Fake history spotted!

It has recently come to my attention that a certain Wassily Clavecillas (who, if I’m not mistaken, holds a certain position at the Limbagang Pinpín Museum and Heritage Resort in Abúcay, Bataán) is spreading some fake history item on Facebook regarding an alleged tribute to Lapu-Lapu written by José Rizal.

La imagen puede contener: una persona

Below is a blow-up of the alleged Rizalian praise for Lapu-Lapu, in case you have difficulty in reading the above text…

No hay ninguna descripción de la foto disponible.

For those who do not understand Spanish, below is the translation (image also provided by Clavecillas):

La imagen puede contener: una persona

According to Clavecillas, he got this Rizalian acclamation from Cronología Filipina by Domingo Ponce, a rare book that was published in 1958 (judging from its contents, it seems like a textbook, but I could be wrong). His FB post has been shared and praised by many clueless Filipinos who are not familiar with Rizal’s original works in Spanish.

But was the above text really written by the national hero?

To those who are familiar with Rizal’s body of work, the answer, of course, is no. Rizal wrote not a single word of praise to the Mactán chieftain. In fact, during his time, Lapu-Lapu —or to be more precise, Cali Pulaco— was considered by Filipinos as the antagonist of the Mactán narrative. Remember Carlos Calao’s 17th-century poem?

However, Rizal did compose a poem of praise, but not for Cali Pulaco / Lapu-Lapu. He wrote one for Fernando de Magallanes, aka Ferdinand Magellan. As a matter of fact, today is the anniversary of that poem…

EL EMBARQUE
(Himno a la Flota de Magallanes)

–José Rizal–

          En bello día
Cuando radiante
Febo en Levante
Feliz brilló,
En Barrameda
Con gran contento
El movimiento
Doquier reinó.

          Es que en las playas
Las carabelas
Hinchan las velas
Y a partir van;
Y un mundo ignoto,
Nobles guerreros
Con sus aceros
Conquistarán.

          Y todo es júbilo,
Todo alegría
Y bizarría
En la ciudad;
Doquier resuenan
Roncos rumores
De los tambores
Con majestad.

          Mil y mil salvas
Hace a las naves
Con ecos graves
Ronco cañón;
Y a los soldados
El pueblo hispano
Saluda ufano
Con affección.

          ¡Adiós!, les dice,
Hijos amados,
Bravos soldados
Del patrio hogar;
Ceñid de glorias
A nuestra España,
En la campaña
De ignoto mar.

          Mientras se alejan
Al suave aliento
De fresco viento
Con emoción;
Todos bendicen
Con vos piadosa
Tan gloriosa
Heróica acción.

          Saluda el pueblo
Por ves postrera
A la bandera
De Magallán,
Que lleva el rumbo
Al océano
Do ruge insano
El huracán.

5 de diciembre de 1875.

Rizal wrote this poem of praise when he was only 14 years old, as a student of the Ateneo Municipal de Manila (now Ateneo de Manila University). There was not a hint of rancor  or sarcasm at all. This poem is made up of beautiful verses of pure admiration for Magallanes and his fleet as they sailed away “To the gentle breath / Of the fresh wind / With emotion, / All bless / With pious voice / So glorious / Heroic action” (click here to read the complete English translation).

Moved as I was with its stirring imagery, I recorded my declamation of the said poem in its Spanish original…

Now that we have cleared this issue of false attribution, the next question would be: where did the publishers of Cronología Filipina cull that text? Actually, it is true that Rizal wrote that text which Clavecillas had proudly shared in social media. However, Rizal wrote it without Lapu-Lapu in mind — those words were lifted straight out of his second novel, El Filibusterismo. In fact, they were the words of a disenchanted Isagani.

Whoever the publishers were of Cronología Filipina were either as ignorant as Clavecillas is of Rizalian literature, or they really had an agenda in mind: to spread the so-called Leyenda Negra, the weapon of the Hispanophobe. We are inclined to believe in the latter especially if we are to read the heading on the page that was shared by Clavecillas: ¡LOOR AL HÉROE DE MACTÁN! Praise to the Hero of Mactán! And they even used a sketch of Lapu-Lapu to make it appear as if Rizal was really praising him!

Sad to say, Clavecillas is a perfect example of a messed-up Pinoy who could no longer understand Rizal’s nationalistic thoughts and ideals due to his ignorance of the Spanish language which up to now he erroneously associates with elitism. Nevertheless, we have to thank Clavecillas because, wittingly or unwittingly, he was able to produce evidence on how early books were already using Rizal to brainwash Filipinos into hating their Spanish past.

P.S. I use the words “ignorant” and “ignorance” on this blogpost without meaning to offend.
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Spanish and the Filipino Identity

The blogpost that I wrote about Andrés Bonifacio received too much backlash (even from a writer friend whom I thought has already freed herself from Hispanophobia). But it was to be expected because the Supremo has been highly revered for many decades as a freedom fighter who went up against “tyrannical Spain”. In the said blogpost, I also took the opportunity to include how Spain virtually created our country, that we were united under one language which is Spanish. That line also triggered another emotional comment from a well-known academic whom I also thought to know better than I do.

