Why is Rizal a hero to you?

What’s your favorite Rizal poem? Chances are, you won’t be able to name one save for, of course, the usual stuff they taught us in school: the very last one he wrote. Do you even know how many poems he wrote? Are you even aware how exquisitely beautiful his verses are, and what are the usual themes of his poetry?

(as expected, I hear crickets chirping)

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You see, Rizal was first and foremost a POET, a passionate bard who masterfully versified his profound love for Filipinas. He began his writing career as a poet and ended it as a poet. He is not all about the Noli and the Fili. He is not all about the Propaganda Movement. It is most unfortunate that he can no longer be understood by today’s generation when, at the turn of the 20th century, our forebears were cut off from his culture by a new language —THIS language I’m using right now— imposed by a nation experimenting with imperialism. When Rizal and his contemporaries were already soaring like Cervantes and Clarín, those hapless Filipinos who came after them had to learn anew the ABCs of another culture. So now we read him through bastardized and oftentimes annoying English translations. Unfortunately, we never soared like Shakespeare and Tennyson using the English language.

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There was one, however, who came close: Nick Joaquín. But he was on a league of his own: his first language was Spanish, and many attribute his mastery of English, aside from his being an indefatigable bookworm, to his proficiency of his mother tongue (English and Spanish are cognates). It can even be argued that his translation of Rizal’s valedictory poem was more superior than the original. Perhaps among all Rizal translators, it was only Nick who was able to capture the imagination and depth of the national hero as well as the spirit of the Filipino.

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But since we have been linguistically cut off from that faraway culture, our REAL culture, not all of us can be Nick anymore. Not all of us can be Rizal anymore.

Why is Rizal a hero to you?

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Rizal is a hero not because of his defiance to authority. He is a hero because of his deep love of country, a burning love that can only be understood by reading his verses (NOT his novels) in the language in which he wrote them. This is something that all patriotic Filipinos should think about every time Rizal Day falls, so that its celebration will not be rendered futile.

Rizal Commercial Banking Corporation (RCBC)

It is sad to note that the essence of Rizal’s heroism today has degenerated into mere hero worship and opportunistic commercialism. There is nothing wrong in honoring Rizal, but it is best that we thoroughly understand what his heroism really is all about. Understanding him is the best way of honoring his memory.

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Joaquín’s translation of Rizal’s “Mi Último Adiós

A few years ago, Señor Gómez and I were discussing the last poem that Rizal wrote, as well as its several translations. When we got to the part about Nick Joaquín’s translation, I could never forget his words: Joaquín’s English version of “Mi Último Adiós” is one instance wherein the translation is far more superior compared  to the original. I never gave it much thought until then. So off I went to review both poems later on. I also compared Joaquín’s version to other well-known English translations (Charles Derbyshire, Encarnación Alzona, etc.). I could say that Joaquín’s has more depth and mystery. But since I’m not exactly a fully bloomed poet in Spanish, it’s hard to tell if I could agree on Señor Gómez’s observation.

People who read this now will argue that it’s really just a matter of opinion. However, it should be noted that Señor Gómez is a poet in four languages: Spanish, English, Tagálog, and Hiligaynón. Furthermore, it is no secret that he tends to be more leaning towards the Spanish language compared to English. Nevertheless, a website dedicated to José Rizal and his works seems to agree with him: “In many translated Rizal works, one writer stands out: Nick Joaquín”.

Without further ado, here is Joaquín’s English rendering of Mi Último Adiós…

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Joaquín’s translation of “Mi Último Adiós” is included in this book.

JOSÉ RIZAL’S VALEDICTORY POEM

Land that I love: farewell: O land the sun loves:
Pearl of the sea of the Orient: Eden lost to your brood!
Gaily go I to present you this hapless hopeless life:
Were it more brilliant: had it more freshness, more bloom:
Still for you would I give it: would give it for your good!

In barricades embattled, fighting in delirium,
Others give you their lives without doubts, without gloom.
The site nought matters: cypress, laurel or lily:
Gibbet or open field: combat or cruel martyrdom
Are equal if demanded by country and home.

I am to die when I see the heavens go vivid,
announcing the day at last behind the dead night.
If you need colorcolor to stain that dawn with,
Let spill my blood: scatter it in good hour:
And drench in its gold one beam of the newborn light.

My dream when a lad, when scarcely adolescent:
My dreams when a young man, now with vigor inflamed:
Were to behold you one day: Jewel of eastern waters:
Griefless the dusky eyes: lofty the upright brow:
Unclouded, unfurrowed, unblemished and unashamed!

