Pain of age

Pain of age


Posted 01:46am (Mla time) Mar 06, 2005
By Jokee Botor-Reyes
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the March 6, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


I NOW feel the pain of age. Not in my body though. At 65, I still feel very strong physically (and mentally, too). I do not suffer from arthritis like most people of my age. (Some of my friends say arthritis is an indication of old age and I do not believe them.) My blood pressure is perfectly normal, thank God. I can still climb stairs, although I get occasional headaches which come when it is time to pay the bills (house rental, electricity, water, cable TV).

But the most demanding are my two grandchildren's monthly tuition fees. Yes, I am sending my two grandsons to school. They are my son's children and since my son does not have a very rewarding job, I promised to take care of their monthly tuition fees. Y is now 8 and Z is 7 and they are in Grades I and II, respectively. Fortunately and unfortunately, they go to a school run by sisters. As everyone knows, these schools charge high tuition fees though it seems their students are getting the same education as my neighbor's kids who go to a public school. Except, of course, that my grandchildren know their prayers pretty well, go to Mass regularly, talk about Mother Mary and celebrate her birthday on September. They also enjoy more holidays-the feast of the Assumption of our Lady and the birthday of Mother Candida. They also get to have yearly intramurals and Family Day. Both activities are capped with a rest day the following day.

I can still manage to walk a mile. Fact is, I walk to where I take my ride to go to my place of work, and that is more than 2,000 steps away from home. I also walk back home from work, but I negotiate the distance by halves because I drop by the church for my regular Mass and other devotions. People of my age have got to be more spiritual. I do not expect to live for 10 years more. I might be really old by then and I hate to think about it. This is why I have become devoted to my Christian duties, like saying my prayers to the Holy Face of Jesus and St. Anthony on Tuesday, to Our Lady of Perpetual Help on Wednesday, to St. Jude on Thursday and to the Black Nazarene on Friday. I also do not miss my little prayer to the Infant Jesus of Prague and to Our Lady of Guadalupe and Our Lady of Pe¤afrancia, best of all because she is our patroness in the Bicol region. I have been blessed with so much, e.g., my good health, because of my spirituality. Of course, I have my regular vitamins.

Now, going back to the pain of age. I do not earn as much as I used to. When I got back to work after retiring, I was made to understand that I can only be given this few number of units to teach in college. It means I have to be paid by the hour and it means "No Work. No Pay." Fine. But with so many holidays, I am losing so much number of hours and so much dough. With a President who has a penchant for declaring holidays, I feel so unlucky. For example, there was that Ramadan holiday, the two-day transport holidays, typhoon "Yoyong" (which meant two whole "school-less" days), and the long semestral and Christmas breaks.

As a "part-timer," I do not get the benefits due regular employees, like cash gifts, rice allowance and a full 13th-month pay. And with the cost of living nowadays, it seems very difficult making both ends meet. So, I wish I were younger in age. Why does age have to be a hindrance to work? It should not be. In the States, there are some fast-food joints manned by a crew of senior citizens. And some schools employ professors who are way over 60 years old, as long as they are still mentally fit, can remember their students' names and can grade fairly. I have been made to understand by a school authority that there is a law which says that people who have retired should not be hired as regular employees.

Well, the senior citizen's ID card is some kind of a blessing, a little addition to a very meager monthly SSS pension that can never maintain a simple life. So, senior citizens get discounts for medicines, food but there are some eateries which do not honor the card. You are lucky if you are a Makati resident. Mayor Jejomar Binay allocates a monthly allowance for Makati senior citizens and grants them a 13th-month pay. He even sends them a birthday cake, and they can watch movies every day, gratis, in any Makati movie house. But you can only get the senior citizen's ID card upon presentation of a voter's ID. Well. Maybe Manila Hizzoner Lito Atienza can duplicate the same thing in his city or he has never heard of Mayor Binay's program. Maybe, he should think of a similar program for senior citizens to get more support when he runs for another public office after his last term as Manila chief executive ends.

