During the 1960s, Mt. Mary was not where the Baguio Cathedral is now perched; it was the mountain where the present St Louis Hospital was located, which was the end of Assumption Road. It was then a virtual forest with a thick growth of pine trees, wild grass and ferns. It was there where we would gather roots and twigs from pine trees to be converted to school projects. It was along its winding slopes, covered with pine needles where we had our slides. Along its pathway, we would trek to the high school site (now the St. Louis University), enjoying the cool breeze, the tweeting of the birds and the streaks of sunlight as they peeped through the thick pines.
I suppose the mountain got its name from the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus Christ. But the mountain is no longer there. It gave way to the expansion of St. Louis University. So, like its namesake, it became part of a memory of those who lived during those times.
Among boys, “Mt. Mary” meant something else. It was a challenge; a duel to see which of two protagonists was tougher. Mt. Mary was the scene of many duels. It became synonymous to a noble and fair fight. It was like the Knights of the Round Table fighting for the honor of the king or a fair damsel. “Mt. Mary” meant staking your honor. It was a passage from youth to adolescence; from a small boy to a bigger boy.
When I was 10 years old, Boy, a peer of kuya, was the neighborhood bully, who challenged everyone to Mt. Mary. Nobody dared accept the challenge; his reputation was mythical. But kuya, secretly prepared. He bought a book on karate and practiced self-defense. So, when Boy challenged kuya to a fistfight (“Mt Mary!”), Boy got the shock of his life when kuya accepted and fearlessly displayed his fighting stance.
Amidst the cheers of the kids, Boy was humbled (with each side having their share of hurt). Boy may think that he won the battle, but he lost the war. My big brother earned the respect of the kids and became the champion of the oppressed. From Mt. Mary, he followed a life-path all the way to the mountains of the Cordillera as a rebel.
I had my turn. Another league from the lower part of Mabini St. invaded our territory (i.e., our mountain-paradise), a violation of our territorial rights. To resolve the issue, duels were set right in our mountain, pitting boys and girls from our league with other boys and girls of the invading league. Against Bebeng, my opponent, I had the height advantage and easily had the upper hand in our wrestling match. I was on top of him, while he lay with his back on the ground. Then, I was choking him with my bare hands. I distinctively remembered him gasping for air and silently begging me to release my grip. But my league members were cheering and prodding me to go on.
“Kill Bebeng?” I panicked at the thought. I let go off my hands from Bebeng’s neck and froze. The next thing I knew, Bebeng was all over - boxing and outmaneuvering me. I ended up with a black eye and swollen lips. For me, “Mt. Mary” was a battle that was won, but lost. I had a bruised ego and a lingering question in my mind: “Is killing worth the winning?”
Lucky for the two leagues, the duels were even – two wins, two loses. A compromise was made and the two leagues shared the mountain. Eventually, harmony was established and there was a common league in Mabini St., to the extent that friendships were forged and crushes and puppy loves blossomed. But the scar of my defeat and humiliation was etched deep in my mind. I wanted none of war. I pursued the life-path of a peacemaker and harmonizer.
Spiritual Awakening
Kuya and I were baptized Catholics and studied in a Catholic school from Grade I to high school. During our elementary years, we prayed the rosary every morning and night for the whole month of October, in compliance to a school mandate (we wanted to accumulate a lot of indulgences and graces; they were antidotes against venial sins). After the month, we each submitted a drawing of a rosary, with each bead (corresponding to a day) colored to attest that, indeed, we prayed. We were honest; we didn’t want to commit sin. (Those were the times when Pope John XXIII pushed for the Ecumenical Council).
Kuya joined and stayed in the seminary for two years. I suppose he was seeking answers from religion. When he went out in his third year high, I suppose he did not find the answer in priesthood. According to him, he went out because the meals of the seminarians were mungo (a vegetable), while the priests ate chopped pork. In fourth year, he became the explorer scout leader of the whole school. His training as a revolutionary had commenced. This was followed through in college, when he was exposed to the “School for National Democracy” or SND. There, he understood that the problems of mom and dad related to “class struggle” and the solution was to join the worldwide proletarian revolution to topple imperialism and establish a socialist society.