No, they’re not united under one language!” he said.

Time and again, I have always contended that the Spanish language is the basis and the foundation of our Filipino National Identity. Why? Because it is the language that united our various ethnolinguistic groups, forming themselves into one “Filipino nation”. To begin with, one must first understand that the term Filipino is merely a concept; there is no such thing as a Filipino race because our country, even up to modern times, is made up of several “races” or “tribes” (anthropologist Jesús Peralta would rather call them ethnolinguistic groups) such as the Tagalog, Cebuano, Bicolano, etc. Secondly, the early history of our country, much of it written in Spanish, serves as basis for my views. In our history under Spanish rule, these tribes became united under one umbrella group which we now call FILIPINO. To make a long story short, our identity was forged during the more than 300 years of Spanish rule, and not before nor after it. There were no Filipinos yet before the Spanish advent. And even if we were not colonized by the US, our identity was already in existence — created, completed. It was already intact. Buó ná ang paguiguing Filipino natin bago pa man tayo sinugod at sinacop ng Estados Unidos de América. There was nothing more to add to it.

La imagen puede contener: 6 personas, personas sentadas

A typical Filipino family during the Spanish times (photo supplied by the Biblioteca Nacional de España to ABC).

But to make it more clear, the Filipino Identity is the product of the Filipino State that began to exist in Spanish on 24 June 1571. The Filipino State was founded together with Manila on that same date, with the government having Spanish as its official language. Since then, the tedious process of cultural amalgamation among the more than 170 tribes / ethnolinguistic groups (particularly those who accepted the King of Spain as their rightful sovereign during the Manila synod of 1599) began. Cultural dissemination (which included Christianization and the Humanities) from the West assisted in this long process.

We Filipinos are essentially Hispanic —have become Hispanic— by virtue of History and Culture. And even Faith. And the Spanish language, more particularly its literature as embodied by the works of Rizal, del Pilar, Mabini, Guerrero, Paterno, Apóstol, Balmori, Bernabé, etc., proved to be the unifying thread in this development. No wonder former Senator Recto wrote that “el español ya es cosa nuestra, propia, sangre de nuestra sangre, y carne de nuestra carne“.

At this point, I should say that realizing the importance of our national identity will give us more dignity and nobility than this so-called “Pinoy Pride” that we have been harping around since the arrival of social media in our country. Let me just add that because of the Spanish language, together with the Culture and Faith it brought with it, I now know where I stand in the midst of the ongoing onslaught of neocolonization/globalization. 😉

It is, therefore, wrong and anachronistic to say that Islam arrived in our country first. What country? As mentioned above, there was no Filipinas yet when the first Muslim scholars, traders, and imams arrived. And they were not scattered all throughout. They were only in limited places such as those very few areas in Mindanáo. Even Manila wasn’t a practicing Muslim enclave (they were to some extent converted, but those who converted them did not stay long enough, unlike the Spanish friars who remained here and died with the natives). Also, and quite obviously, Islam did not unite our disunited tribes (that was one of the greatest errors of the Arab missionaries). Because if they did, then we wouldn’t have those heritage churches and bahay na bató that we marvel at today. Besides (then as now), the Moros were into looting and pillaging towns and kidnapping non-Muslims (most especially the Visayans) for their slave trade.

The foregoing is in no way anti-Islam but simply history. They really did it. And up to now, the Abu Sayyaf is still continuing that “legacy”.

To cap this off: by not using Spanish, by not incorporating it to our daily lives, we are in effect betraying Rizal and those many other great personas from that bygone glorious past who we have either enshrined or accepted as our national heroes. Much of our country’s (true) history is written in that language. Moreover, it is one of the most widely spoken languages all over the globe and is even the second most spoken language in neocolonialist United States of América. Indeed, the Spanish language opens up not just a gateway to appreciate our oft-misunderstood past but also a path towards the opening of new trade horizons with more than a dozen Spanish-speaking countries that will surely enliven our economy.

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What makes a hero?

Many years ago, while rummaging through costly books in one popular bookstore, I found for the first time Dr. Onofre Córpuz’s famous work, “The Roots of the Filipino Nation”. I didn’t have money then, so I just leafed through the pages. On page 223 (of volume II), I found a commentary of his about the “Kataas-taasang, Kagalang-galangang Katipunan ng̃ mg̃á Anak ng̃ Bayan“, popularly known as the Katipunan. On that page, Córpuz wrote that this time-honored “revolutionary group” was “the first active embodiment of the Christian Filipino nation”.

