Turning 59 amid a Pandemic

From age 55 onwards, I have always looked at each additional birthday as a bonus.

This year’s bonus was the most unique. I did not travel as I usually would. I broke bread with nobody. I was unable to do my usual birthday project. The most painful, I was not able to go to church although I was able to hear mass online.

Those of us who lived through this pandemic are bound to never forget our experiences, our misadventures, the challenges, and difficulties. And those of us who celebrated birthdays, anniversaries and other memorable days might consider this a peak experience. Unfortunately, the light at the end of the tunnel is a flicker of optimism, but from a distance, not yet a beacon of hope.

Those of us who lived through this pandemic, made more difficult by natural calamities, had a double whammy. Areas repeatedly hit by several storms on top of a volcanic eruption over just a short period of respite, have, instead of that flicker of optimism, an emergency flare fluttering in the distance – one that hissed and shone for a very brief period and then died.

We have all had lessons. Or at least one lesson. Mine is: should we ever decide to throw all our problems and worries in a communal heap and see for ourselves how lucky we still are, seeing how others miserably fared, we would grab our piles back, swiftly.

Hence, I have never complained. I still have more to be thankful for.

Lully

I bet you never knew that Nanay's nickname, Lully, was taken from this Coventry Carol:

 

She never liked her given name, Dolores, which in Spanish meant pain/grief/sorrow and I never heard her mother, Lola Towa, ever call her that. Lola admitted to it being her biggest mistake in life as it somehow became true, Nanay lost her father on her first birthday. 

Today would have been Nanay’s 90th Birthday. She passed on on Niños Inocentes Day in 2002 (Fiesta de los Santos Inocentes) at the age of 72. 

Nanay in her mid-twenties, taken from a Leica, their first camera.

Yesterday, Jee Jan, Binggot and I were joking around and one of Nanay’s traits was brought up – punctuality. She was never late for an appointment, something that my sister and I inherited. When she says we leave at 8:45, you would best be ready and in the garage by 8:43 or you will be left behind. 

Nanay with Edlouglen at Rizal Park in the late 60s.
Tatay was using his new toy, a Hasselblad

One weird thing Nanay practiced was when she was going to play mahjong (usually on weekends), she would not leave the house until the dining table was cleared and the dishes were done with the sink empty and spotless. So, the moment that lunch was announced, everyone had to eat right away. She was not into ‘speed eating’ but the moment she was done (because she did not want to be assigned to a different mahjong table, preferring to play with her usual group), everyone else should be finished with lunch, too, lest your plate, with one’s unfinished lunch, be swiped off the table. Table cleared, dishes hurriedly washed, and she was off. Fortunately, none of Edlouglen inherited the desire to play mahjong on a regular basis. Yes, we learned, from a young age, but would only get to play during wakes and other special occasions. Louella gets complementary rooms in some casinos near where they live but they only go there at the most, once a month, to wrestle with the one-armed bandits.

When she died, Nanay just learned how to use a celfone. Social media was not yet a thing then. Had she lived to do Facebook, for example, she would have blown her top and given a piece of her mind to people who lacked reading comprehension. 

I can almost see her, with my mind’s eye, reacting to these situations: 

• A grieving son posting on Facebook: “Daddy passed away this morning at 89. COVID-19 is not the cause of death so we will have a wake for him.” A relative’s immediate reaction: “Isolate yourselves. Do not spread the virus.”

• A single mother lost her job and to make both ends meet, is offering to sell her car online: “Toyata Vios 2018 A/T, first owner, well maintained, only PhP450 thousand.” A prospective buyer responds: “How much?”

She was, in retrospect, a mix of patience and impatience. She was very patient with tasks to the point of being meticulous. Darning her knitted materials, she would take to the task and finish what needed to be done and you would not know it was even damaged and repaired. Her crochet and knitting skills were so expert she could carry a conversation or watch television and not miss a count. 

Oh but do not ever make her wait. If, for example, you had a meeting and you come in late, she will poke holes in your body with eyes that are unmistakably angry, not just offended. No contrite looks will appease her, she will inevitably talk you down. 

