The Baby Grandmother

            When I introduced my mother’s youngest sister whom we called “Auntie Baby” as “Lola Baby” to my then five-year-old daughter, she looked at me, then at Auntie Baby, and whispered, “Ma, she’s an oxymoron,” never once stumbling at the four-syllable word.

            That set me thinking, well, Auntie Baby is indeed a complex woman, who may at times seem like a walking contradiction.

           

            Back when we were young, Auntie Baby was the strictest among our aunts. She would chastise us when we slouched or when we did not finish our vegetables. In my pre-pubescent mind, I sometimes I thought of her as the “Baket nga Ung-unget” (Angry old Woman) of Ilocano folklore.

As if clairvoyant, she knew when we messed up her room. If even one pillow on her four poster bed was slightly askew, she would know.  I remember thinking of her room as a haven where things were always in their proper places. The narra planks gleamed from the sunlight streaming in through the big capiz windows. It was a corner room which gave perfect access to the roof of the ground floor from where we could pluck low-hanging caimito fruit. The trick to not getting caught was to be careful not to let any of the sweet caimito juice drip on the narra floor.

When my sisters and I were in our early twenties, it seemed that she had magically transformed into a fun-loving woman out to savor life to the fullest. We called her “Ganado nga Baket” which in Ilocano roughly translated to “excited old woman”, though at close to forty, she was hardly old. She was “game” to out of town trips, and would keep a conspiratorial commentary on our suitors.

Fast forward to the 21^st  Century. She is now happily married to Uncle Vance, a kind, loving American lawyer. No wonder she exudes such joy.

They spend their days in idyllic retirement in the sunshine state of Florida, taking frequent vacations, mostly cruises all over the world. When my daughter and I went on our first cruise, they gave us better tips than most travel sites.

Though a practitioner of Ilocano thrift, Auntie Baby is generous, sometimes to a fault.  She is quite thoughtful, greeting us on special occasions, and letting us know she thinks of us fondly.

She will be 72 on February 4 and she still holds herself poised and erect.  She is as sturdy as the pyramids of Egypt, though in no way as ancient (he-he-he). Maybe we should have taken her admonitions about posture and vegetables more seriously.

Aside from maintaining a beauty queen posture and eating grass, Auntie Baby says she keeps her youthful energy by not worrying unnecessarily. She is focused on the present, enjoying her hobbies such as quilting, knitting, and of course eating. They rarely eat out, so they make their own food fresh. This domesticated side of her is also something new for me. I had always thought of Auntie Baby as a driven career woman. She was Director of Fisheries when she was here in the Philippines.

Auntie Baby also credits her youthfulness to her positive outlook in life. And of course, there is Uncle Vance, whom she describes as a “wonderful mate”.   

Above all, she keeps faith in God, strengthening it with an active prayer life. No wonder she has aged so gracefully.

Happy Birthday, Auntie Baby! May God continue to shower you with blessings and give you many more joyful years to come. May you continue to bloom as you enter the next decades of your life.

A Senior Citizen's Guide to Bangkok

    Would an octogenarian enjoy, let alone survive swinging Bangkok, and its myriad sights and sounds? Would she cope with the frenetic energy of sprawling Pratunam Market, the bargain-hunter’s paradise criss-crossed by roaring tuktuks? Would she have enough stamina to walk and climb her way to the city’s hundreds of temples? These were the questions that my sisters and I asked each other when we were planning a trip for our mother.

     The short answer would be “yes”. She survived beautifully. In fact, she enjoyed the trip immensely.  All it took was careful planning and a resolve to see the city at a laid back pace and enjoy its mellow side. That way, even my sisters and I returned from the vacation feeling relaxed, instead of vaguely tired as we always do after the usual travel tours crammed with as many sights and activities as possible.

Here is how we did it:

     First, we made sure that Mother wore walking shoes and cool shirts. Next, she had to be well- hydrated. Then, because Bangkok was a mecca for shoppers, we interspersed bits of shopping with the sight-seeing, so that we practically shopped everyday, and yet, did not tire Mother.

Day 1

     We arrived at our Pratunam-area hotel at 3pm.

