Month: October 2015

In May 2014, my friend Harbhinder “Gerry” Singh invited me to come with him to Punjab, India as he wanted to remarry. Gerry lost his former Indian wife while still in India prior to his migration to the Philippines. He has been in the Philippines for so long a time already, the eldest of a brood of THREE  (3) other siblings, 2 boys and a girl; doing business and much preoccupied making money to support his siblings and his mother. For which reason, Gerry may have forgotten all about getting married again. Gerry’s late father was once a member of the military in India but was killed during the anti-Sikh riots in late 1984 following the assassination of Indira Gandhi on October 31, 1984 by her Sikh bodyguards.

My specific mission was to assist Gerry in picking/choosing a deserving bride in Punjab, facilitate the procurement of a Philippine visa at the Philippine Embassy in New Delhi and head back to the Philippines with the Punjabi bride as soon as possible. This supposed mission of mine to pick up quick a Philippine visa was to be facilitated by my UP College of Law  classmate’s assist and endorsement, Ambassador Vicky Bataclan, who was then stationed in Sweden; which endorsement I need to personally convey to the Philippine Embassy stationed in New Delhi.

It was  a  wonderful experience to be in India, a country so rich in culture and customs. And I was expectantly looking forward to see the Taj Mahal, which I eventually visited before flying back to the Philippines, courtesy of Mr. Ashok Kumar, a reliable and trustworthy owner of a tours and travel outfit with a comfy office in New Delhi.

When we arrived in New Delhi, I was amazed to see flocks of birds flying in the sky from time to time, almost all kinds of birds, the little ones and those as large as falcons and crows.  I first surmised that they have plenty of birds because of the many trees in the city. But I thereafter learned that it is standard practice to place bird seeds or bird food which looked-like corn kernels in certain parts of the streets as well as in the respective houses of the populace in the city. They also place some kind of a earthenware receptacle for water for the birds. I would believe that this is the result of their Hindu heritage which mandates that all forms of life must be preserved. I snickered and thought out loud and told Gerry: “Kapag sa Maynila, meron nitong mga birds na ito, yari…pupulutanin ng tao.” [English translation: In Manila, if these birds will roam freely in the skies, they will end up  as finger food during beer drinking sessions.]

From New Delhi, we traveled a long stretch of about 500 kilometers (i.e. nine hours of driving including stops to eat at street-side dhabas along the highway) to reach Amritsar  to pave the way for a visit to the  exalted Golden Temple, better known in India as the Harmandir Sahib which translates literally to TEMPLE OF GOD. I thought for a while that this temple was exclusively for Sikhs only, but I later learned that it was constructed and was intended to be a place of worship for men and women from all walks of life and all religions to worship God equally. And Gerry  told me that Christians as well as Muslims are allowed to enter the temple as he said according to their Guro Nanac, which is I think is their version of Jesus Christ, religion was just an invention of people and God did not invent religion.

It was some exquisite and extraordinary experience when we reached the temple on May 26, 2014. I was told that everyday about a million people goes to the temple which is situated in some form of a rectangular pool, that looks like a man-made lake. The temple is made of 24 carat gold and that to accommodate all people from all religions and from all walks of life, the temple is open 24 hours everyday.

Upon entering the temple, if you do not wear a turban, you have to buy one and wear an orange-colored turban around your head, and the orange-colored turban is openly sold near the entrance. You have to remove your shoes or slippers  and you have to deposit it into some kind of kiosk. Then, you will pass by some kind of pond filled with running water and you have to wash your feet  in it. You also have to wash you face and your hands by scooping with your hands water from the pond.

By that time then, we were all set to enter the main temple, myself, Gerry and the Hindi driver of the rent-a-car company from where we picked up the car in New Delhi. The main temple, which is the one made of 24 karat gold is in the middle of a large pool and we have to pass through a walkway to reach it. The problem is that they do not observe a single-file system of queuing as the queue is actually a bunch of about ten people in a row and they regulate the movement of the queue with some kind of a long wooden pole being used as  barrier which is toted and poked and perched at chest-level by two (2) persons acting as marshals controlling the crowd, and when movement in the queue is allowed, they would raise the wooden pole and the row of people would inch further into the main temple.  As it all the more becomes crowded at the topmost portion of the queue which is nearest to the door into the main temple,  and I was actually feeling as though I will be trapped so constricted and contained in a cage-liked environment (actually an external iron-grilled fence before the main temple with narrow doors which served as some kind of anteroom), the continuing inflow of people into it would make it all the more constricted. Thus, I told Gerry that I have to pass,  and just allowed him with the help of the car-driver to enter the main temple. I did not feel very much compelled to enter the main temple; but Gerry was really hot as he said he needed the blessing from their God to insure that our mission to find a Punjabi bride would be a success.

I learned too that at the Golden Temple, they also observe what is like the HOLY COMMUNION which is practiced by the Catholics, but the process is different. You have to first buy from some kind of a central depot within the temple’s premises, your food offering which is some kind of glutinous cake placed in a carton container. Then you will have to offer it before entering the main temple and the recipient of the food offering mixes the food offering into a large vat, does some kind of incantation to consecrate it,  and after which the offerors will be given a small share of the so-called consecrated food offering on a large native leaf.