I wanted to become a saint. In Grade 5 and 6, I regularly volunteered to clean the school chapel (two-thirds the size of a basketball court) together with other saintly boys. While doing the chores, I would solemnly pray to my angels and to the Tabernacle, to protect me from the devil and to let my parents see the light. Secretly I wanted to follow the footsteps of Joan of Arc (portrayed by Ingrid Bergman in the movie version) and of St Francis of Assisi (“Brother Sun, Sister Moon”). I did not hear the voice of the Holy Spirit, but I felt like a cherubim.
I regularly attended Sunday mass at the Baguio Cathedral (non-attendance was a mortal sin). But one of the sermons of the parish priest woke me up from stupor. He said: “parents, don’t send your children to church!” He paused then continued, “bring them with you.” That was unthinkable. Mom and dad never went to church except during baptisms, weddings and burials. My only recollection of mom’s religiousness was when she visited the Convent of the Pink Sisters (a chapel near Brent school, where the nuns sing like angels) and when she toured friends to the Lourdes Grotto. How could they be saved when they were accumulating so much mortal sin?
The principal in Boys High, who was my teacher in 4th year Social Ethics and Religion, provided some answers. He blamed elementary teachers for instilling “impure thoughts” in children. “How could kids have impure thoughts when they were just curious?” He started me off to a reality apart from religion (he affirmed something that I intuitively believed in). He taught that the way to live in this world is to find meaning as a human being. He admonished the class to question our faith and define our humanity. “Live your life according to principles” he would advise. “Character makes a man.”
The principal was brutally murdered in his home, during the summer of 1970, just after I graduated from high school. It was an unsolved crime. But his legacy lived on among the kids under his tutelage. His favorite verse was from Edwin Markham:
“We are all blind until we see; that in the human plan, nothing is worth the making if it does not make the man. Why build these cities glorious if man unbuilded goes? In vain we build the world unless the builder also grows.”
Being born in this world by accident or by choice is not the issue. We are born as humans with human capacities; it is our responsibility to make the best of what we are and what we have. No one, but no one will do it for us.
Life Paths
Although, my brother and I were exposed to the same cultural patterns of mom and dad, the same neighborhood, the same school, the same mountains, and practically the same college environment in Baguio, we had different coping mechanisms. From our first lessons with one another and from the boys of Mabini St., we followed completely opposite life paths. My brother was aggressive and wanted to change the conditions outside him. I was inclined to settle for amicable settlements.
I suppose, each one has a unique path. One follows a blueprint harmoniously being actualized through the natural flow and dance with the environment – i.e., nature and others humans. It is not the environment primarily influencing us; it is the opposite. Our internal system is isolating the signals or factors from the environment that corresponded to the requirements of our essential self. We are naturally attracted to the signals that would complete our blueprint.
My brother transformed to an outgoing, sociable person, but a shrewd and slick operator, both in politics and economics. Kuya was attracted to signals that nurtured his “objectivism;” he was inclined towards changing the world to a socialist society.
I transformed into an introspective, but conscientious person, drawn both to detailed work and eastern philosophy. I was attracted to signals that nurtured my subjectivity; I was inclined to Eastern philosophies, focused on seeking the path within.
Funny tho,’ how fate moves life! My brother was soon caught in an encounter in Isabela. After he was released from prison and finished college, he had an interlude with Sambia, in Africa. He then eventually settled in the US with his family. Well, so much for anti-imperialism sentimentality.
I suppose the mountain got its name from the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus Christ. But the mountain is no longer there. It gave way to the expansion of St. Louis University. So, like its namesake, it became part of a memory of those who lived during those times.
Among boys, “Mt. Mary” meant something else. It was a challenge; a duel to see which of two protagonists was tougher. Mt. Mary was the scene of many duels. It became synonymous to a noble and fair fight. It was like the Knights of the Round Table fighting for the honor of the king or a fair damsel. “Mt. Mary” meant staking your honor. It was a passage from youth to adolescence; from a small boy to a bigger boy.
When I was 10 years old, Boy, a peer of kuya, was the neighborhood bully, who challenged everyone to Mt. Mary. Nobody dared accept the challenge; his reputation was mythical. But kuya, secretly prepared. He bought a book on karate and practiced self-defense. So, when Boy challenged kuya to a fistfight (“Mt Mary!”), Boy got the shock of his life when kuya accepted and fearlessly displayed his fighting stance.
Amidst the cheers of the kids, Boy was humbled (with each side having their share of hurt). Boy may think that he won the battle, but he lost the war. My big brother earned the respect of the kids and became the champion of the oppressed. From Mt. Mary, he followed a life-path all the way to the mountains of the Cordillera as a rebel.
