Brief

Brief is a polymorphic word. It can function as multiple parts of speech.   

Verb: I’ll brief her about the meeting. 

Noun: He wrote the brief for the trial.  

Adjective: This is a brief blog.

Please humor me; I may be splitting hairs here. 

But after visiting Tony’s grave one morning, the word brief (adjective) kept nagging at me. 

First, it was a brief visit because the heat of the summer sun was already scorching even at that early hour, making me woozy.  

Second, his tombstone shows the dates of his birth and death, a stark proof of how brief earthly life is. 

Third, in the face of my pesky off-and-on grief, I sought comfort from the Lord and reminded myself of this verse,“Man is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.” (Psalm 144:4 ESV) 

In all, I looked forward to the promised grace of eternal life after I breathe my last and when the shadow shall have passed.  

Tuesdays

On Tuesdays, I am reminded of the now-classic Tuesdays with Morrie (a memoir by Mitch Albom), which I enjoyed reading sometime in the late 1990s. 

I am in good company. This particular book continues to be popular among the reading crowd. It was in the New York Times bestsellers list for over 200 weeks. Now it is the best-selling memoir of all time. It has sold over 20 million copies in more than 59 territories worldwide. Despite all that, there were many initial negative reviews: “same old; sappy; like a  Hallmark greeting card; oversimplified; pseudo intellectual).  

Tuesdays with Morrie began as a modest labor of love to help with the hospital bills of Morrie Schwartz, Albom's past Sociology professor, who was dying of ALS. The unprecedented success of the book shocked book lovers. 

From here, Albom moved to writing real-life fiction (about 20 to date and one more to be launched this year).  

I have savored only half of that number. I look forward to reading the others as they make it to the Philippine bookstores. My latest purchase, which I could not put down:  

Albom, as many of you already know, is an American author, journalist (sports), and musician. What makes him so popular as an author? 

Well, the underlying themes of his books are love, relationships, authenticity, transience, choices, acceptance, and grace—values that should endure but are now in  “Lost and Found” or in the trash bin. 

For me, his books make for a riveting read because of the surprises that spring at me along the way. He interweaves his characters with values and conflicts, then solves them almost seamlessly in the end. 

You don’t have to believe me. Each reader has his own reading preferences. For one, Tony read spy thrillers and history books (one book a week)  and didn't give my book choices a glance,     

Tuesdays remind me of the kind of books I read and the timeless values I always write about so they may not be lost or tossed into the trash bin. 

Gotcha!

“Grace is not something we find,” I wrote in the Author’s Note of my book, Grace Found Me. “Rather, it finds us—but only if we allow ourselves to welcome and be embraced by it. Grace is free, but we cannot find it in ourselves. It is something we can find only in God. And the good news is, we need not buy or earn it, because we could never, ever, afford or merit it on our own.” 

In short, gotcha! 

This photo, which I found posted online, demonstrates it best. 

Once Grace finds us, we are set free. Jesus fulfilled the law for us: "Sin is no longer your master, for you no longer live under the requirements of the law. Instead, you live under the freedom of God’s grace.” Romans 6:14

Once grace finds us, we receive salvation: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9 

I was afraid I won't be able to go it alone when Tony bade us goodbye. But grace sought me out. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18 

Gotcha! Grace tracks God's children down and finds us right where we are.    

Photo credit

Beautiful, Big, Brown Butterfly

Butterflies flit from flower to flower in our garden every day. They are my early-morning delight! At mid-morning, the heat hits hard and some take refuge somewhere. 

Their sizes vary, but the biggest I have ever seen is about nine inches in length with colorful wings. 

But on the 20th of May, exactly four months after Tony left us, Mother Teresa called me in her shrillest voice. “Come, look at this big butterfly!” It posted itself on one of our posts. I took a shot from a few feet away so as not to scare it off.  

Amazed, I moved closer and it didn’t budge. I clicked away and still it stayed. I wasn’t sure if it was a moth or a butterfly, because I haven’t seen anything as big (about 12 inches long or more) and as uniquely designed before. 

So I sent the photo to my ading Aie, who loves butterflies. “It IS a butterfly!” she replied. 