Jokee Botor-Reyes, 65, is a devoted grandmother to three grandsons. She teaches Mass Communication subjects at Trinity College, Quezon City.

Garden magic

Garden magic


Posted 05:29am (Mla time) Feb 19, 2005
By Marcia E. Sandoval
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the February 19, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.


IF there is anything that envelopes me with supreme passion, it is seeing a beautiful garden. Gardens are magical pieces of creativity that rap your awareness, then fill your soul. They are the Creator's hand touching us through nature. To have a garden, no matter how small, is earthly bliss.

What is it about the simplicity of gardening that gives joy? To marcot, to plant from seed, to transplant-all these give satisfaction beyond measure especially when the first roots germinate. The act of watering the plants itself is a meditation. Stress is flung to the winds in those quiet times when, in communion with nature, a deep feeling of exuberance wraps you and there is no doubt God is near you.

I am fortunate to have a 25-year-old garden. Sandy, my husband, started it for me. He personally planted the rows of narra trees when they were only a foot high. Now they are giants, forming an umbrella path, their branches intertwined one with the other.There is a collection of banaba trees that add accent to the garden. We had bought them from an old suki in Calamba. We bought the whole lot and never regretted it. The flowers are like pink butterflies, fragile, endlessly blooming from September to January.

A perfumed garden in a quiet pocket made up of white flowers-camia, rosal, kampuput, malococo-all under the shade of ilang-ilang trees. A fountain of jasmines. Standing solitary on her own is a huge bush of an old-fashioned bridal bouquet, now rare. Sandy and I always agreed that in a previous life we must have been gardeners because the garden has always been our secret love.

Sandy had made, for kitchen use, an English herb garden. Herbs are as erratic as the weather. Some herbs disappear with the first rains, others thrive on rain: Italian oregano, Vietnam basil, tarragon-all growing so robust despite endless downpours.

To add whimsy to the surroundings, we built a pond to house a company of Koi carps, which gracefully swim, reminding us of ballerinas. The fattest and biggest of the lot we named Big Bertha. We constructed tall, sturdy arches in the main garden to fill with creepers. The jade vine is the prima donna of the lot. With her grape-like shape, her monochromatic chertruse colors makes onlookers gasp.

The rest of the vines are from Papua, New Guinea. An incandescent coral vine that glows in the dark is truly phenomenal. I give a dinner party each time they're in bloom and we put the tables under the vines, the better to show them off.

In my family, the women are known for their beautiful hands (hugis kandila). Mine are past tense. My fingers have to feel the soil, to dig through the fragrance of fertile black earth, to prune all the withered leaves, until the hands feel like sandpaper. It really does not matter. They have become strong working gardener's paws, and there lies the satisfaction.

Plants are special gifts. Every time I water the garden, I see familiar faces in plants gifted me. They are nice reminders of the exchange that plant lovers give each other. There, too, is a growing link in friendship and is usually attached with a sliver of love because only love can give you the happiness of putting life on a simple branch. Plant giving, to me, is an "I care" gift.

All perennial gardeners pass through plant collection binges. At the start, it was for me a madness for orchids, then bougainvilleas, callas, centennial hibiscus. Of late, I am back to starting on a collection of single-petal millennium hibiscus.

Garden magic starts from dawn to ebony nights. A refreshing "Good morning" is your wake-up call when the first ray of sun rattles the thousand leaves under its shadows. After breakfast, the garden asks for nourishment. Watering begins, after which the plants come abloom in thanksgiving. By sunset, there is a blush of orange tint around, a kiss from the setting sun.

The mystic full moon of each month does strange things to the garden. The trees sparkle, glitter, shine as if clad in jewels. The fireflies respond with winks here and there. A concert of crickets sing in unison, owls hoot, and then a solitary bird bursts into a night song.

Dwarfs and elves and lots of other little peoples rise from their mini-kingdom and pass you by on tiptoes. A flight of fairies whisper a soft prayer in your ear, and you hear it in your silence. The big, old Kapre is deep in his smoke atop the balete tree and gives side glances at the folks below.