I had my turn. Another league from the lower part of Mabini St. invaded our territory (i.e., our mountain-paradise), a violation of our territorial rights. To resolve the issue, duels were set right in our mountain, pitting boys and girls from our league with other boys and girls of the invading league. Against Bebeng, my opponent, I had the height advantage and easily had the upper hand in our wrestling match. I was on top of him, while he lay with his back on the ground. Then, I was choking him with my bare hands. I distinctively remembered him gasping for air and silently begging me to release my grip. But my league members were cheering and prodding me to go on.
“Kill Bebeng?” I panicked at the thought. I let go off my hands from Bebeng’s neck and froze. The next thing I knew, Bebeng was all over - boxing and outmaneuvering me. I ended up with a black eye and swollen lips. For me, “Mt. Mary” was a battle that was won, but lost. I had a bruised ego and a lingering question in my mind: “Is killing worth the winning?”
Lucky for the two leagues, the duels were even – two wins, two loses. A compromise was made and the two leagues shared the mountain. Eventually, harmony was established and there was a common league in Mabini St., to the extent that friendships were forged and crushes and puppy loves blossomed. But the scar of my defeat and humiliation was etched deep in my mind. I wanted none of war. I pursued the life-path of a peacemaker and harmonizer.
Spiritual Awakening
Kuya and I were baptized Catholics and studied in a Catholic school from Grade I to high school. During our elementary years, we prayed the rosary every morning and night for the whole month of October, in compliance to a school mandate (we wanted to accumulate a lot of indulgences and graces; they were antidotes against venial sins). After the month, we each submitted a drawing of a rosary, with each bead (corresponding to a day) colored to attest that, indeed, we prayed. We were honest; we didn’t want to commit sin. (Those were the times when Pope John XXIII pushed for the Ecumenical Council).
Kuya joined and stayed in the seminary for two years. I suppose he was seeking answers from religion. When he went out in his third year high, I suppose he did not find the answer in priesthood. According to him, he went out because the meals of the seminarians were mungo (a vegetable), while the priests ate chopped pork. In fourth year, he became the explorer scout leader of the whole school. His training as a revolutionary had commenced. This was followed through in college, when he was exposed to the “School for National Democracy” or SND. There, he understood that the problems of mom and dad related to “class struggle” and the solution was to join the worldwide proletarian revolution to topple imperialism and establish a socialist society.
I wanted to become a saint. In Grade 5 and 6, I regularly volunteered to clean the school chapel (two-thirds the size of a basketball court) together with other saintly boys. While doing the chores, I would solemnly pray to my angels and to the Tabernacle, to protect me from the devil and to let my parents see the light. Secretly I wanted to follow the footsteps of Joan of Arc (portrayed by Ingrid Bergman in the movie version) and of St Francis of Assisi (“Brother Sun, Sister Moon”). I did not hear the voice of the Holy Spirit, but I felt like a cherubim.
I regularly attended Sunday mass at the Baguio Cathedral (non-attendance was a mortal sin). But one of the sermons of the parish priest woke me up from stupor. He said: “parents, don’t send your children to church!” He paused then continued, “bring them with you.” That was unthinkable. Mom and dad never went to church except during baptisms, weddings and burials. My only recollection of mom’s religiousness was when she visited the Convent of the Pink Sisters (a chapel near Brent school, where the nuns sing like angels) and when she toured friends to the Lourdes Grotto. How could they be saved when they were accumulating so much mortal sin?
The principal in Boys High, who was my teacher in 4th year Social Ethics and Religion, provided some answers. He blamed elementary teachers for instilling “impure thoughts” in children. “How could kids have impure thoughts when they were just curious?” He started me off to a reality apart from religion (he affirmed something that I intuitively believed in). He taught that the way to live in this world is to find meaning as a human being. He admonished the class to question our faith and define our humanity. “Live your life according to principles” he would advise. “Character makes a man.”
The principal was brutally murdered in his home, during the summer of 1970, just after I graduated from high school. It was an unsolved crime. But his legacy lived on among the kids under his tutelage. His favorite verse was from Edwin Markham:
“We are all blind until we see; that in the human plan, nothing is worth the making if it does not make the man. Why build these cities glorious if man unbuilded goes? In vain we build the world unless the builder also grows.”
