming of Awareness
Like the sunflower bud would bloom during the months of May and December in Baguio, the kids grew up to be bigger boys and bigger girls, then adolescents, then young adults and married grown-ups. This implied several passages from the innocence of the child to the trappings of the world of grown-ups. This implied re-living and actualizing childhood dreams in the so-called real world, starting with the domestic front.
Kuya Rudy was always the big brother to me, the one I could depend on. He was a good companion, someone you would love to be with. He was always eager to teach new lessons, give new insights. But since he was the big brother, it naturally followed that I was the younger one. Externally (i.e., socially), this didn’t matter. In fact I took advantage of our relationship in almost every situation. However, being younger had its disadvantages. I was kuya’s errant boy. I was also receiving the raw end of deals.
Once, during a war game in the castle side of our hill, kuya accidentally slipped on a chunk of slimy yellow shit, which soiled his feet, slippers and long pants, from his legs up to his ass. It was an embarrassing and stinking incident. Everyone around him had their hands on their noses to avoid the foul smell, while wondering what to do. I was his only salvation. Otherwise, he would receive the wrath of mom and dad to compound his already upsetting situation.
Duty called and I was requested (without any choice) to sneak home (which was about a 20 meter distance), get a small towel, wet it with water, go back and help him wipe off the shit from his feet, and pants. I repeated the sequence three times - go home, wash the towel, go back and wipe the shit. Finally, we both sneaked back home for him to secretly change cloths and for us to wash away the foul smell. (During our analysis 40 years later, we realized that we could have been more efficient. He could have sent me to get a pail of water, with the wet towel; I didn’t have to run back and forth three times, like it was the end of the world.)
Between my brother and me, I was the more conscientious, thrifty and organized one. However, all my savings will go to naught or he would find a way of sharing the bounty. When he was in the seminary during his first year in high school, he would seek me out during recess and ask me to buy his favorite food. When I was in first year high, I wanted to buy a guitar, which costs 34 pesos. I already saved 30 pesos (which was a lot considering that our daily allowance was only fifty centavos or half a peso). He had the 4 pesos I needed, which he lent to me. He also offered to help me buy the guitar. After the purchase, we arrived home fully satisfied, except for one detail. Kuya decided that I owed him nothing, but that the guitar was “ours.”
Our particular interaction had manifested in our later years in two opposing, yet complementary ways. While he was interactive, I was reflective. He would be at the forefront of events, while I would be behind the scene. I was secretly fascinated (and was envious) of kuya’s seeming ease in entering the crowd. He was humorous, the life of a party. I enjoyed being alone or in the company of one with whom I could interact one-on-one. Kuya basked in the limelight; I was content in the shadows, playing second fiddle, giving advice to the leader.
Apparently old habits never die, although the warmth remained. In 2004, when kuya visited from the US, we had a chance to recall the events of our childhood, which was very fine. However, during one of our visits to a friend of his in Manila, he absentmindedly asked me to pick up his baggage from the car and bring it in the house. I complied, not grudgingly as during our younger years, but with amusement. We were already in our fifties and I was still kuya’s errant boy. Nonetheless, all the time kuya was in Baguio and the Philippines, he paid the bills.
For kuya Rudy and me, Strike was paradise. There was the mountain of Mabini St., adorned with sunflowers. There was the neighborhood, with the community of children, like us, with whom we shared a world of make-believe in the mountain. There was Burnham Park, along with Fred’s New Stand, the movies, and carnivals. There was school, with its share of schoolmates, the extension of the neighborhood of kids.
As I look back to my times in Strike, the times when I felt spontaneous, when I did not have to feel ashamed of anything and when I had nothing to hide, were the times when I felt truly alive and human. Those times had related to being pure as a child and natural as the butterfly. Those times also had to do with mom and dad entering our world or, at least, permitting us to penetrate their world.
Kids do need to exercise their basic freedom to play. Play was the nourishment, the “glow, grow and go” of our psyches, like the sun, water and food were for our bodies. We can’t do anything about the grown-ups. But we did something for ourselves in our own world. We were genuinely fond of each other, sharing our simple dreams, joys, the heartaches and the sorrows. We were also genuinely curious of the world around us, unraveling the world’s mysteries through mutual sharing of the little knowledge we possess.