The butterfly stayed on that post for hours. Then it moved to another post. 

“Manong Tony came a-visiting!” ading Aie joked. 

Coincidentally, Son #3 saw the same species of butterfly inside his office that same day.

Many cultures associate butterflies with transformation and rebirth because of their metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly. That's why this symbolism leads some people to interpret their presence as a sign of a deceased loved one's visit.   

As a believer in Sola Scriptura, I eschew this idea. But definitely, butterflies, beautiful as they all are (and big as the brown one that delighted us one day), demonstrate one of God’s manifold delighting grace. 

Writing-for-Children Workshop

This happened many moons ago, but after I had blogged about writing for children, memories came flooding back. I am glad I kept photos of the event.  

One publisher was mulling over the possibility of expanding its genres to include children’s books and invited Luis (Tito Dok, a Palanca Hall of Fame Awardee) and me to conduct a workshop among writers.   

By then I had written about a dozen books, and Luis, double or triple my number. Both of us never went through formal training in writing, neither had we attended any workshop such as this. 

But the publisher said, “Just talk about how you do it. Inspire the writers!” 

It was a two-day workshop for writers whose manuscripts went through the critical eye of the editorial board. To register, they had to first send a manuscript, and from there, the attendees were chosen. 

At that time I was not at liberty to divulge the event. But I think that after many  years, without naming names and everyone of us transforming into unrecognizable miens and sizes, it is as safe as safe can be. These once-upon-a-time photos tell the story: 

Day 1: 

Day 2:    

Since then, I have conducted many workshops (I call them my grace days), but this one, long ago, remains to be one of the most memorable. The participants were not only engaged, they were incisive and sharply focused. In fact, all of them have published works to date. 

I am grateful that my mind is still lucid to remember and my hands still steady to write about it.    

How to Write for Children

It’s been 23 years since I wrote my first storybook for children, and I am still often asked the steps/advise/formula/how-tos on how to write for children.  

As I recover from flu, with no energy to do anything but sit before my computer screen, I tried googling it. Wow, there are tons of articles available on the Net! 

But I am still at a loss on what to say. I have blogged about writing and writing habits, but not specifically about writing for children. 

So I look back to how I wrote my first story, which won first prize in the Palanca Awards: 

  

Published by Bookmark and Illustrated by May M. Tobias  

How did I write it? What was my thought process? Where did I get the idea? 

Writing for children has no hard-and-fast rules. But I believe a writer has to be one or all of these things:    

    • Intuitive – knowing in his mind that it is right because he has consistently experienced and read about it. 

    • introspective – examining his heart, his feelings, to reach what psychologists call "a state of self discovery." 

    • Imaginative – seeing things with new eyes; perceiving old things in a fresh way. 

    • Important – sharing a value that he thinks is vital for the readers as well.  

    • Identifiable – understanding what will resonate with his reader.   

But really, the basic foundation of writing is what I always say to would-be children's book authors, “You can’t be a writer unless you read, read, read. Read as many children's books as you can! Reading and Writing are Siamese twins. They are conjoined.”  

The following year, haviing in mind the same 5 “I’s” above, I was inspired to send another entry to Palanca.  I was blessed with the grace of a second chance. The manuscript of this won first prize, too.    

Published by Hiyas of OMF Literature; illuustrated by Beth Parrocha-Doctolero

So when is the right time to write for children? Right now. 

End of Mother’s Day Banter

Every Mother’s Day, this banter could be heard within the enclave of the Chong dynasty (a facetious and fictitious name we gave ourseles).  

Wife: “It’s Mother’s Day, what is your surprise for me?”  

For 54 years, this question came in various permutations:  

“Is your gift coming soon?”  

“What time should I expect your gift?” 

“Are you giving me flowers, a card, or food?” 

“Look at my expectant face. Does it show my excitement over your almost-here gift?”   

The cryptic reply had always been: 

Husband: “You are not my mother.” 

Last month, that grace of fun was no more. It was muted by Tony’s departure for his permanent home. 

