Cory Through A’s Eyes

I had the privilege of covering President Aquino for the better part of the second half of her term, so the Cory I saw was a far more mature, far more seasoned, far more decisive, and certainly, far more sensitive chief executive than that who was swept into power on the strength of history’s most peaceful — and most profound — strike against dictatorship.

It was no surprise, therefore, that the end of Mrs. Aquino’s administration coincided with the country’s political and economic development. Repeated attempts to usurp her authority did help stunt initial efforts to progress, but, in my view, her confident gait and resolve to chuck concessions among supporters with varied interests in favor of a clearer vision directly spurred growth.

In this regard, I was fortunate to see Mrs. Aquino at her diplomatic best. The 1992 ASEAN Summit was certainly her most significant foreign trip as head of state, not counting her rousing visit to the United States at the start of her dispensation. She was still the darling of democracy when she made her way to Singapore, a role not lost on her as she shared insights with heads of neighboring nations, but she was also extremely effective in championing the Philippines’ causes at a time when protectionism was becoming passé and barriers to a truly free world trade environment were being torn down.

Ironically, Mrs. Aquino was not one to rub elbows with members of the media to seek support for her objectives. In fact, she was highly distrustful of scribes, borne, perhaps, of her negative experiences with critical quarters of the Fourth Estate. Thus, her “dialogues” with the Palace press corps were limited to twice-monthly “press conferences” and once-a-week taped programs that were heavily regulated and restrictive in nature. My fellow reporters and I were otherwise collectively stuck with sending her a maximum of three questions per day, in writing, and with receiving her replies — two sentences per query at best — also in writing.

The irony was that Mrs. Aquino could be very charming in person. I deem myself lucky to have witnessed her much lighter profile. When she invited the “Brat Pack” (as the Malacañang mediamen were then called) to spend a day at Hacienda Luisita, for instance, she played the perfect host, regaling us with off-the-cuff, off-the-record stories that showed her soft side. She was equally open when she treated us to lunch at her Times Street residence, beaming with pride as she talked not about her pressure-packed working days, but of good times with her son and daughters, and, most happily, with her grandchildren.

So, yes, I remember Mrs. Aquino with much fondness. She didn’t make my job easy, but she was always more than just a news subject to me. I believed in what she stood for when I marched for her, and wound up with countless bylines when I covered her, but my most treasured memories are those of her as a family woman with deep moral values, and who understood that every move she made had to be for God’s greater glory. Thus, she was, to me, the epitome of a leader. She was by no means perfect, but her word was gold, and she certainly did her utmost with the best of intentions. She will be missed.

This was originally published in BusinessWorld, August 4, 2009.

A with President Cory

My President Too

Originally published in Herword.com, August 4, 2009

She didn’t start out as my president.

Perhaps I was an exception, but I was the politically ignorant child of Pisay (Philippine Science High School) of the eighties, proficient in maths and sciences but absolutely lacking in savvy in the real world around me. Head burrowed in books, living a comfortably middleclass existence, I was raised to believe that status quo was the way to go. I was blind and I didn’t even know it.

And then my husband came along. My husband, student council president, was the firebrand in our batch. When the school authorities suspended some of our batch mates for a melee inside school grounds (whereas the opposing team from another school who was also involved in the brawl received much lighter sentences), he rallied all of us to the cause. We stayed out of classes for a sit-down strike. We marched around school carrying banners with slogans calling for justice and equal treatment. This was but a preview of what he would be when we grew up—fiercely idealistic and morally uncompromising.

A (right foreground) with President Aquino in "Magtanong Sa Pangulo"

If my husband was politically mature for our age, I was the exact opposite. We were just 18 when EDSA called to us in an unlikely revolution, and while he heeded the call of his beliefs, rushing to the streets with the rest of them and risking his life for a cause, I stayed home and studied, waiting for announcements of when school would resume. And so, when Cory Aquino was swept into power in this historic, bloodless clamor for change, he always knew she was his president.

In 1989, straight out of college, he found work as a reporter for a business paper, the same paper he still works for today. As a rookie scribe, his assignments brought him to witness the inner workings of Congress and, shortly after, Malacañang, This was his last and most important coverage as a reporter, entering the Palace grounds on the second half of Mrs. Aquino’s term as president. (When Mrs. Aquino’s term ended, he was promoted to sub-editor/section editor.)