During that time, I had just reconverted to the Catholic Church (after a couple of years toying around with godlessness and other “isms”). My zeal back then towards the faith of my forefathers was freshly strong, and so I immediately sensed —with much chagrin— that there was something disturbingly wrong with Dr. Córpuz’s assertion. I asked myself, how could someone like him, a giant in the academe, had written something as incomprehensible as the Katipunan embodying a Christian nation when that group was an offshoot of Freemasonry? As many Dan-Brown-educated kids should know by now, Freemasonry is the ancient enemy of the Church. As a Christian student of history, I was deeply intrigued toward the extent of the late Dr. Córpuz’s knowledge about the role of Freemasonry during those tumultuous final years of our country’s history under Spain. But was Dr. Córpuz really unaware of the Katipunan’s Masonic roots as well as its motives? I find it hard to believe that. Or did he leave that fact out conveniently because he was a Freemason himself, or perhaps its sympathizer? But if he was, wouldn’t it still be ridiculous for a Mason like him to say that a violent group who tortured and chopped off the heads of friars just because they were Spaniards embodied the Christian Filipino nation?

To those who are still unaware, Freemasonry has been condemned numerous times by the Catholic Church. To my knowledge, there had been at least 24 papal pronouncements regarding this matter (perhaps the most famous was Pope Leo XIII’s papal encyclical  “Humanum Genus” which was released in 1884). As one of the best academicians our country ever had, it strikes me as odd as to why Dr. Córpuz had failed to emphasize the Masonic origins of the Katipunan in that controversial conclusion of his. A little research will show that the Katipunan’s third and final Supremo, Andrés Bonifacio (you read that right: he wasn’t the first), joined the Logia Taliba (No. 165) and from there imbibed his radical and anti-friar ideas. Bonifacio also joined Rizal’s Liga Filipina in 1892. The group was in fact a Masonic lodge in the making (or was it already?). These organizations, not to mention their members, were hardly Christian at all, if we are to view them from Catholic lenses.

La imagen puede contener: una persona

After the failure of the Liga Filipina and the arrest and deportation of Rizal to Dapitan, the campaign for peaceful reforms had hit the glass ceiling. Thus, an agitated and disenchanted Marcelo H. del Pilar, himself a high-ranking Mason and a rabid propagandista who had been on self-exile in Spain for years, wrote to his brother-in-law Deodato Arellano and urged the latter to form a much more radical and violent group to finally end Spain’s reign in Filipinas. Arellano thus gathered other members of the beleaguered Liga to form the Katipunan (yes, it was Arellano, and not Bonifacio, who founded the Katipunan as instigated by del Pilar).

When government forces discovered the existence of the Katipunan in late 1896, what happened next was bloodshed and the senseless killing and torture of innocent Spanish friars and other individuals who went against the Katipuneros’ way. Did ordinary civilians welcome the “revolution” participated in mostly by Tagálogs? No they didn’t. For most Filipinos living far from where the action was, life went on. There was no national sentiment that supported the Katipunan rebellion against Spain (see “One Woman’s Liberating: The Life and Career of Estefanía Aldaba-Lim” by Nick Joaquín).

It should be noted in the preceding paragraph that the Katipunan was discovered by accident. Keep in mind that it was an underground organization. Simply put, the Katipunan was an ILLEGAL ASSOCIATION no matter how hard one tries to paint it with dainty colors of patriotism and love of country. One might say that it had lofty ideals of freedom and nationhood, thus excusing it from illegalities. But so does the Moro Islamic Liberation Front and the Abu Sayyaf who try to picture themselves as the martyrs of their delusional Bangsamoro. Should we consider them heroes too?

Mimicking the Katipunan’s belligerence towards lawful society, Senator Antonio “Sonny” Trillanes IV and his Samahang Magdalo did the same thing twice in the past against the administration of then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo. Should we, therefore, erect monuments to Trillanes as well and consider his rebellious friends as the new Katipuneros? After all, they fought corruption and injustice, didn’t they?

Seeing now that the Katipunan was a bastard child of Freemasonry, the ancient enemy of the Christian religion, how in the world did Dr. Córpuz come up with the idea that the Katipunan was the first active embodiment of the Christian Filipino nation? The Katipuneros made incisions on their arms to sign membership papers using their own blood. They swore loyalty to the Katipunan in front of a human skull. They swore to kill even members of their families for the sake of the Katipunan’s secrecy. Where is Christianity in all that?

This is not to say that Bonifacio was an evil man; only God can judge whether he was or not in spite of the many friars he had shamed and ordered tortured and killed, and churches burned and desecrated. Going beyond the rebellion, we will never know much about his character for he was not as chronicled as Rizal. For all we know, Bonifacio could have been a virtuous man. But that is not the point. Whatever personal distinction he may have had was not the reason why we now have several monuments for him, nor was it the reason why we commemorate his birthday every November 30th.

On 16 February 1921, the Philippine Legislature, under the auspices of US Governor-General Francis Burton Harrison, enacted Act No. 2946 making November 30 of each year a legal holiday to commemorate the birth of Bonifacio. The holiday has since been known as Bonifacio Day, ultimately making the Katipunan a Filipino national hero.

But in view of the foregoing Masonic events surrounding Bonifacio and the Katipunan, especially from the lens of a Christian observer, should a Catholic still consider him a hero?

