In 1998, I went back to Bulacan State University because of two realities. One was that we could never afford the college course that I want from the University that I wanted to take it. Second, Tita Vicky requested that I stay with her and Nana Puding. Nothing tastes more bitter than
dreams unrealized. But when it is countered by a good sense of purpose, understanding the current situation is much easier.
Tita Vicky and Nana Puding took us in when our house burned by the end of May 1989. They are sisters of our grandmother, Oma. They gave me a sense of meaning to the term “single blessedness”. Tita Vicky didn’t marry, some say, to take care of Nana Puding who’s blind since birth. Tita Vicky though, was a mother to us kids and all of our lives are better because “the supervisor” ( as she was fondly called in whispers) guided us in. She was one who made impact on our values from prayers to sleeping in the afternoon, to eating fish and vegetables. Her opinions mattered and she never abused the weight of her words. She taught generosity by example. If she had 100, she’d easily give you 99 if you need it. I apply a lot of those things in my life as a parent and as a member of a family and community and it’s hard. But she did it and rarely complained or gloated about it.
During those years in ’98 I asked Tita Vicky to write about her life. About how a pretty girl from the barrio in Bulacan ended up in the frontlines of a rebellion against the occupation of the Japanese. She downplayed her role to the sidelines as she said she went guerrila just to avoid being romantically pursued by Japanese soldiers. In hindsight she felt it was a story not worth telling. But she carried a gun, and she’s so pretty it is not hard to stand out. I just thought it was a good idea for her story to be known and she can do it too since she is in command of some 10000 words (I’ve learnt most during our scrabble battles), maybe 300 in Nippongo.
She was our mother when mom was out making sure there was food on the table. My dad got chased by bolo wielding Tita Vix once, it got him sober enough to find something like a regular job to contribute to the table until my dad’s untimely death in 1991. Mom made sure we had a fighting chance. Tita Vicky made sure we had the right core values. These are things that you don’t see then. They are seeds. The fruits, the flower and the appreciation come long after.
I’ve seen her serve as treasurer for Baranggay Catmon during my college years. She served them diligently and her honorarium was additional service fund to those in need.
It’s been said that like theater, we live our lives in three acts. I met Tita Vicky with her life coming on its third act. I met the faultless saint with no desire greater than giving.
After college she knew it was time for me to go pursue my own dreams or a semblance of one. “Pursue as many dreams you can and find contentment in what you have at the end of it, not with what you failed at.” she said. She never asked for anything back. Since I worked, I tried to compensate for my absence by giving her money. She, in turn gave it away to those who need it more. She retired from her baranggay duties but the baranggay service kept on.
Nana Puding loved the stories. The “huntahan”, the colors of the exchange. The words paint light in a dark world. You’d be surprised of her sharp eloquence and engaging banter. The years she spent besides the AM radio contributed on how she expressed herself.
She has heightened her other senses fully, we could never escape afternoon naps as she hears us tiptoe out the door to play. We may have grown too fast for her. Every visit needs to have an assurance that we will be back again.
During these times, when regret sinks like a heavy anchor crushing your heart and bleeding in the salted sea, we find comfort in memories. Memories are about the actions we took as opposed to regret that mostly comprise of intention we didn’t find the courage to act on. In 2011 when Nana Puding died, I shared to her the burgeoning feeling of regret and how most times supposedly logical choices knot us away from things we believe we should be doing. She told me not to worry too much thinking about how they are. She told me I can be a better father with a few lesser things to worry.
But it’s hard not to think about someone who’s always been with you til you become an adult. Her health deteriorated since Nana Puding was gone. Symbolic, maybe. Maybe it was all a matter of time.
As today started like any other day, but by lunch time I got a call that she is gone. There are regrets and they will always be outweighed by the memories that shape my reality. This is the beginning of a time where she is gone forever, but the stories about her, and what she gave to this part of the world where she exemplified kindness will live in all of us.
danDAman 