A sudden peal of laughter breaks the silence of moonlight, giggles from children playing behind the bushes. The garden becomes enchanted, like a great masterpiece of a painting stroked by an ethereal artist. The night is shared with people who have touched our lives.

That is what the garden is all about: the sharing of joys and blessings given us in sunset years.

It is a benediction. The splendor of it all is bursting in the gardener's heart.

Besides tending to her garden, Marcia E. Sandoval at 73 paints and writes books for children. She has her home in Laguna.

Love defined

Love defined


Posted 00:35am (Mla time) Feb 12, 2005
By Raymunda P. Ortega
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A16 of the February 12, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


HEY, this 73-year-old grandma dares to talk and write about love! It's Valentine season, so what else is there to think about?

It doesn't matter whether you're 7, 17, 27, 57 or 73 -- it's love that makes the world go round, di ba? And I believe that we who have lived a full lifetime have more to say on this subject.

To someone who is more than seven decades old like me, the meaning and essence of love may differ from those half my age or younger. May I share my own concept of love.

Lust is not love. When a boy and a girl meet for the first time and feel electricity between them, leading them to pursue their emotions, with the end in view of getting in bed together at the soonest possible time, that is not love. Although at the height of passion they may profess love for each other, that is just lust, pure and simple. They are just out to get the most from each other, to satisfy their physical needs, or to state it more bluntly, their animal instincts. They enter into such relationship and keep it up for as long as one derives satisfaction from the other, or profits from the affair materially, financially or some other way. Once satisfied, and after a time, when difficulties and problems confront the so-called lovers, they grow bitter and see each other in a different light. Their eyes are opened and they begin to realize the error they have committed.

By then, it may be too late for one or the other or both of them. They may still continue with their liaison, though unwillingly, out of necessity in order to save face. Or, they may decide to part ways like total strangers, and seek better partners elsewhere.

In a relationship based on lust alone, there is no loyalty or commitment whatsoever, and no intention to make the partnership respectable, permanent or holy by entering into the sacrament of matrimony.

Love is coupled with respect. No one can profess love for one whom he or she does not respect. The attraction may be there, but again that is just physical and has nothing to do with love. The married man who lusts for other women does not truly love or respect his wife. He cares not whether she is hurt or humiliated by his actions. He bothers not with the consequences of his liaisons. In his hierarchy of values, the feelings of his wife and family are way below his own self-interest and his self-satisfaction.

Likewise, his protestations of love for the other woman are nothing but hollow, selfish declarations. He respects her not, otherwise, he would have considered her reputation, which he has destroyed. For him, the only love he knows is what he feels for himself. He does not truly care for others, he loves only himself.

True love endures and lasts for a lifetime. Come hell or high water, come trials and tribulations, come failures and shortcomings, the man and woman, mature and responsible, truly in love and united in the holy sacrament of marriage remain steadfast and strong through the years of childbearing and caring for their family. It matters not that his hair has totally disappeared from his head; it matters not that her waistline has almost doubled its size from the day they first met each other; the couple blessed by God's love continue to hold on to each other even after their children have grown up.

Their love for one another is apparent from the way they hold on to each other as they walk by; from the way they regard each other while in the company of others. He considers her safety and comfort, and she takes into consideration his preferences more than her own in big or small matters like food, recreation and pleasure.

True love forgets self for love of others. Be it conjugal, passionate love between a man and a woman, or filial love between parents and children and among siblings, this is the love that emanates from God Himself. This is the love that God gives us. He gave us His only Son, did He not?

For those who are imbued with this kind of love, life is beautiful. We find fulfillment and joy when we share our bounty with others; when we see the goodness and image of God in our fellowmen; and when we are at peace with ourselves and with everyone around us.

The Holy Spirit of love that dwells within us enables us to forget and forego our own comfort and pleasure and to sacrifice ourselves for others.