It is, of course, difficult to accept that Bonifacio should be removed from our pantheon of heroes. After all, we’ve been hearing about him even before we started going to school (I still remember clearly how my dear paternal grandmother —may she rest in peace— was teaching me how to recite that “Andrés Bonifacio / hatapang hatáo” mock poem when I was around three years old so that it would evoke in her a hearty laugh!). But isn’t it about time that we all start to think on our own instead of relying on years of spoon-fed artificial food? You will say, of course, that the Katipunan was formed as a reaction towards Spanish tyranny. But what tyranny to be exact? I’ve been hearing about this tyranny all my life yet no one could still point out accurately what exactly it was all about. What’s always been taught to us are hazy and hasty generalizations. Is there tyranny in the towns that Spain created for us? Was Spain tyrannical when it shipped to our country countless items (tomato, calendar, piano, wheat, books, polo, pantalón, chico, bougainvillea, violin, watermelon, guava, printing press, etc.) and concepts (chivalry, palabra de honor, philosophy, law, land ownership, Western art, age/birthday, Christianity, etc) that have made us what we are today — as Filipinos? We adore old mementos from our past (bahay na bató, traditions, etc.) and decry their dwindling number and alarming disappearance. But such mementos were from the hated Spanish period. So why bother saving and conserving them if they all come from such a tyrannical era?

We all miss our grandfathers who used to bring us to Church on Sundays and carry us on their shoulders so that we’d be able to see saints’ processions from right above a thick crowd; we all miss our grandmothers who never tire praying the rosary day and night. All these are vestiges from that tyrannical period. Why bother missing them at all?

Spain virtually created this country. We wouldn’t be having Luzón, Visayas, and Mindanáo today if not for Spain. What kind of tyranny is that? Numerous tribes (the politically correct will tell me it should be called ethnolinguistic instead) such as the Tagálogs, the Visayans, the Bicolanos, etc. were united under one language (Spanish), under one government, under one faith (Roman Catholicism) so as to keep us one, so that we will no longer be at war against each other. We were given schools (escuelas pías, Universidad de Santo Tomás, etc.). Pray, tell, where is the tyranny in that?

This is not to say that all Spanish officials and even friars during the Empire days were all good and just. No, of course not. But that is not the point. The point here is what untold promises did Freemasonry inspire upon Rizal and del Pilar to rebel, and for Bonifacio and his band of Katipuneros to rise against civil society. “For the sake of freedom”, is the usual answer. But what freedom did violence bring? No wonder the late Fidel Castro was both hated and loved by his people. The support for and against him is heavily polarized to this day.

We have had so much distrust towards our government. From Ferdinand Marcos all the way to President Rodrigo Duterte. Shouldn’t we all follow the Katipuneros of old and organize stealth groups to undermine the present government, all for the sake of freedom?

If I will use the hashtag #NotAHero, it would be appropriate to attach it to that Masonically misled man from Tondo whose birthday we methodically commemorate today, because instead of thinking something that would have truly helped and uplifted the lives of the unfortunate Filipino masses of his time —by establishing something such as the Kadiwa Public Market, for instance— Bonifacio brought instead bloodshed which led not only to his own death but also to the downfall of what Spain had strongly forged for more than three centuries.

And if I may add: no, he was not our country’s first president. Don’t even start with me.

So what makes a hero? ¿Mag-rebelde ca lang, bayani ca na caagád? At capág nasa poder ca at nilabanan mo ang isáng rebelión, ¿masamá ca ná?

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Serendipity in ketchup

Yesterday afternoon, I was strolling along María Orosa Street where the Court of Appeals is located. That Ermiteño street was named after a Filipina food technologist and chemist from Taal, Batangas who invented banana ketchup. Little did I know that yesterday was the eve of her birthday. How serendipitous!

I still prefer tomato ketchup, though. 😂✌️

Google honors María Orosa e Ylagan today on her birth anniversary (29 November 1893).

Ayer por la tarde, paseaba por la calle María Orosa donde se encuentra el Tribunal de Apelaciones. Esa calle ermiteña lleva el nombre de una química filipina que es también una tecnóloga de alimentos de Taal, Batangas quien inventó el kétchup de plátano. Poco sabía yo que ayer era la víspera de su cumpleaños. ¡Qué casualidad!

Sin embargo, todavía prefiero el kétchup de tomate. 😂✌️

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Yorme Iskô, ¡mabuhay ca!

Alarmantemente estamos perdiendo gran parte de los recuerdos de nuestro país. Me refiero a nuestro patrimonio, tanto tangible como intangible. Y esto me deprime todos los días. Pero el Señor Alcalde Francisco “Iskô” Domagoso Moreno de Manila me da esperanza. Me inspira a ser un mejor filipino. Me inspira a no renunciar a luchar por la supervivencia de los recuerdos de nuestro país.

 

We are alarmingly losing much of our country’s memories. I am talking about our heritage, both tangible and intangible. And this depresses me every day. But Manila Mayor Isko Moreno gives me hope. He inspires me to be a better Filipino. He inspires me never to give up fighting for the survival of our country’s memories.

