It was a two-storey six-door apartment building divided by a steel gate that was never open. That means each side, composed of three doors or units, had a separate entrance. If you went out using the west side, it was no longer the same street. Weird huh. Facing a firewall, its east side was really close to the public market that it was more like a part of it already. This was our side. And I never knew our neighbors on the other side. Falalalalalalalala.

Each apartment unit had two bedrooms upstairs, and aside from the usual living room/dining room, there was a dirty kitchen / laundry area and a big T&B on the ground floor. The stairs landing just had to be the altar – one couldn’t think of something else.

We occupied the first unit which was kind of special because it seemed bigger. It came with a verandah on the 2^nd floor. The others didn’t. During brown-outs, you could open the door and let the wind (if any) come in. It served as a place where we can hang our clothes to dry.  The unit also came with a space for a store and a parlor, also on the ground floor. There were five occupants – my aunt-lola (one of my maternal grandpa’s sister who was a widow and the real tenant on record) whom we called Auntie Ely, Mama Diche (my mom’s sister) and my cousin MJ, my Ate and me. Sometimes there were 6 of us as there would be an occasional transient boarder renting a makeshift room near the staircase. Yes, apartment units then were that big.

The middle unit was actually rented by my aunt, but she decided to sublease it to another family to look after Auntie Ely and us; while the 3^rd door was occupied by another aunt and my 3 cousins.

I loved and will always remember our bedroom window where we could see the action. One could spend the whole day just looking out that window. You wouldn’t get bored - vendors on the market front selling vegetables and fruits; my neighbor-crush (who may or may not have known me) playing basketball; and practically people from all walks of life passing by.

Our unit wasn’t that pretty but it seemed to possess a certain attraction or appeal to our friends who would stay there all day, all night - reviewing for exams, chatting, singing and dancing along our small karaoke player; eating lugaw, banana cue, carioca, or isaw; smoking and drinking. The apartment location was strategic that I could take any route going to UST and back. It had a bakery called “Our Daily Bread.” It was close to the malls (at that time, SM City and SM Sta. Mesa), Quiapo or Divisoria or Cubao or Timog, schools (U-Belt), hospitals (UDMC, UST, St. Luke’s), churches, and practically to anything. My folks would drop us off every Sunday afternoon or evening, using the Nagtahan / Santol route. If you were working or looking for a job, it wouldn’t matter if your workplace was in QC or Manila or even Pasig. Ironically though, I haven’t heard of many people who were familiar with its name, “Galas.”

Our room was also the place where most of my short fiction were born, written, and typed. In this apartment, I have loved and lost, laughed and cried, fought and won and lost.

Whatever happened to this apartment? After staying there for four years, I moved back to San Pedro. I am not sure but I think the owner decided to either sell it or demolish it to build a new townhouse. Auntie Ely and Mama Diche are already with our Creator, while MJ is somewhere in the metro, working for a living I suppose. Too bad we didn’t have too many (if any) photographs taken inside it. 

But perhaps it’s all right. The snap shots are all clear and sharp in our minds and memories, anyway.

When my father passed away last December 2010, everyone was worried about my mom. The focus was on her, “Kumusta na (ang) mama mo?” because they know about her medical condition.

 

To most people, she is a fragile woman, a quiet one. After all, who wouldn’t be tagged as quiet with Papa around doing most of the talking?

 

Prim and proper, she doesn’t know how to swear. She always reprimands us for talking aloud or for doing unladylike things. “Patricia (yes, si Ate ang laging napapagalitan), yung boses mo.”

 

It was always Papa who took the credit. “Mana sa iyo ang mga anak mo, Attorney,” referring to our academic achievements. Of course, CPA na, lawyer pa. But to me, Mama is the more intelligent one. Low profile / tahimik lang kasi. Mas mayabang at maingay lang kasi si Papa.  Mama has her share of medals and awards during her school days. After high school at UST, she took up Accountancy at UE (they have the same alma mater) and worked as an accountant in various companies until the early 80s, I think.

 

From her, I think I got my obsession with organization (be it work-related or personal matters). My appointments / meetings have to be calendared.  Everything has to be written, noted, advised, informed, or announced. I always have to have a journal, a “To Do” list, and a grocery/shopping list. Looking back now, I realized we have the same format of “payables” list every 15th/30th and grocery list (items are according to aisle / category). Beside the phone, there should be a notepad and pens. Documents/files have to be in labeled folders or envelopes, alphabetically arranged, including books (I have to confirm this with her again but I remember her saying she also dreamed of becoming a librarian). My father didn’t need a secretary or EA, my mom’s the best organizer. When you ask her for something, alam niya kung saan nakalagay.

 

From her too, I got my carry-all addiction. Dapat, Girl Scout, laging handa. One of my favorite moments was when we were on our way to a family outing once. My Ate said, “Sana may asin tayo,” I think we were eating either boiled eggs or Indian mangoes that time. Voila, my mother produced small packages of iodized salt from McDonald’s. See?

 

In more ways than one, turns out I am like her but physically, we take after Papa. Mama’s fair and beautiful, sayang hindi namin namana hehe

 

My mom may look frail and delicate, but I also realized after my Papa’s death that she is the strongest and bravest person among us. We didn’t expect that but she truly is. The power and capacity of her heart to accept and bear everything in silence, grace and dignity is amazing and inspiring. And worth emulating.

 

I have a weird way of showing my love. But I know that she knows that I love her.

 

Mama, Happy Mothers’ Day!

This 90th Whatchama-CAEHL-it entry is dedicated to our Puerto Princesa trip.

 

On our return flight to Manila, I was trying to get some sleep. Half-awake, I saw Caehl making the two thumbs-up sign.

 

The following day, I asked him. "Caehl, I saw you doing like this (making the gesture) last night. Why did you do that?"

 

"Because I'm happy."

 

Priceless

When Caehl saw me clicking the www.philstar.com link, he asked: What's that?

Caehl: Mommy, when you don't work, we'll have no money?

Me: Yeah.

C: It's only for today, Mommy, kasi holiday pa. Tomorrow, may work na.

(Ah yun pala yun)

C: Do we have money for full tank?

Me: Yeah. Don't worry about money.

(Naiiyak na ang baby namin)

C: Why?

Me: Because it's Mommy's problem - not yours. Just think about your studies, just study hard. Let Mommy worry about money.

(Lalong naiyak ang baby namin)

Last Thursday, as we were cruising along Osmeña Highway, after getting the rest of Ate Cae's stuff from her dorm, Alex said, "Caehl o, look, the Jollibee there is open."

With Nanay Ev and Ate Doobs away until tomorrow, they put up their usual "No Load" sign.

When someone called out, "Pa-load", Caehl was bothered.

"Bakit nagpapa-load? There's a sign," he said. "Can't they read? Bakit hindi marunong?"

I just told him, "Baka they just did not see the sign." Para lang matahimik.

When another suki called out "Pa-load", this time my son was prepared.

"Wala po. Nagswi-swimming!"

Natawa tuloy si Ate Cae.

Caehl's Litany:

 

No ID

No entry

 

No tuition

No exam

 

No exam

No grade

 

No grade

No graduation

 

No graduation

No job

 

No job

No money

 

No money

No food

 

No food

Dead!

 

Me: Caehl, you're so funny!

Caehl: When you mix red and green, what color will come out?

Me: What?

Caehl: Yucky!