II The Legend of Irene Moraga Lumbrera

“With her fiercely independent spirit nurtured by memories of a loving father, she broke free from a convent training and intense family opposition to pursue her own truth guided by the new faith tradition. Always believing firmly that as a child of God, she will never be alone. After building life as businesswoman, single mother, and an active and staunch pillar of the early Iglesia Ni Cristo, Irene came to America with her own dreams and fulfilled them through honesty, diligence, and hard work. Her personal journey is nothing short of miraculous, as it is when a human being is aligned with her divine purpose.”

~Lutgarda M. Resurreccion

 

This is an optional reading but nevertheless, I invite you to see where I came from. To my family, this is well and how I remembered the way we were. I’m telling these stories to the best of my ability and memory, as they happened, not because I loved one more than the other. For some facts missing and inaccuracies, remember, this is some ninety years later.  I dedicate this story to my dearest family and descendants of my father, Francisco “Isko” Mayo Lumbrera and my mother, Antonina Faustino Moraga. In special mention is Nita Toledo, my niece, who has shown great interest in our family saga. This will show how rich and robust the family tree has become over six generations. ~ Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Princess of the East: A Fairy Tale

It is very amusing to share Irene’s story as a fairy tale and see for yourself what have come to my imagination from her narratives. Let us travel back to what was then the future.

 

Once upon a time, in an unknown province of Tayabas in the very far away East, there was a young man by the name of Isko who went to America to become an engineer. After a year or two, he comes back home to share his skills to his people. Isko, tall and handsome, well-dressed in "Americana", the western fashion of suit and tie, riding in his horse, became a picture of a gentleman and prince charming every woman would love, but he was shy and quiet, that he became a bachelor (matandang binata) with no prospect of a woman or wife in sight. He lives with his godfather, who was a rich friend of Igmidio, a jeweler from Meycawayan who goes to Tayabas to do business. On occasions, he will bring Antonina, his only daughter, with him, especially after she became a widow. They will go by a caravan with her on a hammock carried by four men, an entourage that sounds so regal in those times of prince and princess, kings, and queens. They will stay with Isko’s godfather while they were there. As he is tongue-tied, his godfather matches him with Antonina, the beautiful and only daughter of his friend, Igmidio. Soon a romance blossoms, and they got married. They were a handsome couple and blessed with seven children and lived happily after until the last child was born. Antonina died two years later, leaving Isko with ten young children to parent. They named the last child Irene and treated her like a princess. She grew up special because she was! Growing up without a mother, but she turned out into a lovable, smart, young woman, who was being eyed-on by her second cousin, Juaning, a young doctor who will kiss her when she was sixteen and she becomes “pregnant”. A brief courtship with a childish and innocent princess adds to the romance of a “big brother”, the prince. They will marry after all and live with the challenge of age differences unreconcilable despite his true love, as hers was a stubborn self-determination. This is the imaginary kingdom of Irene: her mother and father’s love story so heartwarming and her own one-sided love story with Juaning, so determined to win her childish heart that never learned until the end. In a span of time, they bore an only son Peter; Juaning desperate and unable to win Irene, returns to New York and later dies of cancer.  And the little princess of this unknown kingdom, is our legendary Irene, ninety years later. Tayabas is now known as Quezon Province, named after Manuel L. Quezon, a native of Baler who was then president of the commonwealth during the American regime. Isko became a close friend of the president as he had so much, knowledge and skills to share and his command of the English language, was a valuable resource to a developing country flattened by war.

~Myrna D. Santos

 

My Roots: The Legend of Moraga 

We hailed from the progressive town of Meycawayan, Bulacan, where a river flows through the Central Plains of Luzon to the Sierra Madre mountains. Along with the clear, fresh waters, are pieces of gold naturally free to the local folks. This gold mine makes every household a house of gold where they melt the pellets and turn to beautiful jewelry designs of varying carats. My grandfather, ‘Inkong’ Igmidio Moraga, was a jeweler himself trading to faraway places with rich clientele as Sariaya, Quezon. He owned vast of lands in Bulacan and Nueva Ecija. He loved me and my two older brothers very much. At sunset, we will wait for him as he comes from the farm bringing fruits from his trees. He will bring us to his farm riding in a carabao-driven cart, “Kariton”. He lived to be in his 90’s and before he died, he asked me to wash his body and put on his barong. He was one of three sons to a Spanish friar and businessman named Francisco Moraga, after whom the Plaza Moraga in Manila China Town was named because of his bravery and heroism in the early 19th century. It was written in books that our history would have been different if it were not for him. This stature left us a respected family in Bulacan.

 

Inkong Igmidio has a brother with three daughters and a son, first cousins to my mother’s mother. I remember them as my three beautiful Impo’s (grandmother) who were very rich, Impong Trudis, and Martina, I can’t remember the eldest one. Their family name was Rubio. They were called “Donyas”, (title of respect for rich and honorable women) who never got married and remained “matandang dalaga” (old maids) and were very “masungit” (grumpy). Inkong Victor, their youngest brother, had five children, the youngest was the mother of Juaning, who became my husband. They were in the business and were very successful as they consulted each other for anything. As the only male, he was in charge of their wholesale meat store within the house’s ground floor, a perfect location. They had a big, beautiful corner house that extends to the whole block made of marbles and colored stained glass like a church within the población, close to the center of trade, the local market “palengke”. The Japanese used their house as a headquarters during the war. I grew up there with my Impos that the Japanese officers became fond of me. One time, they saw a lot of men’s shoes, when they asked me, whose shoes those are, I told them, they were my father’s, or they will look for my brothers! One of them, my Impong Trudis/Tuding (Gertrudis Faustino) has lot of rental apartments in Quiapo. She was very fond of me; she tagged me along to give her company, from the church every morning, to places in Manila in her Berlina, with her own driver, especially to collect rentals at the end of the month. She carried her money in big cans, (balde). She will surprise me with her hands closed, she will say, “Can you throw this in the garbage?” and when she opens it to me, I say, “This is money!” as I give it back to her, she will tell me, “Keep it and save it. At the end of the year, you will have a lot already”. She gave me a small box to keep and save them as my piggy bank. I grew up with her, but my father wanted me to sleep at home every night. My brothers hated it when I was with her as they feared that I may get influenced to become “sungit” (grumpy), too. But despite of that, they were very generous. They are always helping people. They sent bright students to college to study Medicine and Pharmacy. I also remember her sister, Impong Martina. They lived to be over hundred years old, and I witnessed how they turned into their second childhood, (bumalik sa pagkabata) though they remained strong and active. They grew up baby teeth that looked like irregular, sawtooth, and I saw it, indeed! Myrna always kids me" Let me know if you’re growing some baby teeth already!" They were always dressed in Maria Clara, even at home, and I used to carry their “tails” whenever they will go for a walk, especially going to church every morning. They were very religious Catholics and close to the church. They donated large sum of money and lands to the Catholic Church. Cardinals and Bishops came to their house to eat on fiestas and holidays that left me wondering why they did not come to anoint them in their sick bed, nor attended their funerals.