¡MABUHAY CA, YORME ISKÓ MORENO! ¡Nauáy palagui cang pagpaláin at gabayán ng Pañginoóng Dios! 😇

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A funny encounter with F. Sionil José

Several days ago, historian Guillermo Gómez Rivera informed me that he received an email from Mr. César Quinagan of Solidaridad bookshop who was inquiring about his latest book, “The Filipino State and Other Essays“. Solidaridad was interested in distributing them. Unfortunately, since Señor Gómez has been wheelchair-bound for the past few years, he couldn’t attend to this matter himself anymore. I gladly volunteered to meet up with Mr. Quinagan, if only to help Señor Gómez.

La imagen puede contener: Andreas Herbig, texto

This book of historical essays is now available on Amazon. It will soon be on the shelves of Solidaridad.

But then, at the back of my mind, I had to be cautious in visiting the famous Ermita-based bookshop because of a scathing blogpost that I wrote against the owner last year. Before that, I was friends with F. Sionil José on Facebook. No, I have never met him in person. It just so happened that I found out that he has an FB account years ago. Since he was a close friend of my favorite writer Nick Joaquín, I just thought of clicking on “Add Friend” and was lucky enough to be accepted. That blogpost I wrote earned for me an unfriending. 🤣 But it was to be expected, of course.

Close friends know that I appreciate F. Sionil José’s fiction but not his opinions on Filipino History and other matters. That is why I developed a disliking of him, even if he’s the best friend of Nick. Besides, the two have been known to be at loggerheads against each other. How many times have we been told about the famous story on how Frankie and Nick debated about our country’s Spanish past? Nick would usually say that if not for the Spaniards, Frankie would have been an Igorot. Frankie would then claim in interviews that Nick would always fall silent whenever he replied with this:

“Don’t forget the Spaniards killed Rizal.”

* * * * * * *

Last November 16, a Saturday, I attended an art-history lecture at the National Museum of the Philippines which was curated by my famous comadre Gemma Cruz-Araneta (a great grandniece of Rizal, if I may add). I brought with me a few copies of Señor Gómez’s book to be delivered to Mr. Quinagan afterwards. I tagged my family along (except for my two eldest, Krystal and Mómay, who were already busy with other things).

La imagen puede contener: 4 personas, incluido Jennifer Perey-Alas, personas sonriendo, personas sentadas

Juanito, Yeyette, Gemma, and Clarita after the lecture (photo: Jefe).

La imagen puede contener: 3 personas, personas sonriendo, personas de pie

Thankfully, Jefe, Juanito, and Junífera Clarita are inclined toward the arts. They always enjoy their stay at the National Museum.

After the museum event, Yeyette decided that we just walk all the way to Calle Padre Faura where the National Artist’s bookshop was located. The move surprised me a bit, but it delighted me as well because I really prefer walking through the streets of historic Manila. It was also an opportune time to familiarize our three younger kids to the Manila of our college days (Yeyette and I were classmates in Adamson University, and we used to ramble around the place) as well as to observe some of the newsmaking makeovers that Mayor Isko Moreno did since taking over City Hall last June.

La imagen puede contener: 3 personas, incluido Pepe Alas, personas sonriendo, personas de pie

Just passing by our alma mater‘s iconic walkway along Taft Avenue. 😊

We didn’t know what happened, but after several minutes of walking along the (surprisingly clean) sidewalk of Taft Avenue, we suddenly found ourselves facing the vehicular traffic of Quirino Avenue… we missed Padre Faura by several blocks! The new establishments must have disoriented us, or perhaps we have not been to that part of Manila for a long time (besides, I was busy doing Facebook live during our urban jungle trek, hehe). We had to cross Taft and walk all the way back to Faura. It was already dark by that time.

After trudging back, we turned left to Calle Remedios to avoid Taft’s polluted air, then turned right to a quieter Calle Pilar Hidalgo Lim. Yeyette was very annoyed at my miscalculation, so I kept my distance from her by walking several steps ahead. Junífera Clarita got tired with all the walking, so I had to carry her (but she kept on talking and talking and talking). That is why I was soaking wet when we finally reached F. Sionil José’s famous little bookshop. Unfortunately, the sign on the glass door says it was already closed. I didn’t know that they close at six in the evening, and it was almost seven when we got there (I’ve passed by the place numerous times but have never bothered to go inside because of my dislike of the owner). However, we could see a female cashier who was still at her desk, busy with her android. My wife tapped on the door to see if we could still continue our meeting. The young lady was not smiling but she still opened the door for us.

La imagen puede contener: texto

Solidaridad at night.

Yeyette told her of our agenda, but she informed us that César had already left; we missed him by about an hour. However, she took two copies of the book and gave me a calling card. During this brief exchange, a man in his thirties appeared from behind the shelves. I assumed, perhaps, that he was César, but he didn’t look the type who manages a bookshop although he was wearing what seemed to me a guayabera. He grabbed one copy from the lady, went past the shelves, then watched him ascend a stairway at the farthest end of the store.

I asked the unsmiling lady if I had to sign anything before we leave, but she said to just contact César on Monday (so that’s it, guayabera dude was not César). Yeyette then engaged her in small talk. I took that opportunity to rummage around the shelves while shooing away Juanito and Junífera Clarita who were already all over the place.