Raymunda P. Ortega, 73, worked as a court stenographer prior to retirement in 1997. She is enjoying retirement life with her husband Piping, nine grown-up children and their spouses, 12 grandchildren, and one great-granddaughter.

Birth joys

Birth joys


Posted 03:18am (Mla time) Jan 23, 2005
By Cecinia L. Vallejera
Inquirer News Service



WHILE haggling for the best price at "wagwag" stores or scouting for choice cuts in the local meat shop, I would occasionally meet people who greet me effusively. Of course, I'd reciprocate the gesture, although most of the time I do not quite recognize who they are. Usually, taking the cue from there, they would then take it upon themselves to tell me how they came to know me. They'd explain that their mothers had told them I was the midwife at their birth. They would then name their mothers (many of whom I have no recollection).
I have been a midwife these past 42 years, and my, you can just imagine how many women I have assisted in birth. Some of them even have grandchildren now. And a good number of the babies I have pulled out of their wombs are now professionals-engineers, teachers, etc.

These 42 years have given me many good laughs-at how mothers cope with the pain of childbirth, each in their own ways; and how fathers respond to their wives during labor. The whole experience has provided me insights into the wonderful world of parenthood.

Talk about mothers who seem to lose their minds when the pain of labor sets in. They lie on the floor, yell at their husbands or bite their nails. There was one mother I assisted in 1987 who went up and down the stairs; nobody could stop her and she begged to be left alone.

Then there are mothers who curse their husbands to hell with the nastiest expletives, blaming them for the extreme pain. Hah! As if they did not enjoy, too, the romance that went along with their child's creation! And, of course, there are the those who, at pain's peak, swear to the highest heavens never to give birth again, only to get back the next year, and the next, and the next, for their regular pre-natal check-ups.

I'll never forget Sarah, a classmate of one of my children, who gave birth the "ideal" way. Sarah is every midwife's ideal mom. Tell her to calm down, and she will. You can see the pain on her face-and her attempt to conceal it-but you will never see her fret or lose her composure. She will follow your every instruction, such as "breathe deeply, push, push, slowly now, bear down." If all mothers in labor were like Sarah, then midwives would have no nightmares.

Now, about husbands. I've seen a husband gently wiping the tears and sweat from his wife's face while the latter kept crying that she could die anytime soon as she could no longer bear the pain. The husband stood by her, comforting her and building her strength with loving words. Writhing in pain, the wife asked if he'd marry again should she die. Already weeping himself, the husband replied, "Mama, wag kang magtatanong ng ganyan, hindi ka mamamatay, kayanin mo (Mama, don't ask me that question, you're not going to die. You're going to make it)." It was then that our janitor, who was called in to replace the already messy sheets on the delivery table, butted in, "Kayanin mo misis, kung ayaw mong iba na 'yung magsuot ng mga duster mo at magdilig ng mga halaman mo (Madam, if you don't want somebody else wearing your housecoat and water your garden plants, you better make it)."

Another husband was so overwhelmed to see that his firstborn was a baby boy, but he had to rejoice discreetly to avoid hurting his mother-in-law who wanted a baby girl as her first apo (grandchild). When I asked for baby clothes, he took out neatly ironed baby stuff, all colored pink, embroidered with the name "Clarissa," which were obviously prepared by the granny. Extremely overjoyed, he treated us to a sumptuous merienda of pancit palabok and siopao. I later stood as one of the ninangs (godmothers) of the baby who was named Clarence. I wonder if the granny ever bothered to change Clarissa to Clarence on the baby's pink clothes.

Not to forget the irresponsible husbands and fathers. They're no good, but I'll devote a few lines for them here. After all, I saw them also playing roles in my 42-year craft. Many of them are mere "sperm" donors. All they do is just impregnate their wives and go on their merry ways as if there's nothing to care in the world. There was one time when a diabetic mother was huffing and puffing while trying to let out a 6.7-pound baby girl. The only one who accompanied her was a little girl barely 10 years old. I later found out the child was the woman's eldest in a brood of six, with the baby as the seventh. "And where is your father?" I asked her in the dialect. "He's with our neighbors drinking tuba and playing cards." Oh, the good-for-nothing fellow!