 

My Impong “Polin”, Apolinaria Faustino Pilares was the sister of Antonina and Tacquio’s mother. She gave us a farm lot where my father built our house after moving out of Quezon province. When I got older, I looked for her and introduced myself. She liked me and remembered me as a daughter of her niece, Antonina. She became fond of me, as I was fond of her. She has five children, three girls and two boys. Teodora Pilares, her first born daughter looked like a mestizang Castila (Spanish Mestiza). She was mean (masungit) and took over the family business after. They, too, have a very big house, almost like a church, with stained glass windows and marble floors. She has a butler and a bunch of maids. One day, I told her that I would like to eat lunch in her house, but I am not alone. I brought the whole class of fifteen and we ate in their long table served by the maids. My classmates were awed by the experience, we had several days of lunch there. I refused to take off my slippers, same as my friends. The servants did not like that as they gave us all a bath before lunch. They needed to wipe the floors as fast as they could as soon as we left. How can they complain, as my Impo (grandmother) cuddles me in her lap!

 

Kakang “Tacquio” Eustaquio Bordador, my rich uncle, first cousin of my mother Antonina (their mothers are sisters), dresses up like a poor man who carries a “bag of cash” riding in a Berlina. One day, he went to a jewelry store, the salesgirl refused to entertain him because he was wearing his “corto” (short pants) while his Berlina is parked in the front. He is married to a mean lady, Tandang (Old) Ariang. She used to send me for errands in the market that one day, I asked her to do an errand for me, too. I asked her to drop off some stuff to my house. I told her, I did errands for her, she should do errands for me, too. She did not like that and got mad. This has taught me, to be aloof from rich people. On the other hand, as a culture, we really do not ask “utos” (commands) from our elders, Juana taught me. ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

What runs in the Family:

Glimpses on our life back then

It is common that cousins marry one another, that husbands are older than their wives, because they must wait for the girls to mature and be ready for marriage. One note to remember, the women in our earliest generation were short lived. Of course, they had borne many children resulting from early marriages. Girls marry young, before they reach the age of twenty, older men have already chosen them to be their mate. That is a very tender and productive years, they bear a dozen or more children. My mother had ten children. Juana “Aning,” my eldest sister had fifteen after she married Pedro “Pedring” Evangelista, also a cousin, at a very young age. Carmen is their first child; I took care of her. She saw how Juana treated me like one of her own children, so she got the notion that she can treat me like that as well. As she got older, she got stronger and meaner. I have kept my distance farther. I refused to go back to her house, but Juana begs my father, so Carmen will have a playmate, I was over four years older than her. I remember Juana’s lessons very well, too. She told me to step on Juaning’s foot on our wedding day, to make sure that I will not be taken advantaged of (under the saya). When I got a chance, I stumped on his shoes, surprised, he asked me, “Why did you do that?” I told him, “Tradition”! This is our way of life then; we must live according to our times. My father learned to be more protective of her daughters, but still. 

 

Our families are bright and intelligent like my father. Juana, graduated Valedictorian in high school. She married at seventeen as her older husband-to-be was already waiting for her to mature. She did not go to college, but she perfected good housekeeping and parenting and cooked well. She kept her house spic-and-span clean. She took good care of all her children, giving them baths every day. She took care of her younger siblings, too, as we lost our mother when we were very young. She is a strong-willed woman. Pedring, was an only son to a sibling of three girls for Paulina and Agustin, the grandparents of Carmen and her siblings. As Paulina loves Pedring, she will cook his favorite food and bring it to the house. Juana told Paulina to stop bringing food for one, as they have a lot of children and me as well. Juana thinks it was rude to let Pedring eat while the children were looking. While Pedring had a lot of children, Paulina thought that she could ask for one when her daughters cannot bear children. She was looking at beautiful Juanita and started wooing her with gifts. This attempt was recognized by Juana at once and told Paulina bluntly, “I’m not giving away any of my children.” Indeed, she lived for them. All her children finished college and are now all living in the United States. Juanita, her sixth child, became a scholar here in the US as an exchange student and became a nurse. She met her husband Dr. Antonio “Tony” Toledo of Cavite, while he was an intern at St. Luke’s Hospital. They got married and came to the US, Tony practiced Medicine as a surgeon, while Nita, took care of their four children, two boys and two girls. They live in Connecticut and now have eight grandchildren. She was inviting me I hope I could, one day visit them. Iluminada “Lumen” graduated from accounting and landed a good job at the Land Bank. I was surprised to meet her again when I was working to finance my growing textile business.

 

Business runs in the family, from jewelry to gasoline, to fishing and poultry, there is always money to rake in. As a young girl, I saw how my Impos do business from manufacturing to wholesale of meat. They have a factory of chicharron (cracklings). They bought cows and carabao skin in bulk, boiled them and dried in the sun. When it’s ready for deep frying, buyers from Manila were already in line. I was not allowed in the kitchen that runs 24 hours. But I asked the workers for a piece of crackling before everything is sold out, yummy, it’s good! Emerenciana, my eldest half-sister was married to a businessman and became millionaires from gasoline and auto supplies. I remember, how they were making and counting monies and not telling my father. They hid the money in the attic, in the pillows and in the car tires, then they will come to our house and see what food they can get. My father will buy extra food for them because we hid the food whenever we know she’s coming. I told her once, “Why don’t you buy your own? You have money!” When they remembered to check the monies, termites have already attacked the bills in the attic and the “utusan” (servant) discovered the pillow. My father helped them save what they can, and the rest got surrendered to the bank, useless.