This cómoda con espejo (more popularly known as an aparador) and matching tocador were Tatay's 24th Birthday Gift to Nanay, the same month she gave birth to Manong. On the aparador was inscribed: "To My Darling Lully, 1954."

Louella had these heirloom pieces restored.

I hated having to fly with her because when ETA’s are not complied with, she would walk her frustration off up and down the pre-departure area with a sullen look on her face and woe to whoever says hello to her because she would start a tirade on how unprofessional the airline is. It was only funny until she walks up to the airline’s service counter and then, in a very soft voice, she would give them a piece of her mind and if anyone there dares to interrupt, she’d start again from the beginning of her spiel. 

She was not averse to sitting in the very back of the bus on the condition that nobody near her triggered her hyperosmia. Oh yes, she had such a keen sense of smell that anyone who was intoxicated, had malodorous sweating, or breathed 

like an unemptied ash tray better be ready to get off the bus. 

She was one of the few who earned four beads as a Wood Badger. The Wood Badge is an internationally recognized leadership course for Scouting volunteers and professionals. When she passed on, she was Council Commissioner for Leader Training and was honored with a Scouter’s Burial. 

That was my Nanay. There was definitely more to her that meets the eye. 

This piece by no means sums up her life. But I could always go scot-free ribbing her, sometimes calling her Dolyares. Well, almost always, because if you knew her and look closely at me, you know I am her spitting image, and she took after me! 

Remembrance and Thanksgiving

Haiku

Twenty-five years passed
I can still see you clearly
Your voice still booming

This is my favorite photograph of my father, taken right before the Lion's Club Induction at the Aklan Cultural Center. It was an opportunity to use the word "isputing" which was street talk for 'dressed to impress'. He was tasked to introduce their Guest of Honor and I, a Grade V pupil, wrote his spiel. 

Though I literally am the spitting image of Nanay, I was closer to Tatay, a World War II veteran and a boxing aficionado who absolutely had no qualms about my being gay.

This was taken after I won my first writing competition when I was a High School Junior.

He always insisted on getting a copy of all my published articles and when I became a correspondent for a Singapore-based publishing firm producing lifestyle magazines exclusively for a major credit card company's Gold Account holders, I had a problem because I only get one copy per issue. Of course he had them. Frustrated that he could not give away copies to relatives and friends, I was compelled to write Entertainment features for Manila Bulletin's Panorama Magazine which came out on Sundays. He bought them by the dozen.  

People are invariably surprised to find out that Tatay served as Chairman of the Poblacion Barangay Council of our hometown, Libacao. And let me hasten to add, he was elected, not appointed, the latter being what people always assumed, because, though he understood the language and it nuances, he could not speak Aklanon.
This is inscribed on the marker of their project, The Cry of Balintawak, a triangular shaped monument at the entrance of Poblacion proper.

Dear Friend (who cannot be named)

When the campaign period began in 2016, we decided to support different candidates but vowed to remain friends. When Digong won, you invited me to eat out. I love that you were magnanimous in victory (but stingy because you did not allow me to have steak). That night, we avoided politics and talked about anything and everything else until we both had to report for work -- no showers, no change of clothes.

Since then we have had numerous impassioned discussions and fiery debates over our body politics. Even if we felt like killing each other several times over, we have remained friends.

Lately, we have not had a chance to sit down for coffee or break bread because of the pandemic. I miss arguing with you.

For almost 2 months now, we have not had a chance to even talk because you are always bushed now that your Mom and Dad’s Alzheimer’s are in Stages 5 and 7, respectively. Good thing you can work from home and your faithful kasambahay is still, well, loyal.

Boy was I shocked when, from out of the blue, you texted to taunt me about the non-renewal of ABS-CBN’s franchise. I did not respond. But we both know I will not remain quiet.

So here goes. Is your life any better now that Congress has slammed the lid on ABS-CBN?

There are a lot of new items I wish to discuss with you, but I know better than rile you at a time when you barely have time to call your very patient and understanding fiancée.