I suppose humans are born in tune with nature’s ways. We start by living in a make-believe world, with the freedom to choose and act out our inmost wishes. We are not re-living the world of grown-ups; it is the opposite. Ironically, we act out as ourselves while mimicking the world of grown-ups. While the fantasies may be fantasies, the feelings were real. We are changing the patterns of the grown-ups, by acting out how it should be in our dream world, i.e., before we become adults immersed in the world of grown-ups (to actualize our dreams).
Best Friends
Kuya was a constant companion since I was born. But I did not consider him my best friend. He was big brother, a blood relation. He was a given, like mom and dad; someone you live with through time and tide. You may abuse one another, but brothers (or sisters) could not be replaced. But since he was older, he naturally sought out other experiences that did not include me. During those times, I was left to my own devises. I needed to interact with my own peers. It was during those times when I had my own set of friends, some of whom I considered as best friends. I suppose in becoming human, one needed others to serve as mirror.
During my pre-school until Grade 2, I was a mentor to Catchut. We were the two youngest boys in the neighborhood, and I was older than him by about two years. Although Catchut had older brothers, Pig-ol and Henry, he would rather join me in the games. I suppose, it was because I was trustworthy (i.e., brothers can abuse each other; friends can’t afford it). Kids intuitively know whom to trust. Kids also become bolder because they had someone either older or younger, with them. Catchut trusted me and followed where I lead. In the same way my brother took care of me, I took care of him.
Once, when I was 5 to 6 years old, all the pupils in grade 2 had a hike and picnic to the Baguio Zoo (now the Baguio Botanical Garden). There, I had so much fun with the animals and with the clay we got from a cave; I wanted to go back with someone. I thought of Catchut. So, one fine Saturday morn, we trekked to the zoo, with me recalling and retracing the path of the school hike. We passed through Gen. Luna St., came out at Teachers Camp, on to the bridge (which served as my guidepost) and reached our goal. It was a bold step for me, something I did because Catchut was with me. We hiked more than four kilometers and hiked back. We were amply rewarded; we carried home a bagful of clay and Catchut saw the zoo earlier than his peers.
When I was 10-11 years old and in Grade 6, my best friend was Noli, a classmate from lower Mabini St. Together, we brought along four young ones to the “forest” at the back of the city auditorium. There, by the brook, we pitched tent and set a camp fire. We had fun catching the tadpoles and swimming, until we discovered that leeches abound. Nonetheless, we went home contented. We had our tadpoles and near-frogs (frogs with tadpole tails). Months later, we found out that water from the brook flowed from a huge drainage pipe located under the Baguio Circle, beside the Baguio General Hospital. Regardless, for me, that day was particularly special – I was a bigger boy, a near-frog.
Through my friends, I was affirmed as a person. With them, I gained confidence as new phases in my life unfolded. Through our interactions, I learned to view the world from another perspective and therefore to be better. A lesson: You would need another person to trigger what is naturally inherent. When you complete your lessons with one, then you’re ready for other relationships, another set of interaction to bring out other or deeper sets of values and skills.
Dream Weavers
My kuya and I also owed so much to the greatest (but unheralded) “dream weavers” (and to mom and dad, when they entered and nurtured our dream world). Their works were overshadowed by a lot of grown-up stuff, such as the Bible and other scriptures, together with the works of the great scientists and philosophers. Their names had also become anonymous. Nonetheless their legacy lived on, keeping the world sane and in touch with the secrets of the universe. They continue to inspire people all over the world today, going right to the core of the kid’s heart. They were the authors of the comic books and makers of movies, especially of cartoon shows.
Dad started our love for comic books. During the occasions when mom and dad were at peace, dad would read to us (including mom, who can’t read) local comics books, such as Pilipino Komiks and Tagalog Klasiks. Dad would be lying down, with a pillow under his head or sitting in a chair. Mom would lie or sit beside him, while kuya and me, would sit by their side, following the picture-scenes. The tales would flow through the spoken words of dad, like how Gagamba (the local Spiderman) would defeat all adversaries (Those times were heavenly; moments when I felt one with family).
