Of Swallows, Bells, and Fond Memories

Nanay in Lombard St., San Francisco

Tomorrow, the 28^th of December 2013 will be Nanay’s 11^th Death Anniversary.

I still mourn her passing and miss her so, though I am no longer that sad, especially because this year, I was finally able to make one of her most ardent wishes come true.

I went on a pilgrimage for her, one that served me well as a catharsis.

This is my first ever pilgrimage story.

“When the swallows come back to Capistrano” by Leon René is one of Nanay’s all-time favorite songs. She never revealed to anyone why this is so, though I have an idea, or at least a suspicion.

This song has been recorded by several famous singers, including: Pat Boone, Xavier Cugat, The Ink Spots, and Glenn Miller among a host of other artists. Note that if you check the lyrics online, they all repeat the second stanza. 

Nanay’s favorite cover of this song is by The Lennon Sisters who may have added a unique third stanza:

When the swallows come back to Capistrano

When the swallows come back to Capistrano

That's the day you promised to come back to me

When you whispered, "Farewell," in Capistrano

That’s the day the swallows flew back to the sea

All the mission bells will ring

The chapel choir will sing

The happiness you bring

Will live in my memory

When the swallows come back to Capistrano

That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me

While the altar candles burn

My heart is burning, too

If you should not return

I will still be waiting for you

And the swallows come back to Capistrano

That's the day I pray that you'll come back to me

Note: There is a link to this song at the end of this article.

Nanay sang this often, and every now and again, would request our friend Jun, a broadcast colleague in IBC-DYRG to play it for her on his defunct popular afternoon broadcasts.

She was able to visit my sister in California and went to several places there, including parts of Orange County where Mission San Juan de Capistrano is located. Although she wanted to and could have, she did not visit Mission San Juan de Capistrano at that time, because she has promised me we would visit the place together. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, she passed away and we never got to do it.

When I attended the wedding of my niece Liezel in San Francisco, I just had to go. I did not even have to ask twice.

With my host and guide, Grace Magdaluyo

I left San Francisco in the early morning, return tickets and pocket money courtesy of my sister Louella and Manong Louis, on 12 June 2013. I was met by my friend Grace Magdaluyo and her husband. We went straight from the San Diego airport to Mission San Juan de Capistrano. In our collective excitement, we passed by the ruins without noticing it, and, with a fluke from our online Google map, ended up in the new Mission Basilica San Juan.

We did not realize we were in the wrong place until I noticed the predominantly Hispanic colonial-style modern structures that surrounded us. I walked straight into a cul-de-sac which led to the Mission Basilica School and asked for directions from a man who likewise seemed lost, and only spoke Spanish, the mile-a-minute variety that got me discombobulated and invariably lost in translation. To my chagrin, I realized I was no match to a Mexican who spoke andale andale with such a frenzy. So I went back and pulled Grace along, literally, dragging her inside the school administration building. The ladies there were not at all surprised that we lost our way and readily gave us instruction, with hands flying to indicate directions, in English.

It was a very short drive back, powered by peals of giggles. We entered the gates and found ourselves in a very quiet, introspective and awe-inspiring place.

Established in 1775 and re-founded a year later, Mission San Juan de Capistrano is a living piece of history and culture with religious significance. Unfortunately, this great stone church collapsed when an earthquake struck in December 1812. Today, it is run by a non-profit organization that preserves these ruins of a bygone era. Without a doubt, it has become famous for “The miracle of the Swallows” which takes place March 19^th, St. Joseph's Day.

While we were merrily walking around and taking loads of pictures, I chanced upon one of the lady volunteers, who was pruning a hedge of flowers. Spur of the moment, I asked her what her favorite version/cover of the song “When the swallows come back to Capistrano” and she flashed me a winsome smile, eagerly whipped her mobile phone out of her pocket, and showed me her collection.

I told her about Nanay, and why I just had to visit The Mission. As I was talking, I did not notice that I was already in tears. She asked if she could give me a hug, and we did. I was bawling and she held on to me for as long as I did.

As the flood of tears stopped, she asked to be excused, and much to my surprise, she gave a stern warning asking me to stay put.

With Josh, whom we met again on his way back from lunch.

She came back with Josh, the Director of the place, who, having heard my story from the lady volunteer, expressed appreciation for our visit and then walked with us to The Mission Store and gave me a candle, for free. Next thing I knew, I was in the Chapel.

I do not know what perception Grace had of me at that point, but she left unobtrusively to give me my private moment. For a couple of minutes, I just stood there … basking in my very private moment well spent in solitude, thanksgiving and closure.

Inside the "Serra's Chapel" at The Mission. Candle to the lower left was the one I lit, courtesy of Josh.

It was a time of reckoning, as a new realization came to me: I was named Josephus because of this awesome place. Yes, that is my first name, Latin for Joseph. And it was not the late Fr. Rago who added this, as if on a whim, on my baptismal certificate. It was Nanay who really wanted it, hence my nickname, Jojo.

I did not notice the swallows that day of my visit, neither did I hear the bells. But it was one of my happiest moments (to think I could have been named Juan, or even worse, Swallow … kidding!).

It was a peak experience flying with the swallows … and hearing bells … in my heart.


NB: You can listen to The Lennon Sisters' cover of "When the swallows come back to Capistrano" by clicking on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYxrydmTXRI

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A most unexpected phone call ...

I just got a call from a friend whom I haven’t seen in ages. I first met him in 1978 during the National Secondary Schools Press Conference in Tabaco, Albay. We’ve correspondent by snail mail for several years. Then I moved to Manila where I went NPA—no permanent address—having moved from one place to another. We’ve gone through stages—pagers and cellphones—but before SMS came along, we eventually lost touch. He found me last year, through an old blog that I no longer have access to, and eventually, on Facebook. He’s been living in Europe for over two decades now.

Through all those years, we’ve grown to know each other’s quirks and whenever we talked, we invariably finished each other’s sentences and gave voice to each other’s innermost thoughts and feelings.

Let me go back 35 years and 6,211 miles.

We are both Martial Law Babies, the product of a generation of high school writers who, while trained in the Development Communications approach, wore no blinders. Our letters went beyond the usual diary-style correspondence. We talked about anything and everything.

I eventually fell in love with him, and while he could not reciprocate, he accepted and appreciated that love. And in his special way, showed me he cared.

He was heterosexual, and that was it. We’ve remained good friends.

Today, he told me that he is divorcing his wife, and that he has a lover, another married man.

I was absolutely stunned! Where the hell did that come from?

He was pouring his heart out … so I zipped my mouth and listened … an utterly difficult feat for me.

What was I to say? What did I have to say when in my mind, I wanted to blurt out: “It should have been me, you jerk!” But I love my friend, and when he asked for my advice, I was torn.

This is insane. I am no psychologist. My friends know that I invariably give bad advice. I was wary. I may have had a bad script at hand, following in the wake of “My Husband’s Lover” which I never really watched.

I was now crying with him. For someone who is quick at repartee, I really did not know what to say. I was too stunned. I was thinking, wherever fate takes us … there must be a reason.   

And then it came to me, a phrase from one of my literature classes (though I could not, for the life of me, remember whoever it was who said it): “If chaos be the price of love, let there be chaos.”

I told him to follow his heart and wished him luck!