A year shy of 60, I write this with the spirit of my Tatay who died suddenly at 60 of stroke and heart failure.

All Tatay had was his family. It was home-to-office, office-to-home for him day in and day out. Bedevilled by asthma since his growing-up years in Paco, Manila, he was 21 when the Americans liberated Manila from entrenched Japanese marines who were ready to die to the last man.

The bombing of Manila, 1945.

Because of their staunch defense and because General Douglas MacArthur wanted to save as many American boys from dying in house-to-house fighting, the country’s capital was the scene of one of history’s most savage artillery barrages and aerial bombardments, making it the second most devastated city of World War II after Warsaw in Poland. (Poland is Europe’s battleground of choice, a country so flat in terrain that it is called “tank country,” thus armies could roll in and out easily.) Even then it is a miracle he lived, for he hugged the ground between my Lolo Sotero and my Tito Oye when a wayward shell—most probably friendly fire—exploded near the playground where Japanese marines had herded civilians, including the Villanueva family. My grandfather and uncle died of shrapnel wounds and were buried in a mass grave, but the 21-year old man covered in soot—from the ashes of burned buildings and houses—who was to become my Tatay was unscathed. All his life, death hissed past him. Anti-asthmatic drugs of all shapes and sizes and late nights battling his condition were to him as dogs and running shoes are to me.

UP Diliman 1971. Note cigarette in hand.
Photo taken by Eli Galang.

Every day that I creep closer to 60, I am becoming more like Tatay. A graduate of the University of the Philippines—hotbed of political activism and haven of cosmopolitanism in the seventies—I did not know that I would someday end up like my father. All my life, I have endeavored to be unlike him because he wasn’t flashy and I went for flair. To his contentment, I did not set limits to myself, hungry for the next hit. To his humility, I wanted to know it all, to do it all and to tell the world about it. To his self-effacement, I was egocentric, full of myself.

For a while I thought I could be as far away from Tatay’s template as possible. On Day One of our marriage in 1982, Baby and I had our own house, and we lived apart from my parents and in-laws. I had a fancy job in advertising and public relations. Baby was employed in a multinational bank. Our children were in private school. We were part of the Filipino middle class before it disappeared to America and environs as an aftermath of the Aquino assassination and the economic hardship that followed in its wake. I was even president of a homeowners’ association that covered 3,000 residences. It was our Camelot.

I was so confident of our family’s financial standing that I took a leap of faith by working for commission selling Manulife products and services in 1992. I knew I could plumb the breadth, length and depth of my markets and emerge a winner.

Less than two years after I joined Manulife, the four horsemen of our Apocalypse came, demolishing everything in their path. First, Baby resigned from her job because of a botched strike. Second, education expenses for our growing brood shot sky-high. Third, the Asian currency crisis hit the Philippines squarely in the mandible, resulting in lesser purchasing power for my prospects. And fourth, in spite of my diligence as a provider, we had to convert our home to cash to answer enrolment requirements.

Our family in Camelot, 1996.

Fighting wounded, Baby and I didn’t give up on the Filipino dream, which was to have every child finish a university degree. Little by little, our prayers were answered. Dawn finished computer science in De La Salle University-Taft campus in 2004. Agee completed the same course in University of the Philippines-Los Baños in 2005. Bian graduated with a communication arts degree in UPLB in 2008. Maud—a dean’s lister for the past two semesters—is in third year advertising arts in the University of Santo Tomas. One more year and we’re done!

The Ates have careers of their own. Dawn and Agee are software developers, Bian is in media. If expressiveness, easy togetherness and spontaneous wackiness were measurements of a family’s success, our family has got it made. If love and laughter were yardsticks of a family’s progress, we’re in Fortune 500. If Christmas and New Year media noche feasts were barometers of a family’s triumph, we’re like Caesar entering Rome after conquest. The Ates gifted Baby and I with a videoke machine, one of Baby’s dreams come true. I walk around our home, leased, yes, but beautifully lived in, thinking, no, not thinking, feeling ten feet tall with all the blessings our family received in 2010.

Our daughters imitating a movie pose, Tagaytay, January 2010.

God has always answered our prayers, some quickly, like a one-sitting close with an annual premium, or some in process, like recovering assets lost in the struggle, such as a house of our own. You don’t have to be a sociologist to see that our society is in a war zone, too, such as Tatay’s Paco neighborhood in 1945. Some jobs have gone missing, rearranged by technology. Some families have been separated either by infidelity or economic necessity, because values have dipped just as jobs have become scarce. You do not see carnage in the streets such as in ‘45, but some people are figuratively gasping for breath, no longer inhaling “life in all its fullness” because bad news come as thickly as the bombs that exploded around Tatay’s family that fateful day.