But the more far-out experience was when we lined up for the FREE MEALS. Gerry told me that we have to partake too of the FREE MEALS as it is some kind of blessed food also. The queue was rather unruly and rowdy and no one was serving as marshal to control and regulate the crowd. And it was sweltering hot at that time of the year in Amritsar. First in the process is for you to get a food receptacle made of stainless steel, a stainless steel receptacle for water and the stainless steel spoon and fork. And inch by inch, you start to try to reach the fringes of the mess hall door.  Eventually, I, Gerry and our driver were able to reach the fringes of a sliding door to what looked like a huge refectory or some kind of a mess hall. I learned thereafter that there was a second level refectory/mess hall and we were then at the ground floor.  I could see from some kind of a window pane that the preceding batch of diners were about to finish partaking of the FREE MEALS, and finally, they were guided towards an exit door on the other side of the refectory/mess hall. As far as I can remember the refectory/mess hall seem to be as large as a football field. When the doors opened to allow us entry, my pant’s leather belt which was some kind of a reversible leather strap snapped at the point where the buckle is clasped, as it got entangled unto the edge of the door  due to the pushing and yanking as though the weight of the person behind me was pressing so hard on me.

The free community kitchen at The Golden Temple feeds thousands of people daily.

Before the doors opened to allow us entry into the hall, a mechanized cleaning process ensued which cleaned, mopped and swept the floors of the hall. There were no seats and tables; you have to eat the meals while squatting on the floor. Immediately before the doors were opened, a sort of lengthy dining table liner  was placed in rows on the floor to delineate where the diners will have to squat on the floor. One line of people squatting across another line of people crouching down with the long dining table liner between them. Afterwards,  the mess wards emerged with stainless pails and ladles in tow, and they started rationing the food which consisted of: lentil soup, some kind of vegetable salad, loads of chapati bread and some sweets. Thereafter, the mess wards will distribute drinking water. It was an exceptional experience indeed and after partaking of the meals, we were showed towards the exit door and we passed through rows of volunteers washing the stainless food and drink receptacles plus the spoon and fork amidst the clanging, clinking and banging of the stainless receptacles. Heading out from the temple, I asked Gerry why the FREE MEAL scene was so disorderly. Gerry told me that it was some kind of a SACRIFICE as though one is passing through a gauntlet of difficulties with the free meal as reward.

Daddy Max is 93 years old and he still plays competitive badminton TWICE a WEEK. Three (3) years from now, Daddy Max will break the record set by Henry O. Paynter of Westbank, British Columbia, Canada, who was said to have played competitive badminton till 95 years old. If God Almighty would will it, and Daddy Max would still continue playing competitive badminton until 2018, Daddy Max will be the oldest player of competitive badminton in the whole world. Of course, Daddy Max is my father who was born 93 years ago in Toledo City, Cebu, Philippines.

After the sport became in vogue once more in the late 1990s, perhaps fueled by the fact of a real estate crunch in Metro-Manila which brought a lot of warehouses in the metropolis absolutely with no takers-lessees, those warehouse-lessors, moved by their entrepreneurial spirit, converted the warehouses into covered badminton courts. Eventually. almost everybody in Metro-Manila became a badminton enthusiast.   Thus, my brother Wilson, who similarly was caught by the seeming contagion, put up a covered badminton hall consisting of TWO (2) badminton courts inside a former warehouse structure adjoining another warehouse which serves as depot to his commodities-trading business. The facility which features a wooden-floor playing venue is very near too to our Law Office, thus as I endeavored to follow the footsteps of Daddy Max, to  long life, I have myself embraced the sport and would usually play badminton at least THRICE a week.

The history of badminton in the United States began with the first Badminton club, the Badminton Club of New York, which was founded in 1878. The game flourished in the 1930s when places such as the YMCA and educational institutions began offering badminton instructions. Badminton became a popular pastime for many Hollywood stars including James Cagney, Bette Davis, Ginger Rogers, and Douglas Fairbanks, which further helped to promote the sports in the 1930s.

In the Philippines, it was in the year 1920 when British and American expatriates introduced badminton in the country. As early as the 1950s, the International Badminton Federation recognized the Philippines as its 21^st member country. Since then, Filipinos have been playing    badminton in international tournaments.

Thus, in the 1960s badminton begun to become some kind of a craze. At that time, Daddy Max became a friend of Col. Rudy Yan who is the nephew of Gen. Manuel Yan who eventually became Armed Forces of the Philippines-Chief of Staff. Col. Rudy Yan was a badminton enthusiast as a relative of the Yan clan, Johnny Yan, emerged as one of the Filipino champion at the Hongkong Open held in 1962.

Eventually, Daddy Max was introduced to this sport and Daddy Max became a very loyal advocate of the game. Daddy Max was then Security Officer of the Logistics Center at Camp Aguinaldo and within the Logistics Command is a warehouse which was eventually converted into a badminton court.

