Tatay

24 September 2007

I’m almost ready to leave for work. I meet my art restoration team from Monday to Thursday every week to restore the art collection of the Central bank of the Philippines. But, then an unexpected downpour came. It was so strong, the water crashing on the roof sounded like water being poured from a pail! I’m letting the rains stop just a bit before I leave. So here I am writing, this time about my father-in-law, Jose Quinton Dalisay.

Last September 20 was my father-in law’s 11th death anniversary. Time flies so fast. I can still remember the first time I met Tatay (father). He, together with his wife Emy (whom I would later call Nanay, or mother) and their son Butch, came to the house in Project 4 to lend support to Butch as he asked for my hand in marriage. It was 1973.

I remember Tatay as a tall, strong man. He had a deep voice and he carried himself with authority like a judge or a military general. I was in awe of my soon-to-be father-in-law. He would later reveal the different facets of his personality after Butch and I were married.

I grew up in a typical home where the mother would supervise the children, plan the menu, go to market, and prepare meals for the family. The father, as I knew it then, should be attended to and served because he was the breadwinner of the family. My father was so. But Tatay was different. He did the marketing and prepared all the dishes with quiet joy and pride. He never allowed anybody to go near the pot of kaldereta, sinigang na baboy, pangat na isda, menudo, or tinolang manok. His tapang baka was to die for!

His fingers seemed to have a life of their own and knew just how much salt, pepper, and garlic were needed to cure the meat. In the morning the whole house would be filled with the delicious aroma of newly cooked rice, fried eggs, and fried tapa! The scent of crispy garlic and pepper brought everyone out of bed! Once in a while Nanay would wash and chop some vegetables, or Elaine or Rowie would crush garlic and slice tomatoes. Me? I was busy doing the laundry and watching over Demi, my baby. (That's Demi up there, at around three years old, with Tatay.)

Tatay loved to read. He would devour all the newspapers and whatever magazines Nanay would bring home from work. This love of reading developed his mastery of the English language at a young age. He would continue to read and read even though his cataracts blurred his sight. The cataracts kept coming back, so he just decided to let it be.

There was a small patch of land beside the house we rented while we were still living in UP just across the office of MWSS. Tatay saw the possibilities of this area and planted eggplants, tomatoes and mustasa or mustard. I watched him as he prepared the soil and buried every seed with tenderness and care. He would water the soil every morning and afternoon. When the young shoots appeared, he covered them with newspaper to protect them from the sun. He inspected the leaves and stems for worms and insects and fed the soil with organic fertilizer to make the plants healthy and strong. They were like his children.

The Artist in Me

It's 10:00 pm. I should be in bed watching TV, but my newly painted toenails need more time to dry. I have decided to write a bit, watch TV and let the nailpolish dry all at the same time! But the truth is, I need to start focusing and directing my consciousness into that storehouse of images and memories, hold a Chinese brush, direct my fingers to do their magic on a blank sheet of paper. In other words, I should be painting on a canvas instead of painting toenails!

I knew what I wanted to be even when I was small. An artist, that was what I would tell myself. I remember making drawings on the blank pages of Webster’s Dictionary and every available sheet of paper that I could lay my hands on. I would weave stories and express my thoughts through a pencil held by my clumsy little fingers.

Papa and Mama realized I had talent, and enrolled me in a summer art class in the Lyceum of the Philippines. It was 1959 and I was 9 years old then. Papa brought me twice to my art class which was on the 3rd floor of the building. The next time I was on my own. I rode on the bus, making sure my fare was safe in my secret pocket and that all my art materials were secure in my brown paper envelope.

Lyceum seemed like a huge building to me during that time. The corridors were long and wide and it was always quiet. This frightened me but I had to be brave because Papa expected me to be so. I learned to overcome my fears and later settled down and began to enjoy the class and art activities together with the other children.

That summer class was the first and last art class I attended as a child. Many years later, I found myself in a different setting and atmosphere when I enrolled in the UP College of Fine Arts in Diliman. I was in a new world! There was tremendous energy all around me. It was exhilarating, challenging, and exciting. I grew in every direction. My creative energies were unleashed. I began to be transformed into an artist, at last.

My transformation was gradual and went on even after I left the college. I finally discovered the mystery and beauty of watercolor. I was able to achieve that unique softness and transparency of colors with many hours of practice and patience. Watercolor is difficult to control and manipulate. It reacts in many different ways. It seems to have a mind of its own and will seek its own place on any surface. I have learned to direct its movement by understanding its nature and its possibilities.