Let me pause and give you time to catch your breath.

I must admit I really am itching to debate with you, but I love you too much to be either a rock or a hard place (or both) when you have been so sleep-deprived. I know that for the first time in your privileged life, you wish you were not an only child.

Do not worry, you will not be alone much longer. And yes, I will still be the program host for your wedding reception next year. I have not done that in over a decade but even if the butterflies in my stomach morph into a stampede of elephants, there is no backing out.

I so look forward to your having children. Your first child, as promised, will call me Ninong. Carla wants 5 kids. Five kids who will have to pay the debts incurred by your Idol Digong.

#TumorYears dear friend. And 7 months as a bachelor.

Love from your friend who is twice your age plus 4.

No Leisure Trips ALOUD

 

Herminio Lopez Roque, Jr., more popularly known as Harry Roque, Presidential Spokesperson (with a Cabinet position) as well as the head of the Strategic Communications Task Group of the National Task Force COVID-19, once again figured in another controversy, this time by going on a “side-trip” to Ocean Adventure, thereby violating health protocols to prevent the spread of the China (Wuhan) Coronavirus aka COVID-19.

 

People found out about this ‘misadventure’ when Ocean Adventure posted pictures of Roque’s visit on their social media account, which were subsequently deleted immediately when social media went buzzing with negative reactions. But people were quick to take and save screenshots, aptly called “resibo” (an expression popularized by Joven Laurio of Pinoy Ako Blog [PAB]) as proof of what has transpired.

 

Ocean Adventure, where dolphins, sea lions and various other animals are trained to ‘work for a living’ is a park with a marine theme. Located inside the Subic Bay Freeport Zone (the former US Naval Base), it is operated by Subic Bay Marine Exploratorium, Inc (“SBMEI”).

 

In his defense, Roque emphasized the point that he posed with dolphins, hence no violations were committed. According to him, the side trip was done while en route to his Bataan farm. He avers that he has APOR status (authorized person outside residence) and granted permission to travel to enable him to attend to his agri–business.

 

#CTTO, grabbed from a post on Twitter

However, at the time this happened, unnecessary travel and leisure trips are still banned despite the easing of quarantine measures in Metro Manila.

 

Crafted in response to the pandemic, the current rules have penalized the marginalized, some of whom, including a 72 year old jeepney driver, were immediately jailed, but prominent personalities/government officials such as Senator Koko Pimentel, OWWA Deputy Executive Director Mocha Uson, and General Debold Sinas have violated the same health and quarantine protocols but have not been punished for their infringements. 

Harry Roque just added his name to this list of The Untouchables.

Throttled

Pangungulila is one of those words that is difficult to translate to English. Using google search, dictionary.com gave the word bereavement. But bereavement is too generic, referring to being deprived of a close relation or friend through their death. The definition does not do justice to pangungulila that comes after death.  I tried if melancholy applies but it does not need an obvious cause, so there. Desolation on the other hand is complete emptiness or destruction which does not really cut it even if there is indeed emptiness and destruction combined. Longing does not quite fit even if it refers to that strong, persistent desire or craving, especially for something unattainable or distant, i.e. a longing for home. I would not even settle for yearning which is an intense longing for something—see, pangungulila cannot be placated with an ice cream cone.

 

And then I remembered a Portuguese word, SAUDADE. It too does not readily translate to English but is defined as a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again.

 

This feeling has repeatedly overwhelmed me during the lockdown (brought about by the pandemic that the Sino leaders forbade to be referred to as the Chinese [Wuhan] Coronavirus) as the grim reaper took the lives of a teacher/Lola; a cousin; a dear friend; the 15-year-old daughter of a cousin; an erstwhile lover; a fellow correspondent; and the most overwhelming, an Aunt/favorite Godmother.

 

The specter that is mortality was busy, and I was stuck in my crib, unable to pay my last respects. The nearest was Pasig, but I could not possibly walk that far. Three were in LA, my hometown (Libacao, Aklan) and of course I could not fly or alternately swim freestyle and backstroke that great distance nor walk on Manila Bay to Verde Island Passage to Tablas Strait and finally to Sibuyan Sea. Besides, I would have to go on voluntary 14-day home quarantine/isolation the moment I get there, so what’s the bloody ruse, err use.