During Daddy Max’s badminton heydays,  he would usually play three (3) times a week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and sometimes even on Sundays when a tournament is scheduled. Up to now, Daddy Max plays competitive badminton as he would almost always use the drop shot as a winning strategy.

Two (2)  years ago, when a tournament was held at the badminton court, and Daddy Max was called in to play an exhibition match, I got a little bit alarmed. He was really playing the game as though he was a youthful and energetic shuttlecock-smasher and was reaching for the shuttlecock almost everywhere. I came near him during a break and whispered into his ears politely: “Daddy, hinay hinay lang at baka matumba at madisgrasya kayo.” [English translation: “Daddy, please do not play too hard, just keep it easy, you might stumble and get into an accident.”]

And this was his reply: “Eh, ang daming chicks na magagandang nanonood eh!” [English translation: :What the heck, there are a lot of beautiful ladies among the spectators!”.]

And I just kept quiet and watched the game continue!!!

I met Lewis “Lew” Edwards about 25 years ago. I was then one of the legal officers at the Allied Banking Corporation (“Allied Bank”)  which was housed at the second floor of the Allied Bank Center located at 6754 Ayala Avenue, Makati City; the financial center of the country which lies at the southern part of Metro-Manila. Lew personally came over to me one working day at my cubicle which is within the office of the Legal and Collection Department of Allied Bank, with a document for notarization. As Legal Officers of Allied Bank then, we were tasked and entitled to service clients who would need notarial services especially clients of Allied Bank who need to have a document notarized as part of a process to open, close or do something out of the ordinary to a  bank account. I was sort of amazed and awed as Lew was then, the top honcho of a corporate entity known as FILWAYS CORPORATION, which is a company engaged in the marketing and distribution of books such as the Colliers’ Encyclopedia. FILWAYS was then occupying one of the topmost floors of the Allied Bank Center. I did not charge Lew any notarization fee and the next day, I was gifted by him through a messenger from his office, with a thick Webster’s Dictionary. And those gestures of charity and generosity started our friendship.

I learned thereafter that Lew was a former US serviceman    assigned in the Air Force from 1957 to 1960 and was a paramedic.  As a paramedic, Lew would come to the Philippines and would land at the Clark Air Base (“CAB”)  bringing injured and sick servicemen for hospitalization and medical care at the CAB Hospital. Lew was then stationed in Tachikawa, Japan for about THREE (3) years.

During this stint in the Air Force, Lew’s entrepreneurial spirit got harnessed and eventually grew into some kind of business acumen when he started making use of his free air-transport ride from Japan to CAB and CAB back to Japan. Coming in from Okinawa, Japan, which was American territory at that time, Lew would bring in cases of Johnny Walker (which was a popular brand then and until now among  Filipino liquor connoisseurs), sell it through a Filipino friend and on his way back to Japan he would bring luscious native fruits from the Philippines like the popular Philippine mangoes and other fruits in season, to be sold in Japan. Upon reaching CAB, Lew would head straight to the public market in Angeles City and would buy fruit baskets to be sold in mainland Japan. Indeed, tropical fruits from the Philippines were in high demand in Japan. Trading of the Johnny Walker whisky was even more lucrative in Japan for which reason, Lew put up some kind of trading outlet in mainland Japan. At that time, there still was a prevailing restriction in Japan against importation of liquor particularly the Johnny Walker brand which was in high demand among the Nipponese people. Lew and his team would usually travel on board a C 54, a 4-propeller engine plane, from Japan to CAB via a slow ride with THREE (3) stops along the way. The civilian equivalent of this military plane is the DC 6.  When he resigned from military service, Lew stayed for three (3) more years in Japan and eventually met his first wife Chiyoko. Thereafter, Lew and Chiyoko opted to relocate to the Philippines and started then and there, his book distribution business with a Filipino partner.

I consider Lew as more of a Filipino than our typical Pinoys. Sixteen (16) years ago, a balikbayan from the US, having been so much immersed perhaps in the ways and culture of the the land of milk and honey, wrote a letter to the editor of a leading national daily. The surname of this letter-sender, as far as I can recall, is ANASTACIO. Anastacio poured out all of his negative sentiments against the Philippines and everything that was Filipino. Anastacio even prognosticated that the Philippines was a hopeless case…the dirty public toilets with no toilet paper even, the ubiquitous dirt and grime and the soot-black fumes from jeepneys and dilapidated buses, etc.  It was Lew who brought back Anastacio to his senses, when Lew wrote to the newspaper’s editor totally defending the Philippines and every thing that was Filipino. Finally, Lew advised and counseled Anastacio, who eventually earned the sobriquet “NASTY”, after a string of other Filipino patriotic letter-senders started to bash NASTY. What Lew told NASTY was an enumeration of TEN (10) things that he should do instead of complaining all about the Philippines. If I remember it right, the list contained the following: help the Filipino orphans, give alms to the poor in the Philippines, keep Filipino kids in school, take care of the old Pinoy folks, say a little prayer for the country, to write something positive about the Filipino, etc. But it was Lew who started it all, defending the Philippines and all things about the Filipino from the tirades and jeremiads from NASTY.