Being born in this world by accident or by choice is not the issue. We are born as humans with human capacities; it is our responsibility to make the best of what we are and what we have. No one, but no one will do it for us.
Life Paths
Although, my brother and I were exposed to the same cultural patterns of mom and dad, the same neighborhood, the same school, the same mountains, and practically the same college environment in Baguio, we had different coping mechanisms. From our first lessons with one another and from the boys of Mabini St., we followed completely opposite life paths. My brother was aggressive and wanted to change the conditions outside him. I was inclined to settle for amicable settlements.
I suppose, each one has a unique path. One follows a blueprint harmoniously being actualized through the natural flow and dance with the environment – i.e., nature and others humans. It is not the environment primarily influencing us; it is the opposite. Our internal system is isolating the signals or factors from the environment that corresponded to the requirements of our essential self. We are naturally attracted to the signals that would complete our blueprint.
My brother transformed to an outgoing, sociable person, but a shrewd and slick operator, both in politics and economics. Kuya was attracted to signals that nurtured his “objectivism;” he was inclined towards changing the world to a socialist society.
I transformed into an introspective, but conscientious person, drawn both to detailed work and eastern philosophy. I was attracted to signals that nurtured my subjectivity; I was inclined to Eastern philosophies, focused on seeking the path within.
Funny tho,’ how fate moves life! My brother was soon caught in an encounter in Isabela. After he was released from prison and finished college, he had an interlude with Sambia, in Africa. He then eventually settled in the US with his family. Well, so much for anti-imperialism sentimentality.
I joined the ranks of public servants, first selling “responsible parenthood” (condoms and pills), then the ranks of civil society, until I became involved with the UN Development Programme (UNDP) as project officer, first for Governance; then Peace and Development in Mindanao. I soon had an optional retirement, remarried and resettled in Baguio City.
Nonetheless, one goes back to the root of it all…”Mt. Mary” was the first encounter, the first struggle for territory among boys in Baguio. It was the first lesson in growing up; for a stake in life in this world. As a facebook friend quoted:
“To do is to be” – Descartes
“To be is to do” – Plato
“Do be do be do” - Sinatra
Nonetheless, one goes back to the root of it all…”Mt. Mary” was the first encounter, the first struggle for territory among boys in Baguio. It was the first lesson in growing up; for a stake in life in this world. As a facebook friend quoted:
“To do is to be” – Descartes
“To be is to do” – Plato
“Do be do be do” - Sinatra
Fr Alexi Milanes: i loved the story
ReplyDeleteWillie Posadas: Ces, I've read through all your notes/poems/etc. and want to convey to all your literary talent. Lois also enjoyed reading your notes. If you ever publish your notes, we would like to be first in line to buy your book. Hope to read more of your notes.
ReplyDeleteButch Garcia: Ces, that's a real good piece of a write up. The memories of Mt. Mary will remain in us, the experiences of battles won and lost but most of all the bonds of friendships that arose form those chivalrous escapades.
ReplyDeleteConnie Octa: Excellent writing, you are truly gifted. Life as we know it is very interesting.Someday I would like to write but it doesn't come that easy for me.
ReplyDeleteDean Cuanso: wow what an experience you went through
ReplyDeleteThanks Alexi, Dean, Butch, Willie and Connie. You just made my day. Mt. Mary may just serve as a state of harmony after-all.
ReplyDeleteGreg Aberin: Let's bring back the scent of pine to the city by planting more pine trees in every available lot, parks, Buyog and Ambiong watersheds, etc..Bagiw will thrive in their trunks and Baguio will deserve its root name.
ReplyDeleteabout an hour ago
Adam Baguio: great literary piece, and it's true. my dad used to tell me about his own share of escapades over at mount mary. manong herbo, formerly of the research and devt dept at the university of the cordilleras has similar stories. your story has added color to their tales of childhoods past. thanks!
ReplyDeleteMarie Balangue: No wonder my dad never told me stories of "Mt Mary!"... I only got to hear about the Sisters of the Assumption school on Mary Hill. :-) Thanks for sharing this, Cesar!
ReplyDeleteJun Quinto: Gayem and Kabsat! Splendid write-up and it brought back a lot of memories, not just about Mt. Mary, but also about your kuya and my manong. I used to hang around them most of the time doing odds and ends in their hobbies and business and we've all grown to be very close as families... even until now here in the US. Thanks, Ces, for taking me back to those days.
ReplyDelete