      After freshening up, we walked to Indra Square, a multi-storey airconditioned building a few meters from our hotel. It housed a food court and several shops selling clothes, accessories, footwear and souvenirs. It was a great alternative to the teeming street market because it was cool and the prices were a lot cheaper than Manila’s. Bargaining is also expected, and as with the street market, you get discounts if you buy 3 of a kind or more. We bought finely embroidered blouses, sequined bags and even belly dancing belts crocheted by the saleslady  herself.

     We took a light snack of Yaki Soba which was surprisingly tangy in a pleasant way. The food court followed a coupon system that contributed to good hygiene as the food attendants did not have to handle money.

     Back in the hotel, we got ready for the Chao Praya Cruise which started at 7:00pm from a city pier. Pretty Thai ladies with orchids in their hair welcomed us with drinks and corsages. They posed for pictures, but only with their official photographer. Later on, we found out that they sold the pictures mounted on frames made of thai cloth.

     We sat near the buffet table arrayed with international and Thai dishes. Crisp, bright green salad vegetables enticed us. The sweet, juicy watermelons, pineapples and papayas burst in our mouths with a refreshing succulence. Mother said they tasted like an eternal summer.

     We sailed along Bangkok’s famed river to the lilting music of a band  dishing out samba, jazz, and even the Filipino  ballad “Anak”. Gentle waves speckled with jewel tones of garnet, sapphire and topaz from the brightly-lit buildings along the riverbank lapped at the ship. We glided by the Wat Arun or Temple of Dawn, which, in its gleaming splendor looked from afar like the Eiffel Tower. The Rama Bridge, with its streaming trusses mimicking spin gold was a sight to behold. The shimmering Grand Palace and the Wat Pra Kaew which housed the Emerald Buddha seemed to wink at us, promising more wondrous sights when we visit them up close later.

     Before we knew it, the cruise had ended. And we did not even have a chance to dance.

Day 2

     Suitably sated with a hearty breakfast that included rice, grilled chicken, ham, and other breakfast staples such as eggs, cereals, pastries, and fruit, we took the half day city tour.

     Our guide told us that she would take us only to the most important temples in Bangkok. First stop was the Temple of the Four-Faced Buddha. The Four-Faced Buddha is really the Hindu god Brahma with four faces and eight hands. He is believed to be a god of creation, mercy, and benevolence. He grants wishes for good luck, good health, good fortune, and love. Our guide said that we must be precise in making our wishes, because the Buddha requires accuracy. “If you want money, you have to say how much, and if you want a boyfriend or husband, you have to describe well,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

     “Oh, so I should say I want someone as handsome as Brad Pitt and with as much money as Brad,” I joked.

     The guide said, “Precisely!”

     I stole a sidelong glance at Mother, a certified Catholic Church “Manang”, who heard mass at least once a day. To my relief, she was laughing along.

     The temple air was cool and tinged with the scent of incense. We climbed up the steps to the temple and were instructed to take off our shoes before entering. We were to repeat this for all other temples. Inside, a meditating Buddha was surrounded by intricately painted panels. A good number of people were already sitting cross-legged on the floor. The scent of incense grew stronger. I also sat down and gave gratitude for our safe journey to Bangkok. Mother was admiring the gold ornaments, doubtless taking mental notes for future altar beautification in the Parish church back home.

     Outside the temple, hung rows of bells. A group of students started ringing all the bells, filling the morning air with their rousing peals.  Somehow, this made the experience more intense.

     Next, we went to the Temple of the Golden Buddha in Chinatown. The entrance arch to  Chinatown in red and gold reminded us of the Binondo arch. Legend has it that the ten-foot  tall Buddha, the largest solid gold buddha in the world was hidden beneath plaster by monks to prevent its theft by marauding armies. It was discovered only after an earthquake, when some of the plaster cracked showing the treasure inside.

     The temple housing the 13^th Century Buddha was new. It was topped by a four-storey ziggurat-like building of marble, pristine white with a golden roof and accent details.

      Mother was hesitant about climbing all the way up to the fourth floor, but she finally relented. Upon reaching the top, she said she was glad she made the climb. Just to show you how much stamina she still has. And perhaps some "asim"? Look at the guy on the right. Was he checking her out? Hahaha.