As of today, Lew has helped about 800 night high school Filipino students to graduate and earn a college degree through the A BETTER CHANCE FOUNDATION, INC., more popularly known with its acronym “ABC Foundation”,  which Lew organized in 2001 with me as one of the members of the Board of Trustees and as the Corporate Secretary while Lew serves as its Chairman Emeritus. As the more deserving high school graduates stuck it out with ABC, Lew has given further financial help resulting in 130 of these scholars with college diplomas to their name.   Lew provided the seed money which started the ABC Foundation to help the deserving children of financially-distressed families to earn a college degree to facilitate their eventual employment. Lew is happily married and committed to his life-time partner Judith, a demure and dainty Filipina,  whom I personally brought to be wed together at the Quezon City Hall of Justice in 2001, before the then RTC Judge Noel Tijam, now Associate Justice of the Court of Appeals. Indeed, Lew is truly more than a Filipino.

There is a current slogan which is being popularized by government functionaries here in the Philippines who are involved in tourism promotion which goes: “THERE IS MORE FUN IN THE PHILIPPINES”.  Indeed, there is more fun in the Philippines, in a country where people, after having been inundated and ravaged by typhoons could still manage to laugh, smile and put up a cute image before news photographers’ cameras documenting the calamity.

Just recently, COCA-COLA celebrated its 100th year anniversary for its use of the peculiarly-shaped COCA-COLA bottle. Loyal and valued customers were treated to a memorabilia-filled event at the Bonifacio Global City in Taguig, Metro-Manila complete with a venue for a silent-type auction of enticing COCA-COLA collector’s items.

Years ago, even when I was still a toddler, I could hear teen-agers and adults alike referring to the COCA-COLA bottle as the virtual paragon of a beautifully-shaped body for women. Every time a bachelor would brag about his most endeared girlfriend, he would ecstatically and proudly announce to his “barkada” that he has gotten a dame with a “COCA-COLA-shaped” body. And with this announcement, the lucky bachelor would continuously receive plaudits and adulation from his buddies.

COKE which has been the adopted abbreviation for the COCA-COLA drink has even acquired some kind of generic connotation. In the halcyon days of the past, and even up to now in the far-flung areas of the archipelago, whatever is the brand of a softdrink maybe, it is plainly referred to as COKE. And the appellation COKE has actually become synonymous to softdrinks in this part of the globe. But more than that, some personalities have even regarded the COCA-COLA drink as some kind of physical and mental energy booster.

The grand and gracious Madame Shirley Halili-Cruz of the Halili-Cruz School of Ballet (“HCSB“) religiously refers to the COCA-COLA drink as her daily VITAMINS. Indeed, I owe a lot to the “COCA-COLA induced” energy of Madame Shirley, who seemed to be so indefatigable –as under her solicitous tutelage at the HCSB, he cared for like a mother, and educated my youngest daughter Alee, on DISCIPLINE and DANCE. For this, I will be forever grateful to Madame Shirley and to COCA-COLA. Another personality who was so close to me and who regards the COCA-COLA drink as VITAMINS too, is my friend, former law partner and UP Law classmate, Jimmy Nagrampa. There is in fact, a common denominator which in the perspective of COCA-COLA, would sort of tie Madame Shirley and Jimmy together. Well, as I have eventually learned, having seen Madame Shirley’s photographs during her teens, Madame Shirley sported a COCA-COLA shaped body then; while Jimmy married a demure and statuesque lady who also had a COCA-COLA shaped physique.

Lately however, there has been some blogs and postings, accompanied even by video clips repulsively pointing and boisterously indicating that COKE is a harmful drink. Well, in the Philippines, we have a saying which goes like this: “KUNG MATAMIS ANG BUNGA, AY BINABATO AND SANGA”; which translates roughly into English, thus: “WHEN A TREE BEARS SWEET FRUIT; ITS BRANCHES ARE STONED TO GET THE SWEET FRUIT”.

Indeed, there is more fun in the Philippines. But, it would further seem that COCA-COLA is much more fun!

On April 4, 1999, I and Fr. Bernardo Blanco hied off to Europe via Air France. I was so excited as it was my first time to come to Europe. Our itinerary was all the more exciting, as we will have an almost whole day lay over in Paris from 6 AM to 8 PM; then a couple of days in Rome and finally in Madrid, and our ultimate destination in Ceadea de Aliste in Zamora, a province located at the northern part of Spain bordering Portugal. But what proved to be exciting and incredibly so, was my extraordinary experience in Rome.

When Fr. Blanco invited me to come with him to Europe actually to his motherland, Spain, he told me that I have to bother only with respect to my airfare and he will take care of the rest. The invitation came to me when Fr. Blanco during one of our bible reading sessions in K-Ville narrated to me that he is entitled to a triennial sabbatical, meaning that after every three (3) years of priestly work in the Philippines, he can visit his kith and kin in Spain. Actually, Fr. Blanco said that I will have the opportunity to lodge and board in those Claretian communities in Rome and in Spain.