Sure, there are the guys who run away upon knocking down their girlfriends. The poor, cowardly "deserters." I don't mean they have to marry their sweethearts as marriage is not a solution to an unwanted pregnancy, but at least they should learn to face the consequences of their actions. In here, the prominent actors I see are the grandparents. It is in such situations where I see cold-hearted grandfathers suddenly turn mellow upon seeing their apo; and nagging wives suddenly become doting lolas to new grandchildren. And yet, a few moments back, they were cursing their poor daughter's fate. The next moment, each of them swears the baby has inherited their looks, taking turns impatiently to hold their grandchild. Also, it is almost always during this time where they realize that they have a daughter with whom they had been remiss in providing guidance and understanding-though they may never openly admit this. Hatred melts into compassion, and before the mother is discharged from the maternity house, the parents have sworn to take care of the baby, send the daughter back to school and help her move on with her life.

Forty-two years in the midwifery service, and still counting, until late next year when I turn 65 and finally retire from government service. I am sure that with almost one more year to go, more mothers, fathers and grannies will give me reasons to laugh and ponder at the wonder that is called parenthood. What a wonderful thing to be a part of the process of procreation!

Obituaries and reasons

Obituaries and reasons


Updated 10:14pm (Mla time) Jan 08, 2005
By Flor Lacanilao
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A13 of the January 9, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


AFTER RETIRING six years ago, I have observed some things I hardly noticed before.

Let me start with obituaries. Reading them has become a daily habit. When I come across a death notice on somebody who died at the age of 50 or 60, I am thankful to be healthy at 70 and, mind you, with my hair still black. Obituaries of people who die at the age of 80 or 90 make me wish I would live as long.

My interest in obituaries led me to conduct a "survey" of the death notices published in the Inquirer from March to December last year. The survey covered 1,075 death notices, 620 of which were for men and 455, for women. Though not based on random sampling, the "survey" came up with some interesting findings. In 230, or 21 percent, of the obituaries, the profession of the deceased was shown. Nuns had the longest lifespan, averaging 85 years. The priests came next with an average of 80 years, followed by the doctors with 75 years, the military officers with 73, lawyers with 72 and engineers with 70.

On the average, men died much younger than women -- 71 against 78 years old. Doctors, who are supposed to have studied the human body, die younger than priests by an average of five years. The 67 doctors in the obituaries even included women who, on the average, live longer than men.

Our obituaries, unlike in other countries, greatly vary in size, suggesting social status (117 were large: one-fourth page and bigger; and 319 were small: less than one-fourth). Seventy-five was the average age of the dead in the large obituaries; 72 in the small ones.

Many of those who announce the death anniversaries of their loved ones request readers to pray for the eternal repose of the souls of the departed, never mind if they have been dead for years. I wonder how many readers heed their call for prayers. And I doubt if one could appeal the fate of a soul denied of eternal rest on Judgment Day.

From obituaries, let me go to wedding anniversaries. Many couples renew their wedding vows. Does this mean their marriage or relationship has weakened through the years that it has to be renewed? Or does this mean that they need a fresh start (which is no longer possible), or a reminder that they are still married? Either way, the "renewal" of wedding vows could be interpreted to mean that a marriage has failed or is failing.

Recently, I was at the golden wedding anniversary of a cousin, who was celebrating the event with his wife largely in thanksgiving. There was no renewal of wedding vows. He explained that wedding vows are unlike a driver's license, which has to be renewed because it expires. But the celebrants gave each other a golden ring in celebration of the 50 years (perhaps the old rings were not made of gold and had faded) they've been together as husband and wife. No words were spoken in the exchange of the rings because everyone already knew what it meant.

I have had more observations when I go to our farm in Quezon province. For instance, a big arch shows the name of a town as you enter it. On leaving that town, you see another big arch but without the next town's name. Instead, written on it are the big letters "Salamat Po." While frequent travelers take such signs for granted, they mislead tourists and puzzle visitors who expect to see the name of the next town. Thus, tourists conclude that a town is between two municipalities of the same name: Salamat Po.