     The chapel itself was not big.  Worshippers knelt or sat in a lotus position on the tan and beige marble floor. A lattice-like pink and green pattern acented the walls, and an arch in gold  leaf framed the Buddha which sat in the lotus position, gazing meditatively in all its golden glory. Pink and white flowers and golden vessels adorned the chapel, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

On the grounds of the temple was a laughing Buddha with a big belly, the one that most Filipinos are familiar with. Upon our guide’s suggestion, each of us rubbed the Buddha’s stomach clockwise three times with our wallets to bring prosperity. Mother said she felt prosperous already because her daughters, who were a parent’s wealth, were with her. Sweet! 

     Next, we went to the gem store where we were treated to a film clip about Thailand’s jewelry industry. Then on to the leather shop. Interestingly, the leather shop carried the American brand Dooney and Bourke at prices comparable to that in the States. Our guide said this was because the leather shop made some of the Dooney and Bourke items. We picked up a few bags, wallets and belts there.

     After the tour, we went by ourselves to the Paragon for lunch and some shopping. Paragon is a modern mall somewhat like Greenbelt. Naturalizer  shoes are a good deal there because there is supposed to be a Naturalizer factory in Thailand as well. 

       The shoe salesman was very patient with Mother and us three sisters that we took a souvenir photo of Mother and him. Next, we went to Discovery Mall and on to MBK for the pasalubongs. MBK is popular with us bargain hunting Filipinos. It is like a vertical Greenhills Shopping Center. On the way, we saw some young ladies giggling and milling around a very handsome man.

     “Hey sis, the Buddha has granted your wish,” one of my sisters said, giving me a nudge.

I looked closely, and instantly recognized the blue eyes and the fashionably stubbled  strong jaw, of  Brad Pitt!

            Or more accurately, an uncannily life-like wax statue of Brad Pitt. Giddy like school girls, we took turns posing with Brad, except for Mother. So we teased her, “Ah, okay, anyway, you had you picture taken with Brad Feet at the Naturalizer shop.

     After shopping, Mother was too tired to have dinner out. So we ordered room service and reviewed the photos of the day.

Day 3

     My sister Lina and I took a quick tour of the Night Market at 6:00am. It was still dark, but a lot of people, mostly bulk buyers and delivery men were up and about. We bought a couple of blouses at incredibly low process.

     For our regular tour, we went to the Grand Palace. It is a marvel that in the heart of Bangkok, an 18^th Century palace still exists with its splendor intact. There were hordes of tourists that day and I was afraid Mother would have a difficult time, but she was okay. Though the King had stopped living that the palace at the turn of the 20^th Century, it is still used for ceremonial occasions.

     The palace itself is a fusion of the East and West, with the bottom part European  in architecture and the top part definitely Thai, resplendant with gold leaf slopes and arches. Since it Thailand’s most sacred place, no shoes, slippers, sandals and revealing tops were allowed inside. My sister Rose who was wearing  leggings was asked to don a sarong skirt before she could enter.

      Verdant, well-tended topiaries surrounded the splendid palace. It was like walking into the set of  “Anna and the King”.

     “We could run into Yul Brynner any moment,” Mother quipped, thinking about the star of the movie,  “The King and I”.

     “I sure hope not,” I said remembering that Yul Brynner was dead.

     Unlike other temples, the Temple of the Golden Buddha located within the palace complex, did not house any monks. Inside the temple surrounded by richly detailed panels, the Emerald Buddha sat atop a series of intricately decorated platforms. The Emerald Buddha, which was really carved out of jadeite, is one of the most revered Buddha images in Thailand. It has three sets of golden garments that are changed according to the seasons as a ritual to bring good fortune. The King himself or his representative presides over this ritual. Like the Golden Buddha, the Emerald Buddha was hidden by monks in plain site in the olden days by covering it with a lesser material, this time, with stucco, to protect it from marauders.

     Outside the temple was an altar with a footed gold colored bowl with holy water. Lotus flowers lay on a golden tray. Custom has it that you dip the flower in the water and sprinkle your head with the water for wisdom and good luck.

     After the tour, we had lunch and then did some more shopping at Central World. Lina got a Longchamps Le Pliage bag for her daughter, but it turned out that the duty free shop in the airport sold the bag at a cheaper price. In fact, the duty free shop price was very close to the price I paid when I got the same bag for my daughter in Basel.