As we had almost a day to spare, we took the liberty to roam around Paris particularly the Eiffel Tower. the Cathedral of Notre-Dame and the Louvre Museum. We were excited to see at the Louvre but it was unfortunate that it being a Monday, it was general cleaning day for the Louvre, for which reason, we were not able to enter into the Louvre.

When we left the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris for Rome, we arrived at the Fumicino airport in Rome at around 10 PM. Thus, I never had the chance to be formally introduced to the Claretian community in Rome, particularly housed at the Provincial Generalate located  at the Via Sacro de Coure de Maria 5 in Rome’s Parioli District.

Upon arrival at the Claretian Generalate, and after we were showed to our respective rooms, Fr. Blanco celebrated mass with myself as the only other participant. Thereafter, we took dinner at the refectory with a plump Italian matron assisting us and as we parted ways to repair to our respective rooms, Fr. Blanco told me that we will meet at exactly 5:30 AM of the following day at the chapel for the morning prayers.

I was so excited as it was my first night in Rome and I hardly slept a wink. When dawn came, I and Fr, Blanco went to the chapel and there we saw the rest of the Claretian community lodging at the Generalate, composed of about 30 priests coming from all over the world: Argentina, Africa, Spain, Peru, Dominican Republic, etc. The priests were either wearing cardigans, sweaters, jackets or coats. While I was wearing a coat as the climate was cool in Rome at that time, I descried a tear in Fr. Blanco’s cream-colored sweater but he just ignored it. As the members-priests of Claretian community then staying at the Generalate in Rome were  all then singing hymns in the Italian language, I opened the hymn book and joined the singing. After a couple of minutes, the Provincial General in the person of Fr. Aquilino Bocos appeared at the altar wearing a priestly vestment, the other Claretian priests ascended into the altar which was something of a pedestal with a rung of stairs starting from the chapel’s center aisle.

As the priests all ascended unto the altar, they formed a semicircle with Fr. Blanco stationed from the extreme left where I was sitting at one of the front pews, while Fr. Aquilino Bocos stayed at the center portion facing them all. As they were about to start the ceremony, one of the Claretian priests who was from the Dominican Republic noticed me still sitting at the front pew. The priest from the Dominican Republic went down the stairs and extended his left hand to me in invitation. I tried to crane my neck looking for Fr. Blanco for some guidance, but as Fr. Blanco, who was bit short in height, and being covered almost by the towering Spanish priests;  was already at the extreme end of the left portion of the altar, our eyes did not meet and I in turn, thinking that the priest from the Dominican Republic, might feel offended if I would not take heed of his invitation. Thus, I ascended unto the altar and got the missalette which was in Italian which the priest handed over to me.

I thought to myself that this was perhaps the customary way on how they entertain a guest.  I therefore just followed what they were all doing reading through the Italian missalette. When the consecration part came,  I only then realized that the Argentinian priest mistook me for a priest too. As I did not want to disrupt the ceremony by going back to my seat at the front pew, I went through the ceremony as I said to myself that I was then in the state of grace. After the ceremony, it was only then that the Claretian priests present that morning at the chapel, learned  that I was not a Filipino priest but a Filipino lawyer.

In any case, as plausible justification for the unintended gaffe, it can be said however that there is a close kinship between a lawyer and a priest. Indeed, in the medieval age, it was acknowledged that two (2) of the recognized cardinal professions of the world are that of lawyering and the other, that of the priestly vocation.

[Fr. Bernardo Toribio Blanco is a Spanish Claretian priest who came to the Philippines on February 25, 1977. Fr. Blanco was initially assigned to Basilan which is one of the northernmost islands of the Sulu Archipelago but lies in the southern coast of the Zamboanga Peninsula. We became friends after he got assigned to the Claretian Seminary located within the Sanville Subdivision in Tandang Sora, Quezon City (as the seminary is just a stone’s throw away from our residence in K-Ville); after he escaped from a 49-day captivity by his Abu Sayyaf captors. It was through my friendship with Fr. Blanco that I eventually  had the chance to journey to Europe and to  accidentally concelebrate mass (which is narrated in another of my BLOGS in this site) at the Claretian’s Provincial General’s chapel located in the Parioli District in Rome. Up to and until now, Fr. Blanco has served as my principal spiritual adviser.]

Father Bernardo Toribio Blanco (“Fr. Blanco”) is a Spanish Claretian priest who was assigned to the Philippines in February 1977 after a raucous stint in Equatorial New Guinea  (“Equatorial”). His sudden assignment to the Philippines was an aftermath to  his unfortunate deportation mandated by the then President Francisco Macias Nguema of  the Equatorial government. This was because  Fr. Blanco was advocating the new trend towards liberation theology during those times and the Equatorial government resented this seeming intrusion into Equatorial politics.