 

Even among those who had closure with physical presence during the wake and the interment/cremation, the pangungulila still hits them in the gut and messes with their emotions. Compelled to deal with grief from a distance, the pangungulila zaps one’s energy, leaving a depressed Eveready Bunny.

Dilectis in Paradisum

 

When God calls on His faithful, we should celebrate. Although grief and anxiety may be overwhelming, we surrender to God’s wisdom and embrace our faith even more closely, snugly. Our dear departed is with God.

 

However, as it is written: What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived — the things God has prepared for those who love him. — 1 Corinthians 2:9

 

Lilian Aguila Besana Inosanto has entered into the joy of God and death shall be no more. 

Dilectis in Paradisum, our beloved is in paradise.

 

The look of love... (no favoritism [char], jut that in this particular
photograph, she exudes that look of love, appreciation
and bliss beyond measure)

 

When I learned of Maninay Lily’s passing, two things immediately came to mind: firstly, she has finally been liberated from her sickbed, thanks be to God; secondly, I was worried about her children who will, will greater probability, not be able to come home because of the lockdown due to the pandemic.

 

The first thought was absolute joy; the second, unadulterated misery.

 

Maninay Lily is survived by her nine progeny: Scarlett (Lipa); Suzette (Sue); Roselle (Bebop); Carolita (Bibim); Florence (Flogs); Florencio Paterno (Toto); Lilynette (Lynette, I didn’t know her first name until today); Florante (Nono) and Christine (Ninky).

Maninay Lily conducts an attendance check, but keep your hands off her bag!

 

Anang Lipa, Nono and Ninky are in Toronto; Nang Suzette is in New Jersey; Nang Flogs is in Cebu; Nang Bebop & Nang Lynette are in Quezon City; but fortunately, Nang Bibim and Manong Toto are in Libacao.

 

Being the nearest in proximity, Nang Bibim, who lives in Roxas City, is able to come home to Libacao with ease and regularity. Manong Toto, who comes home as often as he can, got stranded in Libacao during the pandemic. He was supposed to go back to New York by the end of April.

 

As of this writing, there is no interment schedule just yet with travel still restricted.

There are no regular international flights and the Kalibo International Airport is closed. All other airports on Panay Island are closed, except for the Category 2 Evelio Javier Airport in San Jose, Antique which only accommodates propeller aircraft.

 

Another consideration that makes going home difficult is the mandatory 14-day quarantine, which makes no sense in this situation, no offense to the authorities as we submit to the health protocols.

 

This unusual situation confounds and multiplies the already complicated grief that they feel. The siblings are hoping for the best yet are prepared for the possibility that they will not be able to come home for the funeral.

 

I enjoin Maninay Lily’s family, relatives, and friends to please pray, if it be God’s will, that her immediate family be able to come home for her funeral. Let us, altogether, storm heaven with our plea.  

 

The immediate family, those who are not in Libacao, organized a prayer vigil, reciting the Novena for the Dead, organized by Nang Sue’s son Cookie. They also appreciate, and join whenever they can, the 9-Day Novena Masses offered by Amy Villorente Lim in Toronto.

 

She was really beautiful inside and out...

Maninay Lily was 98. She was bedridden for a decade and a half. Nobody might want to openly admit it, but it was definitely difficult for everyone.

 

My sister, who never failed to visit whenever she was home in Aklan, always expressed her appreciation and awe at the excellent and very competent care Maninay Lily had all those years she was bedridden. Louella believed that had it been otherwise, she would have died a long time ago.

 

People who are unfamiliar with such a situation do not understand the physical and emotional demands on those who provide care and comfort at the end of life. May St. John the Evangelist, patron saint of caregivers, intercede for them and grant them special blessings.