A (second to the left) in Malacañang Press Corps Officers oathtaking

I was in medical school at that time. Occasionally, he would bring me to the press office in Kalayaan Hall where I met his friends and colleagues in the Malacañang Brat Pack. The night a major storm paralyzed most of the city with waist-deep floods in 1991, he and I sought shelter in Kalayaan Hall, where Mrs. Aquino sent all of us “storm refugees” pandesal and sardines to tide us over for the night. He brought me with him when the press corps was invited to Hacienda Luisita in Tarlac, acting as his photographer and alalay (assistant) in one. I was thrilled, of course, to meet the President in person and in less formal circumstances. She was a gracious host, sincere and warmhearted. Contrary to expectations of what public officials would be, she was interested in people and made an effort to find out who we were, even with the short time given to all of us. When she found out I was studying to be a doctor, she gave me a soft pat on the back. It wasn’t difficult at all to respect and like her.

An old point-and-shoot film camera, a microcasette recorder, pen and paper-these were the tools of his trade then.

My husband loved being a journalist, even at a time when laptops were still not widely used and he had to send stories meticulously written in longhand. (His record number of stories in one day: 15!) And if he loved what he did, it was because he had such a deep respect for the subject he covered. Mrs. Aquino was his president, the one he stood for and with on the streets of EDSA, the one he bet his life on amid the tanks and soldiers of the powers-that-be, and, for better or worse, he stood firm in his beliefs that she was an extraordinary individual in an extraordinary time. And, indeed, she was.

At a period in history when honesty and virtue were in great demand in government, she supplied it with a life lived by example. For one who had already lost so much, for one who had been violently stripped of any semblance of normalcy and peace in life, and for one who had been thrust in the eye of the storm, she was an amazingly brave and selfless person. Years after she left the presidency, she lived a life of quiet dignity, albeit always cognizant of her role as social conscience to her people.

On Wednesday, August 5, 2009, we bury Corazon Aquino, wife, mother, president. To her people, however, she will always be more than the positions she once held. She was valor, integrity, and virtue personified. I weep with my husband as we mourn her passing. She was my president, too.

Love In A Time Of Grief

Tonight, A, Alex, and I attended a vigil mass in honor of the father of Alex’s classmate and friend, G. After classes today, the parents and young men of Alex’s high school class gathered together to pay their respects to G’s dad and show their support for their brother.

It has been five days since G’s dad passed away in unexpected circumstances that have devastated their family. The boys were on a spiritual retreat Friday night and were awakened from deep slumber with the sudden news of G’s dad’s passing. Many wept with G as they received the news. Many found themselves in tight embraces, weeping and consoling each other. Brothers-in-class that they were, that moment, they simply became brothers.

from Hands of Hope, http://www.gatewaycommunityepc.com/

As we celebrated mass in G’s dad’s memory, I had to swallow back my tears many times. I have never seen these boys in somber circumstances; these boys are often clowns, always joking, always able to bring out laughter from all of us. But tonight, they stood as brave young men, their lives touched with the sorrow of one of their own. They clung to each other in groups and propped each other with encouragement and kind words. I hope that G, in the center of their group embrace, found strength and love when he most needed it.

I was amazed at G’s composure and maturity. G is a natural leader, an inspiration to many of his more jocular classmates. Even Alex is in awe of him. When the “commander” (their good natured nickname for G) speaks, everyone listens. And tonight, we all did. In his short speech before the end of mass, he said that before this, his life had not weathered many storms. This would be his biggest, most difficult test. I almost cried then, were it not for G’s calm demeanor. He misses his dad very much, he said, but he had faith that where his dad is, it is where the Lord is. To see such faith in the face of adversity makes my heart sing and weep at the same time.

To G, his mom, and his brothers, you are all in our prayers and our hearts are with you.  God bless you all.

A Parent’s Nightmare

It is every parent’s worst nightmare.

You are in the middle of a long day, waiting for the last few hours before work finally winds downs to a halt. You are thinking about dinnertime with the kids, and how noisy and fun it’ll be when the family sits down for a relaxing meal. You are thinking of the long, hot bath after that, while the kids finish their homework and projects, and you have a few minutes of alone time to wash the dirt and grime of the work day from your tired body. You think of the kisses you will get when you tuck them to bed at night. You glance at the clock, impatient for the time you will be with your family.

And then the phone rings. And your worst nightmare comes true.

Two days ago, on an ordinary Tuesday for many of us, a family’s life was changed forever when their fourth-grade son was run over by a van while inside the campus of the Ateneo de Manila University. Pinned between two large vehicles, Julian Carlo Miguel Alcantara, 10, lovingly called Amiel by his family and friends, did not survive his head injuries.