Fr. Blanco was born in Ceadea de Aliste in Zamora, Spain on November 20, 1927 and at age 12, he entered the seminary in Segovia, Spain. After his ordination as a priest in May of 1953, the following year, Fr. Blanco was assigned to Equatorial New Guinea which regained its independence from Spain in 1968. Drastic political development came about in Equatorial after the grant of independence and religious repression became the order of the day.

In March of 1993, Fr. Blanco hogged the headlines of our dailies as he was kidnapped by Muslim rebels allied with the Abu Sayyaf. He was held in captivity for 49 days by the Muslim rebels until he took that risky chance to escape and successfully, Fr. Blanco regained his freedom.

At that time when he was kidnapped in Basilan in Mindanao, Fr. Blanco was busy with his youth center building project. It was narrated that Fr. Blanco drove a jeep to the nearest port to haul construction materials for his project. On his return to Matarling in Basilan, he was accosted by armed Muslims and as he was being kidnapped, Fr. Blanco even engaged some of the rebels in a fisticuff. As they were many, and after the rebels rained blows on Fr. Blanco with their fists, their feet and the butts of their guns, Fr. Blanco was ultimately subdued and then and there brought to a rebels’ hideout in the fastness of the Basilan forest.

It was a miraculous escape as Fr. Blanco just needed to answer a call of nature. As has been the practice, every time he would emerge from the cramped fox hole underneath a nipa hut somewhere in Basilan, which Fr. Blanco called his home during the length of his captivity, he would usually be met by one of the rebels and would be accompanied until Fr. Blanco has  urinated. As has been the nocturnal  schedule, Fr. Blanco would knock on the wooden door from the inside of his foxhole, and then one of the Muslim rebels would latch the door open and would allow Fr. Blanco to urinate. That night however Fr. Blanco remembered that the rebels got engaged in some kind of a drinking spree, with all the singing and the clinking of beer bottles that Fr, Blanco heard  And as Fr. Blanco knocked on the wooden door, no one seem to hear. Thus, Fr. Blanco tried to raise the door and discovered that it was not locked from the outside. He thus emerged and seeing the rebels all slumped on the ground over an improvised mat, he gingerly took his steps to freedom.  It was midnight but the beam of the full moon gave Fr. Blanco ample illumination in the pitch black forest. It was his 49th day in captivity and what was left in a small plastic box which he meticulously kept with him, and which used to contain consecrated hosts, were  mere crumbs of and just a piece of the holy wafer. That morning when he said mass inside the foxhole, Fr. Blanco was actually worried as to how he would go along with improvised hosts for his succeeding masses. Fr. Blanco attributes his successful escape to his being a Marian devotee.

In  1994, the Claretian congregation re-assigned Fr. Blanco at the Claretian seminary along Cenacle Drive in Tandang Sora, Quezon City which is just a stone’s-throw away from our K-Ville home. He eventually became our Sunday mass celebrant in the chapel which stands across the K-Ville community park. Since then, as I together with other officers of the homeowners’ association and Fr. Blanco, as our moving spirit, organized bible-reading sessions within K-Ville;  I and Fr. Blanco became friends and I eventually adopted him as my spiritual adviser.

One happy moment which Fr. Blanco narrated after then Pres. Fidel V. Ramos saw him following Fr. Blanco’s successful escape, was Pres. FVR’s jesting remark: “Fr. Blanco, after your having survived 49 days in the fastnesses of the Basilan jungle, I want to recruit you to be a member of the Philippine Scout Rangers.”

When I speak about the clan in our family, it is actually more about my maternal clan considering that the families of the siblings of my late mother, Norma Rivera Tobias, are based here in Metro-Manila particularly in Quezon City and in the towns of Santa Cruz and Nagcarlan, Laguna. However, a number of second-generation, third-generation  and fourth-generation clan members are now nestled in Southern California. On the other hand, our paternal clan has two (2) versions, the clan of my father’s foster parents, Lolo Julio and Lola Genia Mariñas, whose members are mostly based in Lapu-Lapu City in Cebu and the clan of Daddy Max’s biological Dad, Lolo William Young,  with two (2) of his surviving half-siblings, Auntie Aida and Uncle Fred, who are both based in the USA, also in California and a bunch of its third-generation members still residing in the Philippines. Interaction/inter-relationship among the members of my maternal clan is better as we see, deal and relate with each much oftener.

My maternal clan is referred to as the Tobias-Young-Maximo-Pabale-Tolentino-Llorca-Aldana clan. My mother belongs to the Tobias clan of Santa Cruz, Laguna and her siblings were married to diverse personalities, namely: Tio Castor, the eldest among my mother’s siblings, married Tia Loling Castro, Tia Emang married Tio Jaime Maximo, Tia Mising married Tio Santos Pabale, Tio Peping married Tia Poning Villapando, Tia Gloria  married Tio Vic Tolentino, Tia Doring married Tio Gene Llorca, and Tia Aida married Tio Joe Aldana.

Among my aunts on our maternal side, only Tia Loling who is now 95 years old is living while all of my uncles have already passed away. By having outlived all of our maternal side uncles, Daddy Max at 93 years old, has now become the patriarch of the Tobias-Young-Maximo-Pabale-Tolentino-Llorca-Aldana clan.

