The Philippines is Asia's largest Roman Catholic Country. According to statistics from Answers.Com, over 72% of my country's population is of the Roman Catholic faith. That's a lot of churchgoers and knocks on St. Peter's door.
It's no surprise, then, that Easter Week, or, what we Filipinos commonly refer to as the "Holy Week", is serious business here in the Philippines.
Life stops from Maundy Thursday to Black Saturday. I was never one to be too ritualistic about the Holy Week, but as a child, I would travel back to my mother's home town of Alaminos in the province of Pangasinan on Luzon Island, to spend a few days with my grandmas, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I would participate in Good Friday processions which would depict the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, not only by praying at the Cathedral by the town plaza, but also, as it was customary among us "kids" at the time, as one of the many sweaty, dirty-fingernailed tots helping push a carriage with a sculpture of the Sorrowful Christ, all across town. That was how my Holy Week was defined during my formative years, through that and utterly rambunctious card games with my zany grandmas all through the nights post-dinner, from Maundy Thursday to Black Saturday. During those days, tablets, social media, the internet, Playstations, did not exist. No local television or radio stations were on normal programming mode. Nothing was all too normal during these 3-5 days in the summertime.
It was all out of the ordinary. And I loved it.
A typical colonial house in Bacoor, Cavite (credits to wikipedia.org)
So for all that talk about Pangasinan, and my childhood, why do I have a stock photo of a colonial house in Cavite, in this post?
Well because Cavite is where I went nine years ago- on a whim- with a very special man.
I am all for deviating from the beaten path. Fast forward to 2005. Holy Week. My folks had gone to Pangasinan as usual, except for my Lolo (grandpa) Ben. My Lolo Ben was my mom's dad, and, as he had demonstrated all throughout his life, he did not believe in holidays. Where was he to be found on Christmas Day? In the office. The Manila Bulletin. In the ancient city of Intramuros. Where could he be found on New Year's Eve? In the office. The Manila Bulletin. In the ancient city of Intramuros. Where could good ol' Lols be found during Labor Day? In the office. The Manila Bulletin. In the ancient city of Intramuros. For 59 years- and that's not a typo- he worked for the country's oldest daily broadsheet.
"The news doesn't stop happening- regardless of whether it is a regular day, or a holiday. The people need their newspapers every morning." he always used to tell me, whenever I would implore him to take a break, or go with the family to the beach, or do something utterly mundane, like, have a cup of coffee with us at a Manila coffeehouse. It wasn't that he was being selfish, or a workaholic like people tend to be workaholics nowadays. Here was a man that was so consumed, so driven, by his calling to ensure that the news was reported in the best way possible, and in a timely fashion, that he considered it a disservice to people, and all in all, "boring", to stop working. He was totally at ease- in a Zen Master kind of way- while at his Editor's desk. He would take me to the Bulletin on Sundays when I was an elementary school student, have me edit minor news items, have merienda with me, laugh with me about something stupid we'd see on the boob tube, have me play games with some of the off duty reporters, and just be one heck of a cool grandpa. I loved him for being this way. I loved the way he carried himself, how he never abused his power, how he treated his staff (and later, his students at the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila, or, the University of Manila) like equals, and/or friends. I loved him because he was my grandpa, my second dad, my best buddy, and my biggest supporter.
2005 was the year I graduated from Ateneo De Manila University. I had volunteered to stay with Lols in Quezon City while the rest of my family went to the province. Now, the fact that Lols did not go with my grandma, mom, dad, and the rest of my kin, on road trips was not something he did out of any ill will whatsoever. He would always reason that he would have to drop by the office at some point to make sure people got their special Holy Week editions of the daily paper. Everyone understood grandpa's passion for the business and no one ever took his absence, against him.
By 2005, Lols was officially retired from the Manila Bulletin. I highlight the word officially because he never really accepted retirement. He would still go to Intramuros every week for Board Meetings (he was made a member of the Bulletin's Board of Directors in 2003), followed by teaching 1-2 classes at the nearby Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila (he taught Media Law and Journalism). Soon, he was back in the saddle, back onboard as a "Consultant" to the paper. He just loved what he did so much. It really hurt when, weeks before he passed away some years back, he would still ask about the paper, and still be met by colleagues- young and old, at the hospital.
On this Holy Week in 2005, I found myself with my cool grandpa, a few DVDs into Good Friday, bored out of our respective minds.
"I am so bored." he quipped at around 3pm. By this time, the heat was unbearable, as was the usual thing during April in the Philippines.
"Let's take your car, Miguel, and let's just drive."
"Where do we go, though? Everything will likely be closed."
"We can go to Intramuros. To the office. There will be reporters and copy boys on duty there at this time."
And so, with something that barely resembled a plan, there we were- us whippersnappers, on a roadtrip to lord knows where. We went to the Bulletin and met his longtime secretary, Delia, along with Joey, one of the NewsRoom's tech guys. Delia had been Lols' secretary since the late seventies to early eighties, and I believe, from the time he was President of the National Press Club of the Philippines. Delia was also my chief babysitter each time I was at the Bulletin riding shotgun with my grandpa.
