Majayjay, Laguna, my father's hometown, was a small, quaint community nestled at the foot of Mt. Banahaw, more than a hundred kilometers south of Manila. This lanzones and pandan mecca of hilly terrain and cool climate offered an enviable serenity and calmness that seemed irresistible especially to city dwellers who longed for peace and quiet that only a rural community could offer. Clear, cool streams, small brooks, and arresting mini waterfalls cascading from hillsides in the outskirts of town added to the simple, unadorned beauty of this enchanting little town. It was a place steeped in traditions which were stamped, not only in people's daily lives, but in physical reminders evident everywhere. Its Spanish colonial heritage was clearly etched, not only on a 16th century church standing like an ancient colossus in the center of town and housing a treasure-trove of priceless artifacts, but to moss-covered stone bridges and century-old ancestral homes dotting the town's landscape. There was a sense of honoring the past as well as a common feeling of pride in their heritage as a people that bound the Majayjayenos. Theirs was a tight-knit community where everyone seemed to know everyone and where family ties and friendships extended back to generations.
As charming as Majayjay seemed to be, there was a more practical reason why my parents decided to move us to this rustic little town in the late 50's. After I completed my freshman year in high school, our abject poverty forced me to stop studying for 2 years which left me very distraught. Still unable to find a more consistent job, my father was counting on Majayjay's cottage industry of pandan mat and bag weaving to help us through financially. So we moved as a family and transported our meager belongings from San Juan to Majayjay, a distance of approximately 70 kilometers, where we hoped to find a better life. We stayed with my father's immediate family initially, then moved a couple of times after that from one relative's house to another. They were complicated accommodations that taxed us emotionally as a family and as individuals. While our financial situation did not change much despite our full-scale commitment to learn the trade of mat-weaving, there was a tiny flicker of light that started to break in the darkness that life cast in my direction. I was able to go back to school!
Majayjay Standard Academy was the only high school in town and there I enrolled as a sophomore in June 1960. Unlike my classmates in San Juan, my classmates in Majayjay were a happy bunch of non-judgmental youngsters that welcome me with open arms and from whom I gained immediate acceptance. Being a "new kid on the block", I thought I was curiously observed and sized up, especially by the teachers, and I hope I did not disappoint. I immediately became immersed in extra-curricular activities and scholastic pursuits that at the end of the school year, I was the top student in the class; however, I was only given the distinction of "Honorable Mention" due to my lack of residency in the school. But I earned special recognitions, such as, "Most Honest", "Best In Language", and "Best In Conduct", that assuaged my disillusionment. Inspite of everything, it was a special year that renewed my hopes for the future. I waited with anticipation what my junior year held in store.
When the new school year rolled in, we were still in dire need of many of life's necessities that we were barely making it. By this time, I had learned the weaving process proficiently and was able to add something to the scanty family income. Notwithstanding our circumstances, I continued to excel in academic pursuits and at the same time, gained recognition as a student leader. During my senior year, I was elected president of the student body and was involved in a variety of school activities that honed my talent in public speaking as well as my leadership abilities, things that would work to my advantage in the days ahead.
MSA, despite being a small-town school, had some excellent educators, one of whom was Mrs. Gloria Breganza, my English teacher during my junior and senior years. She was probably in her early 40's at the time, a no-nonsense, kind, smart, soft-spoken, and deeply religious woman who instilled respect from everyone, even a reluctant admiration from the occasional rabble-rousers who seemed to be present even in the most disciplined schools. From her capable instructions, I honed my writing and English grammar skills and learned to absorb the beauty of literary masterpieces like a sponge thirsty for water. Through her instructive endeavors, poetic expressions from the masters came alive and became lessons of life - "The Psalm of Life", "Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie", "Invictus", "Charge of The Light Brigade", "The Rainy Days", "To A Waterfowl", O Captain, My Captain", "The Raven", "The Highwayman", to name a few. I translated these classic pieces to declamatory art that I performed during high school and public functions which ultimately earned me the recognition, "Declaimer of the Year" when I was a senior. Prose was intrinsic to the deep, cerebral allure of poetic expressions. Aware of such mystical partnership, Mrs. Breganza also introduced me, along with my classmates, to the immortal works of literary giants that left their mark from ages past - John Milton, Dante, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, the Bronte sisters, Ernest Hemingway, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, even to the Russian masters of the pen such as Chekov, Tolstoi, Dostoyevsky, and the list went on. But she taught me more than books; she gave me far more than knowledge and appreciation for the erudite influences of these literary figures. She taught me that human decency could be channeled effectively through simple acts of caring and thoughtfulness; she made me aware of the humanity inherent in people and she, in my own eyes, became the arrant prototype.