When I learned to read, I spent most of my allowance hiring comic books from the popular Fred’s News Stand, located a block away from Strike, and which lent comic books at five centavos for two comics. I got especially hooked with the DC superheroes – the Justice League of America, the Legion of Superheroes (example, Saturn Girl, Colossal Boy) and the Teen Titans (Kid Flash, Robin). I also collected copies of the Junior Classic Illustrated (such as Push N’ Boots and The Emperor’s New Clothes), which numbered more than fifty. As I grew older, books and the appreciation of art were added to my repertoire, but the comic books remained to this day.
Through comics, I stretched my imagination and exercised my creativity beyond earth dimensions. I followed the exploits of Superman: born as Kar-El, from the late planet Krypton, who grew up in Smallville, Illinois and became the reporter Clark Kent in love with Lois Lane. I loved the “original” Princess Diana, who was born in Paradise Island, but gave up immortality, migrated to the US as Diana Prince (to follow the love of her life, Capt. Steven Trevor) and championed “Justice” as Wonder Woman. I shared the secret lives of Bruce Wayne (Batman), Barry Allen (the Flash), Ray Palmer (The Atom) and Hal Jordan (the original Green Lantern). I swam the seas with Aquaman from Atlantis, soared the air with Hawkman, and the universe with the Martian Manhunter.
Movies And Radio Dramas
Mom started my love for movies. Before I learned to walk, I was already familiar with movie houses, with her tagging me along. Because of mom, I was exposed first to Filipino movies. I loved action fantasy movies, especially those adapted from the comic serials. I joined the exploits of Captain Barbell, the local version of Superman, Darna (local Wonder Woman), Gagamba (Spiderman), and Palos (Eel, figuratively “agile,” no foreign version). I specially liked “Ang Apat na Agimat” (The Four Talisman). Joseph Estrada and Fernando Poe Jr. were already popular at that time. (Who would have predicted then that Erap would be president of the Republic of the Philippines and the late FPJ would also run as president?)
When I was only four years old, I, alone, watched a double program in Aurora Theater, located just in front of Strike (free for us in the neighborhood). I entered during the first showing, which was about 1:00 PM. I breezed through the first movie, but fell in love with the second one, especially the last scene (The bludgeoned Spartan was flogged by soldiers as he crawled his way towards the object of his affection, a princess seated at the throne. He made it to her and she forgave him for his misdeeds, then they kissed).
I loved that scene so much that I watched it again, which meant sitting inside the movie house for another four hours. When I went out of the movie house, I was surprised to find out that it was late evening (that was 9:00 PM), way passed my curfew. I was also surprised that the household was already alarmed about my absence. Lucky for me, that time was also the height of business with the bowling full of people, which kept mom and dad busy. They were simply relieved to see me safe. Unlike my movie hero, I received only a reprimand, not the whip.
Since then, I sustained my love for romance and fantasy. I particularly remembered being touched by movies about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table (those knights who helped damsels in distress), the Three Musketeers, Sinbad, Ali Baba and the Arabian Nights (the three wishes and the magic lamp), and the exploits of the Gods of Olympus (Achilles, Hercules, Jason and the Argonauts). I also followed James Bond (Agent 007), since Dr. No. (I watched all the Bond movies, which span two generations and around six actors - Sean Connery, Peter Sellers, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Jim Dalton and Pierce Brosnan.)
Like movies and comics, radio dramas also nurtured my imagination. Thanks to mom, we had our first “state of the art” radio, which was a radio with a clock (actually I won the radio from a bingo game at Camp John Hay, but mom paid for my bingo card). So, every week, the family would be glued to the radio set to listen to “Tiya Dely,” a drama anthology and “Tang-Ta-Rang-Tang,” a comedy show. I forgot the episodes of the shows. But I remembered how fulfilled I am in the company of mom, dad and kuya.