Yet I couldn't help but hark back to those silly banters and recycled wit. My three sons (a daughter-in-love and a grandson) made up for it. This cake, together with a hearty lunch spread, was sent by son #2 and family. 

Flowers still from daughter-in-love. But edible this time.

Son #1 posted on social media a faded photograph of him and me in days of old. It got a hundred likes. 

Early in the morning, son #3 gave me a buss on the cheek with a cheery,”Happy Mother’s Day.” 

A true-blue Marketing man, Tony never fussed over any occasion hyped by marketers. To him, Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day was a day like any other.    

But because the world reminded me of Mother’s Day (posts and greetings overflowed on social media) this year, I remembered how he and I celebrated it with a banter. 

This is not to diminish the importance of mothers. Scripture tells us that a mother’s love comes closest to God’s love. 

”As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you . . “  Isaiah 66:13 (NIV)   

Bravo! A Satirical Comment

Before a term ends, the university where I teach part-time conducts a student evaluation of their teachers. 

I’ve always wondered about this system in private schools today. In UP (University of the Philippines) long  ago, this was unheard of. It didn’t matter whether we hated our professor. Chances are, like a bad joke, we’d meet him again and again. 

These evaluations may have something to do with: 1) promotion and 2) pay increase. But since I retired from the corporate world, both promotion and pay increase are no longer my currency. 

So I don’t look at the numbers. Instead, I go down to the feedback and comments section. I need to know whether I succeeded in teaching my students to think critically and sensibly. 

 

“I love the way she explains the lessons clearly." “She treats all students fairly." "She knows the subject matter well.”  "She is very  encouraging." 

The above comments don’t count. They are the minimum requirements for a teacher. 

But last term, I applauded when I read this satirical comment, “I plead (pretty please?) that she lowers her standards a little.” 

I was sure it came from one of my exemplary students (the upper 3% of the class, the A-Team) and he wrote it facetiously. Those in this A-Team would knit their brows when the other 97% ramble in answering my questions.  

The A-Team comes to class prepared, having researched and studied the lessons. All of them interact with me and each other, and they ask incisive questions.  

When I started teaching decades ago, the percentage was in reverse:  97% was the A-Team. The 3% was inconsequential.  

What happened? 

It’s heartbreaking to read the latest PSA report: “Around 18.9 million Filipino junior and senior high school graduates are functionally illiterate; meaning, they cannot read and understand a simple story.”  

Do we then “lower our standards a little?” 

On the contrary, we should raise it! 

The Bible emphasizes the pursuit of excellence and high standards. One verse reads:  

“. . . whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Philippians 4:8 ESV 

Time Has Turbo Speed

This handsome young man is not a movie star, although he could pass for one. He is my one and only grandson. 

I guess a grandma is licensed to flex all she wants. In recent past, he was just a baby, then a toddler, and now—where did the years go? He just celebrated his 18th birthday and will soon attend college at the University of California, Irvine campus. 

Even Tony’s feeble heart would have jumped with joy had he known about this news. 

This young man had been Tony’s e-pal for years. They would write each other emails about this and that. Whenever Tony received a message from him, he wouldn't lose time announcing it as though it were the greatest news in the world. 

The photo below was taken 10 years ago when we visited this treasure of treasures in California. Tony loved it so much it was his phone's wallpaer. 

It is ironic that their “Timeless” t-shirts are time bound. Both could  no longer wear them the way they did. 

Time has turbo speed; we cannot hold it back. It is brief. We can only cherish each day to make it meaningful. 

My prayer for grace:  

“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is.” Psalm 39:4 (NLT) 

Photo credits: Gianina

GOHAS Edited

A foolhardy move, you might say, but I had to change what the last letter in GOHAS (Guest Of Honor And Speaker) stands for. Instead of Speaker, I revised it to Storyteller. 

As a part-time college and MBA teacher, I have difficulty getting my distraction-prone students to listen to lectures. But when I tell stories, they stare with rapt attention.  

Now, how about younger humans? Here are the statistics: the average attention span of a human has decreased from 12 seconds to 8.25 seconds in the last two decades.

    • Goldfish have an average attention span of 9 seconds, one second more than humans.

    • The human attention span is shorter than that of a squirrel.