 

My brother Mario, never wanted to go to school, instead, he wanted to go with businessmen bringing young coconut “buko” to Manila. My father used to look for him because he wanted him to go to school. Finally, when he was ready, he started all kinds of businesses, so that he became well-to-do. He started the first Funeraria Zuleta in Meycawayan, Bulacan, inspired by his godfather, Mr. Padilla from Malabon, who owned the Padilla Funeral Homes. He designed his own coffin, so beautiful with white satin lining which he used as marketing sample, never for sale at all.  I remember, when we were young, we used to play in the parlor and hide in those coffins! Next to it, is a store of fresh young coconut. He was a good man, advocating for the poor. He loans the coffins to the family just to be able to bury their dead. He fights for their rights to be given church services, as when the priest refuses them for their poverty and inability to give good amount of donation. He went all over Bulacan to talk to people about his funeral services. He got widowed early, leaving one child. He cried so hard, like no one can imagine, until I saw Imelda cried over my son’s death. He re-married as soon as possible, the day after the funeral. Then he built another floor (story) on top of the other. He got widowed four times and the house had four floors then. The last wife was young and stayed home most of the time, and I always told her to come down occasionally, or she too will die, nevertheless, she stayed upstairs, to prevent her distance from Mario’s children on each floor, or avoid the wagging tongue of neighbors, or probably because she’s on the fourth floor, and that’s quite high at that time, without elevators! She outlived Mario who died in his early sixties, as he was in the Quiapo Church for his Friday novenas. A neighbor from Meycawayan saw him lifeless, slouched in the pews. Before he died, he moved his family to a farm and made a compound for all his children, today, everybody-his grandchildren and their children stayed in this same compound, until space and legal issues arose. His son, Alfredo, took over the Funeraria Zuleta and was in charged, he has consulted me about his clan, I told him clearly to let everybody stay there. I never heard about that issue again.

 

My son, Peter, continued my business when I left for the US as I cannot live with Imelda. Through my income from doing all sorts of odd jobs in New York, he was able to capitalize the building of multiple rental units in my lot and earlier farm, the frontage of which were under long-term lease with local companies. My grandson, Paulo have a car dealership and a carwash business. He was trained by his father and made in-charged with the properties after he died. My niece, Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of Pedro has moved to Taiwan. She became a lawyer and remained single and has a business there. She brought all her siblings to Taiwan and are now working with her. She built rental apartments, a grocery, and a recruiting agency. She is inviting me to visit them, hopefully in good days, still in my bucket list, then I can see everyone. I want to see traces of my brother Pedro in them. As I am the sole and oldest living among my siblings, I am so happy to be able to re-tell these stories as I met most of my eldest greats through Emerenciana, as she tagged me along in her visits to our relatives. She passed unto me our rich invaluable story of the way we were. ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

The Lumbrera Heirloom: In Honor of My Father

One of the greatest blood relatives, worth mentioning is Claro M. Recto, a first cousin of my father, Francisco M. Lumbrera. They have M for Mayo in their middle names that makes Claro, my uncle. They grew up and went to school together. They used to study by the National Library in Luneta on evenings under the bright light post. Claro became a famous lawyer “Abogado de Campanilla” and later, a great political leader. He was married to a socialite and had children, including Chona Recto, a beautiful socialite like her mother who got so close to my sister Florencia, who became her secretary as well. His son Clarito was very handsome, he died young from a motorcycle crash as he avoided a mother and child on a zigzagged road, he fell in a “bangin” (deep ravine) and instantly died; his son Rafael was the father of Ralph Recto Jr. who is married to the actress, Vilma Santos, now a Congresswoman of Lipa.

 

My father, Isko became an engineer for Tutuban Railway Station and built roads and bridges in Tayabas before he was appointed Chief of Police by then President of the Commonwealth, Manuel L. Quezon. There were four bridges then that were always washed away by heavy current from typhoons. Upon my father’s careful study, he suggested that the guided bridge will be demolished and instead, put drains under them and flattened the stones into roads. Those roads are still there up to this time.

 

A Perfect Father

My father, Francisco “Isko”, was born in Lipa and grew up in Manila.  He is every woman’s dream, tall, handsome, educated. He portrayed himself as such in his own signature style: ‘buli’ hat, leather shoes and long white shirts. He is a man of principle determined to stand on his own, or maybe a man of great pride. When my mother lost her inheritance to her cousin Sabrina, Claro offered to help him pursue the case, but my father insisted, “I can take care of my children.” He would not like people to think that he married my mother for her money and wealth. I had no recollection how I grew up to be without a mother. I knew it was my father who I have loved so much as he had loved me. His words became my “living bible”, I believed in him, as what he tells me were always true. I remember boasting about him when I was in grade school. When my teacher asks how I knew things, “Who told you that?” I say, “My father told me.” “Is he a teacher?” I say, “yes, he’s an engineer, too!” He is a good provider and manager of a big household by himself. As we got orphaned by my mother, our rich relatives wanted to adopt us all because they thought we were a beautiful bunch, but my father was so tough and determined to keep us all together. He will wake up at four o'clock in the morning to cook breakfast for us before we go to school. In the afternoon, when he comes home from work, he already has our favorite food for dinner. When I was around six years old, he will bring me to his work. I learned a lot from him that still guide me up to this time. It is from him that I got my talents. Like him, I built a road in my farm and my state-of-the-art house in Lipa without any architect. I designed a native looking house from outside, with a modern contemporary style interior. The house is surrounded by a beautiful garden, tended by my poultry workers in their spare time. I remember, too, how we prevented women, not one but few, from flirting with him!

 

When we were growing up, he will bring my three older brothers and me to Baguio and stay there for a month every summer. We will take a train ride from Meycawayan to La Union, then a bus to Baguio. We love it there so much. It’s a great vacation from school. We have once exclaimed; we want to live there. Few years ago, I joined my sister Juana and her daughter Lumen, to go for a short vacation in Baguio. We stayed in the vacation house who was then occupied by my niece, Priscilla, the daughter of my sister Emerenciana. Then Juana told us that the house was built by our father as our vacation house. It was a great surprise. I felt so happy and loved him more.  

 

He had three horses, tall, beautiful stallions that he matches with style when he rides. One day, he asked me to fetch all my brothers and sisters who were living in the same compound, but nobody was available at once, until the ambulance came to bring him to the hospital. When they all came surrounding him in his bed, he told me to go home for an errand which I felt bad because I wanted to be with them. With a heavy heart, I left. While I was in the house, I felt that my father has died, and I just knew it!  Never did I know that he was telling my siblings to take care of me. He did not want to tell them that in my presence. He died from tetanus that he acquired when he got a splinter from cleaning his horses. They cannot diagnose him, as there was no seen clear injury, but from further questioning, I told them that he went to clean his horses. Then they saw a splinter on his big toe! ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

The Medal: Bravery and Heroism Once More

The bravery and courage of our great, great grandfather, Francisco Moraga, embedded in our genes has been tested on several, not ordinary but highly intense occasions, when the bravery and heroism of a Moraga showed once more, and more!