The Music Touch
Through the radio, we had our share of tuning in to America’s Top 40 and Dyna’s Dynamic Ten. Thanks to dad, we also had our first phonograph, a turntable playing 45 and 33 rpm (long playing) records.
Looking back, songs from the 1960s to1970s evoke emotions of bygone years. They were not old songs (they were timeless), but new songs when I was younger. Listening to songs from my youth kept me in touch with my generation and the generations before and after mine. Music is the statement of the youth of the day. Depending on the theme and when it was played, I remembered a particular setting.
The song “Sad Movies” evoked memories of one of my first crushes during the summer of 1960. She was a little acrobat girl in a ballerina dress, singing that song on a carnival stage. “How could someone so young be so cute, beautiful and talented at the same time?” That was when I was around 5 years old, with kuya and me watching with the crowd in the football grounds of Burnham Park. (In 2004, I had a chance to walk down memory lane with my big brother. After more than forty years, we both discovered that we shared the same fascination with that cute little girl. She is probably in her fifties by year 2004, never to know that she touched the heart of two souls from Baguio.)
The song “End of the World” reminded me of Cousin Linda (daughter of dad’s oldest sister), who stayed with us. She was sixteen in 1964 and shared her crushes with me, who was 10 years old, with my own crushes. It was also during that year that typhoon “Dading” ravaged the country, killing scores of people, while the sun did not show up for a month. A version of “Souvenirs” reminded me of mom, who swooned and boasted like a teenager (she was already 49 in 1973) that she has a signed photograph of Eva Vivar, the local singer who popularized the tune.
I practically grew up with the Beatles. In Grade 6, I bought a set of laminated pictures of each of the Beatles – John, Paul, George and Ringo (half the size of an ID card, bounded together by a small chain), which I hooked to my belt. Songs like “Yesterday,” “All My Loving,” and “Help” bring back memories of times spent in a family friend’s house, the home of my most treasured young love.
When I was in high school, I envied rich classmates who brought long- playing albums of the Beatles (Abbey Road and Rubber Soul) to share with other rich classmates. I had none of those; I just had 45 rpms. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the music as much as the rich kids do. When the tunes were played, everybody listened regardless of class distinction. I suppose, music and any art form which comes from the heart is free and can be equally enjoyed by the rich and poor alike. The difference is just a matter of choice or taste. To expand this to nature, i.e., the grandest natural art form, the best things in life are free. Nobody needs to pay to feel the touch of the morning mist, listen to the humming of the birds, and watch the sunset.
Blossoming of Awareness
Like the sunflower bud would bloom during the months of May and December in Baguio, the kids grew up to be bigger boys and bigger girls, then adolescents, then young adults and married grown-ups. This implied several passages from the innocence of the child to the trappings of the world of grown-ups. This implied re-living and actualizing childhood dreams in the so-called real world, starting with the domestic front.
Kuya Rudy was always the big brother to me, the one I could depend on. He was a good companion, someone you would love to be with. He was always eager to teach new lessons, give new insights. But since he was the big brother, it naturally followed that I was the younger one. Externally (i.e., socially), this didn’t matter. In fact I took advantage of our relationship in almost every situation. However, being younger had its disadvantages. I was kuya’s errant boy. I was also receiving the raw end of deals.
Once, during a war game in the castle side of our hill, kuya accidentally slipped on a chunk of slimy yellow shit, which soiled his feet, slippers and long pants, from his legs up to his ass. It was an embarrassing and stinking incident. Everyone around him had their hands on their noses to avoid the foul smell, while wondering what to do. I was his only salvation. Otherwise, he would receive the wrath of mom and dad to compound his already upsetting situation.
Duty called and I was requested (without any choice) to sneak home (which was about a 20 meter distance), get a small towel, wet it with water, go back and help him wipe off the shit from his feet, and pants. I repeated the sequence three times - go home, wash the towel, go back and wipe the shit. Finally, we both sneaked back home for him to secretly change cloths and for us to wash away the foul smell. (During our analysis 40 years later, we realized that we could have been more efficient. He could have sent me to get a pail of water, with the wet towel; I didn’t have to run back and forth three times, like it was the end of the world.)