My 9-year-old granddaughter was telling me what she just learned in school. Her teacher had told them that old tires dropped into the sea could serve as fish shelter. The idea must have come from a government program-introduced some 20 years ago -- promoting the use of old tires to build artificial fish habitats. But artificial habitats or reefs are also effective fish-aggregating devices popular among American anglers to improve their catch. In the Philippines, this can lead to overfishing.

Copying from developed countries without careful study may do more harm than good. Japan and the United States can strictly enforce fishery laws, but the Philippines cannot. Hence, our use of old tires as artificial habitats only serves as a fish-attracting device, which leads to further depletion of our already overfished coastal areas. I hope such wrong or obsolete ideas and concepts are not taught in children's textbooks.

We are probably the only country where both the metric and English systems of measure are used. Floor area is expressed in meters, tiles in centimeters. But textile is measured in yards, and lumber is sold in feet and inches. Meat and fruits are weighed in kilograms and grams, but babies' weight is commonly given in pounds and ounces. Water companies sell in cubic meters, but water tanks in subdivisions are marked in gallons. Children, even from exclusive schools speak of feet and inches more than meters and centimeters. So do government leaders and media people. We have been so influenced by Americans. Is it not that by law the Philippines has adopted the metric system just like most other countries? This is the reason companies are required to label locally made goods in kilograms, grams, liters, milliliters, etc. As usual, some refuse to comply. And a mix of metric and English units is seen in advertisements. As the dean of the University of the Philippines College of Law noted of traffic violations in the Philippines, "Laws are mere suggestions, compliance optional, punishment negotiable."

I think we should have valid reasons for doing things, if we are to move forward. Common practice and tradition are reasons hardly good enough to justify our actions.

Flor Lacanilao, 70, is a retired professor of Marine Science from the University of the Philippines, Diliman.

Me, male 'Mama'

Me, male 'Mama'


Updated 02:04am (Mla time) Jan 06, 2005
By Dante C. Argaoza
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A14 of the January 6, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


RAISING children is not easy. It can be most challenging work--especially for a single male, more so, when the children are not his.

Nevertheless, I accepted the challenge of motherhood early in life, and I can say truly in my heart that raising children can be very fulfilling indeed.

I have five children. They love me as they would have loved their own mother in much the same way that I love them like my own dear children. Our love for one another is one that is obviously very mutual.

Needless to say, I am playing a dual role--that of a father and a mother, and I am dead sure I love every minute of it. I cannot describe or explain the pleasure of this very rewarding experience.

They came into my life as very young kids. And I took care of them. Today, I still send three of them to school; the first two have finished college and are now working abroad.

Eva was entrusted to me by a relative. He was then in the military service, assigned to Mindanao. He had found a baby girl all by herself, in a war zone, crying her heart out to no one. Maybe, her parents had died in a crossfire, he thought. After diligent efforts to find her relatives failed, he decided to take her home. But being a family man himself with several children, he could not afford to have one more mouth to feed. I was at first hesitant because of my job, but the "maternal" instinct in me prevailed and I accepted her, rearing her like my real daughter. I named her Eva.

Not long after, another relative found an abandoned baby girl. He also left the baby with me--albeit on a temporary arrangement--while he searched for her parents and relatives. When he couldn't find them, he decided to turn over the baby to the local social welfare office. But the little girl would have none of it; she had found a playmate in Eva and was bent on staying with us. I had her baptized Maria Corazon.

Thus began my full-time parenting. I sent both of them to school, took care of them like a real "mother" should. I saw them grow up into two young ladies. And they showered me with the respect and love due a real mother.

Eva took up Psychology and is now happily based in the United States with a good job. Maria Corazon finished Nursing and, soon after, left for Canada where she now works. How I miss both of them. Now I only have nostalgic memories of them when they were babies.