Moments later, Mr. Guayabera went back to us with some unexpected news: “Aquiát dao po cayó sa taás, causapin dao cayó ni Manong.

Of course I knew who that Manong was. I felt a surge of apprehension, half wanting to leave and meet F. Sionil José at the same time. Really, I was only after César Quinagan, not him. But then, I thought of Señor Gómez’s book. Months before all this, I went to National Bookstore’s main office to inquire about the possibility of them distributing The Filipino State and Señor’s other book, “Quis Ut Deus,” a novel in Spanish. They made me wait for almost a month, only to inform me that they were not interested! Their explanation that Spanish books will not sell was understandable, but to say that they’re not focused on selling books about historical essays at the moment puzzles me up to now. So this, perhaps, was my last chance to have at least The Filipino State to be distributed by a major bookstore. Whether or not I didn’t want to go face to face with the 2001 National Artist for Literature, I really had to.

The problem was my shirt was really wet. I hurriedly went to Yeyette, who by then was fixated with her android, to ask for an extra shirt (I always have an extra with me because I perspire easily due to hyperhydrosis, another bane from childhood). While changing clothes at an enclosed corner near the stairs, my mind was struggling whether or not to tell Manong Frankie my real name. He’s in his nineties, I thought. Perhaps he has forgotten that blogpost of mine? I was trying to assure myself that I was not really that well-known of a troll, that I’m just another unknown basher of his.

After changing in a rush, I hurriedly reached for the stairs. I didn’t want to make Manong Frankie wait; I heard that he is such a character. When I was all set, I saw that Junífera Clarita, my annoying five-year-old baby girl who kept on talking and talking and talking, was already at the stairs! My golly, there was no more time to bid her to stay at the ground floor, lest she made a scene. I whispered to her, while trudging the wooden stairs, to just stay put and behave.

Manong Frankie, wearing his trademark beret, was seated on a wooden bench at the top of the stairs. Far to his right was another elderly lady behind a desk; I immediately recognized her as the wife, Manang Teresita José. The upper floor was not as well lighted compared to the ground floor, but the light coming from Manang Teresita’s desk made it bearable. The upper floor was actually a mezzanine, so the light coming from the first floor also contributed to the lighting.

After the greetings, I was not able to shake his hand because Junífera Clarita was all over the place again. Before I could even scold her, Manong Frankie immediately interrogated me as he bade me sit down in front of him.

“Are you the author of this book?” he said in his booming voice.

“No, sir! I’m just, uh, … an assistant. The author’s assistant,” I said, groping for the right words.

“I see. But do you also write?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “Actually, I already have a book under my name. But it’s nothing big, really. It’s a project by our local government, a biography about our city’s local hero. That is why it cannot be sold in bookstores.” I was of course referring to “Captain Remo: The Young Hero“, a book which catapulted me to fame in our apartment building.

We then discussed a few things about the consignment of the book, and of course its author. “You know, I find Guillermo a very radical writer! How is he now?” he asked while holding a copy of The Filipino State. I suddenly remembered that they both know each other personally. I described to him his fellow writer’s condition, then he boasted that at 94, he could still walk around. “I’m turning 95 next month!” I feigned surprise. “I’m older than him by several years and yet I can still walk around. How old is he now?”

I suddenly forgot Señor Gómez’s age, so I just told him his year of birth: 1936. Because I’m bad at math. Humorously, Manong Frankie still made me count. “O, 1936. ¿Eh ‘di ilang taon na iyón?“

My golly. I saw Jefe behind him taking photos of the room. I called out to him. “Jefe, 1936 si Señor. So how old is he now?” I asked while counting nervously with my fingers. I turned my head back to the National Artist. “See? I’m bad at math,” I chuckled. I was irritated at myself as to why at that moment I totally forgot Señor Gómez’s age. And doubly irritating was that Jefe couldn’t do the math too. De tal palo, tal astillo. 😆

La imagen puede contener: una persona, sentada, interior y texto

I didn’t know that my son Jefe was taking pictures of my impromptu meeting with a living legend.

 

The small talk ventured to other topics: his life, his writings, and my most favorite topic of all — his best friend Nick Joaquín. And when I told him how much I idolized his friend, it made him all the more joyous.

He then repeated the oft-told story of how he beat Nick in arguments. “He tells me that if not for the Spaniards, I would have remained an Igorot. Ang sagót co namán, eh di más mabuti pa ñgâ, ¡hahaha!” I faked a laughter. “Whenever he loses in a discussion, he takes his handkerchief from his pocket and waves them at me as a sign of surrender!”

I’m familiar with the story, but that is very contrary to Nick’s biography written by his late nephew Antonio “Tony” Joaquín. According to the biography, Nick would blow his nose and shove the snot-filled handkerchief to his Frankie friend. 😆 This funny scene was also discussed in Sari Dalena’s documentary “Dahling Nick”. I almost raised the issue to him, but I thought better.