 

And may our Almighty Father, source of forgiveness and salvation, grant Lillian Aguila Besana Inosanto, through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all the saints, that she may share your Eternal happiness through Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

Come, let us celebrate the life of our beloved Lily. It was a well-lived, inspired, and inspiring life, one that left us indelible memories to remember her by. Let us cherish her love and share it with the world. We should never allow her smile to fade.

English Translation of In Paradisum:

May angels lead you into paradise

Martyrs receive you at your arrival

And bring you

To the holy city Jerusalem

May the choir of angels receive you

And with Lazarus, once a pauper

May you have eternal rest

Agence Provocateurs

The Lucban Municipal Police Station, by posting a message on social media asking girls not to wear short shorts, fanned the flames of an already simmering frustration over a predominantly misogynistic sentiment regarding rape and subsequent victim-blaming and shaming. Their Chief, perhaps unwittingly, stoked the controversy by trying to justify their deed, which singed their credibility even more.

In Metro Manila, Ben Tulfo’s allegedly minuscule but proud member stood up and spew a conflagration by saying that the manner by which women dress gives men an opportunity to commit rape, In the process, he belittled the opinion (on the Lucban Police controversy) of Frankie Pangilinan, outspoken daughter of Senator Kiko Pangilinan and Megastar Sharon Cuneta, by calling her hija, a pejorative term in this instance, thereby sparking an online tumult on social media.

In the safety of her lair, Senator Pia Cayetano, a self-proclaimed women’s advocate, was quiet. Not even a gasp came as a statement from her office. Meanwhile, the rest of the country was in the firestorm. In the melee, Claro Ganac, a part-time professor at De la Salle University got fired for insinuating that Senator Risa Hontiveros, the feisty and staunch feminist, should be raped by Bilibid inmates.

The nub of the controversy is the mistaken notion that people get raped because of the clothes they wear. This is what the Lucban Police openly emphasized. This is what Ben Tulfo accentuates. This insolence is the weapon of choice of misogynists who, in their impertinence, invariably shame the victims of rape.

Hontiveros asserts: "There is no dress code for rape. Or for sexual harassment. Instead of teaching women how to dress, we should teach men not to rape".

Note that women do not have exclusive sway as rape victims. Men also get raped, the latest in the news is a newbie OFW in the Middle East. In the current scheme of things, as propounded by Lucban Police, Ben Tulfo, and their ilk, one wonders what he must have worn. The apogee here is the extremely revolting fact that even infants get raped.

It should be emphasized that our Revised Penal Code does not recognize the clothing of the victim as an element of rape. In an exhibit aptly called “Don’t Tell Me How to Dress” organized by CNN Philippines, clothes worn by 11 Filipina survivors of sexual harassment or abuse were featured. None of the 11 clothes that we displayed could be described as provocative.

Suddenly, there is a spate of bestiality occurring with alarming frequency, including a man who had sex with two cows. In an online discussion, people were asking Ben Tulfo and the Lucban Police: “What were the cows wearing?”

We seriously need to change our perception of rape and help educate people, raise awareness of the dangers of misogyny and the reality of men as rape victims. We should, as individuals and members of groups, not only fight for justice but proactively promote sensitivity to the plight of victims of sexual harassment or abuse.

No lip service allowed.

 

No bells, no chokers...

You think I need to be married to be whatever you think should complete me?

I am okay. I have a dog. He is an awesome companion.

Argos and I, we never argue.

You, you are married. Why fool around if you are happily married?

Oh, you and your spouse fight every single day.

You are not happy and you want out.

If my dog wants out, I just open his cage. We play.

If I want to be alone he lets me be.

My dog and I, we are happy.

You, you need a dog.

Grief at a time of COVID-19

Struggling with how to begin this article, I only had the title staring back at me, cursor blinking, egging me on. But my mind was shooting blanks, so I had to resort to an old technique, putting in random, disconnected thoughts and ideas that I would then sew together.

 

Frustrated, I gave it a rest, went to Facebook and boom – saw my niece Tweepy’s post that her Lola Mommy, my Auntie/Ninang Lily (Lillian Aguila Besana Inosanto) passed away today, 13 June 2020 at 2:10 pm, in our hometown, LA (Libacao, Aklan). She was 98.

