Friday, April 11, 2008

Lorenzo’s Journey


Eight months in his mother’s womb, probably could just have been counting a few more days and he would see the world. But something wasn’t meant to be. His father died barely a month before they could ever lay eyes onto each other. And so upon his birth, his mother named him after his lost father, Lorenzo. Loring to the articulates. Inso for the rest.

He was raised along the subsistence of farming in various forms. To him, a complete day would mean bringing the flock to the pasture of foggy greens on an early morning, whistling down the hills back home for a quick breakfast, school, quick lunch by noon, back to school for the afternoon session, proceed to the rice fields after class to fetch the flock, dinner, and maybe a few chats with childhood friends before bed.

It was a very simple childhood. Not so much inhibitions. In the suburbs of Mumulaan, Paoay, Ilocos Norte, there are not much of big dreams. The challenge was just a happy neighborhood. Along the umbrella of agriculture. Having a meal of pork or beef would be a feast, but having fresh vegetable and native poultries would be so normal.

But Loring wasn’t born to be a farmer for life. He had enough treating the farm as optimum king. He can’t plow anymore. He didn’t hate it, but he had other things in mind. After finishing intermediate school, he bade his village farewell… but not goodbye. No plans for that at all.

He submitted himself to his eldest brother, Bening, then a teacher stationed in a coastal town of Cagayan called Claveria. Being the youngest, and having a 16-years gap, it was so easy convincing his elder brother to help him send to high school. So for secondary he went to Claveria Institute. His love for music also helped him. He played the saxophone for the school band to augment his scholarship. Things went a little bit well.

And then he met Carolina. Carol to the articulates. Carling to the others.

The young boy from the farm suddenly fell in love with the lady by the sea. They were brought up differently, they grew up from different environments. But those things were never a factor. They had something in common from the start – certain feelings towards each other. The young boy was in love, and the lady was mad. But of course, they were just so young then, what would one expect. And so those feelings they had developed consistently – Lorenzo getting in love deeper and deeper, and Carol of extreme dislike. Anger must have been tolerable. But hatred? Wow…

But whatever turn of romance they had, no one would care much on the details. Why, because they ended up with each other, anyway. Three kids is what they had; two boys, and a beautiful girl in between. Going to church every Sunday was synchronous to either a picnic, or a costume party. He would wear the same textile of cloth as his siblings, and would eat out sometimes. Smiles are printed on the faces of those who see them wearing the same texture, happily being together. What a view. One helluva family. So much envied. By that frame, at least.

He would help out in the early wisdom of his kids. Being a teacher, he indoctrinated the utmost importance of education. He said that knowledge is only absorbed by those ignorant by chance, but never to those of by choice. How could he be wrong. He must know what he was saying.

Loring was never a single rounded father. He was also a friend to his kids. He wrote the first love letter of his eldest son. He would put his only daughter to sleep. He would make toys for his youngest little boy. Everyday is another exciting day. And by the way, he was a good husband to his wife too. So little complains. So much to thank for.

He ventured all possible work-arounds of optimized fatherhood. He would do carpentries during weekends for extra income. He would even skip teaching to play sax on funerals for a greater and immediate fee. He never let any chance slip away. He always wanted to provide more for his family.

Until an opportunity came by that was hard to let go. He knew he had to save for his kids’ college education. The only way was to go OCW (now called OFW). Saudi Arabia was then the answer to all prayers during that time. It was the goose that lay the golden eggs. The only trade-off was the distance from his family. But that should be bearable, he said. He claimed that what is unacceptable is having the means and ways to work on for the future of his kids, and would ignore that chance and do nothing. So far away he went. It was 1980.

Every 12 months Loring would come home. All family is waiting. Vivid was the proof that all homecomings are spelled by extreme gratification’s vocabulary. But bliss is never permanent, as it is indeed true – some good things never last. After 45 days he would be away again. But just another 12 months and he would be home again. And the second homecoming was doubly healthier than the first. He built a five bedroom house for his family. It was the first trophy he can be proud of. It was the bargain of leaving.

But bad luck sometimes is as swift as a blink. The third homecoming was marred by his apprehension. He was caught in a situation where he had nothing to do. The only mistake he did was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He swore he never had any wrong doing. His family believed him. So did his friends and his folks. And his fellow teachers. And his kids too. But being a victim of a domino effect does not require any justification. Three months of detention appeared to be an extension of his last 12 months. He got paid, yes, being employed in a government entity. But the longing of his family was never compensated.

Understandably in life, even when you do no harm to others, or even when you only do good things to your fellows, someone just have to hate somebody, rationale notwithstanding. That is how life's balance is meant to be. That’s reality.

So, bad talks of having his fingers cut due to a supposed ‘crime committed’ were all proven wrong upon his arrival. He came home perfectly the same as when he left, with complete appendages. And truly all ‘lasts’ are the most memorable. His third and last homecoming was the happiest of them all. Not that it was grandeur. It was simply more meaningful. He is back to where he belonged. Back in his family's arms.