 

My eldest brother Pedro who is close to me and stood as my father when I got married, was a US Army and served in the war. He was with General Mc Arthur when he landed in Leyte in 1944.Unfortunately, he got hit by a war tank and severely disfigured his face beyond plastic surgery while saving a US Major from being hit by a bomb that almost cost his life. They wanted to bring him to the US, but he was too critical, so the Americans put him at the V. Luna Hospital where they treated him as he got blinded and was given an eye transplant. They did so many surgeries to reconstruct his face. The US Army called my father to say he is in serious condition, and he brought him home. When we saw him, with all the bandages in his face, we all cried as we cannot recognize him. For his bravery and courage, he received several medals of honor. He separated from service and received remunerations and pension. It helped Juana to send all her children to college. He offered to send me back to college and finish a degree, but Juana said, “There is no need. She’s already married!” Pedro remained single for a while, until he met a woman from the Vizayas, got married and had ten children, nine girls and one boy. All these daughters kept their father’s Lumbrera family name, as well as their children. They wanted to perpetuate their Lumbrera legacy and heirloom. I only know two of these children, Elizabeth, and Ligaya.

 

After the war, we lived in a farm in Meycawayan. One day, my brother Roberto was riding the calesa (horse-driven carriage) carried by my father’s horse. The horse was beautiful with those dangling silver headdress that make synchronized sound, almost musical, as it walks. That did not escape the eyes and ears of the goons from the nearby town of Pulo, Bulacan. They captured and beat him. When they released him the following day, my brother Mario went to the police and asked them to raid the gang. When the police refused, he took all the guns and called his friends to join him to confront the goons. Like a general, he was so brave to scare them not to touch his family ever again!

 

My sister Socorro loved me so much, she used to say that my feet were always cold. She was married to a certain widower with a last name of Marcelo, noted for manufacturing rubber slippers. They lived in Marilao where the HukBalahaps (Hukbong Bayan Laban sa Hapon) were hiding during the liberation. Our father taught her how to use the carbine gun for self-defense. I saw her and she was really good and extremely sharpshooter. They had six children. When they moved to Quezon City, noted for goons after the war, they were invaded in their house and hurt all of them, including their five children. When their teenage son came and saw his family all lying on the floor, he took the bolo on the wall, looked for the goons and killed them all! He was taken in by the police and was bailed for a month, until he was acquitted for the intense psychological impact of witnessing such act of terror against the entire family.   

 

I was not an exception, as it was from him, Francisco Moraga, that I got my genes of being tough, strong, and fearless as they once called me the “woman with a beard”, (babaeng may balbas). When I had the chicken farm by myself, I used to carry a Wesson gun (de bola) and a Butterfly knife (balisong) like a real BatanguenaTirong” (goon). One day, my worker threw a mouse at me to scare me. I fired my gun in between his legs as he ran as fast as he could and never returned. I remember, Juaning’s father and sister going against me for the same reason, fearlessness, courage and strength, the legacy of my great grandfather.

~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Beyond the Naked Eye: I must be Special

I heard them say, when I was around five years old, I got sick with dysentery that I was very sick. As they brought me to the hospital, the doctor told my father that they cannot do anything anymore. So, he brought me home. He asked my sister Emerenciana to remove my clothes and bathe me with warm water and dry me up with a towel. As soon after that, I woke up and went outside to play as if nothing happened. Similarly, when I delivered my son, my blood pressure was so low to none, almost passing, they thought I was dying, I said, “I cannot die, nobody will take care of my son!” With these near-death experiences, I know that I have more missions to do in my life.

 

When we were growing up, my father moved us to a farm given by Impong Polin, where he built a house made of bamboo. As a young girl, I planted a seed of duhat (local black grapes/berries). Over the years, the tree grew up so tall and straight that you cannot see the top if you are under it. One day, the Japanese came by trucks. When they stopped, I warned everybody, “The Japanese are here!”. Everybody, led by my father quickly went in the underground pit which he built for air raids during the war. I did not see anyone so fast that I got nervous. I needed to hide as the Japanese were there with their long riffles with sharp-ended knives on the tip (bayonets), ready to kill anyone near or far. I ran to climb my Duhat tree to hide, so fast until I reached the top. Meanwhile, my father already knew I was missing in the pit as he counted everyone. "If something happens to Irene, somebody here will be responsible," he warned my brothers. They quickly said, “Don’t worry, she’s fine. She knows how to hide”. "How did you know that?" "Because we play taguan (hide and seek)." So, the sun has set, was getting dark, and the Japanese were gone. Then I shouted to my father “I’m here but I can’t go down!” They tied ladders together, then my father and brothers held a sack to catch me just in case. Then I’ve realized that this little seed I planted will save me in the end. Isn’t that God’s plan?

 

There were so many parents wanting me to be the godmother (ninang) of their children, even if I was so young in grade school. There was a Lydia Fadera who wanted me to be her godmother when she gets married. Like another young woman who I do not know, so sick in the hospital when I met her. I prayed for her, and she got well. She told me that she would like me to be her ninang when she gets married. Time passed, until I met her again as she was able to trace where I lived, and I became her ninang. And so, I did, same with all the people in Lipa where everyone knew me. They shouted my name when their sons, daughters, parents, husbands, and wives die. They cannot forget me for being there for them in their time of need.

 

Like Mrs. Lopez who said I was “Beautiful” and gave me a job in-charged of payroll to her five hundred employees when computers are a remote possibility. Her lawyer filled in the application form for me with her directions. And Carla, the old rich woman in the Hamptons looking for a companion who called me “My friend” even if she just saw me for the first time. Like Pam, the personal assistant to Donald Trump who gave me the job to be her assistant while on my way out after the receptionist told me that there was no vacancy. And Ka Pilar who called me from the choir with just a description of “the doctor’s wife” to be the leader of the choir, first, within the group, then to the national. I have no idea of this hidden charm. They may be feeling or seeing something beyond the naked eye? I must be special, as my father knew and have said in his last words, “Irene is special, and I could feel that. Please take care of her”.

~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

My Baby Steps: A Child Like Any Other

According to my father and siblings, I was beautiful when I was young, and people loved me for that long, black curly hair. They put my oiled and shiny hair up in ponytails and braids. As the youngest child, my father and my eldest sister, Juana "Aning" did not want me to be seen by people, “Baka mabati” (a popular belief that if somebody will stare at you, you will be mesmerized). She usually dresses me up with a long dress down below my knees to my ankles with matching white socks and black shoes. (Later on, this style became to be known as “momo dress”, so it must be a good taste after all). The way she dressed me created a ‘weird’ look, so different from all the young girls in my neighborhood. She dressed me up like “Lelang” (nerd), so people will think I am dumb. I was nice and friendly, always smiling. I wanted to greet everyone, and invite them inside our house, which my siblings did not like but my father understood.  The more they made me “different”, my cousin Juaning got more interested and infatuated. Like a hawk, he watched me grow through the years until he can kiss me. His love was true until the end.

