There were signs of my father’s shoe scion past. When we moved to Silay in Negros Occidental and we were far from Marikina, he would have us step barefoot on a piece of bond paper and he would trace the shape of our feet on the paper and take it with him when he went to Manila. The pencil against the arch of our soles made us giggle. He had a scar on his left cheek shaped in a thin crescent of a horseshoe. He pulled the tail of a horse in their ranch in Calapan, Mindoro in his youth. I have a picture of him when he was a teenager. He was happy in a Lady Triumph sports car.
Read MoreWe’d always hover on the line between doubt and complete faith when it came to Dad’s stories.
Growing up, the Philippines sounded very magical and mysterious to us, his Filipino American children, who were more familiar with baseball and barbecues, than the tikbalang or aswang. How much of it was it true? How much was hearsay?
Read MoreThe sailboat relied solely on wind and there were entire days with no movement. It was not a comfortable journey. Aside from the constant fear of being discovered, the boat had no benches and the lower deck had no windows. There was also no bathroom. To do their business, everyone had to overcome their shyness. In my lola's words "We had to go to the back of the batel and with somebody holding your hand so that you would not fall into the sea, you just squatted (over the side of the boat) and did our thing."
Read MoreSo inseparable were they, that a pregnant Dina endured the hardship of Tonio’s guerrilla life. Food was scarce, of course, and most days all they had to eat was bitter gourd. The plucky Dina was no liability; Tonio was lucky to have her with him. One time, they were set upon by what was likely a reconnaissance unit of Japanese soldiers. In desperation, Dina pushed Tonio into a man-sized hole (another life-saving ditch, yes), and promptly “sat” on his head, while extending her full skirts to hide his body.
Read MorePerhaps the Señor knew everyone’s secrets. My uncles said that sometimes, when the moment came to carry the Señor from the chapel to the carriage, the figure wouldn’t budge. The men of my family tend to be rather large, and one of them could easily carry the Señor by himself. But sometimes, even with three or four of them, the Señor refused to be carried. The figure seemed heavier. They said maybe one of them had sinned, and so they would call a different group of menfolk to lift the Señor.
Read MoreReading through his letters, I discovered that my grandparents were wary of him because he was a “Manila boy.” One of the notes I found were addressed to them. He told them that he knew that they looked at him with suspicion as he was from Imperial Manila, but he assured them that he had good intentions with their Elma. He introduced himself, talked about his parents, their family background and the work that he did.
Read MoreTwenty-four streets named after the 24 scouts who died when their plane crashed on their way to the 11th World Scout Jamboree in Marathon, Greece, in 1963.
My grandparents used to tell me that there would have been a Scout Dionisio Street, but my Tito Neri was not allowed to go. My grandmother had insisted he stay and he was very unhappy about it.
Read MoreNot for the first time, she sadly felt relieved that her beloved Lola Consor and her beautiful, willful mother Charing died before all this happened. They never would have survived the torturous journeys to safety, the lack of good bread (or any bread for that matter), and the horrendous murder scenes that had unfolded before her overprotected eyes. Especially during these past few months. The Japanese were always ruthless. But now with imminent defeat, they were savages.
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