The other three are actually my brother's children. He passed away when they were very young; and I took it upon myself to take them into my parental care. Marion King, called "Bunsoy" for short, is now 15 and in his junior year in high school. He is still not certain what to take up in college, although he talks of college life quite often nowadays. A very fine young boy--tall and handsome--he reads a lot on mythology, science and the like. We also talk about many topics. We even discuss Humanities, the subject I have been teaching in college for many years.

Mabel Dantean is 14 and is getting to be a very pretty young girl. She towers over other girls of her age. She likes to play the flute and other musical instruments, but I wish she'd learn how to sing. "Then, send me to a voice school," she had dared me, and come summer, I am just about to do that. Mark Kenneth, fondly called "Bolong," is only 12 and is just into dreams, just dreams, for now.

I really did not know how Maria Corazon and Eva turned from girls to women. Perhaps, they just kept it to themselves. It was different with Mabel who had a terrible stomachache when she had her first monthly period. I was at a loss what to do. I thought of rushing her to a hospital, except that a female relation told me to take it easy: it was just dysmenorrhea, which is quite very common among females, and a tablet of Midol would solve the "mess." So, that was it, some lesson for a male mother.

Eva, Maria Corazon, Bunsoy, Mabel and Bolong. They are the "loves "of my life. They have been my inspiration. They are the ones who have kept me--and still keeps me--going.

There certainly had been many trials, but on the whole, there had been more fulfilling moments. Sometimes, the weather is very hot and I don't feel like going to work, but I have to--to finance our needs and the needs are growing as the years fly.

There were instances when it would be raining hard and I'd find out that I do not have an umbrella and the streets are flooded, and it is still a long, long way from work in Manila to home in Bulacan. But I would go, eager to reach home because my "babies" are there and they are looking forward to my coming home. My meal would be ready and they would have stories to tell about school and their friends.

Many times I had to take them to the doctors for their regular, well-baby check up. There were those times when they had to be confined and I had to keep watch and start worrying where to get the money to finance their hospitalization. But God has always been very good. I have a good job; and I have very supportive siblings--one is in America and she has a wonderful job and knowing my predicament, she would come to the rescue when needed. God bless her soul.

I had also experienced the boundless joy of pinning on them medals of honor, (nightly, I take time out to help them with their homework) attending parent-teachers associations, getting their cards, and preparing their daily "baon" (meals). I likewise have gone through wonderful times bringing them to the zoo, to the mall, to the church for their first communion, to art exhibits, even to concerts, to just about anywhere that would add to the education they are getting in school. I cannot remember the many birthday parties they had celebrated year after year after year. Since I am a camera buff, I captured all those moments with glee in my camera, and it is such a beautiful experience reliving those great moments going through the photographs.

I was the one who first taught them the alphabets and numbers, how to read and write. I brought them to school on their first day of classes. Today, I still tell them stories about life. I have encouraged them to study well, offering as models my first two "babies" who have finished their studies and now have good jobs.

Bunsoy, Mabel and Bolong miss their two "ates" as terribly as I do. They believe they are real siblings because I made them think so. I have never seen them jealous of one another.

Given the chance to go through life again, I would not hesitate living the kind of life I am living now, with five wonderful children raised as my own, forever my loves and my life.

Dante C. Argañoza, 60, is a college professor and cultural worker.

Late bloomer

Late bloomer

Updated 01:59am (Mla time) Dec 17, 2004
By Lilia P. de Vera
Inquirer News Service



Editor's Note: Published on page A15 of the December 17, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer


COMING from a court hearing in Bulacan, I made a side trip to buy plants in Guiguinto. Content with having made some good bargains, I told the woman who sold me the plants how lucky she was to have a hobby for a business. She certainly looked older than me with her face heavily lined with wrinkles and some of her teeth missing. Which prompted me to ask how old she was. "64 years old," she replied. I was dumbfounded. "Why, that's my age," I thought to myself.