It does not scare me anymore the way it used to. I had to overcome the fear that gripped me as I held the brush between my fingers. I had to be brave because I expect this from me.

The Joy of Mothering Ma and Pa

Mama was sick last week. She could not explain where and how she developed amoebiasis. Ma thinks it must be from some fat-laden food she bought. Pa called me one day and said that Ma was in bed with a slight fever. He said that Ma had diarrhea, too. That didn’t sound good. I was in St. Paul University in Manila doing restoration work with my team when I learned about this development. I left right away to check on Ma.

My parents are both 83 years old and they represent a generation whose experience in World War II brought out the best in them. They learned to be strong, brave and resilient in the face of danger,devastation, death and hunger. Ma and Pa were high school sweethearts. They were born and grew up in Iloilo—Ma in Jaro, and Pa in Pototan. Ma and Pa were in their 20s when the 2nd World War broke out. Pa joined the USAFFE and later became a guerilla on Panay Island. Ma and her family went hiding in the barrios where there were few Japanese soldiers.

The whole country was in ruin after the war. The wounds and scars left by the war were so deep, it took a lot of courage and strength for the Filipinos to heal themselves and to rise and build their lives. These qualities of independence, fortitude and resiliency are deeply entrenched in my parents and their generation. This explains why Mama and Papa refuse to live with me. They say they are still capable and fairly strong and could do things by themselves. And yet Papa called me to inform me of Mama’s condition.

It was starting to rain when I got to their place. I paid the taxi and walked as fast as I could so I wouldn’t get wet. We bundled Ma and Pa drove to the UP Infirmary. Ma was thinner and paler and a bit disoriented. I guess this was because she ate less and was sleeping most of the time.

I found myself at their cottage almost everyday, checking on Ma’s temperature and appetite. Before Ma got sick, I would only stay in the iliving room and exchange stories and tales with them. But now, I make it a point to check their refrigerator. I have thrown away tons of stale food, limp and rotten vegetables, and forgotten goodies that have lost their power of attraction!

Papa and Mama seem happy and at ease now that that this small crisis is over! I now prepare food for them every two days and Jenny, my trusted and efficient housekeeper, brings the food and whatever surprises to Ma and Pa when I’m away at work.

I dropped by last Sunday before attending Sunday worship and found Mama up and about, going through some trash and sorting things out. She’s getting there and the color has returned to her cheeks. Papa is as cheerful as ever, telling me stories about his invention and meetings with his buddy Rolly Rodriguez. I listen and I savor this moment of happiness with them. I hug them and kiss their wrinkled cheeks. I say good-bye and whisper a prayer of thanks for this gift of love that continues to flow from their aging hearts.

The Realities of the Widening Waist

I will dwell on something light and funny because I refuse to be affected by unhappy events. So here goes and I hope I make some of you out there laugh a little!

There are problems that refuse to go away, and one problem that affects everyone is the widening of the waist. This phenomenon affects men and women from all walks of life, race and age groups. Now, that should somehow make me feel normal.

It seems it was only yesterday when I could fit into a small-sized skirt and pants. I could even tuck in shirts and blouses and walk with confidence wherever I go. Oh, I still exhibit that confident stride despite the change in my anatomy, except that my fashion sense has evolved into something more comfortable. That means my shirts and blouses are more accommodating of my wider waist!

This phenomenon is exhibited and experienced by my high school friends as well. At least I know I am not alone. But I do say the ladies of my generation look more attractive and admirable now than ever before. Why is this? This is so because we have begun to shift our focus and strategy. We give more importance to our complexion, hair, teeth and make-up so that people we talk to will never notice our bodies. How can they notice our shape when we always wear dark colored clothes!

So, to my readers out there, don’t lose hope even if you have given away many of your favorite pants, shirts, blouses, and skirts to your nephews, nieces, neighbor, and your friend’s friend. You have choices! Go on a diet, exercise, change your beauty regimen, sport a new hairdo, or have your teeth fixed. But most of all be happy and thankful with your life. For a joyful heart brings out the best in all of us. Remember that one attracts good energies when one is happy. So be glad and rejoice in the knowledge that there are many others out there who have accepted the changing realities of the widening waist!