Maninay Lily was the Guidance Counselor of Libacao Elementary School, and much to her chagrin, this imp was a regular in her office.

 

The worst timing for it to happen, during this lockdown caused by the Chinese (Wuhan) Coronavirus. The lockdown already caused grief beyond the common experience. I have had relatives and friends who have died without me being able to physically pay my last respects.

 

“Dying is like the ocean, sometimes the tide comes in gently with soft, delicate waves quietly working in the background. Other days, the waves violently crash into explosions, demanding to be noticed but regardless of how it chooses to do its job, the tide will always come in.” – Sarah Riad, The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

 

My late mother, Dolores Bolivar Inosanto Jereza, always made it a point to condole with the bereaved and would make time to do so. It is a duty she etched, no, seared, in my character. And I have always tried to oblige.

 

But these are trying times made even more so by the lockdown to control the spread of the pandemic. Travel is restricted, and so, the death of people we love (and there is quite a long list during this pandemic) leave us compelled to deal with our grief literally from a distance.

 

Complete family, save of course for Maninoy Pater who has since passed on. From left: Ninky, Nono, Lynette, Toto, Flogs, Bibim, Bebop, Suzette and Lipa. #CTTO: Manong Toto's Facebook.

There is an altogether different level of frustration and disappointment in this particular instance because Maninay Lily’s children: Anang Lipa, Nang Sue, Nang Bebop, Mare Bibim, Nang Flogs, Manong Toto, Nang Lynette, Nono, and Ninky, and their respective families, have been with us in the best and worst times. The fact that I cannot be with you to somehow, in some way, assuage your pain, is frustrating and heartrending beyond words.

 

I visited her in January when I came home for the Ati-atihan. She was, as usual, very sweet (and funny).

Maninay, may you rest in the arms of the Lord who formed you from the dust of the earth, May Holy Mary, the angels and all the saints welcome you now that you have gone forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you, bring you freedom and peace. May Christ who died for you admit you into his garden of paradise. Amen.

Houston, the problem has been resolved...

Could not log in to this blog for a long time because of an email address associated with this that I no longer had access to. It took a while to regain control... the anguish of a frustrating wait. But now that I have sway over this once again, yes, I really am taking control and will readily, eagerly scratch that itch to write. My fingers are ready to dance on the keyboard.

Two Voices: One Shrill; The Other, Silenced

She wanted so much to be a VJ and auditioned for MYX for three consecutive years. During her 3^rd audition in the summer of 2012, she was asked “what has changed since you auditioned last year?” Her reply was: “Mahaba ang buhok ko” (my hair is longer).

Such profundity was consistently manifested in the interview during which she feigned familiarity with the channel but failed miserably when she appeared to not have known and have been caught by surprise that OPM mix became PinoyMix way back in 2007. To think that she purportedly watches regularly and even named her favorite shows.

When asked to deliver a sample spiel, her lines included “This is me behind this camera and off this camera” and “I am fans with them” (referring to the group Callalily).

You could read it in her eyes and body language, the longing, the intense desire to become famous.  She tried to appear knowledgeable, eloquent and intelligent but failed miserably on all three counts.

Yesterday, she finally had her axiomatic 15 minutes of fame … and instantly gained notoriety by alarm and scandal.

That was quite a scene that she created in an LRT station with thousands of people coming and going. She was giving a lady security guard a severe tongue-lashing allegedly because she resented the manner by which her attention was called for failing to have her bag go through a security check.

Unknown to her, the scene she created (showcasing what she thought was her superior English language skills complete with ‘accent with an attitude’), and the condescending treatment she was giving the lady guard, attracted the attention of another passenger who took a video of the confrontation.

The video inevitably went viral on social media, with shares and retweets fueled by negative reactions to Amalayer’s apparent lack of self-respect.