Yet, in spite of and because of the conditions of war, some of us have chosen to become so-called “walking homilies,” sharing the wonders and providence of God in spite of uncertainties and difficulties. We are thankful for every crumb in our possession and willingly share it so that it can form part of the modern multiplication of loaves. This annual newsletter—now on its 11th issue—is the crumb of good news we have the audacity to share.

Around 12:20 a.m. of January 1, 2011.

Change is no stranger to me, just like Tatay in his time. He had childlike joy, courage and patience which I hope I will display in my advancing years. Days before he died, he was even contemplating an overseas job, unaware that his time was up, but he was that way, always thinking of what he could do for his family. Most of all, he was loving and faithful to his wife, my Nanay, who is turning 84 this year. She lives in Canada and is a Facebook “friend” of the family. The mirror of Tatay’s love, she carries his memories with her like family jewels. From the person I did not want to be, Tatay has become my best role model. I must follow in his footsteps or perish, for he has shown how it is to live—and love—in times of swirling and shifting winds of change. He has shown how it is to have peace in times of war or feelings of war.

When in trouble, I ask myself, “How would Tatay respond to this?” Tatay and I have different personalities, but as much as possible I try to “always rejoice in God’s consolation,” as the prayer to invoke the presence of the Holy Spirit goes. Contentment is the brother of acceptance. Surrender to the cross that everyone has to bear is Jesus Christ’s final lesson, the attribute that separates believers from non-believers. Tatay taught acceptance, humility and contentment not as an eloquent preacher but as a silently suffering disciple, bent and lowly. No better teacher, he. (Tatay’s core principles are in supporting article “Asth-My Father.”)

Ten changes in 2009 and 2010 are worth mentioning:

One, it was Maud’s time to change from girlhood to womanhood.

We surprised Maud with a party.

Here is a sonnet I wrote for her when she turned 18 last June 15, 2009:

It’s amazing how she can do it:
Working on her art, she’s a hit!
When she’s curled up doing stuff,
no job for her I admit is too tough.
Ever since she was this high,
she drew and drew, it made you sigh.
Now that she’s properly eighteen,
her gifts and talents are even more keen.
Paintings, sculptures, video productions,
We ask: “Where does she get the notions?”
On the day Mount Pinatubo spewed ash,
she was born with talents, of more than a dash.
I wish she will make many more people smile,
touched by her productions, mile after mile.

Two, I used to run by my lonesome together with other enthusiasts, beginning with the annual Milo Marathon in the late 70s.

I took a leave from running when the girls were growing up, helping Baby change cloth diapers (disposables were still being market-tested at that time), mix infant formula and burp babies on my shoulder in the middle of the night. The demands of fatherhood, including my activism in the homeowners’ association to prevent crime in our neighborhood by proactive community organization, also made me eschew regular running, although I made it a point to jog every so often. But when the girls grew up and had acquired jobs, I found myself pounding the pavement again at daybreak, especially when I discovered the exquisite joy of running with dogs on heel.

(“Heel” is a specific command that requires the dog to stay beside the handler while he stands, walks or runs. When he stops, it stops. When he turns around, it turns around. When he sprints, it sprints.)

Paternally, pensively, persistently, passionately—night run, August 15, 2009.

It was such a delight when I found myself in 2009 in several events in Fort Bonifacio and Greenfield, Sta. Rosa running with Dawn, Agee and Bian. Sometimes, Baby and Maud also joined us. I’m back, with our grown-up babies running as well!

Three, my Ateneo de Naga high school class batch 1969 celebrated its 40th anniversary in Naga city last October 23-25, 2009. For most of us, it was the first time to see one another after 40 years. My reflection? We are still the same boys, the same outlook, the same gifts, the same faith for most of us. What has changed is a sense of acceptance, thereby creating peace of mind. Water has turned to wine.

Four, former President Corazon C. Aquino died on August 1, 2009 and what transpired defied political pundits who had written off the yellow army.

The following is an excerpt from my account of my falling in line for eight hours around the Manila Cathedral to catch a last glimpse of the Icon of Democracy:

“Finally, I saw my St. Cory. I didn’t see a dead person. I saw a rare flower cut from the stem and encased in glass for everyone to see. I didn’t see suffering. I saw glory. My own tired and wet self disappeared from consciousness as I saw and wondered at the spiritual steadfastness of the person under the glass pane. I saw the hope given by the Father. I saw the icon at rest. I felt my smallness and gazed at greatness. I saw a person of privilege who could have escaped to a safer place after having been widowed but chose to stay and face a tsunami of national problems. I saw sacrifice. I saw love.”

We gathered around the altar in a Holy Mass celebrated
by our spiritual mentor, Fr. Emmanuel V. Non, S.J.
Photo taken by Chito Irigo.