I could have easily chosen another example which reflected her caring and support, for there were many, but there were some things imprinted deeply in the heart, and this incident was one of them: In January 1963, two months before my high school graduation, I was called by Mr. Inocencio Estebal, our school principal to his office. I had no inkling what this meeting was all about because I knew of nothing in my conduct that would have elicited chastisement or reprimand of any sort. My anxiety was soon replaced by excitement when he told me, after some laudatory preliminaries, that I was being handpicked to represent our school in a district-wide high school extemporaneous speaking contest sponsored by Union College of Laguna, the college in the provincial capital. It was an honor I could not pass-up... nor decline. I was only provided with the basic information about the contest: 2 minutes preparation on site, 2 minutes delivery, contest rules, the date and time, as well as location of the contest,and participants, all in their senior year, that would come from at least 10 different high schools in the district. My principal told me our school was not going through the usual elimination procedure to pick the representative because, after meeting with the faculty, I was the overwhelming choice. I had two weeks to mentally prepare.
I did not think anybody, particularly my parents, realized at the time the enormous pressure that was placed on me because of this assignment. I would be representing the whole school and I needed to perform to the best of my ability and bring home the bacon, so to speak. Otherwise, it would be an unfounded trust placed in my ability by my superiors and I could not risk that. I had to bring honor to my school or disappoint those who believed in me.
Finally, it was the day of the contest, a cool, sunny day in early February. I had to be in Santa Cruz, the provincial capital, at least an hour before the contest started at 2:00 PM. My father was out of town and my mother had some tasks she had to finish so she would be unable to come. The only one I knew who would be coming was Mr. Estebal, my principal, so I was full of anxiety not knowing where I would go, how I'd get to the school, and those little things added to my anxiety about the contest and left me very unsettled. I got dressed and was waiting in front of the house for a jeepney when a truck pulled up in front of me all of a sudden and a smiling, familiar face beckoned me to hop in. It was Mrs. Breganza! My relief was palpable. As I got settled beside her and her husband who was on the wheels, she said they decided to come because she did not know if anybody would be with me and she knew I needed moral support. I did not think that she fully realized, even with my feeble attempt to express my gratitude, how much that demonstration of support meant to me. It was a simple yet profound confirmation of her inherent kindness and sensitivity to someone's need, things that I would value and remember for the rest of my life.
I brought home a Silver Medal and a one-year full scholarship to the Union College of Laguna (which I did not avail of because I had another choice of school). About 10 of my classmates showed up, and together with our principal and Mrs. Breganza, cheered me on during and after the contest. I was told that I narrowly missed the Gold because of the time factor. My speech lasted a few seconds longer than the two minute time allowed while the Gold Medalist's timing was perfect and it became the deciding factor. Although I did not come home with the top prize, it was not a disappointing performance and I was satisfied. I brought an unprecedented honor and recognition to my school and had proven myself to the people who placed their hopes on me. It was a thrilling accomplishment that elevated my self-esteem a notch and validated my inner resolve that I had what it would take to alter the path to the future.
A few weeks later, in the late afternoon of the 29th of March 1963, I marched at the head of my class to the tune of the graduation song. Beside me were my parents, whose many years of toil and sacrifice had helped me to attain the glory of that day (see another post titled, "My Mother: A Journey of Sacrifice"). Warm and sunny, the glorious sun was a reflection of the warmth in my heart as I delivered the valedictory address to a crowd of students and teachers, and to the wonderful people of Majayjay who came to witness the event. The accolades were numerous, the congratulatory embraces strong and sincere, from friends and relatives who came to share my moment in the sun. It was a glowing well of experience in which I would draw from during the many ebb tides that came after as I struggled to lift the hood of poverty that had long suffocated me.
As dusk ascended that evening after the last muted rays of daylight disappeared into the horizon, my heart reaffirmed the feeling I have had all along. Majayjay, my adopted town, that lovely, bucolic treasure at the foot of an enchanted mountain, that ancient hamlet of verdant vistas that thrilled the senses, that enthralling little community of kind, cohesive and hard-working people, had become truly and genuinely my own.
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