Ever since, the members of the Tobias-Young-Maximo-Pabale-Tolentino-Llorca-Aldana clan (the “Clan“) have shown enormous degree of recognition to Daddy Max as the disciplinarian of the Clan. Every time, a niece or a nephew within the Clan’s domain would sort of act like a “maverick” (i.e. wayward or intractable or disobedient)  in his or her own family, more often than not,   the defiant one will be sent to our household to stay with us under the maternal care of Mommy Norma and the disciplinarian’s tracking by Daddy Max.  This was what happened when Kuya Boy Pabale was sent to stay with us by Tio Santos and Tia Mising, as Kuya Boy was sort of acting belligerently against his Dad, Tio Santos. Kuya Rico Maximo, also spent time with us as in fact, he stayed with us almost all through his bachelorhood until he got married. Kuya Rico was supposedly acting  as though he wanted to live independently, away from the maternal gaze of Tia Emang and the frequent castigation by Tio Jaime. On the other hand, Kuya Andoy Idos, who has been living in a countrified atmosphere in Santa Cruz, Laguna was sent to live with us, as Tia Tinay, Kuya Andoy’s mom, wanted Kuya Andoy to be prepared to face the real and urbanized world here in the suburbs of Manila.  One female first-cousin, actually a niece of Mommy Norma, Vicky stayed with us after she got orphaned by the death of Tia Gloria, her mom, and the sudden disappearance of her dad, Tio Vic. When Vicky, stayed with us, Daddy Max counseled us all to treat Vicky as our own sister.

As it is now, Daddy Max is acknowledged as the patriarch of the Clan while Tia Loling is regarded as the matriarch of the Clan. In August of this year, Daddy Max went to San Diego, California where he handed over and awarded plaques of appreciation to distinguished members of the Clan particularly on the distaff side. One plaque of appreciation which Daddy Max, as Patriarch of the Clan,   handed over to my cousin, Alma “Bebot” Llorca-Esconde, a nurse based in Mira Mesa, San Diego, CA, reads in part, as follows:

“For the exemplary fashion and the indomitable spirit shown in her efforts to raise her FIVE (5) children: Paolo, Christian, Aljer, Jullian   and Geno; into responsible adulthood, all surnamed ESCONDE;  amidst uncommon milieu and in an environment of despair and enervating tribulation in the face of the early disability leading to an eventual demise, which untimely struck her beloved husband Jerry…”

Another plaque given to Irene, my cousin-in-law, and mother of our most helpful, trustworthy and dependable nephew in Southern California, Archie Llorca, contains the following laudatory passage:

“For her exemplary and unflinching efforts in singlehandedly raising her THREE (3) children into responsible adulthood, namely: Cheryl,  Archibald and Lawrence Anthony, all surnamed LLORCA, amidst uncommon milieu (priorly uprooting themselves from  the Philippines) initially in Kauai, Hawaii and then in an environment of despair in Maui, Hawaii; and in an eventual atmosphere of loneliness and enervating hardships and tribulation in San Diego-Temecula, Southern California, with her own brand of motherly caring and disciplinarian ways…”

Finally, another cousin-in-law, Ate Mona, the wife of the Philippine Independent Church’s Bishop in the Diocese of USA and Canada, my first-cousin, and the son of Tia Loling, Bishop Raul C. Tobias, was awarded another plaque with the following adulatory commendation, by the Patriarch of our Clan, Daddy Max Young:

“For her exemplary and unflagging efforts in serving as the doting wife to a man of the cloth; the ever cheerful, persevering and sedulous Rt. Rev. Raul Castro Tobias of the Philippine Independent Church, who ignored territorial boundaries and diligently spread the word of God, leaping into America from their humble beginnings in their storied native soil in Santa Cruz, Laguna, the Philippines and of raising their  TWO (2) children  amidst tedious and overwhelming pastoral work, into responsible adulthood, namely: Julius and Janine…”

And those plaques of appreciation were awarded personally on August 18, 2015 in San Diego, California by the Patriarch of our Clan.  

This is my first try to put up a BLOG and I suppose that I could entice a lot of netizens to view and read my postings which would center on FAMILY, FRIENDS and FUN. I would deliberately avoid matters such as POLITICS and the current state of affairs of our country, the Philippines (i.e.  the monstrous traffic, the ubiquitous criminality, the “pork barrel” scam, etc.)  just as not to add any further “stressors” and other causes of stress unto the viewing/reading public. I was enticed to put up this BLOG  by my sister-in-law Amy  Gillera-Young and my UP Law classmate, who is now based in Michigan, USA — Jose Camano, after I was cautioned, having recently become an FB  follower, that  FB messages should be short; longer ones…”well, you have to put up a BLOG”.