“There was never a week when he was not here,” he declared proudly. I was waiting for him to tell me that Nick used to sit on the same stool that I was using. I would have embraced it right there and then. But he never did. “Nung namatáy si Nick, napaiyác talagá acó, eh.” I told him that I already saw Dalena’s documentary where a footage of him crying while delivering his eulogy at the Cultural Center of the Philippines was shown. That scene made me tear up, too.

“Actually, sir, I almost met Nick twice.” I saw a shimmer in his almost half-closed eyes, rendered as such due to more than nine decades on earth. “Señor Gómez was to introduce me to him many years ago, but on both occasions they didn’t materialize.” I noticed that both husband and wife were listening intently, so I continued. “And then a few years after that, I found out on the Internet that Nick already died. I was at the office when I read about the sad news. I then left my office cubicle, went to some isolated corner, then cried my heart out.”

Upon hearing that I’m an office worker, he suddenly changed the topic by asking me where I work. I told him that I’m a technical support representative at Mærsk (Manang chimed in that she knows the company), and that I’ve been working the night shift for fifteen years already. I sensed a hint of pity on Manong’s countenance upon hearing my predicament. For a fleeting moment, I remember his writings on social justice, about the toils and challenges of Filipinos belonging to the lower rungs of society. One unforgettable line that really struck a chord in me was from an impoverished character of his from his most famous novel, “The Pretenders”…

I really don’t ask for much. Just a chance to have my wife and children go through life with the least physical pain. That isn’t much to ask, is it? But in this bloody country, when a millionaire has a cold he goes right away to a fancy clinic in New York. And me, I can’t even afford to have my head examined. Hell, there’s justification in the old class struggle — I don’t care what you call it, but does a rich man have more right to live simply because he has more money?

I could relate to this very much. It seems that Sionil José, himself a victim of social injustice, has a soft spot for people like me, people with dreams but had to become wage slaves just so that they could keep their heads (and dreams) above water.

“Where is your office?” he said. I told him that it’s in Pásig, and that I live in faraway San Pedro Tunasán. Daily commuting to and from the office takes up more or less five hours of my life. “What?!” both husband and wife gasped in horror upon hearing this. I’m sure I heard one of them whisper “Dios co“.

“But at least,” I said, trying to reassure them, “I am still able to read a book during the commute, hehe”. The concerned look on Manong’s face was genuine. For sure, a man like him knows that a writer shouldn’t experience the kind of life that I’m enduring. I also shared to them something personal: that I couldn’t read or write well anymore the way I used to, that my attention span has gotten short, that I couldn’t finish a chapter in a book in one sitting, and I attribute all these ills to my night toils.

“I think you should go see a psychiatrist,” Manang said from her desk. I didn’t know if I should laugh or comment back. I just muttered “a psychiatrist” while looking at her with wondering eyes. Her husband then called my attention to another topic.

We talked about many other things: the Spanish language situation in the country (he was delighted to hear that I teach my kids the language and expressed his sadness that it did not become widespread in our country), his celebrated arguments with his friend Nick, and a host of other subjects. But I couldn’t stay the whole night. Manong looked at his wristwatch and politely told me that he and his wife had an appointment. So that’s why both were dressed up. “We are going social climbing!” We all laughed.

Before leaving, I asked if I could have a photo op with him. He was very accommodating. Jefe was already gone, so I rushed downstairs for the cellphone camera. She didn’t want to go up as she was busy with her phone (“kids” these days). I had to ask my son Jefe to take our photo. I rushed back up. Juanito and Junífera Clarita were still all over the mezzanine. My golly! Manong Frankie was just gazing at them while telling something to his wife. Upon seeing me, he then asked me about my kids, my family, and other personal stuff. Before our conversation could turn another half hour, I heard Yeyette finally climbing up the stairs. Seeing Manong Frankie, she tactlessly said: “O, ¿ayos na cayó?” She was aware of last year’s online vitriol that I had with the fictionist, but she didn’t know that I did not tell anything to him that it was I who wrote all that, haha!

The jolly and candid person that she is, Yeyette proceeded on greeting the esteemed couple, asked for their age, showed surprise when she got the answer, then asked for tips on what diet we should take for longevity, much to my embarrassment (no wonder why Junífera Clarita kept on talking and talking and talking: she got it from her Mamá). She didn’t have any idea of Manong Frankie’s literary worth, so I told the latter to excuse her for her forthrightness of character because she doesn’t read books. Manong was laughing heartily. My wife really amused him.

We then had the obligatory picture taking. I was asking for only one, but my wife had wanted more. Goodness gracious…

La imagen puede contener: 5 personas, incluidos Pepe Alas y Jennifer Perey-Alas, personas sonriendo, personas sentadas y calzado

Me, Junífera Clarita, F. Sionil José, Juanito, and Yeyette. Photo by Jefe.

La imagen puede contener: 2 personas, incluido Jennifer Perey-Alas, personas sonriendo, primer plano

Manong Frankie and Yeyette.

La imagen puede contener: 2 personas, incluido Jennifer Perey-Alas, interior

Manang Teresita and Yeyette.

As I shook his hand, I said to him: “I may not have met Nick in person, but I feel that I have already met him through you.” He looked very, very pleased.