Enchantment of my life: my ardent avid obsession:
To your health! Cries the soul, so soon to take the last leap:
To your health! O lovely: how lovely: to fall that you may rise!
To perish that you may live! To die beneath your skies!
And upon your enchanted ground the eternities to sleep!

Should you find some day somewhere on my gravemound, fluttering
Among tall grasses, a flower of simple fame:
Caress it with your lips and you kiss my soul:
I shall feel on my face across the cold tombstone:
Of your tenderness, the breath; of your breath, the flame.

Suffer the moon to keep watch, tranquil and suave, over me:
Suffer the dawn its flying lights to release:
Suffer the wind to lament in murmurous and grave manner:
And should a bird drift down and alight on my cross,
Suffer the bird to intone its canticle of peace.

Suffer the rains to dissolve in the fiery sunlight
And purified reascending heavenward bear my cause:
Suffer a friend to grieve I perished so soon:
And on fine evenings, when prays in my memory,
Pray alsoO my land!that in God I repose.

Pray for all who have fallen befriended by not fate:
For all who braved the bearing of torments all bearing past:
To our poor mothers piteously breathing in bitterness:
For widows and orphans: for those in tortured captivity
And yourself: pray to behold your redemption at last.

And when in dark night shrouded obscurely the graveyard lies
And only, only the dead keep vigil the night through:
Keep holy the place: keep holy the mystery.
Strains, perhaps, you will hearof zither, or of psalter:
It is IO land I love!it is I, singing to you!

And when my grave is wholly unremembered
And unlocated (no cross upon it, no stone there plain):
Let the site be wracked by the plow and cracked by the spade
And let my ashes, before they vanish to nothing,
As dust be formed a part of your carpet again.

Nothing then will it matter to place me in oblivion!
Across your air, your space, your valleys shall pass my wraith!
A pure chord, strong and resonant, shall I be in your ears:
Fragrance, light and color: whispers, lyric and sigh:
Constantly repeating the essence of my faith!

Land that I idolized: prime sorrow among my sorrows:
Beloved Filipinas, hear me the farewell word:
I bequeath you everythingmy family, my affections:
I go where no slaves arenor butchers: nor oppressors:
Where faith cannot kill: where God’s the sovereign lord!

Farewell, my parents, my brothersfragments of my soul:
Friends of old and playmates in childhood’s vanished house:
Offer thanks that I rest from the restless day!
Farewell, sweet foreignermy darling, my delight!
Creatures I love, farewell! To die is to repose.

Rizal Day trivia: “Mi Último Adiós

RIZAL DAY TRIVIA: José Rizal’s valedictory poem had no title. It was his friend and fellow propagandist Mariano Ponce who first gave it a title a year after his death. It was first called “Mi Último Pensamiento“, but it didn’t become popular. Then the following year, in 1898, Ponce’s Mi Último Pensamiento was replaced by “Mi Último Adiós“. The new title, this time ascribed by Ilocano priest Fr. Mariano Dacanay, first appeared in the patriotic newspaper “La Independencia” which was edited by Antonio Luna.

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¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más Florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.

En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.

Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día tras lóbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.

Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente,
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor

Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
¡Salud! Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.

Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un día
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría,
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.

Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave,
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.

Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore,
¡Ora también, oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!

Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final.

Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez accordes oigas de cítara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.

Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.

Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré.
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido,
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.

Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós.
Ahí te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.

Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día;
Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría,
Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.

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A year after

Exactly a year ago, I was hospitalized due to tuberculosis (TB). It was the third time I suffered from the disease: the first was as a toddler (for kids, they call it primary complex); the second was a few weeks before college graduation. I wasn’t admitted for the first two. Medications did them in. But the third was the most frightening: I was coughing up too much blood I thought I was the victim in some slasher film.

A few days prior to that, we really thought that I was going to die because no hospital would admit us: no pulmonologist was available because of Christmas break. The medications prescribed by a clinic didn’t suffice as they didn’t deter the bleeding (I started coughing up blood before Christmas Eve). I was weakening up so fast, and the burning night fevers were numbing.

Finally, I was admitted in a hospital in Alabang. I thought that I only had TB. But when the doctor read out to me the findings, I was shocked when I was told that I also had pneumonia. Two killers were murdering my already weakened lungs. And there was already a hole in my right lung. But there was no pain, only severe weakness and high fever. I just wanted to drift off, do nothing, and watch the ceiling from my sick bed. What really frightened me were the surgical needles. I contracted trypanophobia ever since my bout against dengue when I was in Grade II. It was embarrassing each time I had to face nurses who were out to get my blood sample, or who regularly had to apply intravenous medication. There was one time when my visitors had to restrain me while a nurse was getting my blood sample. Arnaldo witnessed it and was having a good laugh at the way I squirmed and shook and cried like a sicko strapped a straitjacket. 😝

ASIAN HOSPITAL

A view of my room. The only view that I had of the outside world for two lonely weeks.