    • The attention span of Gen Z’s is around 8 seconds, similar to that of a goldfish.  

So here I was, thinking hard of what story to tell the Generation Alpha of my high school alma mater in my hometown (Umingan).  It would have been a cinch if Tony were still  around. He always had  opinions on indecisions. With a topic as nebulous as “Generation of Unity: Partners for the New Philippines,”  I was loathe to spew platitudes that would sound like Chat GPT.  

Then I remembered. As an author of value-driven books, I had a unity story for high school graduates: A Flood of Kindness (the last in the Oh, Mateo series of books).  It was inspired by what actually happened in Umingan! 

I thought that maybe, just maybe, the story—since it is close to home, or home itself—would catch the attention of the  kids and inspire them to emulate how the people helped build the new town, after it was devastated and flooded by the worst typhoon ever. 

Everyone (men, women, and children) did different tasks, but put together, their efforts rebuilt and transformed Umingan into the new town that it is! 

Did the storytelling work? I wish. And unity? I wish and pray for grace.  

GOHAS Redefined

 It took less than five hours—inclusive of an hour for lunch and coffee, plus several pit stops for bladder breaks—for my ading Dave to leisurely drive GOHAS from Quezon City to Pangasinan. Without those stopovers, it would have taken only three short hours! 

The NLEX ang TPLEX made it all possible. 

Tony, the boys, and I hardly visited my hometown anymore since my parents passed away. On those rare occasions that we did, time was too short, so my high school alma mater was not in our repertoire.

That’s why last month, I stepped inside my high school campus for the first time in 65 years! Please do not do the math. The place has morphed into a new world. Memories are all I have now of those ancient years.   

After high school graduation, I left for UP Diliman, then taught in a university in Baguio for a year, before I flew to the US for my master’s degree. Coming home, Tony and I got married and resided in Manila. 

Back to GOHAS. 

It turned out to be a kakabsat (siblings and their families) reunion and a nostalgic glimpse of our now decrepit ancestral home.  

My ading Aie was my roommate, my sis-in-love Glad was my compleat hostess, and I was surprised when my ading Matt and family came all the way from Baguio to join us. He volunteered to drive me back to Manila—from there, niece Dazha took me home to Las Pinas. She was instructed to document the conclusion, at our doorstep just before midnight, of the brief but my forever-treasured GOHAS pampering. 

Had ading Earl (in Australia) been with us, the kakabsat reunion would have been complete.

GOHAS was not so much a role I had to play for my old school, but a refreshing family kunol-kunol after my two months of moaning and groaning. Grace rescues. Grace comforts. Grace restores.  

“. . . give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” 1 Thessalonians 5:19 ESV

Photos: Thanks Dazha and Teo! 

GOHAS?!

In a digital world now peppered with acronyms, it takes vigilance—if one wants to be on the ball—to know the new ones coming in droves. 

BFF, YOLO, FOMO, ATM, FYI, IMO, IDK, etc. I know them all. 

But GOHAS?! 

I first read it on my ading Dave’s message to our family GC. "We will bring GOHAS to Pangasinan on the 22. Lunch along the way. Drive back GOHAS the next day."

The dates he mentioned coincided with my trip to and from my high school alma mater where I was invited to be guest of honor and speaker on its commencement exercises. Huh?! 

I am a bit slow, but I finally caught on. Well, only after searching the Net. 

These photos explain GOHAS (Guest Of Honor And Speaker):  

It was a nostalgic and meaningful school homecoming after 65 years. And I thank my amazing ading Dave for volunteering to take GOHAS there and for my sister-in-love Glad for taking care of this weeping and doddering old widow.   

(To be continued . . .)  

Maundy Thursday Is Family Day

For the longest time, Maundy Thursday has been a Family Day in my home church. While other churches re-enact what happened thousands of years ago, we make time for kindred souls (adults and children alike) to bond, get to know each other, in a place where we share the same food, enjoy the same place, and worship the same God, Jesus.   

We begin with a thanksgiving service which includes songs of praise, exhortation, and testimonies. 