     Before our last dinner in Bangkok, we had traditional Thai massage at the hotel. The pulling and the pressing melted the tenseness from all the walking the past three days and prepared us to lug our now heavier suitcases on the trip home.  As I was telling my sisters, Bangkok to me is a strange Asian city in that there were no porters or bag boys to help. Even in the States, some airports have  skycaps to assist.

On the plane back to Manila, I thought to myself,  Bangkok is a lot like its famous buddhas. Layers of plaster had to be peeled away to uncover the Golden Buddha, and stucco to discover the emerald Buddha. In the same way, the traveler has to look beyond the frenzied energy  of Bangkok to see a laid back side where a senior citizen could see the sights at a leisurely pace and where people still say welcome with a reverential bow and the endearing hand- clasping wai.

     Indeed, in Bangkok, things are not always what they seem. So, prepare to be surprised, and amazed.

The Spy of Jersey Street

             A pilgrim, a peregrine, an advocate of Filipino originality, Asia’s White Hope for the Nobel, a CIA Operative. These are just some of the words used to describe National Artist F. Sionil Jose, the most widely read and translated contemporary Filipino author.

From Moscow With Love

            Manong Frankie, as he prefers to be called, chuckles at the memory of being tagged a spy. Sitting in the dining room of his comfortable home in Jersey Street, Quezon City, where two Manansalas (both signed twice by the artist, but that’s another story) hang along with other notable art pieces from the region, he says the incident happened just as he returned from a trip to Moscow in the late 60s. His eyes twinkle at the irony, but back then, he was worried that the accusation would lead to the bankruptcy of La Solidaridad, a bookstore in Ermita which he considered his bread and butter. To his amazement, people flocked to the bookstore instead of shunning it, curious to see what a CIA front looked like. Russian posters that he brought home were snapped up swifter than he could say Dos Vedanya.  It turned out that the accusation was based on the sponsorship he received from the Congress for Cultural Freedom for the magazine “Solidarity” which he published. A news item in an international publication saying that the Congress was partly funded by the CIA had triggered the charge. He won a suit against the local columnist who tagged him a spy.

At home in Jersey Street

            Of course, as a writer, Manong Frankie could not help but practice one of a spy’s basic skills--- that of keen observation. He laughingly says though that he would not make a good spy because he is afraid of pain.

            “Prick my skin and I will tell you everything! But I will not remember who gave me the information. They can kill me and still I could not reveal the name.”

A Writer’s Responsibility and Social Realities

            On a more serious note, he says that one of the greatest responsibilities of a Filipino writer is “to make Filipinos remember.”

            His work of over thirty novels and short story collections has received national and international praise for its searing social realism. Manong Frankie credits his experience of growing up in poverty for the authenticity found in his work.

            If his life story were to be made into a movie, it would practically write itself. Born to a peasant family whose patriarch was swindled of the land he cleared from the forest with his own hands, the boy Frankie grew up in a small barrio named Cabugawan, with his grandfather as his surrogate father. His father, a Pastor, left when he was very young. Nurtured by a strong willed woman who encouraged his love for reading by supplying him with books borrowed from people in town, the boy became a gifted wordsmith. He went to highschool in Manila through the kindness of an uncle, and in college, he supported himself by writing and doing odd jobs.  He fell in love at first sight with a colegiala, Tessie Jovellanos whose lineage traces back to one of Jose Rizal’s Ateneo friends. The wide social divide between the barrio lad and the colegiala, and their subsequent elopement are hallmarks of romantic movies. Now, the boy who used to spend his days astride a carabao in the fields of Cabugawan is a well-travelled, multi-awarded writer with book translations numbering close to thirty.

            Asked what he would say to the young boy on the carabao, Manong Frankie answers with one word: “Study.”

            This, he says, was the same advice given by his grandfather on that day when the old man took the young Frankie to the fields. Manong’s grandfather pointed out the land he wrested from the forest, only to be stolen by landgrabbing ilustrados.  Tears streamed down the old man’s weathered face, as he told the boy, “Ag-adal ka tapno di ka mairarem” (study so you will not be oppressed). At this recollection, Manong Frankie’s voice trembles a bit. He says this image of his grandfather inhabits his consciousness to this day.