I thought my hospitalization would last for only a few days, and that I’d get to celebrate New Year’s Eve with my family. I was mistaken. I celebrated New Year’s Eve alone. My wife had wanted to accompany me, but I said she had to be with our children. Nothing should spoil the little ones’ Christmas feasts.

Even after the Christmas revelry I was not given an exact date on when my release would be because they were still monitoring the severity of my TB, i.e., if the bacteria were resistant against the medications given to me. I prayed and prayed for my immediate release. Finally, I was given a clean bill of health on January 9, or thirteen days later, on the Feast of the Black Nazarene of which I am a devotee. Me and my wife attended afterwards to give thanks, even when still weakened. I had not missed a single traslación ever since becoming a devotee in 2011.

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The closest I could get to the Black Nazarene of Quiapò. And the first time I didn’t get to touch the ropes pulling its carriage due to weakness from two weeks of hospitalization. I almost fainted here because of the crowd. This was also my wife’s first time to join the procession.

How does one contract TB? From what I have gathered, almost everyone has TB bacteria. Healthy people are unaffected. But once the immune system has weakened, that’s how TB bacteria start to affect the lungs. My immune system weakened due to lack of sleep and missed meals. That is why after my third bout with TB, I took it easy. I haven’t been reading and writing that much since. I stopped blogging for several months (resuming only in June). It’s difficult continuing to do so anyway, considering the sad fact that I’m a nocturnal corporate slave commuting several kilometers nightly on polluted highways.

TB may no longer be as deadly as it was nowadays compared to a few decades before (some of its most famous Filipino victims were Graciano López Jaena, Marcelo del Pilar, José María Pañganiban, and Manuel L. Quezon; Rizal almost had it, but survived). But it is deadlier the third time around, especially when it has an accomplice (pneumonia) to assist it in its hushed killing spree.

And it’s a real pain in the pockets because of the six-month medication. The following people, however, made it easy for us to survive the ensuing months: thank you so much to Gemma Cruz Araneta, former Mayor Calixto Catáquiz, Mama Beth Córsega and her daughter Jonafel, Señor Guillermo GómezNonia Tiongco, my mother-in-law, and my dad. Special thanks to Ate Christina Capacete and Riah Ramírez (Chief Nurse, City of San Pedro) for assisting my wife on the treatment side of things.

Now, because I live in a place where the air is polluted, I could no longer afford to go out of our apartment without wearing a face mask. And I usually experience shortness of breath whenever I do strenuous physical activities. I long for the day when I get to live in a place surrounded by nature, where it’s safe for my lungs.

Thank you to all those who prayed and showed concern for me during my fight against tuberculosis and pneumonia. May God bless you all!

 

Whatever happened to Filipino dignity?

I don’t post stuff like this, but this is too much. It made my blood really boil!

This shameful video went viral a few days ago. It’s about a Turkish national, later identified to be a certain Yuksel Ibrahim, disrespecting a traffic enforcer along Buendía Avenue in San Pedro Macati (Makati City). For sure, he made a traffic violation, the reason he was flagged down (it was later discovered that he was driving without a license). But he refused to budge, resisted arrest. As can be seen on this video, the Turk even laid his hands on the traffic enforcer (reports say his name is Michael Orcino) and shoved his motorcycle down to the concrete pavement.

It is unthinkable for Filipinos to behave in such a way in other countries, especially in Muslim land. We are very obedient, polite, and law-abiding overseas. Why let foreigners behave like this in our own native land? What’s infuriating about this video is that there are lots of Filipinos around, but they couldn’t put a stop to this imbecilic Turk. Filipinos swallow their dignity and pride in other countries. Why do the same in our own native land?! This is too much!

Yuksel Ibrahim is an Arabic name. He is most probably Muslim. And he’s going for lost in a Catholic country! Could you imagine a Catholic doing the same in a Muslim country?