Then the kids, and kids at heart, splash down the swimming pool while the adults play games, sing songs, or chat, committing to help and pray for one another.   

But what exactly is Maundy Thursday? 

This was explained (to remind us anew) by son #3 in his exhortation. “Maundy”  is a shortened form of the Latin Mandatum, meaning “mandate” or “command.”  

It was on the Thursday of Christ's final week before His crucifixion that He mandated a commandment to His disciples after breaking bread (the Last Supper) with them. 

Jesus’ command was a poignant statement while he did the unthinkable: wash his disciples’ feet. It was about radical humility and servanthood. 

“So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. (John 13:34 NLT).

He raised love to the highest level: love even the unlovable and forgive them of their wrongdoing. The tallest order ever for man! 

So our family day is a way for us to get to know our brethren more intimately so we can guide each other in our spiritual walk. It is a day to demonstrate to the children that family means: God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, and all believers who are adopted children of God.

”I am in them and you are in me. May they experience such perfect unity that the world will know that you sent me and that you love them as much as you love me.” (John 17:23) 

All photos boirrowed from Pilar Village Gospel Church brethren.   

Persevering with Joy

Every time I am invited to speak in a school event (such as Moving-up or Graduation) I take the opportunity to talk about Christian values. 

When the occasion involves children, I do not deliver a speech; I tell a story on the gathering's theme. Time and again, I have proven that even in a classroom full of inattentive college students, stories draw better attention than a lecture. 

“Persevering with Joy by the Grace of God” was our church’s grade school Moving-up/Graduation theme. 

Immediately, the book that came to my mind was “Coming Home,” the first book in the Happy Home series (published by Hiyas and illustrated by Leo Kempis Ang).  The story is about Ped, the main character, who perseveres to achieve his goal. 

Ped graduated with honors from sixth grade and was excited to move up to the higher level. But his parents were adamant. They were dirt poor and a job, not education, was their priority. 

He ran away from home, hoping to earn for his educational expenses. He toiled on the city streets but earned a paltry sum only for his daily food. Undeterred, he found another way—look for a relative who can give him a job. He found one and his life turned around. 

He learned more than what a school could teach him. He found a new home, and learned about the right way to live life—and that is to persevere joyfully, not through his own efforts, but by the grace of God. 

My unexpected rewards came in the form of words from parents/guardians in the audience: 

 

“That story made me tear up. It seems to be my own story.” 

“Nothing is impossible if only we persevere.” 

“God makes a way for us to achieve our  goals—to honor Him.”  Etc. 

My prayer is that the children were just as moved by the life lesson as their elders were.

Huddles Are Cuddles

Reunions are great. But huddles are even greater. 

It evokes images of a close-packed group curled up and cuddling around a campfire. That’s what this poster from Hiyas of OMF Lit made me feel when I received it. How can one not wish to be a part of it? 

But before I went up to the huddle on the 4th floor, I had my photo taken beside my latest book, to remind me why I was invited to the campfire. 

The huddle involved all authors of Hiyas-OMF Lit through the years, including those who are abroad via Zoom. 

Conversations revolved around . . . one guess: keep the writing flame burning to honor and spread the word about huddling close to the Source of grace. ­

"The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him in truth." Psalm 145:18 

Now You See Me, Now You don’t

This phrase is familiar to those who have gone to a circus at least once in his life. It’s what the magician says when he performs a vanishing act. One minute we see a dove, the next minute, he makes the dove disappear. He can actually make anything (including himself) go “Pooof!” 

“How did that happen!?” we cry. Only the trickster knows the answer.   

“Now you see me, now you don’t” emphasizes the element of surprise and the fleeting nature of an object's presence. 

Magic? Not in real life. 

Our existence on earth is precisely that. One day we are healthy; the next day, the vehicle we are on  figures in a fatal accident. Today, an athlete wows the audience; the next day, he suffers a heart attack. 

Moses prayed in Psalm 90:10–12 (NLT):

Seventy years are given to us!  Some even live to eighty. But even the best years are filled with pain and trouble; soon they disappear, and we fly away . . . Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.“

Many of my close friends and family recently went to their glory so suddenly that we are left in a state of shock and lingering grief.  

