Great Man Part II: Tito Edgar

June 29, 2008

The second great man I know is my Tito Edgar. He was a father to four children, including a 5-year-old child with Down syndrome who was also diagnosed to have leukemia. When he had his first child, I guess he was not prepared yet to be a father. The child grew up with my lola. His second child used to stay at his biological mother’s house but now stays with him. He eventually was finally able to build his own house, and his third and fourth child live with him and his wife at their own house. He got all matters in his hand. He and his wife were able to start a little store and get into a small-time jewelry business (buying and selling). It seemed that they were on their way to a successful life.

However, it was June last year when we learned that Eric, then a 4-year-old, was diagnosed with leukemia. Lola, my mom, Eric’s mom, they were all crying. But not Tito. I knew him to be the masculine man. I guess it was then that he started to be a good father.

Though he was never an irresponsible father, he still enjoyed drinking with his buddies or riding motorcycles with them. He wasn’t really the hands-on father type. He was never sentimental, emotional, or dramatic. After Eric’s diagnosis, he was immediately confined to PCMC. It was one of the most challenging times of our life, and mostly to Tito and Eric’s life.

Eric was confined for more than a month, and Tito was the one taking care of him. There was no bed for him to sleep on, so he managed to sleep at night on a monoblock chair. Whenever his wife visits, since only one can stay with the patient, he opted to sleep outside the hospital with a carton as his bedsheet. He could stay at my place, but he didn’t want to be far in case Eric needs him. He saw all his youngest child’s suffering and was always there to calm him and take care of him. Imagine how painful it is for a father to witness his son shaking while having chemotherapy. As time went on, he was able to memorize all the medicines and the dosages and got to know all the nurses in the ward.

During Eric’s first hospital stay, he would ask someone to look for Eric only if he would go to PCSO or to Kapuso Foundation to ask for medical assistance or medicines. After a long day, he would return to Eric and attend to his needs. He would diligently follow up his requests for assistance and get it himself when approved. After Eric was discharged from the hospital, they went home to Nueva Ecija. As if he did not have the need to rest, he went to Manila the next day and again looked for medical assistance. Leukemia indeed is very expensive. Sometimes he jokes about selling Eric piece by piece, but, really, his devotion to his son is unquestionable.

Twice or three times a week, he would bring Eric to PCMC to have his chemotherapy. He now knows everything about Eric’s illness. Though Eric could not speak, he instantly understands whatever sound or hand gestures Eric makes. And the child do not want his father out of his sight. When most mothers are beside their sick children, Tito was beside Eric. On occasions when Eric had to be confined again for days, Tito would still be the one to stay at the hospital while following up on medical assistance. He never lost his temper and his happy nature. Whenever there’s a “newcomer” at PCMC, he starts a conversation to the parents of the sick child and give them encouragement and tips. I can only watch in amazement when this happens. He was never grumpy, though he was awfully tired. Sometimes he fell asleep because of a long day, but wakes up instantly whenever Eric makes a soft noise or little movement. He would never spend 8 pesos to ride a jeepney when he can walk in distances that are not “walking distance” to most—this in addition to having to carry Eric all the way plus huge bags. He never seemed to get tired of Eric, when I or anyone gets tired of looking after Eric for a whole day.

If there is anything such as a blessing in disguise, it was because of Eric’s illness, Tito transformed from a good father to a great one.

Great Man Part I: Mang Mando

In connection to the not-so-recent Father’s day, I felt the need to write a two-part blog about two great men. These men I admire to the highest level, more than any rocking band.

First is Mang Mando. He is the old man, about 60 to 65, who live with his wife in Bulacan. He owns a store along the highway which served as a stopover to travelers or like us who work in Manila and from time to time go home to the province. We were among Mang Mando’s suki. He has the best buko juice and the tastiest barbeques. I’m so glad he’s fond of me, and though he knows my name, he still calls me bunso. He opens up his store early in the morning, neatly arranging all his merchandise (patis, chicharon, chichirya, suka, etc.) outside and again one by one returning it inside the store before closing at night. It’s sad that I don’t get to pass by his store as often as I did before because most of the time I do not take the car home (you know, rising gas prices and the expensive toll fee). Whenever he sees me, and my family, his face lights up and immediately gives me buko juice and refills it whenever I empty the cup (which, by the way are, free of charge). He gives me chicharon and saves me the effort of opening it by opening the plastic himself. He sits beside me and say, “bunso, kamusta na sila daddy mo? kamusta na ang sakit niya?” I would gladly inform him that the whole family is okay. Then he would go outside the store, talk to his neighbor, and then come back with huge green mangoes. I didn’t know that he asked his neighbor to get the fruits for me. Sobrang nakakahiya na, but I can see that he’s happy giving to people. The only thing I can do is to buy something that he would let me pay, that is, if I insist hard.