For the full story, as well as related writings, you may click on these:
St. Cory
Good to Go
I Remember Now

Five, Ondoy hit Manila on September 26, 2009. I was supposed to pick up Maud from the Las Piñas flyover beside the Coastal Road on the day of the deluge. What could have taken an hour at the most became four hours as I looked for our bunso in a jumble of vehicles stranded in the flood. I wrote:

“I phoned Maud that I was on my way to pick her up. Better said than done. When I reached the Coastal Road side of the flyover, there were vehicles helter-skelter, stopped in knee-high waters. Young people are not used to giving directions, so after four hours I was able to pick her up. Four hours of exasperation because my phone was losing power, rain continued to pour, I was searching in darkness, and I had to cross and re-cross the unholiest of waters to look for the vehicle where my daughter was technically trapped.”

For the full story, please click on this:
The Day I Searched for My Daughter for Hours

Six, Noynoy Aquino ran and won. We pray for him and the country with the intercession of San Lorenzo Ruiz almost every night in Holy Rosary. I wrote this on September 9, 2009 when he accepted the public clamor for him to run:

When Ninoy stood up from his seat
in the China Airlines plane,
flanked by military men sent to pick him up,
he didn’t know that he would be shot
When Cory said yes to the clamor
to run against the dictator,
she didn’t know she would be faced
with seven failed power grabs,
and an unappreciative nation
right after her term
When Noynoy today accepted
the challenge to continue the fight
his parents started,
he knows he’s in for a crucifixion
Cheers will turn to jeers
when he takes sides,
he will have enemies he didn’t know existed
he will have many sleepless nights
wondering how he can ever satisfy
a nation in the cusp of progress,
yet unwilling to let go of its culture
of pakikisama, utang na loob and such
Noynoy knows what he’s in for
That makes him doubly courageous
That’s why I’m for him
He wanted the cup to be passed to
someone else, but he looked around
and there was none

Celebrating our new home with my cousin Linda (in red). Photo taken by Agee.

Seven, we moved house. A few days before Christmas of 2009, Baby asked me to go with her to market. BF Resort had one, but it’s open only on Saturdays. We usually walk to the place, but Baby said it was late, so I drove. After marketing, we boarded the vehicle to go home. We had to pass the inner streets to go out, when lo and behold, we were looking at a house for rent. We wanted to transfer because Ondoy’s waters had lapped the shores of our former home, although the house itself was not submerged. We found the house to our liking. We transferred. That is why we were not able to come out with issue number 11 of this newsletter in 2010, which we usually prepare during the Christmas and New Year holidays.

Eight, Baby had a total hysterectomy. “Our first home is gone,” Agee said to her sisters. While Baby lost a part of her, our daughters stretched the legs of their filial piety as they cared for their mother, shared household chores and helped shoulder hospital bills.

The entire family with newbie Niccolo the Jack Russell
Terrier. Jacopo the Cat opted out of the frame in mortal
fear of the youngest member who belongs to a breed
with a blood feud against cats.

Nine, Facebook. Time magazine said it has changed the way we communicated with each other. Facebook came at a time of great change, and people needed to hold hands frequently. For example, my cousin Linda wrote “3 minutes ago” that there was an earthquake in San Francisco. From Manila I wrote, “I hope it was just a twitch.” Without missing a beat, she responded, “Yeah, two or three twitches.” Separated by migration when we were kids, Linda and I corresponded by mail since we were in our twenties. Facebook made our letter-writing not only paperless, stampless, but in actual time. My mother in Canada relishes the numerous “pics” her apos post. What took weeks to send photographs takes a few clicks of uploading from the camera to “wall.” Three cheers for Mark Zuckerberg, who incidentally was born three months before Agee. Either they’re getting younger and younger, or I’m getting older and older.

And ten, it was time to say thanks to a teacher who made a difference in my life. Her name is Betty Calleja-Ilao, my grade six English teacher. Please buy the book on mentors with my article on her in it. The book is called Budhi with the headline “Your Success is My Success!” an Ateneo de Manila publication, available in the National bookstore chain after its launch January 21, this year. My eulogy of Tito Doming is also a part of the book.

The spirit of my Tatay is in me. I understand now what he meant when I caught him looking at me with approval days before he died. A product of times of great change, he was passing the baton to me his son, who would himself live in times of great change. Maybe divine inspiration made him look at me that way. A man of few words, he had an expressive face. He knew I would have to face my own battles as a family man, and he knew he had taught me well by example. At the twilight of his life, he conveyed this message:

“Boy (my name to my family), you are about to go to war. Some battles you will win, some you won’t. But don’t worry, you will have it in you to rise when you fall, and to bend when you rise. Just remember every life has a reason, and my reason for living was to father you and your sisters. Love one another as I have loved you, pray a lot, and you will get your reward in the end.”

Thank you, ‘Tay, for the good example.

Wilfredo G. Villanueva

Relaxing with Jock the Whippet outside our home after Christmas festivities.