Two of my dearest cousins, whom Tony and I visited in New York sometime ago, had flown away from this mortal coil. Tony, who took this candid shot, had vanished from our life as well. 

A vanishing act should not come as a surprise, but we are surprised every single time. The good book, as penned by David, is explicit. 

“Psalm 39:4-5, “Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is. You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.” 

What to do? 

(Note to self) Realize the brevity of life; thank Him for life's transcience, which is more than enough span of grace for anyone to dwell in His presence.   

We All blink, God Doesn't

A blink happens too quickly: 0.1-0.4 seconds. Thus, the idiom, “in the blink of an eye.” 

Despite its speed, a blink can cause living things to miss important things and wonder why suddenly things have changed.   

What a blessing that . . .

“God Never Blinks.” That’s what author Regina Brett, a journalist, titled her book about 50 Lessons for Life’s Little Detours. 

Most reviewers of the book say the lessons are life changing. As a believer in God’s watchful grace,  I say, “Amen.”  God is indeed in the details of our life.

These life lessons, when previously published in Brett’s newspaper column, went viral.   

Every chapter touched my core, but two of them resonated most with me: 

Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

If you don’t ask, you don’t get it. (I first learned this from my American aunt when I was a teenager in the US. She used to prod me in her Bronx drawl, “You ain’t ask no question, you ain’t get no answer.”)

My dauughter-in-love discovered this book on a tiny shelf in the house where our family (a rare time that we were complete) spent a staycation last summer.

 

The title intriquued me, so I tried to speed-read it as our stay in the house was too short. I could only go as far as the middle of the first chapter,  

I am glad I found it in a bookstore months later. It is one of those books that I read very slowly. Every episode, which is based on Brett’s life, including surviving cancer, made me pause and reflect on my own life.  

Brett suggests just focusing on the next right step.  If you want to be writer, write every day a line or two (I heard myself speaking those words to would-be authors). Breaking things down into small steps, instead of taking big leaps, simplifies life. 

My net take away—as now a widow and still a writer on grace and a Sunday School facilitator—is: God sees every move we make and every thought we have. He rescues us in the blink of an eye, before we could scream, “Help!”  

He sees every teardrop of grief. 

Unlike mortals who blink up to 19,000 times a day while awake, God never does. 

I passed on the book to my Ading Aie, hoping she would pass it on to someone after reading the last page.  

Grief: Antonymy

What is grief? 

That’s a question I tried to answer in many blog posts. But now it seems that those answers are not what it really is since I lost the father of my sons. I can't define it at all because it is a series of antonymy, a word I just learned while solving a crossword puzzle. 

Suddenly, this new word (by coincidence, Tony's name is smack in the middle) in my vocabulary explained my complex moods and feelings after my roommate of 54 years left for home. 

Antonymy is defined as the semantic relationship between words that have opposite meanings; the "oppositeness" or contradictory nature of words. 

Grief is an antonymy that runs from one end to the other at varying speed. Sometimes it is slow, sometimes it is instant, sometimes it stops midway. 

    • Push Pull 

    • Make Break

    • Cry Laugh 

    • Give Take 

    • Start Stop

    • Begin End

    • Destroy Build 

    • Close Open 

    • Enter Exit

    • Ask Answer

    • Come Go

    • Lose Win 

    • Join Leave

    • Keep Release

    • Hide Show

    • Eat Fast

    • Sit Stand 

      

The preposition “from” precedes the word where we are.  “To” precedes the contrasting word where we should be.  

Thankfully, between “from” and “to,” grace comes to speed up the process. 

To my dear friends and family out there who might have recently lost a loved one and are likewise in grief, let us be comforted by the Lord’s promise:    

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalms 34:18 (ESV) 

Shared Sister

My ading (locano honorific for younger sister) Aie was Tony’s too. Like an older brother, he had been, in words and in deeds, supportive and protective of her.   

Tony and I got married amidst a turbulent time in our country.

 

Tony and Aie (lower left photo);Tony with my family (lower right) before the wedding ceremony (above).  