It is possible that she may have had a legitimate grievance. If so, she could have gone to LRT management to complain. Indeed, there are security officers who are so full of themselves, rubbing their bloated egos off people they purportedly serve if only to emphasize that they are persons, or at least agents, of persons in authority.

In the video footage that I saw, it was apparent that she was bent on raising hell and calling attention to herself. She appeared to look around as if asking for sympathy from people who were either surprised, curious or shocked but had no wish to get involved in the fracas.

What was most telling was when she said she studied, ergo educated, as if security guards themselves do not have an education.

The condescending attitude towards security guards is not uncommon. The fact that they have a voice in Congress through a party list representative did nothing to address their plight, primarily that of being overworked and underpaid.

Their job is to ensure the safety of people and property. But most of the time, they do not even have job security. More often than not, they get automatic deductions for government-imposed contributions such as Social Security, PhilHealth and Pag-IBIG but their contributions are not remitted by their agency.

It is such a crying shame that security guards will not be able to send a legitimate voice in Congress, with Ang Galing Pinoy having been disqualified by the Comelec because it failed to meet the requirements for representing marginalized sectors in the House of Representatives.

Two perspectives, one sorry situation.

The Road Mishap

I learned how to drive at age six when I could barely see the road if not for the air-vent below the windshield of our Willys type jeep with dual power transmission.  Tatay named this jeep and all our succeeding jeeps “Edlouglen,” an acronym he created by combining our first names: Edgar, Louella and Glenn. 

As I drove in earnest, Tatay sat on my left side, literally barking instructions. This is one of my fondest memories of Tatay—affectionate—but fit to burst eardrums with his booming voice. I swear our neighbors could hear him whisper!

My driving lessons actually started way before, while still a toddler, when Tatay would make me sit on his lap as he drove, four hands on the wheel, his in the classic ten and two o’ clock position, mine both on the six o’ clock position, barely able to hang on but projecting a steadfast, impervious and smug mien.

I had my litmus test when Tatay allowed me to drive from Kalibo all the way to Libacao at age 9. By the time I applied for a driver’s license, I was shocked to hear him say to the examiner: “you’d better make sure he really knows how to drive or else …” Tatay used to be with the now defunct Board of Transportation. He passed on in 1995.

On Saturday, 02 June 2012, I had my very first accident on the Kalibo to Libacao road. It has been raining for several days and on the zigzag portion going down around a 30 degree elevation in Polo, Banga, the tires slipped and the van slid into a ditch on the right side of the road. There was no way for me to reverse out of the rut.

Fortunately, we were unhurt (I was with Baby, my sister Louella’s ever loyal Yaya who has been with my family even before I was born). The van suffered just a minor damage with its right front wheel bent out of shape because of the rut.

I am thankful I did not step on the gas and attempt a hard swerve to the left to avoid going into that rut because had I done so, I could have overcompensated and we could have jumped into a ravine or ended up sliding down the river had I missed the bridge just around 15 meters down on a hard right turn.

The stuff we had with us was a mess. The floral arrangements I ordered and picked up from a florist fell off from the seats and got mashed. Everything else came out of their perches. All these were for the offertorio of the funeral mass for our Dear Auntie Alice that my sister Louella offered. The late Alicia Inosanto Zonio-Isagan, (retired public school principal and former Vice Mayor of my hometown, Libacao, Aklan) was one of our favorite Aunts, which is why I had to go home to LA to pay my last respects.

So, with the van unable to go anywhere, we started hailing jeeps and mini-buses to get to Libacao. We were not even halfway there yet. Unfortunately, he had too much luggage that required seats as well, seats that were unfortunately not available as most of the public transport vehicles were filled to the rafters.

People who saw the abandoned van on a ditch by the roadside would invariably say: the driver must have been drunk. In fact, when we got to Libacao, I was told of this accident in Polo where a drunk driver ended up in a ditch. Their eyebrows inevitably shot up when I told them I was the driver.

How did we make it to Libacao in time for the funeral?