“Bakya”

            Another defining moment in Manong Frankie’s life which informed his work occurred during his graduation from Elementary School. Though he went to school barefoot as did his classmates, he asked his mother for a pair of shoes for his graduation. He was class Salutatorian and would be delivering a speech during the ceremonies. But his mother said they did not have any money to buy a pair. Spying a piece of wood in their house, Manong Frankie with typical Ilocano ingenuity, carved out a pair of  “bakya” (wooden clogs) for himself so he would not go barefoot. On the day of the graduation, the 12-year-old Frankie noticed that he was the only one not wearing shoes. When it came time for him to go up the stage for his speech, he carefully lifted one foot at a time, so as not to make any sound that would call attention to his “bakya.” It was the first time in his life that he felt class conscious. “Ganito pala ang mahirap,” he remembers thinking.

            Asked if it saddened him, he says it did not. It only made him realize the difference between classes.

Class Struggle

            Thus, his work shows not only the plight of the poor, their oppression and struggles, but also the circumstances that led to such situations. His most famous work, the Rosales Saga, which chronicled a hundred years of Philippine history, bringing to life the betrayals and oppression of the masses, was originally conceived as a quartet. Manong Frankie says that he had plotted out the whole thing in his mind way back in 1945 as interconnected novels. The fourth novel, “The Pretenders” was supposed to conclude the saga. It ended on a negative note with the suicide of the main character, Tony Samson.  This reflected the author’s view of what was happening then. He says the suicide was an allegory  about the need to destroy the old to give way for the new.

With the declaration of Martial Law, Manong Frankie witnessed how the young activists fought, and he realized that there was still hope. So, he conceived of the fifth novel, “Mass” on a plane ride to Paris. Unlike his earlier novels that had been written over a number of years, “Mass” was completed in one month of feverish writing in Paris. “Mass” traces the journey of Pepe Samson (the illegitimate son of Tony Samson of “The Pretenders”) from a hedonistic, drug-dealing young man to a revolutionary.

Hope in the Youth

            Like Jose Rizal before him, Manong Frankie places his hope in the youth to bring the country out of what he perceives to be a quagmire of corruption and injustice. One of his wishes is for Filipinos, specially the young ones, is to develop the reading habit, not because he is a writer who owns a bookstore, but because  of a more profound reason.  He feels that we as a people had dissipated numerous opportunities for growth because we are shallow. “If people do not read, they become shallow,”  he says.

            As a child, Manong Frankie was a voracious reader. He was a ten-year-old student in a public elementary school, when he read the “Noli Me Tangere,” the “El Filibusterismo,” “Don Quixotedela Mancha,” and “My Antonia.” At a tender age, he had also read the Greek myths. He laments that now, students of public elementary schools do not read such work, and attend classes that are much shorter than the 7am to 5pm schedules that they used to have.

The Writer as Nationalist

            For someone just a year shy of 90, Manong Frankie continues his disciplined approach to writing. He wakes up at 1:00 am, types away at his trusty old typewriter, then takes a nap and afterwards goes to the bookstore, where he also does some writing. Passion for the written word and for the message he hopes to bring fuel this discipline. His loving wife Manang Tessie is his first “reader” sometimes reading behind his back as he types his manuscript. Manong Frankie says his wife is a very strong and caring woman. “She fights for me and supports me. Sometimes, she upbraids me for not being diplomatic enough.”

If diplomacy is not Manong Frankie’s strong suit, generosity with time, talent and treasure certainly is. This generosity is shared by Manang Tessie. Perhaps her centering presence is one of the things that assuage the loneliness of a writer, who Manong Frankie says is “The loneliest of all creatures” because “When we write, we are truly alone.”

The venerable writer may be called a peregrine, a pilgrim and a spy, but Manong Frankie, dubbed by fellow National Artist Nick Joaquin as Asia’s hope for the Nobel, is above all, a nationalist. He writes for his countrymen so that they will remember. For as he says, “Memory continues to be our strongest and firmest anchor to Filipinas.”

With fellow National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera and other writers at La Solidaridad

He is working on a new novel which will be different from his last novel, the allegorical “Feet of Juan Bacnang”. The novel in progress with the working title “Esperanza” will be an “exposition of theory versus practice”.

It is a fitting title for the new year of hope that awaits all of us. 

The article was published in the January 18, 2014 edition of Business Mirror