WANTED: HISTORY WARRIORS

Whenever the word history crops up, we often think of something old, something past, something that cannot be retrieved anymore save through people's memory bank. When my grandmother, Lola Abeng was still alive, she never married but did fall in love with a man who she said, “lumipat sa ibang kandungan.” She used to narrate to me stories of her younger days. Actually, she was very pretty and petite and wore long skirts, a loose blouse with an alampay, a scarf that she always had on her right or left shoulder she would use for wiping her sweat on the forehead, or for wiping food as she nibbles, or for wiping her saliva as she chewed betel nut. She is the perfect example of the Filipina who came from the Spanish period, grew up under the American period and saw her grandchildren up to post-independence days, in fact until the 60's.

During those times, to preserve the stories that she would tell me, I just used my memory, and now I cannot recall much. She told me though of the grandmother of my mother, Esperanza, as being tall, fair-complexioned and looking Spanish. Her family name was Advincula, while my mother's was Acuna, parehong tubong Tansang Luma, Imus, Cavite.

One thing that my mother told me though was that she and her mother used to go to Cavite, as they lived in Nueva Ecija. However, some guys took a fancy on her and so they did not go back there anymore.

My mother also told my elder sister, Adelina that she and her brother, Pioquinto, who became a Constabulary soldier and later died as one of the heroes revered in the Bataan March, transferred to Manila because her father had wanted her to marry a rich man in Nueva Ecija.

When Uncle Pio died in the Death March, my mother told me that she cried buckets of tears. By the way, her father, Pastor Sioson was a member of the Katipunan and saw how Andres Bonifacio was killed by the Magdalo group. Lolo Pastor heard Bonifacio cry out, “Mga Kapatid ko, bakit nyo ginagawa ito?” He was killed with a bolo, hacked to death in Mount Buntis.

When Lolo Pastor died, his bier was carried in a black limousine followed by my mother and President Emilio Aguinaldo in another car. His bier was covered with the Philippine flag. Pres. Aguinaldo, if we remember, was from Cavite.

Folks, our history is replete with heroic deeds of our ancestors and in this new millenium, I am afraid our sources of historical data could be fading away from this planet.

Today is 2017, and if we want data covering the turn of the century, I don't think we could get anymore original data, save those that have been written by researchers in the past. If we want data from the American period, we would also not get much because, those who lived during that era, would have been 107 (starting from 1910 to 2017) except those who had lived through the Japanese period from 1941 to 2017 who would be 76 by now. But maybe for American data, we could get those who lived from 1930 up to now, so then they would be around 87, barring all kinds of Alzheimer's and memory impairments attacking them.

What I am really saying Folks, is that we need HISTORICAL WARRIORS, those who are willing to risk their lives to unearth the past, who would go to the farthest distances in order to interview a good source of history, and usually they live in the provinces. We need people who would check and investigate the status of old homes that are reflective of the past eras, 50 years old and over, so that we could have a glimpse of how the people had lived then.

A house which is located in Quezon City, near the boundary with Manila, is 50 years old. One of the heirs has been trying to move mountains and heavens just to have it preserved. It is a big house on a large piece of land, 847 square meters. Nowadays, only buildings are built on huge tracts of land, not homes. Only tall buildings, high rise, are built on them in order for the owner to get back the costs of amellar, upkeep, salaries and huge profits for that matter.

Now this house has four bedrooms upstairs (it consists of two floors), all with toilets and baths with two rooms sharing one set. Then it also has a library, a living room, a dining room should the people living upstairs would want to have dinner there. The master's bedroom, occupied by the mother and stepfather when they were still alive, has a boudoir, where they would dress up, and where the mother would apply her make-up.

On the ground floor, three bedrooms, with one reserved as maid's quarters. Yes, Folks, when this was built in 1967, the original owners, a timber magnate from Agusan, had to have servants and their own bedrooms, which has a toilet beside it.

Then on the same ground floor, are one huge living room, the size of one fourth of the house itself. It also has two dining rooms, one reserved for daily use, and the other for occasions requiring the setting up of fiesta-like food, complete with a whole lechon, salads, and the like. I know this because my mother had taken me to one occasion then that was hosted by the owner of the house. .