 

My father wanted to dress me up in red to protect me from "evil", while I loved to wear white. I was always a fun little girl but tough, if not naughty. Growing up without a mother, they got me a YaYa (nanny) instead. She brings me to school and more. I was already in the second grade and I'm still drinking milk from the nursing bottle. During recess, we will go by a big tree where I will hide and enjoy my milk, while she will be on guard. One day, a kid followed us and saw me "kissing" (nursing) from the bottle, I ran after him and threatened him not to tell! The way I talked and reasoned out were different, "mataray"(sassy), “matabil” (talkative), but I was just telling the truth! I surely had a voice of my own, like how I reasoned out with my Aunt Sabrina who will not give back our land; Emerenciana who keeps coming to get our food, I must tell them and stand by the truth. I always reasoned out with Juana for being tough and strict on me. She treated me like one of her dozen children, and I always told her, “You are not my mother!" I told my father about my relationship with Juana and evens up both sides by saying to her “You are very lucky to see your mother, but Irene did not.” I was always close to my father and have confided in him. He never got mad at me, but I could feel his fondness listening to my childish talks. As a young child, I did not like when it rains. Rain has always made me very sad and continuously crying that my father will carry me all day long. When I was ready, he sent me to a boarding school in Manila, La Concordia, but I said, I did not want it there, rather, I went to La Consolacion, where my mother studied and stayed for few years, using my mother’s funds. I always believe whatever my father has told me. He was kind and nice, I love him. He treated me like his most precious possession, the youngest of his ten children. I was the apple of his eyes, maybe because I was the last memory of my mother? ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Missing My Mother

My mother died when I was two years old. I was left in the care of my sister, Juana, who became my mother and sister. As the youngest of the children, I was always left with my two younger brothers to play with until everyone comes home from school. I remember so well that there is a woman "who does not talk" watching us. She was always there. One day, as I was playing, my doll caught fire, and it spread so fast to burn my hair. The woman turned the fire off, as my two brothers were helpless. That night, as we were having dinner, my father noticed my hair and asked, “What happened to your hair?” We told him about the incident and the woman who helped me. He asked, “how does she look?” As we described her, it was her significant long hair that identified and related to my father. Then my father ordered my sister to dress me in red, to protect me from the “woman”, my imaginary friend, who I later found to be my mother!

 

My mother was an only child, orphaned early by her mother, so that she was raised in a convent in Manila, La Consolacion, together with her cousin Michaela who later became a mother superior. My mother left the convent and became a jeweler like her father. From her collection, she assigned me a big black diamond ring which I later pawned to support my textile business. My father met my mother during one of their business trips to Quezon. She joins my Ingkong in horse-driven caravans from Meycawayan and stays in the house of my father’s godfather. They got married and had seven children of their own as my mother had already three children from an earlier marriage and was widowed. Growing up into a young adult, I was missing my mother and I wanted to trace her footsteps. When I interned at La Consolacion, I was able to see her class pictures from the convent's library. Her classmates became my teachers and were fond of me as Antonina’s daughter. I used to scare one of the nuns, my mother’s classmate who was then taking care of me, as she said, “You are like your mother!”  My mother had strikingly a very long hair, which were cut upon her death and stored in a "baul" (wooden safe) located in the middle of our living room that had always made me and my brothers curious that one day, we succeeded in opening it, and saw it filled with our mother’s hair inside. When my father learned about it, he told us, it’s our mother’s hair as her remembrance. From then, we respected the “baul” as if our mother was there.

 

As a sole heir holding the titles of her inheritance, her natural kindness made her lend them to her cousin Sabrina without papers, just because “they were cousins”. On her deathbed, she wants to get them back for her children, but gone are our family treasures to greed and deceit. I grew up hearing about Aunt Sabrina who took our lands. One day, she came to our house in a new car. I went and rode and refused to get out. I told them, “This is our car, that’s our house, it is my mother’s!” Later, we found out that nothing happened to those lands, Aunt Sabrina’s children did not want to go to school and just squandered the family heirloom to vice and caprices. ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Finding God: My Conversion

 "But seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you" Matthew 6:33

 

I belong to a truly catholic family, “Sarado Katolico”. My aunts have statues of saints “reboltos” in the house that we bring to processions in town. The bishop is a family friend who comes to pass-by for breakfast before he celebrates mass on holidays, a tradition passed on from our Spanish culture. I used to gather Sampagita and make leis for these "diyos-diyosan"(false gods). At fifteen, I was brought by my father to the convent of La Consolacion to become a nun. But in a twist of fate, I fell on the stairs and had fever, they cannot explain. Juaning tried to visit me with his doctor friends, but I refused to see him. When the Mother Superior wanted me to go and rest in the Mother House convent, I told them that I will go home instead, so they called my older brother to pick me up. While at my Impo’s house, Juaning got a chance to kiss me, got married and moved to Manila close to North General Hospital where he worked before he went to the United States.

 

In God’s amazing ways, I met a market vendor, who volunteered to give me back my lost wallet with everything on it untouched. The wallet was a gift from my husband who was then in the US. This older woman became instrumental for me to get introduced to Iglesia Ni Cristo (Church of Christ). I was impressed by her genuine kindness and honesty as she proudly claimed she is an Iglesia Ni Cristo. We became friends naturally and my mind and heart were ultimately nurtured to a living God’s words in the Bible. I went against my family’s will and was converted to Iglesia in 1950 at the age of twenty-one. They disowned, mocked, hurt, and persecuted me (inusig). My husband tried everything to keep me in the Catholic church. He used to take me to Espiritu Santo, a Catholic church and when he tells me to kneel beside him and pray to the wooden statues, I told him, "These false gods (diyos-diyosan) are not moving. I will not believe in them!" Instead, I went to the Iglesia across the street.

 

They urged my husband to leave me. I learned to live on my own with only the words of God guiding me. As a young woman, getting estranged from my family is not an easy choice. But my faith and bond with God is already strong. I took everything that came from my denouncement of my Catholic faith. One day, my husband wanted me to join him in the US. He followed me to the Central where I was then with Ka “Erdie” Eraño Manalo, whom I have asked for advice. I do not want to immigrate to the US because of the fear that there is no Iglesia in New York. My husband was so angered by my choice. He left with a heavy heart until after a year, when he came to our house and kept walking around back and forth, until I saw him and let him in. Nevertheless, he came to visit me every year, unknown to my family. He bought a twelve-thousand-peso house for me in Quezon City, my first home. There he came to me every year for three months and lived like a normal husband and wife, unknown to my family particularly Juana whom she lives with in New York. It was always God and Iglesia dividing us. I always thought and pondered; if he believed in God as I have, if he embraced Iglesia as I had, could it have been different with us? Could it have been a happy ending as we “lived happily ever after”? I never had remorse. I never had to look back why. My faith has always been like the day I accepted Christ and denounced the Catholic Church. I never regretted my conversion, ever. I have been devoted and got closer to God every day of my life. I found God once and will stay forever. I am not the first one to become Iglesia in my family. My elder sister Florencia became an Iglesia, she too, was estranged from the family, and moved to Manila far from home. She married an American officer in the army, who was converted, and all her children were reared Iglesia. Her firstborn daughter is Norma, who grew up with us since she was a baby until she’s ready for high school. We took alternate times to take care of her who learned how to talk so late at eight years old. As the doctor said, “She’s not deaf nor mute, but she will speak soon and by then she will be very talkative, as she will remember everything she has heard”, she did, and she was until now. She called me from California recently and I cannot stay long with the conversation as I got short of breath listening to her. She’s married to one of the grandsons of the late Gil Puyat from his only daughter. Dottie Macaraeg, Norma’s daughter, who lives in California, whom I have seen when she was a baby was able to trace me through Face Book. The rest of the siblings are now based in Houston Texas engaged in a family business of hotel and hospitality. ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Always Wanted: Dead or Alive