 * * * * * * *

It was hard for me to contain my amusement and excitement as we went downstairs. There I was, planning only to see Solidaridad’s manager, but I ended up chatting with the owner himself who also happens to be one of the country’s greatest literary figures alive today (and a dear friend of my favorite writer). As we were about to leave, the corner of my eye caught a glimpse of “Mass”, the last of Manong Frankie’s five-part Rosales novels. I have an embarrassing confession to make: I have not yet completed my collection of Manong Frankie’s famous Rosales saga until that night. I already have in my possession for years the first four novels (Po-on; Tree; My Brother, My Executioner, and; The Pretenders), but Mass was the only book missing. Whenever I chanced upon it in bookstores, I always didn’t have money. Now was the perfect time, I thought. What better way to cap off my collection than to buy the book from where it was originally published and sold! And perfectly still: I will have it signed by the author himself!

After the unplanned purchase, I excitedly ran upstairs for an autograph, but I saw that the José couple were already descending, assisted by Mr. Guayabera. I just waited for them at the book store’s lobby. They were trudging slowly due to old age.

At Ms. Unsmiling Girl’s desk, F. Sionil José wrote a message on my purchase. It was there when he finally asked for my name.

I froze.

La imagen puede contener: Pepe Alas, sonriendo, sentada y texto

Photo: Yeyette Alas.

“What is your name?” he repeated.

“Ummm… Pepe.”

“Pepe?” He was waiting for me to tell him my last name.

“Umm… Pepe… Alas?”

¿Ha?

“Pepe Alas, sir.”

¿Anó?” he said, drawing his right ear to my face.

“You have to speak loudly,” called his wife who was already at the door, looking amused. “He is already hard of hearing”. But I was very close to him. Besides, we didn’t have that aural problem upstairs, even if we were about a meter or two apart from each other. He was able to hear me well during that tête-à-tête.

“It’s Alas, sir. A-L-A-S.”

“Alas?” he asked, almost frowning.

“Yes, sir.” He gazed at me for several seconds. I could have sworn he recognized the name (“Aha! It’s that bastard, trying-hard, sonuvabitch of a blogger who was hoping to go viral at my expense!”). But he proceeded to sign the book, anyway. I must have seen a scowl on his face, but I could be mistaken. He didn’t say anything to me after signing the book. He had another cheerful talk with my wife before we all said our goodbyes (Yeyette later told me that Manong was just inquiring if we are teaching our kids Spanish, she said yes, and it delighted him). They were going somewhere else, to social climb, as what he had told me upstairs.

As my family marched towards Taft, F. Sionil José, with bastón in hand, was still sending us off with a gaze.

* * * * * * *

I read the book immediately upon arriving home. I was amused to learn that the protagonist’s name was also a Pepe. Pepe Samson.

Had I known about this before, I would have told Manong Frankie that Samson was my last name.

La imagen puede contener: bebida

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Jones Bridge: a November to remember

My memories of Jones Bridge were always bleak, more so because of its decrepit state than for anything else. I’ve been crossing it since I was a kid because I used to live in nearby Tondo at my mom’s place. I’ve always known the bridge to be dirty and grimy, and that the only best way to cross it was to be inside a vehicle rather than use its very narrow sidewalks. Of course it didn’t always look that way. But that’s how I already saw it growing up, having been born decades after the war. There is much nostalgia over it among heritage advocates, but that’s just about it. There was no intent to bring it back to its early 20th-century glory.

The first and last time that I crossed that bridge together with my wife and kids was five years ago, right after visiting the beleaguered El Hogar Filipino Building. It was towards the end of November. We were inside a jeepney on our way home. The bridge looked slovenly, and street urchins were everywhere. My wife Yeyette’s necklace was almost even snatched by one of them!

Incidentally, exactly a year ago today, I happened to pass by the bridge on foot. While the bridge was newly painted at that time, it still looked drab with a lifeless feel to it.

La imagen puede contener: noche, cielo y exterior

For the past several weeks, Jones Bridge has been on the news because of a massive overhaul. Using a ₱20-million donation from the Filipino-Chinese Chambers of Commerce and Industry, Mayor Isko Moreno is hell-bent of bringing it back to its former glory, as he has been doing to the rest of Manila’s remaining heritage sites.

And now, as I type these words, Yorme Isko (as he is popularly known) is leading the celebration of the bridge’s reinaugural rites and lighting. At last I have a happier November to remember this bridge for!

Imagen

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Imagen

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Imagen

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Imagen

Photo: Ed Salamat.

La imagen puede contener: 4 personas, personas de pie y exterior

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Photo: Ed Salamat.

La Madre Filipina. Photo: Ed Salamat.

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Photo: Ed Salamat.

Now, with a new mayor at the helm, things are looking bright for this historic bridge. And not just for this bridge but for the whole city of Manila as well. Thank God he won in the last elections.

¡Enhorabuena, Ciudad de Manila! ¡Muchas gracias, Señor Alcalde Isko Moreno! ¡Pagpaláin po cayó ng Pañginoón! 😇

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