The early 70s was a period of civil unrest: relentless demonstrations, protests, and marches against the administration of then President Ferdinand Marcos were mounted by students, supported by workers and the urban poor. 

Aie’s dorm on the UP campus was teargassed. This was later followed by the bombing of the opposition party’s rally at Plaza Miranda, causing deaths and injuries. Marcos suspended the writ of habeas corpus, the precursor to Martial Law in 1972. 

I knew Aie to be fiercely independent, a warrior, but times were harsh. Tony would always remind me, “Find out how Aie is doing.” “Send her some spending money.” “Convince her to live with us.” 

Through the years, Aie’s job took her to many places in the world. Still, Tony would treat her like a helpless little girl and orders me, “Don’t forget to send Aie pocket money.” 

Even in our senior years, Tony would ask how Aie was spending her birthday. His ading could do no wrong, except when she forgot to turn off the light, lock the door, or leave things lying around, and other odds and ends. Then she would hear from him. 

He never allowed Aie to pay for her share in family reunions. He’d nag me to pay for Aie’s, too. When she joined our Chong dynasty celebrations, he wouldn’t take a cent from her for expenses. 

The turnaround (a part of Aie’s eulogy during Tony’s wake) . . . 

  

“For our take-out dishes last Christmas, I told Manong Tony, ‘This one’s on me.” 

“’No way!’ he replied.” 

“‘Manong, I can now afford it!’ I stood my ground.”  

“When our orders arrived, Manong Tony gave me the receipt, allowing me to pay for it. He came back to hand me my exact change.” 

Tony's rare solo photo (left) is the same one we used for chapel and memorial services requirements. Aie's (right), one seat away, was taken a few minutes later--before the Chong boys sat down for our Christmas noche buena.  

I can’t recall Aie’s exact words, but she felt that Tony's silent acquiescence meant that he was finally confident she can go it alone. It was a foreshadowing of his departure from her life. It was Tony’s last Christmas.   

Tony and I got engaged in the US with plans to marry in the Philippines. He came home months ahead of me 

This is the part of Aie’s narrative that I never knew till then (a feast of grace surprised me, eulogy after eulogy, through the four-day wake):  

He went to her UP dorm to introduce himself. He drove a high-end car and treated Aie to a plushy restaurant, “hoping to impress me.” 

“I was not impressed,” Aie said. "But it was a thumbs up that he took time to meet me." 

Another turnaround for Tony:  He realized that my family and I were exactly like him in values: no glitz, no frills, no fanfare; simple and down-to-earth. 

The next time he visited Aie, he drove his own rickety old car. 

"Manong Tony was family before my sister Grace came home to marry him."  

Accidental Missions Tour

Sometime in 2017, Tony and I visited son #2 and his family in the US of A. All we wanted was to be with them for a month since we hardly saw each other. 

But they had plans to treat us to adventures we never experienced before. One of these was a six-day road trip around California with son #2 driving his dad and mom. He took time off from his punishing schedule as ICU/Pulmonary physician for this trip. 

It was a leisurely drive, stopping for food when the tummies growled. And a bonus to this bonus trip was passing through missions, which was right up Tony’s alley as a history buff. He had read all about the 21 missions the Spanish Franciscans established in Alta California from 1769–1833. These missions are a 6000-mile stretch from San Diego to San Francisco (eventually known as the California Mission Trail).  These facts were supplied by Tony.  

One of those missions was San Juan Bautista (founded in 1797) in San Benito County. Naturally, we had to walk through the halls of this very old structure. I took photos and so did son #2. 

Eight years later, grace takes me by surprise. Son #2 sends me this photo from his camera. Tony would have loved to see it. 

I researched on this mission immediately and remembered what Tony said, which I conveniently  archived (or sent to my trash bin). Mission San Juan Bautista was the 15th of the Spanish missions established in present-day California. 

So am I now a student of history? Not in the same league as Tony was. Okay, no.   

But his knowledge of and love for history (inherited by all three sons and my only grandson) never failed to awe me. 

Not Late, Just Delayed

That title is, for me, the essence of son #1’s eulogy (fond remembrances) at Tony’s wake.