“Hangang sa Dulo ng Lupa” (Until the end of the earth)

When I had the jewelry business in Lipa, I trusted a daughter of a friend and loaned her some good amount of jewelry, but later did not pay. I took my own initiative to look for the woman in faraway Quezon province without telling my son whom I had entrusted the Chicken Farm. I passed by Calaca and stayed temporarily in the Iglesia in Puting Bato. The head deacon told me shortcut ways and started my journey from Calaca to Pasacao via a passenger yacht. There I saw that busy pier where people came and go to do business or go to the market in the next town. While I was in Pasacao, I changed my name as I think it’s better as I took off from my responsibilities in the Iglesia, away from it all including my son. I was naturally pleasant and friendly, and made friends with the local folks easily. I took shelter in a minister’s house until I got familiar in the area, and as I surveyed the neighborhood, there was an empty store near the pier, owned by the teacher where I was staying. She has a son who does not want to go to school. The boy was nice, and we became friends. I asked the boy to help me convince his mom to let me use the store. As I saw the passengers hungry as they get in and out of the pier, I started to sell coffee, boiled egg, bread and arroz caldo. I started slowly, and the boy helped me because he doesn’t want to go to school. I met one of the schoolteachers who said, “My father will come and surely woe you.” Then I saw this man who sat down in front of my little store every day. When I noticed him, the conversation started. He was the father of the teacher who told me his father will come, who happened to be the school superintendent, too, so all the teachers came to patronize me. The days went, on days of samba, I invited him to the Kapilya. As my store got busier, it was very noticeable, as the other stores were not as busy as mine. The teachers brought their thermos bottles filled with coffee for me to sell, as I cannot cope up with the customer’s demand. For two years I have done this without telling anybody my identity, but a certain “Violeta” and a family name I took from Macalelon. I was able to attend Samba, whenever there were church visitors, I will be gone quickly to avoid being recognized. I will sit by the back of the kapilya. I earned a lot of money from selling lugao and I was able to build a “bakauan” fence around the Kapilya, so people, particularly the students will not use the church to be their shortcut passages.

One day, there was a circular from Ka Erdy announcing that “the Central is looking for Irene Lumbera” with her picture on it, also added was the clue that “Irene will always make her way to a Kapilya and worship”. Meanwhile, I had a friend in Santo Tomas where I left some of my belongings on the way to Quezon. I sent her a mail directing her about the belongings. Meanwhile, this friend is also an Iglesia, when she learned about the Wanted Plea to find me whether dead or alive, the Central should be notified. When Ka Erdy got the mail, without return address nor my signature, but the postmark of where it came from, he asked his secretary to look for Irene, when he asked, “Where will I look for Irene?”, Ka Erdy said, “Hangang sa dulo ng lupa!” (Until the end of the earth). One day, a minister came with Boyet, they found me in the Kapilya in Calaca. Boyet stayed outside, as they thought I will rattle if I see my son. Even Boyet asked me to come out already before things will become complicated. So, the search for Irene came to an end after two years of hiding, but visible among the unsuspecting close knit Eglesia family. One occasion, while the choir is singing, they stopped in one point, they forgot the next tune. Upon seeing and hearing that from the back seat, I continued to sing in a very loud voice to finish the hymn, it was very emotional and divinely magical. The minister came and asked me, “Who are you really? Where did you come from?” ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

Love as Bittersweet 

We were third cousins and born far apart by ten years. He always knew that he loves me. Juan, "Juaning" Urian had always loved me as much from the first time he saw me. As I was so young, he waited for years. He was a relative so he can come to my Impo’s house without a problem. He brings me to school. I hated mathematics, so he helps me with my homework, and I got used to it. One day, he did it all wrong purposely. As I raised my hand to recite, everybody laughed at me. From then I never ask him to do my homework again! He was already a doctor when he comes to our house every afternoon. As a relative he is always welcomed. He walks with me in the plaza and I could sense him looking at me as he will tell me not to wear short skirts. It is not unusual that he accompanies me to my afternoon strolls in the “población” (center of the town). 

 

When I was sixteen, he stole a kiss from me when he was in my grandparent’s (Impo's) house. Incidentally, that night, I cannot sleep. As I looked by the window, I saw the fire coming from the movie house. There were no gunshots to warn the people, but the police’s whistles. I woke my family up and tried to save the rebolto’s heads (statues) protected in sacks, so heavy that I cannot carry them. I pushed them by the stairs into the ground. Broken, we lost them all as our house went on fire that destroyed all the houses in the neighborhood. Then I realized that these statues are false gods, unable to save themselves!  Then I needed to stay at my sister Juana’s house. At that time, my sister noticed that I was kind of restless and Juaning comes every day and she started to wonder. I told her that I am pregnant by Juaning, and he was ready to ask for my hand in marriage. I believed that once there was a contact between a man and a woman, there will be a pregnancy as Juana told me so. His father and sister did not like me because of my known fearlessness “babaeng may balbas” (woman with a beard) if not a plain spoiled brat that I am. Nevertheless, we both agreed as he loves me, and I am “pregnant”. Against all odds, we got married when I was seventeen. He made me his personal reviewer as he studied Medicine. I needed to read his medical books so that I can help him to review and study for his Board Examinations. In his short family practice in our town, he kiddingly told me once: “do not tell my patients anything” because he knew I understood Medicine well and might give orders, too. 