He’s a very hardworking man, and though he really does not need to work since all his children have their own family and living a good life, he still continued selling those buko juice he make. At first, I do not understand why he had to work at his age, carrying some heavy stuff for his tindahan while his wife mind the cashier. He had already worked most his life (he used to be a San Miguel employee), having to raise all his younger siblings and his own kids. I felt that he should retire. But I guess some people really had that hardworking bone in them, those who just couldn’t stop working (I wish I had half of his attitude). Also, I could not understand why he and his wife are living alone. We, Filipinos, are used to having a close-knit, extended family. But in one conversation I had with him, I understood. When I asked him how was his sister who was a policewoman in Chicago, he said she was doing good and wanted to visit him again. He told her that earning money is really hard, even for her, so he does not want her to go home. He added that when her sister goes home, she would spend a lot of money and bring him and the other relatives to places. Her sister wants him and the rest of the family to experience luxury, even if only when she visits the country. But Mang Mando insisted, “Keep your money, you also worked hard for it. Do not mind me. I am happy here, I can take care of myself. Just take care of yourself there.” For someone who spent his youthful days trying to have his siblings finish college, he is a very selfless man. Unlike most people, he never asked, and never will ask, for someone to repay him. I think he decided to be alone with his wife and feel that his children have their own family now, that he has finished his obligation to them, and that they have no obligation to him. A call or a visit would suffice. I think Mang Mando would never ask anything from someone, but would rather give everything he can. Mang Mando truly is a great father, a selfless man.

Freedom to be independent

It’s been days (or weeks) since I’ve first thought about this. While at SM on June 12, I saw banners greeting everyone “Happy Independence Day.” All of a sudden I thought about why it was called independence instead of freedom; well, I prefer the latter. The word appeals to me as something absolute (and dramatic). I want to be freed from captivity, and not be, uhm, independent from it. I don’t know if independence day is the universal term every time a nation restored its right to rule itself (pardon my ignorance if so), but whoever thought of it must have had in mind the country’s dependence to its former ruler as a point of reference. Again, as it seems to me, the importance and the power are on the colonizers. Hey, shouldn’t we be the lead character of the story?

I should have written about it the day I thought of it, when my thoughts were all fresh. But I must admit, tinatamad na kong magsulat. My lost of interest in editing must have translated to my lost of interest to writing (hope not forever). But I will never lose interest in things that concern my country. I love my country, and I believe I am a true Filipino at heart (though I haven’t given back enough to the PI).

There were two things that bothered me: the sinking of MV Princess of the Stars and the stay of the President and her alipores in the United States. First of all, typhoon Frank was a national calamity, highlighted by the capsizing of a huge ship with 800 passengers. Up to now, all passengers aren’t accounted for yet. Local governments are complaining about the smell of the dozens of dead bodies in their islands, and the national government, as well as Sulpicio Lines (owner of the ship), has a very unorganized treatment to this tragedy. Sure, Mrs. Arroyo set up a teleconference, but is it all she can do? In a household, whenever a child got hurt, the father immediately goes home to attend to the injured child. Mrs. Arroyo, as the head of the state, should attend to the hundreds of injured or dead here, or at least oversee the whole process of search and rescue or rebuilding the nation after the storm devastated us. Aside from the people, what about the crops? It has damaged hectares and hectares of land. With the issues of food security and all, why can’t she and all the politicians with her cut their trip short? Given that it is for international relations or for the Filipinos abroad, surely, that can wait. This is the immediate concern. Fine, you didn’t know the storm would hit that hard that’s why you left, but now you know, so get back. Use our taxpayer’s money to buy your first-class ticket, and please, lead the country.

Another news that pissed me off was that Mrs. Arroyo couldn’t go home yet because she would still talk to John McCain and Barack Obama. She had the appointment with McCain, but Obama was a different story. Mrs. Arroyo had to adjust to his schedule so they can meet. When finally they got an appointment with Obama, he cancelled it on the day itself. I’m not worried that you, Mrs. Arroyo, would lose your integrity, but I am concerned that you are allowing the seat of the presidency be disrespected. C’mon, he isn’t the president of the USA yet. Have some self-respect. Isn’t it enough that we had to send our highest ranking official to sign the Visiting Forces Agreement when they don’t bother?

We are already given our independence. Battles have been fought to earn this; many have died and many have lived through hell. When we have the freedom to choose, why do we have to choose dependence to others?

Tonight I Can Write

June 19, 2008

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

 - Pablo Neruda