Actually, my mother had taken me me there so I could talk to her and plead for the release of my former husband who was incarcerated at Camp Crame or Ipil, I can't remember exactly which one, because of subversion, and he was transferred from one place to another in the course of a two-year imprisonment which thus accounts for my forgetfulness. When you are under stress caused by political events, you would not really have a sharp memory of the things occurring around.

The owner knew the Defense Secretary of Marcos then, now former Senator Juan Ponce Enrile. Unfortunately she demurred being involved in that kind of issue, as it could backfire against her and her businesses could be affected, or so she had thought then.

Anyway, this house also has a huge kitchen, the size of a bedroom, with a huge sink and switches should you wish to plug a coffee percolator, a bread toaster, or a pressure cooker. It really had all the works. Every room had switches for air-con units except the library and the maid's quarters. That was how the rich people lived then, or maybe until now. Spacious homes with plenty of rooms where one could retreat after a day's work.

The location of the subdivision is a flood-prone area, and so every year, the house sank in murky waters from the creek running parallel to, which is hardly cleaned up.

You see, Folks, that house is historical. Many people lived there. An internationally known painter developed his ideas initially on art there and was able to start his one-man exhibits. His aunt, who died very young in a motorcycle accident at age 33, was a multi-talented artist: able to paint many works, sculpt and create ceramic vases when she was till alive. Another daughter developed her homegardening ideas there as she would often come for a visit from the province. A son wrote many poems which won the co-first prize in Palanca there. Another son, ventured into rock music but developed habits that cut short his musical aspirations and so was sent to the province to keep him away from his barkada. Another daughter was able to compose music, to write books, to volunteer for political causes, to develop my videos and films while staying at the back house for servants. A grandson was able to graduate from a prestigious school and went on to become a highly paid corporate officer in a multinational company except that his life was cut short under questionable circumstances in Singapore. Two granddaughters have developed highly critical artistic eyes using them to run an art gallery in Makati displaying works with highly relevant themes by thoughtful artists

The house, which has always been visited by the waters that would flow from the higher areas of Quezon City, down to the Pasig River, and passing by the creek near the location, had made the minds of these residents think of the ephemeral character of life and so their acts had been quiet artistic and intellectual reactions – a positive result because of the impact of the surroundings.

Every old house has a story to tell of how the residents had lived. Some must have had greater impact on their societies, while others could have been mute witnesses to the socio-political processes in the country. Whatever their reactions have been while living in those old houses are highly important for writing the history of the society, of the country in general and deserve being written about if not preserved for a long time.

The home of National Artist for Music Lucrecia Roces Kasilag was demolished giving way to a tall builting. The home was made of wood, with big wood floorings on the second floor. It was very airy as it had huge windows that opened to the street outside where parades must have passed by often during the American and post-independence periods. The wall divisions had lattice-designs so that the wind would cross from the window and travel through all the rooms.

The wooden floors were well-maintained, very shiny and clean as Tita King was a meticulous homemaker apart from being a prolific composer.

Our former home in Mandalagan, Negros Occidental, surrounded by flowering plants, was nicely situated by the lake which went out to the high seas. Our childhood memories of rowing a boat up to the shore before the sea when it was low tide, of picking up “talangka” and sea shells are unforgettable. Now it is gone and the Bombo Radyo station is there in its new building. Maybe the house was not able to withstand the ravages of time.

I remember having had a “yaya” who disappeared for a while and when she resurfaced, she said she was abducted by a prince from the underground. She was pretty and probably the prince really had taken a fancy on her so that he had wanted her to be her princess. But she was able to escape fast.

Was it a true experience? We never know but then such supernatural stories are rife in places that have very little intrusions of technologically advanced gadgets

Nowadays, which children would have such memories close to Mother Nature? They seem to be very close to their cellphones or I pads which could only give them a vicarious experience of being with the seas, the forests, and the birds.

I really pity the millenial generations because they are being denied a very important experience of living in a natural world if they stick to staying in the cities.

Hence, let us inculcate through our schools, both formal and non-formal, the need to be attuned to the sounds of nature and to preserve its life.

Let us not allow our footprints in the world to be erased easily. Let us have History Warriors who would record every place, every event, every person that has a story to tell. In this way, we would always see our connections with the past, their significance in our present undertakings and their influence on how we plan our lives in the future. Connections of our past, present and future will insure that we do not get lost in the mirage of newness of gadgets nor in the ephemeral character of certain materialist experiences.