But the Filipinos seen in this video (including Orcino) are, to my eyes, not true Filipinos. I call them “Bobong Pinóy“. They’re no longer the true Filipinos in the mold of José Rizal, Marcelo del Pilar, Apolinario Mabini, Claro M. Recto, etc. These are the moronic cowards who grew up speaking in Taglish, Anglo-Saxonized (Americanized) to the core, lapsed Catholics who attend only the Novus Ordo (and whenever they feel like it), and who enjoy teleseryes, Pinoy Big Brother, and other TV garbage from sunrise to sunset as if they have become part of their very existence.

A long time ago in Madrid, a hot-tempered Antonio Luna slapped, spat at, and challenged Mir Deas, a Spanish journalist, to a duel when the latter made insults to the former (Mir Deas even mistook Antonio for his brother Juan the painter). And to think that Antonio wasn’t even in Filipinas. A long time ago in Mindanáo, Filipinos (to say “Christian Filipino” during that time was redundant; Filipino was enough) under Governor-General Juan Antonio de Urbiztondo routed pesky Muslim pirates in Joló and other parts (Rizal even wrote a poem about it). Whatever happened to Filipino dignity? Has it gone yellow because of too much acquiescence to both Chinese and US imperialism? Perhaps other countries already noticed this softening of the once mighty Filipino spirit. No wonder they disrespect us. No wonder they ship containers filled with garbage to our ports.

So don’t blame me if I approved of that beating those imperious Aussie cagers got from Gilas Pilipinas several months ago. Don’t blame me if I cheered when Mayor Herbert Bautista slapped an arrogant Chinese drug dealer twice on national TV years ago.

If only I were there in Buendía, I swear, I would have bloodied this Turk’s face and destroyed his car. I would have even cursed at the traffic enforcer for cowardice. I am not a violent person. I do not condone violence. But I cannot for the life of me allow this infuriating scene to happen in front of my eyes. I can never for the life of me allow a Muslim, an agent of شيطان, wreak havoc in a Christian land. No, certainly not in my house.

Porque soy FILIPINO ORGULLOSO, no soy Bobong Pinoy.

Hoy en la Historia de Filipinas: el Catálogo Alfabético de Apellidos

HOY EN LA HISTORIA DE FILIPINAS: 21 de noviembre de 1849 — El Gobernador General Narciso Clavería y Zaldúa (Conde de Manila) decretó la impresión del “Catálogo Alfabético de Apellidos” para asignar y estandarizar los apellidos de los filipinos.

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Un mito prevaleciente hoy es que cuando tienes un apellido español, significa automáticamente que tienes un antepasado español. Si bien esto puede ser cierto para algunas pocas familias seleccionadas, esta noción no se puede aplicar a todos los filipinos con apellidos hispanos. Cabe señalar que a lo largo de los tres siglos de dominación española, muy pocos españoles llegaron al archipiélago. De hecho, la mayoría de los españoles que llegaron aquí eran miembros del clero.

Antes de que España creara Filipinas en 24 de junio de 1571, la mayoría de los nativos tenían un solo nombre, generalmente descriptivo de la persona. Durante el resto del período español anterior al lanzamiento del dicho decreto, los filipinos comenzaron a usar cualquier apellido español que se ajustara a su gusto. Los recién cristianizados, por ejemplo, suelen elegir los nombres de los santos para sus apellidos. Incluso hubo miembros de la misma familia que tenían apellidos diferentes, por lo que confundieron el registro del censo, la recaudación de impuestos, y otras formas y medios de gobernancia. Los apellidos de ese entonces ni siquiera se transmitían de padres a hijos, ya que los adultos tenían la libertad de elegir el apellido que quisieran usar para sí mismos; José Rizal era un remanente de esta práctica, aunque se puede argumentar que lo usó en diferentes circunstancias).

Clavería resolvió este problema lanzando un catálogo de 60,662 apellidos españoles y nativos para ser distribuidos en las provincias de todo el archipiélago en orden alfabético. La lista también se amplió con la inclusión de los nombres de lugares, plantas, animales, minerales, rasgos de carácter, e incluso apellidos hispanos de origen chino.

La lista de apellidos se distribuyó de acuerdo con los alcaldes mayores que luego enviaron una parte de la lista a cada cura párroco bajo su jurisdicción provincial. Dependiendo de lo que pensaba que era el número de familias en cada barrio o barangáy, el sacerdote asignó una parte de la lista a la cabeza de barangay (jefe de la aldea) quien luego pidió la ayuda del miembro más mayor de cada familia para elegir un apellido para el resto de los miembros de su familia. Al registrar el apellido elegido, el individuo involucrado así como sus descendientes directos lo utilizarían como un apellido permanente.