He was six years old when Voltes V, a Japanese anime TV series, became popular in the Philippines. He and his friends (who were at the wake) became fans of this new craze. Tony thought it would be a perfect motif for his birthday cake.  

As son #1 reminisced, his friends must have gone into nostalgia as they nudged each other. 

Voltes V grew into a cultural phenomenon in the Philippines and pretty soon tiny replicas of this crime buster was sold in stores. Tony would buy them for his panganay (eldest son).  Then marketing men thought of making more money—a 24-foot replica was a marketing novelty. 

From that day forward, panganay narrated, he would nag his dad to buy him one. Son #2 kept reminding him, “That’s expensive!”  Still panganay was persistent, almost daily.  

Many months later, Tony came home with the 24-foot treasure! “It was a day of rejoicing,” panganay said. He proudly showed it to his friends and for the following weeks, they enjoyed playing with it. 

Why would Tony delay giving it? Son #1 realized years later that the replica cost P700. And Tony’s salary at that time was P600. 

He surmised that his father would never deny him what he wanted, but it took time for him to save for it. 

I bawled.  

I remembered the growing-up years of our three sons. My album of photos are my memories of grace, but my boys remember more through their close encounters with their father.   

Again, as with all the other eulogies, this was one more facet of Tony’s heart I glossed over, because he never belabored any issue.

It took a wake for son #1 to share his fond memories of his father "who never failed to provide" (his words, not mine).

P.S. 

That Voltes V replica had long been thrown away because it got mangled by the boys beyond recognition. Now, guess how much a pre-owned one would cost today? P71k! 

PBF 2025: A Blast

Ten hundred thousand superlatives can’t possibly describe my two-hour stint at the Philippine Book Festival. 

The OMF-Hiyas booth, managed to a tee by the dedicated staff, teemed with readers who asked questions while I signed my books.

 

I grabbed the chance to tell them the backstories, which my BFF Yay (a fellow author) said are more interesting than the stories themselves. 

Aside from long chats, photo ops took most of everyone’s time. Those moments of grace at the OMF booth provided an oasis and a refuge for the arid and horrid terrain my family and I just journeyed through for two long months since the New Year.    

Here are photos that show the joy I cannot begin to write in words. 

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."  Psalm 46:1

Photo credits: Hiyas

Wake: Travelling Back (Part 2)

As announced, we opened the door of Chapel 506 at 3 PM on January 22 to begin Tony’s four-day wake. 

A man, whose face was vaguely familiar, stood outside, waiting to come in. He extended his hand and said, “Aboc po, Ma’am,” he said, trying to conceal his tears.

Then I remembered. Aboc was the loyal messenger of Tony’s company for over 20 years! I didn’t see him often, but whenever I did, he was always gracious. 

Sam, our driver, cried, “Aboc!” And they hugged as long-lost friends would. 

Aboc volunteered to deliver the eulogy (fond remembrances) during the memorial service, and he was the last guest to leave at dawn.     

What he said made me weep all over again. Not of grief but of hearing for the first time another facet of Tony’s heart. 

“Kind,” he said repeatedly. He enumerated many times when Tony came to his rescue and helped him, even with his personal problems. He spoke of how "boss Tony" personally called Aboc’s future boss (Aboc resigned when he found a job closer to his home), vouching for his character and endorsing him. 

Another guest offerred to give the eulogy: Nora, a faith sister. I was a principal sponsor at her wedding so she and her husband call me Ninang. 

Whenever she and Tony met, their chats were long, centering on their common passion, food. Nora can whip up a yummy dish at any time. For years till Tony was hospitalized, Nora would send Tony every Sunday a plate of her cooking.  

There was that one Sunday when I came home without it. Tony asked,  “No food for me?"  

“Nora is in Singapore.” 

Every Christmas, Nora would gift us with Tony’s favorite queso de bola. (It was no surprise when she took on the food-prep job completely--from wake to funeral. Photo below: 4th night.) 

I couldn’t imagine how Tony, better known as a no-nonsense businessman who neither pulled no punches nor minced words, could be soft, chatty, and caring!?  

Grace overwhelmed me that night through two most unlikely, but special, volunteer speakers.