(Rough translation of the title: This is how we were before, how are you now?)
I was born on July 11, 1942, at the height of World War II. Before the outbreak of the war, the Philippines was a Commonwealth established by the Americans in 1935. Manuel Luis Quezon was then elected First President of the Philippine Commonwealth. Prior to that, Senator Jose Avelino was Senate President Pro Tempore to Senate President Manuel L. Quezon in the Philippine Legislature from 1934 to 1935.
Later, he was designated Secretary of the Department of Public Works and Transportation by President Quezon from 1935 to 1939. Because of that designation, Secretary Jose Avelino was perceived to be a close ally of President Quezon and a powerful political figure. This must have influenced my parents to name me after him. From that given name, Avelino, an affectionate pet name evolved, Bileng. Up to this day, I am known as Bileng to the members of the family, our relatives, my barkada, and the people in the immediate neighborhood. In my other worlds, I am known to business associates and colleagues as Lino.
Born Out of Wartime Turbulence
I do not have much recollection of the war. I was in my innocence. But I was told many tantalizing stories by my family members. Ate Nora, my one and only sister, had many exciting and instructive stories. But it was my mother, Inang to me, and Sameng to the neighborhood, who impregnated my consciousness with much of the past history of the family. One interesting revelation she recounted to me then was that I almost died when I was a baby.
From Inang, I learned that the Japanese conquest of the country was a fait accompli by the time I was born. However, pockets of resistance were palpable in the countryside. The Japanese reaction to these was brutal. They conducted zona unannounced and as often as they pleased. Men in the community would be rounded up. With Filipino whistleblowers known as the Makapili, suspected guerillas were ferreted out. The ill-fated ones would either be summarily executed or tortured for information. The community lived in constant fear of the Japanese.
When a zona was imminent, the men in the neighborhood would hide in the forest of Batogalo Hills or at the laot, the lakeshore area of Laguna de Bay. In one such zona my father, Amang to me, and Tiago to the townsfolk, and Unting Tikong ran away with Inang and the children in tow to hide at the laot. Access to the laot was by bangka, which navigated along the lakeshore. It was always covered with a mass of water hyacinth tubers that helped camouflage any intruders in the area. To escape the Japanese, Amang and Unting Tikong had to frantically paddle away across the thick water hyacinth while Inang was cuddling me wrapped in lamping katsa as protection against the lake water. In their great haste, Inang accidentally dropped me in the lake. Her terrifying cry alarmed Unting Tikong, who instinctively dived after me. His timely succor spared my life.
The three years that spanned the Fall of Bataan in April 1942 to the Liberation in October 1944 were obliquely known as tatlong taong walang Diyos. During those three years when God seemed to have abandoned the country, the people of Taytay, including our family, suffered much. Our eldest brother, Kuya Jose, joined the Hunters-ROTC guerilla movement of Philippine Military Academy Cadet Terry Adevoso.
He was in the company of Jovito Salonga, who was operating in the part of the Sierra Madre mountain range that runs along the eastern part of Rizal province. My only sister, Ate Nora, told me of how Kuya Jose was captured by the Japanese and incarcerated on the grounds of Taytay Elementary School, which was converted by the Japanese into a garrison. Ate Nora would slip through the barbed wire fencing and bring Kuya Jose some food. Kuya Jose must have suffered much during his incarceration. As a boy, I remember curiously touching the big scars on his arms and pondering what kind of torture he might have suffered from.
Destruction of our Ancestral House
The biggest loss of the family during the war was the destruction of our ancestral house. It burned down during the skirmishes for the liberation of the town in 1945. The ancestral house was a wood and concrete structure typical of Filipino middle-class houses at the turn of the century. The house was a labor of love of Amang. He single-handedly built the house during pistaym (Peace Time) . Being a gifted all-around construction foreman, and the work being close to his heart, it became an easy task. Amang was a maestro carpintero. He was often made a construction foreman because he was also very good in masonry, electrical wiring, tin sheet roofing, plumbing, and finishing works. As a child I watched him wide-eyed when he sculpted a three-foot tall romping horse from a whole block of hardwood. I mused that he might have inherited his woodworking skills from his Igorata mother. The Igorots of Benguet in the Mountain Provinces are known for their beautiful woodworks many of which are sold in top souvenir stores like Tesoro’s for tourists.
My brothers and my Ate Nora who had the fortune of living in the ancestral house before its destruction would gush with awe at how beautiful the house was and all its furnishings. The tables, chairs, aparadores or clothes cabinet, and other pieces of furniture all made of narra wood were said to be hand-carved by Amang. The hand carving design was of European influence apparently from our Spanish heritage. It must have taken so much intensity and patience to do all those. The indelible vision of those pieces of hand-carved furniture swayed me to have our sala or living room and dining sets all beautifully hand-carved in narra in the furniture shop of my brother Kale in Davao later in the 1980s.
(To be continued.)
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