 

When we moved to Manila as he worked in North General Hospital, he got two maids for me, one to clean and cook, the other, to be my companion as I go to Kapilya (House of Worship), market, and other places. When he comes home, I send the maids away and if he asks, I told him that I can manage. He wants me to wait for him from the hospital after his work. Soon he got a contract to work in New York. My husband became a surgeon in New York’s Bellevue Hospital. He loved me truly and came home to visit me every summer or winter, unknown to my family whom he lives with in New York.  For many years he came, until distance ultimately gave in a gap as well as the constant prodding by my family to leave me. He left me for twelve years, that my brothers brought him to court for rape as I was a young girl when he married me. It was a mess, but he was a doctor, and was able to fix it. He never knew I got a son by him, as I connived with my doctor until 1986 when he saw Boyet for the first time. He got cancer of the throat from smoking. He died and was buried in Flushing Cemetery in Queens, New York. Peter learned the truth about his father, who was 22 years old then, but he was reared up as an Iglesia, he did not feel the difference. It did not matter to him anymore.

 

When he got sick, he asked my family to look for me. They put announcements on newspapers and radio. Through my niece, Lumen who knew of my businesses as she became my consultant for holding executive positions in Land Bank, my siblings led by Juana found me in Lipa where I have my farm. They passed by the post office and asked the local postman. They were surprised to see me in a situation far from their thoughts and asked me, “Whose house is this?” Juaning has come to visit me in Lipa several times. The first time he met Boyet, who was twelve years old then, was very emotional, “Lumukso ang dugo” (an idiom in Tagalog that indicates a strong feeling of familiarity or closeness because of a blood relationship). From the gate, they were already holding hands, when I saw them in the sala (living room) my son is already sitting on his lap. Juaning told me that he looks so much like me. Then I told him “Because Boyet is your son!”, he hugged and kissed the boy so hard, so long. He asked Boyet in curiosity, "Where is your father?" I have always told my family that Boyet is my adopted son. When I came to New York, I saw Juaning once more but the last time. It was a bittersweet scene as I told him more about our son. We held hands as he tried to grasp the truth. Could it be that he was happy, or he just forgave me for being as hard a woman he loved, nevertheless? In his weak voice he whispered, “I have always loved you” and to him I have said, I have never loved anybody but him.

 ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

Peter: My Legacy Keeper

I was barren for fifteen years; I cannot bear children. I had very difficult menstruations that sometimes I turn blue in severe pain. My husband arranged a surgery for me to improve the anatomy of my uterus. They put a ring, “tarol” to keep my uterus open. Surely, it fixed my problem and after a year, I missed my menstruation for five months without any symptom. I consulted Dr. Maranan, a friend of Juaning, and told me I was pregnant. I asked him to keep it from my husband, with the fear that Juaning will take my son and baptize him Catholic. He delivered my son by caesarian section at Manila Doctors Hospital in 1963, I named him Peter “Boyet” Lumbrera, I was thirty-four years old. He saw my son after twelve years and in surprise, he said, “he looks like you and Juaning!”

 

Hiding Peter from his father was like a crime that must be perfect, but sometimes, it needs an accomplice more than myself. One time, Juaning was coming home for a visit, I sent the baby away to hide. I made the house in order, no trace of baby Peter. When he sees children stuff like baby's shoes, he just thinks that I love children and never asked. He never thought that I can hide anything, much more of his son! I got my son a special baby nurse, as I did not want anything to happen while I was at work. When he turned one year old, I took him wherever I was and raised him the best I could, like the father who wants the best for his son. I took him when I met with Ka Erdy in the Central. I raised my son alone as a single mom. From Lemery, we moved to Calaca and was referred to an old maid catholic woman, Leonora, who took care of my son while I worked. She was alone in her house, so we moved in with her after I fixed her house and put steel bars on windows to keep us all safe. She loved Boyet a lot, and was saddened when we left, she joined us for a while in Lipa. When Boyet was growing up, he started to ask about his father as his playmates were getting curious as well. One day, I bought a toy soldier and shovel. Then I asked my son to come, and we will play. I dug a big hole in the ground. As the hole got deeper, I told him his father is there, and we started to cover him with earth, then the boy exclaimed sadly, my father is dead! From then he and his friends never asked again, and if somebody did, they all said, “he is dead”. I taught him the value of money, industry, faith, health, and all. A perfectly fine man!

 

I have never loved anybody more than my son. He was everything to me, we had fun together, alone in far Calaca. When he was growing up, I used to invite young children to play with him. I will bathe them first, then they will eat and play until Boyet got tired and says to his playmates, “Go home, play time is over, no more!” I gave him a big golden Buddha piggy bank, where he will put and save the money that I give him. I always prepared his school lunch, so he cannot spend all his allowance. Every time he drops the coin in his bank, he will carry it and say, “It’s getting heavy!” One time, I needed money, I opened it and got most of it. When he found out, I told him, don’t worry, it will multiply, showing all the baby buddhas on the buddha’s belly. One day, I got the money back, I gave him a coin to drop in his bank. As he carried it, he exclaimed, “the money multiplied!” He saw me always writing checks. One day, when I was away and he needed money, he wrote and signed a check like me and went to the bank. As the tellers knew him as my son, the manager called him and gave him money, after which they called and told me. It’s thirty thousand! I taught him how to be independent and sent him to far Eastern University as he entered high school.

 

Boyet and Mel had three children, the first born were twins. We did not expect that, though Juaning had a history of twins in his family. They were expecting a boy and a girl, when they turned out both boys, we named them Princely I, “Butsoy” and Princely II, “Bunsoy”. I made sure that they have airconditioned rooms, so they will not fuss as very tiny infants. When they were around five years old, I enjoyed as they enjoyed, spending time in Manila with me, in malls, in parks, in fairs and rides. That was short lived, as Imelda saw the growing fondness of the children with me, she stopped with fears that the boys will become Lola’s boys like my son with me. Paulo, the third son, was naturally close to me even if he did not see me while growing up, either. I provided for them, from their shoes to their schooling. The twins became nurses, while Paulo, became a computer professional with Bachelor of Science in Information Technology. When I returned home from the US the last time, they did not meet me nor took the time to know me as their Impo Nene. We had an argument instead. We were estranged but Paulo called me as soon as I arrived in New York. Peter Paul "Paulo" married Katherine Dacillo. He invited me to visit him in Italy, while he was there. I have my joys knowing I’m a great grandma to a baby girl, Pimi, from Princely I, while waiting for Bunsoy to marry his girlfriend in Taiwan. Paulo has moved back from Italy and now has a car dealership in a suburb of Manila.