I chose the title RUMINATIONS AND PEREGRINATIONS with an acronym that spells “RP” so that one way or the other, I could identify still with my nationalistic fervor for our country the Philippines. Well, the Aquino administration however has adopted a new acronym after realizing perhaps that the acronym “RP” is a bit macabre ( as”RP”  is more often associated with the popular tomb’s epitaph “REST IN PEACE“, thus adopting the supposedly more genial acronym “PH”). But with PH as acronym, I would be compelled to come up with  an “acronym’ pun like PEREGRINATIONS AND HIBERNATIONS…and it sounds not so enticing particularly the HIBERNATION portion of the title…as HIBERNATION denotes dormancy.

Well…focusing now on the PEREGRINATION portion, I  went on a trip to the USA in August of this year together with my Daddy Max, who is 93 years old and still is YOUNG and HEALTHY. A lot of people would mistake my Daddy Max as a mere SEXAGENARIAN as he still sports a heap of hair, walks sprightly and plays competitive badminton regularly.  Our trip to the USA provided Daddy Max the chance to visit his father’s tomb at the Santa Clara Catholic Cemetery in California and to reunite with his half-sister, Auntie Aida Breslin-Young, whom she first met 77 years ago when Daddy Max strove to find and look for his biological father in Cebu City. 

In July of 1922 when Daddy Max was born in Toledo City in Cebu, he was put up immediately by his biological mother, Lola Emilia Purisima, into some kind of informal adoption unto her distant relatives. The reason for this sort of knee-jerk reaction on the part of our biological grandmother was her fear that with her young age then, and not lucratively employed, she would not have the capacity to raise a child into this world.

Daddy Max’s foster parents who were inhabitants of Opon, Cebu now Lapu-Lapu City, who came to nurture us, me and my siblings, and treated us as their grandkids were however so caring and thoughtful. Indeed, despite the distance from Cebu to Manila, actually here in Quezon City, Lola Genia and Lolo Julio Mariñas would regularly send us foodstuffs via an inter-island boat from Cebu to Manila’s North Harbor, such as FISH, other kinds of native delicacies and at times, live hogs even.

Lola Genia and Lolo Julio kept on visiting us and would come frequently to our place here in Murphy, Cubao, Quezon City; despite the fact that when Daddy  Max eventually learned that he is not their biological son, Daddy Max  ran away, became a stow-away kid and never returned to their Opon, Cebu home. Consequently, Daddy Max  went into working on odd jobs until Daddy Max became a shipping clerk of the Negros Navigation Company.

The circumstances which led to Daddy Max’s discovery that he was not Lola Genia’s child came about as Daddy Max would be wont to always ask Lola Genia as to why he sports fair-colored skin while his supposed  siblings are all auburn-complexioned.  Daddy Max eventually became a USAFFE soldier, a war hero and an unexpected US scholar to Fort Knox Armored Force School having topped the competitive exams, though reaching 2^nd year high school only, to the consternation and vehement protests of college grad examinees who were also eyeing a trip to Fort Knox. All of these I will narrate in my sequel postings and more about family, friends, and fun. 

In December 2012, I was almost finished putting through the final details to a biographical book which I wrote about my father Daddy Max P. Young. The title of the coffee-table style biographical book is: FOREVER YOUNG – A WALK THROUGH THE LIFE OF MAXIMO PURISIMA YOUNG.  As in all tedious book-writing project, as was conveyed to me by friends who have gotten the experience (considering all the more that I was writing my first book); delays would usually mar the book’s launching. The book’s launching was originally set on a Saturday on July 28, 2012 to coincide with Daddy Max’s 90th birthday celebration (actually, Daddy Max’s birth date is July 30 though his birthday celebrations have always been held on Saturdays). Ultimately, the actual book launching happened on July 27, 2013 at the Tejeros Hall of the Camp Aguinaldo Officers’ Club in Quezon City, Philippines.

After the book-launching, I thought of writing more about the other members of our family, our clan which is composed of my SEVEN (7) siblings, FIVE (5) brothers and TWO (2) sisters, together with their respective family. As the trek that I trod in writing Daddy Max’s bio-book proved fun-filled and exciting (discovering new and unheard of things about my father as I diligently searched and scrounged for information and relevant materials); I could feel that my future writings would be fun-filled too.

When I was trying to look for a background design for this blog site, upon my Law Office’s secretary’s (i.e. Ms. Ella Hadap) suggestion, I typed out the title of this blog site (to get into and access relevant images as a possible apt backdrop-wallpaper of my site) and found out that a book has been written already, with almost the same title.  Anyway, I opted to shun further “ruminations” to look for a new title as I decided to stick with the title as it is. On the matter of my “peregrinations”, I would also want to write about my travel experiences with my family and friends just like my trip to India last year where I learned that the Sikhs also have their own kind of “holy communion”  as I saw it practiced at the Golden Temple in Amritsar. But what would be more incredible and intriguing to narrate is my experience at the fringes of the Vatican in the Parioli District in Rome in 1998 when I, unintentionally got into concelebrating the Holy Mass with Fr. Bocos and a host of other Claretian priests at the Claretian  chapel of “Casa de Santa Marta” along the Via del Sacro Cuore di Maria.

And I will go on RUMINATING and PEREGRINATING…