I can never imagine how it is to lose a child, and I pray that I am never ever tested that way. Even now, as I read news reports, blog entries (here and here), and forwarded email from friends in the Ateneo community, I am unable to stop weeping.  Amiel’s death hurts all of us who love our children and wish them nothing but happiness and joy in their lifetime. That he left this world so suddenly, so tragically, and so devastatingly makes many parents like me feel helpless and frightened. We can’t be there to protect our children all the time.

My family and I send our prayers and condolences to the Alcantaras in their hour of deepest grief. We pray that they find their strength as a family and draw from this in their darkest hours. And we pray that Amiel looks down from heaven to help his family heal from the wounds of his passing.

God bless you, Amiel.

Dreaming of Souls

  

When I was three, my mom caught me speaking to an empty window. She asked me whom was I speaking with, and I said “Lola Toyang,” (Grandma Toyang) in all innocence. Lola Toyang was my mother’s grandmother. She died long before I was born (but, hey, I didn’t know that). My mom was a little scared but she asked me to describe what I saw. She looked at the space where I was peering at, smiled sadly, and said, “I love her.” I still have a very vivid memory of that day, as I have, too, of the kindly old lady by our window.

Someone once told me that my sensitivity is attuned to those who have passed on. I choose not to believe that person because in truth, I am afraid of this “gift.” Over the years, however, I’ve come to realize some truths about this particular aspect of my person. When I was younger, I could see them by accident. I saw an old lady with long, white hair standing by the kitchen sink; I think she was doing dishes. It was early Sunday morning, not yet seven, and I said hello to her while on my way to the bathroom. I really thought she was our help, the one who came in during the day to help out my mom. Turns out that the help was off for the day.

In high school, at a student convention I attended, a beautiful lady standing a few meters away from me and my friends smiled at us. When I walked up to her to say hello, she disappeared.

When I was much older, I saw a little boy with brown curly hair inside my sister’s bedroom. I was babysitting a little cousin that day and two-year-old Ken was asleep in my arms when I thought I saw something moving from the corner of my eyes. I turned to see the boy and when I blinked, he was gone.

These experiences decreased, thankfully, as I grew older. Perhaps I was losing my innocence. Then again, maybe it was because fear overcame my extra senses and forcefully shut them down. Maybe my cousin was right after all when she said that I choose not to see. Whatever the reason may be, I am grateful that this is a gift that will never develop into fulsome. And yet, I still dream.

In freshman year in medical school, I almost flunked anatomy. Gross anatomy required dissection of a cadaver and my group of four was assigned to the body of an old woman. Dissection was carried out in stages, with the cadaver head to be unwrapped from its formalin-soaked covers only toward the end of the year. Thus, the group worked on a “faceless” body.

I told very few friends about this but for almost the entire year, I dreamt of an old woman every night. She would hide behind doors in my dreams, and as soon as I passed through the door, she would jump from behind and hug me. I saw her face many times in my dream and I would awaken with a startle and a scream each time I did. I wasn’t sleeping very well after a few months of this nightly “visits.”

Toward the last few weeks of the second semester, we were instructed to start dissection of the head. I held my breath as my groupmates slowly unwrapped the head for maximum exposure. Still, I already knew in my heart that I would see none other than the woman in my dreams. I was right. (We had Mass said for her, God bless her soul.)

And then for over a year when I was 26, I dreamt of a little boy with black eyes (no whites, just all corneas) asking me, “How is L?” The dreams were different each night, but this boy always managed to come in and ask the question.  And then one day, I suddenly recognized the little boy from one of my husband’s grade school photos. He was a classmate who died in a tragic accident, and L was the girl he married just before he died. The dreams stopped when I saw L, and I finally got an answer to how she was.

I dreamt of my grandmother, my grandfather, my mother-in-law many times after they passed on. In each dream, they always seem to have a message meant for the loved ones they left behind. My grandfather visited me in my dreams a few times, once after he died, a few times later when I was pregnant with Alphonse, and a few more times since then.  In one dream, he was deeply concerned about the rift that had developed between my mother and my grandmother, and asked that they make up soon. He also told me that he risked a lot to come to me. He said he missed Pizza Hut.

My grandmother visits when I am sick. She was most vivid during the time I was gravely sick in the hospital in 2001. She was with me every night then and I came to realize that she watched over me during those times.

When my mother-in-law died in her sleep in 2005, for months, I would dream about her always looking sad, hiding in shadows, or crying from afar.  About a year later, I dreamt of her standing outside what seemed to be the school where my sister-in-law works as a first-grade teacher. I’ve never been to my sister-in-law’s place of work before. A few weeks after my dream, my sister-in-law recounted that during a family day in her school, her four-year-old son said very matter-of-factly to his mom, “Mama, Lola is here in school.” “Grandma is in the province, son” she told him. “No, not her. The one in the church,” he insisted. (Mom rests in an ossuary in our church.) Was my dream even related? It seems to me that Mom was watching over both of them that day.