We hailed (shanghaied) the funeral car. The owner is a cousin on my father’s side. The personnel on board had to transfer to their support vehicle, a diminutive multicab where they were forced to stand at the back, in the rain. Our stuff was now safely ensconced in the area where the coffin goes. And yes, I did not ride lying down; Baby and I were sitting in front.

Now I can say, without batting an eyelash, that I was able to get somewhere on board a hearse.

Have you had that experience? Are you willing to give it a try?

.

Happy Mothers' Day

To all my Lady Mentors, Relatives and Friends ... not necessarily pre-qualified for technically having given birth but for helping nurture me ...

a special shout out to my Aunts EDEN FANCO ORBISTA and ADELAIDA INOSANTO ZONIO, Cousins and Midwives who attended to DOLORES BOLIVAR INOSANTO JEREZA when she gave birth to me.

Happy Mother's Day To All Of You ... with love and respect, always.
.

Acquired Taste

Just a couple of days ago, I made myself a salad of mixed greens with a predominance of arugula and hearts of romaine, cherry tomatoes, hard boiled eggs, croutons and crumbled bleu cheese over bleu cheese dressing.

I twitted about it and someone sent me a one word text message: YUCK! The people I live with (in a boardinghouse) refused to even taste it because according to one of them, it smells funny.

This has been an ongoing issue for quite some time. Friends react negatively when I mention that I love bleu cheese. The gamut of emotions shown makes me wonder why they detest something that I find so delicious.

A former colleague tells me that bleu cheese is an acquired taste.

It is?

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition, defines “acquired taste” as a liking for something that is at first considered unpleasant. The online thefreedictionary.com goes a bit further by saying that is means one that is unpleasant on immediate experience or is likeable only after being experienced repeatedly. Collins English Dictionary defines it as a preference that is only acquired after considerable experience.

I never thought bleu cheese was anything but scrumptious. I loved it the first time I tasted it. I did not acquire a taste for bleu cheese, I acquired more of it.

There was a time when I was between apartments and had to stay with a friend for a couple of days. I bought some bleu cheese and stashed it in his fridge. Armed with a baguette, I went home the following day to have another gustatory experience. I could not find my bleu cheese. The house help told me she threw it away because it was moldy. The garbage bin was empty! (And yes, in response to that question in your mind, I would have: no ifs, no buts.)

For some people, acquired taste means that the food’s perceived negative qualities are ignored in order to enjoy its benefits. But what about food that apparently are just enjoyed for the taste experience per se and not necessarily because there are benefits to it.

As a case in point, I love eating ampalaya (Momordica Charantia or bitter melon). The Department of Health of the Republic of the Philippines recognizes ampalaya as one of the best phytomedicines or botanical medicines but persists in classifying it as a mere nutritional supplement instead of medicine, particularly for diabetes.

Come to think of it, some of the foods I particularly like are indeed unpopular, albeit reprehensible. Some people even find them outright offensive and disgusting, like durian. But I love durian. The creamy pulp is best eaten as is or made into milkshakes, ice cream, candies or even cakes. Unfortunately, durian has high sugar content, and I am a diabetic.

Someone once described eating raw oysters as snoot straight out of a rock. But then again, I love my oysters raw. No boiling, not even scalding, and if possible I want to shuck them myself. No lemon juice, no hot sauce, no nothing. Raw, plain, delicious! If you were to accuse me of loving this for its alleged aphrodisiacal power, then perhaps I could have opted to have it baked or broiled or boiled. I like it raw, so sue me.

I love olives, especially black olives, the Kalamata variety in particular. I also like stuffed olives, especially when capers are used as stuffing. I love them both as an ingredient in Spanish/Mediterranean dishes and as appetizers, especially when offered as a tapenade, that delicious though pungent paste made from black olives, olive oil, capers, anchovies and lemon juice. There are some bistros and delis that offer olive tapenade.

I must admit that there are some things that I got to taste and never liked. I will never ever try them again. On top of this very short list is haggis, a traditional Scottish food with internal organs such as the heart, liver and lungs mixed with a couple of other ingredients and cooked in a sheep’s stomach. Now let me tell you, I do not care a whit about acquiring a taste for it.