To this day, I must apologize to Delia for that one time when I was 5 years old when I commandeered my granfather's stamp and ink pad. The stamp read, "Approved by Ben F. Rodriguez". The ink on the inkpad it came with was dark blue. It seemed like a perfect combination for trouble.
Being the slightly mischievous child that I was, I dunked my grandpa's stamp into his inkpad box and literally landscaped Delia's desk with "Approved by Ben F. Rodriguez" text.
Two things were sure beyond a shadow of a doubt:
1) At the end of the ordeal, I had some cleaning to do with Rhea Rubbing Alcohol and some cotton.
2) At the end of the ordeal, I had some explaining to do for the mess.
3) At the end of the ordeal, you would have to have been blind, and crazy, not to know that that table, formerly white, and made of good wood, was undeniably APPROVED BY BEN F. RODRIGUEZ.
For 1000th time, sorry for the afternoon, Delia. I was just a boy.
When we did meet Delia on that good Friday in 2005, Lols ended up hanging around the office and checking off some papers. We saw some other staffers on the 2nd floor of the Bulletin Head Office who looked like they needed some strong coffee and a vacation. Still, they conducted their business with notable aplomb and carried on. I've worked for 9 years now, and for some reason, the passion shown by those in my Lolo's line of work still tops my list for admirable, "do it 'til you drop" work ethic.
After some work, and some laughs, Lols and I, along with Delia and 1-2 others, drove along Roxas Boulevard (absolutely empty, even more empty that when Manny Pacquiao has fights on Sunday afternoons nowadays), towards a place called Macapagal Highway. To my recollection, Macapagal Highway in 2005 was not quite as developed and bustling as it is today. Back then, in an age where commercial WIFI did not exist, and where the SM Mall of Asia was still a dream, Macapagal Highway's highlight was, well, a branch of the iconic Max's Fried Chicken Restaurant.
Through some divine intervention, Max's was open on that fateful Good Friday night. Lolo, if I recall, had some vegetable soup, some bread, and some chicken. I pigged out because the atmosphere- having loved ones, and friends around, in a setting conducive to conversation, and laughter, and fun- called for it. After dinner, we agreed to drive Delia home to her house in Cavite.
(In case you've been patiently waiting, here's the part wherein we actually begin talking about Cavite.)
By this time in 2005, I had never driven out of the Metro Manila area yet. For some reason, though, I felt extra confident because Lols was around. It wasn't that I expected him to have the capability to do a James Bond and save us in case a bus run roughshod on our silver hatchback Opel. Rather, it may have been because he was always so cool about how he handled things that, ultimately, the feeling that prevailed was the thought that there was "nothing to worry about". A "Hakuna Matata" moment, for sure.
We arrived at Delia's place at around 1030pm and we all chatted for a good hour and a half. Lols was his usual charming self, and he managed to make everyone laugh effortlessly. We drove into the night and back home to Quezon City at 12mn and arrived back at the house by 130am. Lols was pooped, but then, in his own quiet way, he conveyed that he had fun and wasn't bored anymore. I suppose that this entire roadtrip may seem ordinary to the passer-by, but this holds additional significance to me because, well, this sort of tryst never happened again between me and my grandpa.
Cavite and Intramuros are instantly special to me because of my grandpa. Truth be told, Intramuros can be a difficult place to navigate, and while I do have friends and loved ones who have worked and/or lived in Cavite, there is not much else I can speak of in reference to Cavite. Holy Week. Grandpa. Great memories.
Holy Week 2014 is upon us, and this time, just like 9 years ago, I have opted to stay in Manila for the next few days. It's funny how I've found myself writing about this now, given that I had just recently told myself about how great it would have been to have hopped on a plane to somewhere for a "40 winks" holiday. I suppose that part of the reason why I've found myself in the city as it shuts down for a blink and a half would be to remember why Holy Week means so much to me in the first place. The significance of the entire week goes beyond it being a brief respite from work (even just a weeeeeee bit). It reminds me loved ones long gone- my grandpa, my Lola Embing, my dearest friends Tara, and Rina. I suppose that the resonance of memories are born amidst silence. No greater, happier, more poignant memories exist in this bard's mind than those of me and my gramps.
He was a significant part of history during the Marcos years, and was a devoted family man all throughout his adult life. Heck, he was the coolest guy I ever knew. He thought the world of me, and I, well, thought the UNIVERSE of him.
Below is one of my favorite photos of him. He wore a shirt just like the one he's got on here during our roadtrip in '05.
The man had style, he did.
I have a lot to thank him for.
Here is another one of my faves.
Moral of the story- sometimes the best laid plans, are not really the best plans, at all. Sometimes, what happens on a whim, can be something great that you'll remember forever.
Keep those who you care about close this week. Stay safe. Don't forget to reflect. Enjoy the silence. :)
MC
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