After a brief self check, he went back to old flame - teaching. But by then his kids were already away from their sights. His eldest son and the only daughter already in college, and the youngest son in Philippine Science High School in Quezon City, being a scholar.

For eleven years, Loring and Carol lived together just by themselves, fending for their kids’ schooling through their creeping paychecks being public educators, and would only see them again during summertime. He built a five-bedroom house, okay. But during those times when the family is complete, they would sleep altogether in the living room. He would treat their kids as if they were as young as when he could still carry each child over his shoulders. He would maximize each day of their vacation up to the day they would go back to the city for their studies again. It became routinary for the length of those 11 years. They became used to it too, somehow. For a consolation, his two boys became engineers, and his favorite daughter, a nurse. He must have been successful in raising his kids, in reference to his own barometer.

Yultide season of 1997, Loring asked Carol for them to go to Manila and spend Christmas and New Year eves with all their children – all already residing in the city. The first two kids being employed, and the youngest graduating from college. He was sensing something of his health condition and he also planned to have his medical check-up during his visit.

The get-together was all fun. He played with his two grand-daughters; one by his eldest son, then aged 2, and another by his daughter, then just 2 months old. At night he would have a few round of beer with his two sons, and his son-in-law. And great side foods too. Mah-jong would be another way for the great stories. Laughters all smoking.

The couple went back to the province a day before the first day of resumption of classes. It is a thirteen hour trip back to Cagayan, anyway. Their students are already waiting for their happy stories. They must be happy to share too.

But the breeze of "next life" kept touching his soul. He said he is already fulfilled, thus not much mission to carry out. He knew it was a pretense behind the failing health, but for sure he wanted to stay longer. Great plans about his grand-kids are overflowing. He was in denial.

He prepared the house once again; painted the ceilings, and roofed the garage. It is rainy season once again, and the mourners can not be wet. Also, they must appreciate my accomplishments, so he said.

Morning of 27Jan'08, he woke up before 5:00 AM. He can not breath normally. He stepped out of the house, and flagged a tricycle. He asked the driver to bring him to the hospital.

Carol woke up a few minutes later. No sign of Loring. Went to the kitchen, he must be preparing breakfast now, she said. No sign still. Went outside to the street, rain showers fell on her head. Looked on all directions. Nothing.

Then the returning tricycle driver approached her, told he was already in the hospital.

Carol then was relived. At least she knew where her husband was. So she dressed for class, and went to see him after her last morning class. Went back to teach for the afternoon session, home after class to prepare food, then proceeded to the hospital.

Thay had petty chats about their three siblings. And then a question was thrown to the wife. "If I die, would you re-marry?". She answered in the negative. He smiled. Just smiled. Sort of contented. Sort of secured. The farm boy must have loved the coastal lady so much. He is nuts!

With that assurance, he called for dinner. He asked his wife to hold his hand for the prayer before meal. They held hands. Closed their eyes. Prayed together. "Amen..."

Loring is no longer breathing. He went ahead. No need for a last supper. He isn't Jesus.

Hundreds were saddened. He must have touched ten thousand lives. The whole town said he was a good man. But that was even an under-statement. In our hearts, Daddy was the best.

3 comments:

caye said...

am not born to be a good writer but poetic at heart. how i wanted to put my thoughts and feeling about Dad into wring but i have one simple poem expressing my feelings of missing him. maybe you can add it here, bro... one thing in my my heart while reading your article is that how i wish you could write for Mom too... Dad is gone and can no longer read it all but am 100% sure, wherever he is now, he's happy for what you've done. Mmmmmmmwuah!

Inauna Ni Inso said...

Thanks sis, that sounds overwhelming.

carol segundo said...

Anak ko Carlo
I have read the article and it has touched me deeply and tears rolled on my cheeks recapitulating how happy and cohesive the family your late dad and I have nortured. Those were the happy days gone but am glad that it still lingers in your minds. The exemplary values your parents had molded you is worth emulating for that is the only legacy we could leave to our children.what happen to me these days is never in my mind but it happened instantly that i could hardly take it or resolve and the only alternative i got is to cling on people who could understand my mixed emotion because I remain a mother to you. Had your dad been living these days, he would be very much happy and proud to see what you have become as he had dreamt you to be.

Caren annak ko, I like very much your comment. THAT IS AN EXPLICIT SATIRE.

LoreJunne, anak digest Caren's comment. Thanks for the experience you have put me into. This is not the end of everything but the beginning to open ones eye to resolve the shame and scandal you created. I felt like worthless mother asking God where did I fail which i am pretty sure thinking back I have given my best to all of you however I know that i am just a human being that commits mistakes. If i have err you, forgive me. I remain your mum forever...

I terribly miss you all.