Anyway, I'm a late bloomer, sort of -- a “probinsyana” from Bulacan who got married at 31, moved to Metro Manila, helped in the family business and went shuttling between the Philippines and the United States for about eight years to keep an immigrant visa active before finally deciding to settle for good in our dear country.

At the age of 54, with my children having finished college and with more than enough free time in my hands to spend doing some accounting, crocheting, sewing, cooking and reading, I decided to take up law -- "to exercise my mind," I thought. I chose one of the country's three top law schools based on information that its passing average in the bar was quite high; and, sure I wanted the best.

After finishing college as a working student and scholar, then passing the accountancy board immediately after graduation, I had the wrong notion law school would be a breeze. I never imagined the law school teeming with so-called "terror" professors. There simply was no lawyer in our family who could have warned me.

Studying law in that school made me more religious. Every day before the start of classes, I made sure to pass by a church and to pray that I be spared from class recitations, vowing before God that I would study harder the next day, while making all kinds of promises. When I was not well prepared for the recitations, I'd go to school with goose bumps.

I didn't mind the stares of classmates who must have wondered (at the start of the first semester of my first year in law) what I was doing in their midst; or, if I was a professor, why I was in jeans! To steel myself against their questioning, if piercing, looks, I told myself it was I who was paying for my tuition, it was my life, I am responsible only to myself.

My husband had told me, also at the start of the first semester, to pay my tuition in installment, as he did not believe I'd be able to finish it. He seemed to have forgotten that I have always been a go-getter. By the way, I am a certified public accountant; that's why I find law interesting.

To make a long story short, I made friends in school. I became "Tita" or "Mommy" to everyone. They turned to me when they felt hungry, and it became a usual thing for me to bake and bring them their favorite oatmeal cookies. They also confided to me problems of the heart, perhaps because they looked up to me as someone who has weathered the storms of life. I enjoyed being in school, I even joined a sorority, the League of Lady Barristers, of which I remain a member.

I commuted either by jeep or by bus, later by FX from our office, as it was costly to bring my driver.

I finished law when I was 59, taking the bar right after graduating in 1999 -- after attending summer classes and review classes for minor subjects I was not allowed to overload. I remember a note the dean attached to my registration slip when I was asking to take 23 units, during my last semester in 1999. On it was this question, "Why are you in a hurry to flunk the bar?" printed in bold, red ink, mind you! I cried in the ladies' room, I just wanted to be with my batch mates in taking the bar.

During the testimonials the school gave us for passing the bar, I teased the dean about that note, without rancor. I knew that he just wanted to make sure I would not be one of those in the statistics of flunkers. Fortunately, after studying and praying hard to my favorite patron saints, going as far as Manaoag, Pangasinan, I was among the 16-something percent would-be lawyers who made it that year.

When the results of the bar were released, I personally went to look at the list of successful examinees, doing it after almost all the other examinees and onlookers who had gone there earlier had left. I did not want people to see me cry just in case I found the list without my name on it. But when I saw my name, I couldn't help but throw a fist in the air and, with the feeling of exhilaration all over me, told the person next to me I passed the bar.

To my surprise, the very next day, somebody was requesting me for an interview. I was sort of puzzled for I couldn't imagine how they even came to know my name. Some media people are simply resourceful.

Three days later, I was featured in the "World Tonight"; then later in "Balitang K." And so it came to pass that the secret I have kept from my classmates for so long -- my age -- became public knowledge. Even my friends abroad were calling me.

I am a practicing lawyer now. A daughter who had a master's degree in marketing from an American school passed the 2003 bar. My second son took the 2004 bar with his Dad who is now 64 years "young." I am now keeping my fingers crossed and praying hard for them, for who could doubt the power of prayers?

As for that old plant vendor of my age whom I met in Guiginto, Bulacan, she may be exposed to the sun most time of the day-not caring at all about sun block creams, moisturizers and the like. But just the same, she must be happy with her life surrounded by beautiful flowers and plants; and the way she looks is no more important to her than making a living.

Lilia P. de Vera, 64, is a senior partner at the Pilares-De Vera & Associates Law Offices.