Between my brother and me, I was the more conscientious, thrifty and organized one. However, all my savings will go to naught or he would find a way of sharing the bounty. When he was in the seminary during his first year in high school, he would seek me out during recess and ask me to buy his favorite food. When I was in first year high, I wanted to buy a guitar, which costs 34 pesos. I already saved 30 pesos (which was a lot considering that our daily allowance was only fifty centavos or half a peso). He had the 4 pesos I needed, which he lent to me. He also offered to help me buy the guitar. After the purchase, we arrived home fully satisfied, except for one detail. Kuya decided that I owed him nothing, but that the guitar was “ours.”
Our particular interaction had manifested in our later years in two opposing, yet complementary ways. While he was interactive, I was reflective. He would be at the forefront of events, while I would be behind the scene. I was secretly fascinated (and was envious) of kuya’s seeming ease in entering the crowd. He was humorous, the life of a party. I enjoyed being alone or in the company of one with whom I could interact one-on-one. Kuya basked in the limelight; I was content in the shadows, playing second fiddle, giving advice to the leader.
Apparently old habits never die, although the warmth remained. In 2004, when kuya visited from the US, we had a chance to recall the events of our childhood, which was very fine. However, during one of our visits to a friend of his in Manila, he absentmindedly asked me to pick up his baggage from the car and bring it in the house. I complied, not grudgingly as during our younger years, but with amusement. We were already in our fifties and I was still kuya’s errant boy. Nonetheless, all the time kuya was in Baguio and the Philippines, he paid the bills.
The Sad movies thing was hilarious. I am so blessed to have you as my brother, Ces. Only correction. You were born when we were still in Mrs. Mata's apartment by lower General Luna road although we trekked almost everyday to the Strike because Dad had been working there already. You seem to miss also the time you had a pilay and I had to hide under the bed for fear of retribution from mama. Nice writing, utol. K Rudy L
ReplyDeleteCesar, I read your blog entries with high interest, being a BIB myself (Born in Baguio) and a recent retiree from the UN system (4 agencies; my last posting was with UNESCAP in Bangkok). My siblings and myself were also comics and oldies and movies and writing fans (and passed them on to our own kids). I was a student of Mrs. Elena Mata in PE for three years at City High, I belong to Class 61 and we will have our golden homecoming in May 2011. we have a blog, www.bchs61tambayan.blogspot.com which I hope you might visit sometime. cheers, evelyn domingo-barker. rajadamnern1@yahoo.com
ReplyDeleteHi Ces,
ReplyDeleteI could recall that we played bowling during office and inter-office friendly games to enjoy and relax at theStrike and Spare Llanes. It's sad that it was not able to cope up with the need of the times, now that bowling and billiards have again become popular. I dindn't know that I have met you before our graduate school days at U.P. Baguio. Regards
Greg Aberin
Ces, ano tingin ng mga locals sa SM Baguio? Personally parang di ako komportable.
ReplyDeleteTo Kuya Rudy: Thanks for filling the blanks as to my birthplace. I remember staying in Mrs. Mata's apartment...I have seen a picture of baby me with a "bukol" and being carried by one of our titas (forgot who). I remember falling down the stairs to the apartment. That place is now the shortcut between lower General Luna Road and the back of what was once Plaza theater, and the parking space for jeepneys that ply Aurora Hill. It is a murky stairway that is sorrounded by billiard halls, honky tonks and eateries.
ReplyDeleteAbout the "pilay" scene...i posted it earlier...as a response from you in Purple Butterfly.
To EvelynBangkok: Thanks to for filling in something of my past. I did not know Mrs. Mata was a high school PE teacher. Wow! this is a little bit of history.
To Greg: Another piece of the jigsaw...of a soon to be myth.
To Mon: SM nestled atop was was onced Pines Hotel, which was burned down just before the 1990 earthquake. My thoughts about this? Well...its already a given. Before it was constructed, Baguio folks rallied against it for fear that local businesses may soon phase out. That happened for some. Nonetheless, moving forward to another dreamworld...Burnham Park... Baguio folks are rallying to preserve dreamland...no more commercial building within the area.