 

I thought that Peter loves me the same, until he fell into the trap of loving another that would become the mother of his children. He must have loved her so much, that he will marry her with or without my blessing. He learned to disobey me, he fell in love with Imelda (Mel) Reyes, a young woman from Pampanga and someone not an Iglesia whom he met after college. He followed her in Cagayan where she was vacationing with her brother. I went looking for my son as he did not tell me where he was. It took me a day to reach far away Cagayan. I was not able to bring him home as he said he will take care of his business first and will go home as soon as possible. When he came, he brought Imelda to Lipa and did not tell me either, until Imelda’s father who is a military man came in with soldiers in a six by six looking for his daughter. Nevertheless, I got them married after a year as Imelda got converted first, Peter was twenty-one and she was barely eighteen. I was no longer the Queen of the kitchen, but I do not want to lose him. I gave them a home in the same compound where I was, complete with everything. My greatest ally, my son will fight for me, I thought. But I ended up solving my problem. Doesn’t my son, whom I have taught my principles, see that, and let me be forsaken? I do not keep resentments, but deep in my heart, I do not understand my Peter. I should have taught him more, to be tough when life gets tougher and fight for the things that matter and obey the golden rules to honor his mother, and not to covet her lands and home! But then again, it must be destiny that he met Imelda, who became his shadow. Looking back, they have survived the test of time, as they reached their fourth decade of marriage, longer than the time I spent with him. I have accepted that, as I have always prayed for his happiness and well-being.   

 

Peter has multiplied himself by three folds, and that could have gotten me stronger in my golden years. But I cannot win them all, just the good thoughts that one day, I will hear the sweetest voices of little children calling on me, ImpoImpo! (Grandma! Grandma!) Are you our Impo Irene? Yes, Karvin! Yes, Kali! Yes, Pimi and Primo! I love you all! ~Irene Moraga Lumbrera

 

The Alluring Evil in Our Midst

I loved my life in New York where I was for the past thirty years. It was home for me until I was getting old and sickly. A couple of years ago, for the first time, Peter and Imelda invited me to go home for good. I felt loved and ready to surrender. It was a good feeling, but something is not right. I was just waiting in due time, I could sense. My town itself has changed. On our way home, I saw a beautiful Memorial Park Garden, that I thought would be nice for my resting place. I spent a quarter million pesos to buy myself a plot. I was feeling energetic and hopeful that I wanted to build a grocery near my home. I thought I will enjoy it and do business once more, but Peter told me, “You cannot do that anymore, Ma. We gave them to our children.” I was very disappointed, I felt a stub on my chest, “Why did you do that, I’m still alive!” For me, it is still for him, it will still be theirs, but it was not time. My plan was to give it to my son, for him to get by in his old age. Peter said, “They will not do it to me, they are good children.” Then I told him, “You were also good, Peter. But you have done it to me!”

~Irene Moraga Lumbrera 

 

I cannot leave Irene guilty of treason. It is taking a lot of emotional intelligence and courage to talk about this because of its highly sensitive nature. She would not hurt Peter at all. However, it has a lot of impact on why she ended up retiring in a place far away from home. Is it not in her dream to go back to the Philippines and enjoy the rest of her life with her son? Her long absence from home have paid. She became estranged from her son. Where is Peter who she has trained to be strong? Where is he who will keep her legacy and protect her in old age? She cannot blame him. She left him to the care of a woman who knows how to lure a weak soul! She loves him so much and will always protect him. She kept her calm so she will win with the temptations around her, taking cover under her heir and legend keeper. In her mind, it is no longer protecting Peter, but this time protecting herself. How will you protect yourself from the evil in your midst? The countless insatiable hunger for money, to the pettiest crime of drowning Irene's cellphone in water! In her bitterness and jealousy of Irene, she threw the imported China wares Irene sent them, as hard as she could in the marbled floor and turned into million pieces. They falsified Irene’s signature and transferred the properties to their names, not dividing among their children, the treatment she gave Irene, the imprisonment in her own home, keeping food from Irene. ~MDS

 

"How will I survive these without God's wisdom through me, against this daughter dear who has perfected how to test me from evil and temptation, how can she think of all these while my son is looking? I know no way, but leave her unharmed, for that I know, Peter will be spared from pain. I swallowed my pride, I bit my tongue and tamed my temper as Imelda grew from a 17-year-old innocent girl to a highly ambitious evil, who gained two more heads in the end. How can I survive this kind of “ulupong” (snake), who can only come from the devil! My God has saved me from this venomous snake with three heads, like the snake I saw in my poultry farm, that over time, crows like chicken as it blended with its prey. Her temptation crafts are the best I have seen in my entire life, but I am more powerful as God has given me his wisdom to survive and appropriately dance with evil, likewise as wise. Love is what I learned as the most important tool in these treacherous challenges. As I love my son, I will use love and emotional intelligence to fight back. Peter has doubts, unsure, as he whispered to me on our way to the airport, “Will Mel still change?” I can only say, “Pray for her”. You must live with everything that she is because God has put you together in marriage. And it must stay like that forever. On the other end, Mel whispered to me, “Ma, don’t forget to send us money.” My personal triumph over evil is over. I do not know where Peter’s heart is. He denied me over and over. But I know, he will always be my son, my legacy and heirloom keeper, to whom I gave my all. And that is my gain. "~IML

 

Goodbye, Peter

He always told me that he was not eating and have pains in his abdomen. I knew there was something wrong, but he always denied. He looked haggard and had lost weight each time. A few days before his birthday, I called to greet him, unknowing that it will be his last. One fateful day, his son called me that his father, Boyet is dead. I cried so hard because I thought and felt that I did not have enough time with him. I sent him to college in a city far from home because I thought he will learn to be independent; he got married shortly after college. Then I left for America some thirty years ago. Thanks to Face Time and Messenger, I had seen him so close as I held my cellphone close to my chest, lying in my bed. Then I thought of the burial plot I bought for me with my last money, over two hundred fifty thousand pesos. On my way to the airport as we pass by the Memorial Park, after I have decided to go back to America and never return, I silently thought, “who will be interred here first?”

 

The grief was so much knowing that I outlived my beloved son, my only one in this world. On that Sunday, he was buried, Myrna planned so I can see Boyet for the last time. I was able to see it from the beginning as they left the funeral parlor until they entombed him with concrete. Then I remembered how I told Boyet that his father was dead when he was young as he covered the doll under the ground with dirt. My gratitude to Paulo as he held his phone steadily so I will not miss a single blink. I heard Imelda cry the hardest among the quiet friends marching with them. I still hear her sobs and felt her pain. Dressed in my best white and made up to attend a funeral fitted for my son, I felt my presence among them as I silently wept and never got my eyes off the casket. I followed him until the end after everyone was gone. Days of phone calls from the Philippines all night that I got confused with time when I called my friends in New York in the middle of the night! That gave me a break from my grief, a few bouts of laughter. Today, I still thought he is alive as I will start to look for him in the Messenger, until I realize that he's gone, forever. ~IML

 

MDS___________________________________________________________________