In 2006, on Alphonse’s birthday, the family stayed in a luxury hotel to celebrate the little one’s birthday. Tired from a full day of celebrating, we went to bed early. I dreamt that night that my mother-in-law was in the room with us. In my dreams, Alphonse hid underneath the duvet in fright. Mom was mouthing words I could not hear as only static filled my ears. I could only understand the words “I love you,” which she mouthed repeatedly. I saw her lean over my sleeping husband and kiss him gently on the forehead. I remember trying to wake him up but he wouldn’t budge.

We’ve never really found out what time she died in the night; the family refused an autopsy in observance of her wishes. In the dream, I asked her what time it happened, and she mouthed “Two o’clock.” Then she seemed to fly through the large glass window of the hotel room. I woke up gasping for breath.

When I opened the light and looked at the time, it was still dark out. The clock said 2:05 in the morning. Alphonse was awake, shaking in fright, eyes round as saucers, hiding underneath the sheets. I dreamt of her, yes, but did Alphonse see her? Maybe he did because he refused to sleep the rest of the night. He simply hid beneath the covers till the sun was up.

And then just this week, I dreamt of a cousin’s grandmother, long dead. I hardly knew her, except for the time when we were very small and she invited us to my cousin’s party in her home. Monday night, I saw her in my dreams visiting my cousin’s children Enzo and Isabelle, kissing them and hugging. She also said that were my cousin to move to a new home, she’d prefer that they move in with her daughter (my cousin’s aunt) instead. I didn’t understand any of this until I mentioned the dream to my cousin the next day. She understood right away and added that they had all forgotten that Monday, January 21, was her grandmother’s birthday. I had goose bumps when I heard that.

I don’t like it the least, dreaming of dead people. When I think of them that way, I get chills all over. And then I realize that these souls were loved ones, once part of someone’s life. They are remembrances of love and laughter, of warm embraces and wet kisses, of “I love you’s” said and unsaid. And I am their continuation in life, just as my children are mine. I remember that once upon a time, before their bodies went cold, their hearts beat with love for me. Then I am thankful that they remind me and watch over me still.
 

“Any man’s death diminishes me…”

 ”… any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.” ~John Donne, 17th century poet and preacher, in Meditation XVII

Heath Ledger 1979 – 2008

I’m not big on movies the way my husband is. A’s undying passion for movies created our enduring family ritual of movie nights. In truth, rarely do I find myself purposefully seeking cinema as a way to spend my time, very much unlike the men in my life. As such, I have very little to say about movies or their stars or their stars’ often tumultuous lives.

This morning, however, I caught the early news broadcasts on CNN. Australian actor Heath Ledger passed away Tuesday afternoon in still inconclusive circumstances. Within an hour of being pronounced dead, the whole world was abuzz with the news. I worried most about his family, wherever they were. Under the dazzling lights of Hollywood, now turned a meticulously unforgiving glare on his bereaved loved ones, there is little time to be alone and to grieve for the man, the son, the father that Heath Ledger was.
 
I found this sobering piece on the Net- the only one that conveyed a sense of sobriety and compassion in a world that’s always hungry for the next big news. I echo the sentiment of this sensitively written piece: may his family be comforted with the thought that beyond the face that shone brightly under the klieg lights, Heath Ledger belonged to them alone.

~0~

The Who’s News Blog ( A daily look at all things celebrity)
By Lorrie Lynch
   with Kathy Rowings

January 22, 2008

Heath Ledger’s death belongs with family

In this era of instant communication it took one hour and 16 minutes this afternoon from the time Heath Ledger was found dead by a housekeeper until his death was announced to the world by the Associated Press. The journalist in me approves but the mother in me finds it unspeakably sad that Ledger’s family got so little time. One hour and 16 minutes is not long enough to be alone with your shock, your grief and your questions, or to hold tight the others in your circle who care for the man as a son, a friend, a father, not just as the actor, the talent.

In just two hours after his death, Ledger’s obituary was ready with a list of his credits and his girlfriends but, of course, no cause of death or any reasonable explanation for why  a man with extraordinary ability to act on screen and a two-year-old daughter to brighten his life would wind up dead on a dreary Tuesday afternoon in January.

There are lots of questions to consider in the days ahead and an autopsy tomorrow might begin to answer them. I’m as curious as the rest of those who followed his life and his work. I thought he was brilliant in I’m Not There and looked forward to seeing his performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight. But tonight, I’m sorry  his family can’t have him to themselves.