Hoy en la Historia de Filipinas: el nacimiento de Lorenzo Guerrero

Cuando hablamos de pintura filipina, las personas que vienen en la mente son Juan Luna, Félix Resurrección Hidalgo, y Fernando Amorsolo. Pero antes de estos nombres legendarios, la pintura filipina ya tenía un virtuoso en dicha forma de arte. Su nombre era Lorenzo Guerrero.

Lorenzo Guerrero

Lorenzo Guerrero,

Lorenzo Guerrero y Leogardo, nacido el 4 de noviembre de 1835 en el arrabal costero de Ermita que entonces lleno de tierras de cultivo, fue uno de los pocos maestros filipinos de pintura que florecieron durante la segunda mitad del siglo XIX. Perteneciente al famoso Clan Guerrero del dicho arrabal, Lorenzo fue el segundo de catorce hijos de León Jorge Guerrero y Clara Leogardo. Su padre era empleado del gobierno español en Filipinas como almacenero de la administración de rentas estancadas en el distrito de Pásig desde 1858 pero abandonó el servicio en lugar de jurar lealtad a la recién constituida República Española a partir del derrocamiento de la Reina Isabela II en 1868 durante La Gloriosa. Estudió latín en el Colegio de San José, y uno de sus primeros preceptores fue el Padre José Mª Guevara, un sacerdote filipino que luego fue deportado a las Marianas por supuesta complicidad en el Motín de Cavite en 1872.

Lorenzo se casó con Clemencia Ramírez en 1868. Tuvieron nueve hijos pero sólo tres alcanzaron la madurez. Eran: Manuel S. Guerrero quien se convirtió en médico; Fernando Mª Guerrero, considerado el «Príncipe de la Poesía Lírica Filipina», y; una hija llamada Araceli. Aunque ninguno de sus hijos ni nietos se convirtieron en pintores de renombre, dos de sus nietas (Evangelina Guerrero de Zacarías y Nilda Guerrero de Barranco, hijas de Fernando) se convirtieron en poetisas conocidas, continuando así el genio artístico de su lado del clan Guerrero.

Guerrero dejó algunas obras de valor perdurable y uno puede ver que su pincel tocó principalmente sobre temas estrictamente religiosos y escenas que representan la vida y las costumbres nativas. Sus bellas ilustraciones en la Flora de Filipinas del padre Manuel Blanco (Manila, 1877) serán recordadas. De las 253 placas firmadas (laminas) de la Flora de Filipinas, 35 fueron suyas. Sus dibujos tienen una individualidad propia y se distinguen por una gran precisión de detalle. Durante la guerra filipino-estadounidense, se le encomendó realizar diseños para los jefes y el uniforme del ejército revolucionario. También tuvo ocasión de dibujar plantas para su hermano, el Dr. León Mª Guerrero (el «Padre de la Botánica Filipina»). De sus pinturas sólo unos pocos han sobrevivido. Muchos fueron hechos a pedido y enviados al exterior; otros alojados en iglesias fueron quemados. Un número que permanece se encuentra en colecciones privadas y en unas iglesias de Manila.

Murió repentinamente de asma aguda el 8 de abril de 1904. El cortejo del día siguiente fue extraordinariamente largo e incluyó a muchos de sus alumnos. Fue enterrado en el cementerio de Pacò, pero más tarde sus restos fueron trasladados a la antigua iglesia de Ermita (ahora conocido como el Santuario Arquidiocesano de Nuestra Señora de Guía), en la esquina noroeste debajo del coro.

Lorenzo tuvo muchos estudiantes que también se hicieron famosos artistas. Escribiendo sobre Luna, José Rizal, el principal héroe filipino, escribió que había aprendido el arte de Lorenzo que era “un maestro que se ha formado casi por sí solo.”

Este cuadro, dado el título inglés “At River’s Bend” (en el meandro), es una muestra del ingenio de Guerrero. Fue subastado recientemente por el León Gallery.

*  E * L * F * I * L * I * P * I * N * I * S * M * O *

CULTURA GENERAL: El Dr. León María, hermano de Lorenzo, fue el padre del Dr. Alfredo León Guerrero. Alfredo se casó con Filomena Francisco, la primera farmacéutica filipina. Dos de los tres niños de Alfredo y Filomena se hicieron famosos nacionalistas: León María Guerrero se convirtió en diplomático mientras que Carmen, quien estaba casada con un sobrinonieto de Rizal, se convirtió en escritora nacionalista. Una de las hijas de Carmen, Gemma Cruz de Araneta se convirtió en la primera reina de belleza internacional del país. Gemma es también la madrina de mi hija menor Junífera Clarita. 😊