In Quest of the Secret of Youth: Santiago Ortega

 It is almost 3:00PM of December 17, 2018 as I walk into the huge hall of the UP Bahay ng Alumni at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City. After a brief coordination with the Registration table in the foyer of the hall, an usher quickly brought me to a table assigned to delegates coming from Region 5. This table is nearer the entrance but farther away from the impressive stage of the hall. As I sat down, I could see the other 4 people seated in the far end of our 12-foot long table quite engrossed in listening to activities currently taking place on stage. A 5th gentleman sat quietly to my right.

“Good afternoon, I’m Perry Auxillos”, I greeted him, as I extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Santiago Ortega” he retorted, as he took my hand in a firm handshake. He flashed a boyish smile that highlighted the squint in his eyes, making him look much younger. Later I would learn that he is in fact 80 years old. “I’m late because I drove all the way from Sorsogon” I said, to which he shot back: “Me, too. I’m late because I came all the way from Iriga, and I over-slept.” This got us off to an exciting conversation and to one of the most amazing chance encounters I’ve ever had.

The event where we now sit is scheduled from 2:00-4:00PM. It is the Signing Ceremony on the Memorandum of Agreement (MOA) between CHED-UniFAST and Private Higher Education Institutions (PHEIs) for the Tertiary Education Subsidy (TES) and Student Loan Program (SLP). It seems the schools invited to this ceremony have students that were pre-qualified as recipients of grants from UniFAST, acronym for Unified Student Financial Assistance System for Tertiary Education.

I am surprised, however, at the levels of protocol the administration instituted to ensure the safety of this government fund. This event was strictly by invitation only. Only the President/Head of every qualified PHEI was invited, and he must register online prior to the signing ceremony. UniFAST allotted only 1 slot per institution. There is no need to send a representative because only the President can sign. HEIs who have campuses, satellites or other forms of extension may send their School or Campus Directors, but they will not be allowed to sign.

Back in our table, Santiago and I engaged in animated conversation that removed the sleepiness I was feeling. “How old is your school?” he asked. When I told him I had established it by my lonesome self 27 years ago, he replied: “We have some sort of a similarity. My dad put it up by himself 72 years ago”. His kind of wit is what fueled our lively discussion.

From what I gathered, it appears Santiago’s dad was one of only 2 doctors in their locality. He had a fulltime medical practice, and performed most of the surgical operations in the community until he decided to establish a school. Santiago, after finishing law at the Ateneo, said he never had the opportunity to go into law practice because, being an only child, his dad asked him to attend to the family’s other businesses. His dad focused on the school. As fate would have it, their school grew to what is now University of Saint Anthony in Iriga City, with a population of around 6 thousand.

Santiago told me that as Chairman and President of his school, he no longer attends to many of its functions, except that this event is so strict. When I asked him if he can still drive all the way from Bicol, he said he used to, but not anymore. He may drive part of the way, but would rather enjoy the ride when his driver brings a car in for Manila check-ups every couple of months. “I like European cars”, he said. “Do you have a BMW?” I asked. “Yes, I have one, and 2 Mercedes Benz, and one Audi” he replied, with a boyish grin and the wide, round eyes of an enthusiastic kid rather than the stoic indifference of a braggart.

We talked of other sorts of similarity. Santiago has 2 kids, a son; and a daughter who is a dermatologist living abroad.  I have 1 kid, Sorgi, who is currently finishing her residency, also in Dermatology. We talked about succession in our schools and I told him he is lucky, his son is now helping him run their school. I intimated to him that I have doubts regarding my own school’s transition. I felt my only kid, whose husband is a doctor of internal medicine, would probably put up their own practices and won’t have time to run the affairs of my school later on. For a moment he turned silent, seemingly gathering his thoughts. When he spoke again, he was serious as he looked at me and said softly: “your school is ‘1st-generation’, it shouldn’t stop. You have to make this your life’s legacy”.

Our spirited exchange was interspersed with fun, whispering, and controlled laughter. It is evident throughout our talk that Santiago idolized his dad. It also became clear to me that his dad was ‘1st-generation’ who established their school; and he is the ‘2nd-generation’ that grew it. Here is a man who missed the opportunity of pursuing a career in his chosen field because he had to help his dad. Nevertheless, he ran successfully the affairs of the family’s businesses. He has a ready smile and a firm handshake. He did not take himself too seriously. He is not preoccupied with stature, nor did he show any feeling of entitlement. He has this wide-eyed amazement and enthusiasm of an 18-year old. He was in awe of every conversation, which showed his interest in people, as well as a deep motivation to continuously learn from others.

We were soon requested to stand up to take our oath, and with outstretched right hand, we altogether pledged to preserve the Fund, or some such commitment to act upon it with honesty. As we took our seats, designated ushers for each table handed every delegate a neat document of about 12 pages, which we signed on every page. After this, Santiago and I exchanged MOAs and affixed our signatures as witnesses to each other’s document.

It is almost 4:00PM and the Signing Ceremony is winding up. There is no more time to eat the prepared snacks, so the Max’s boxed meals are given to us to take home. As we stand up, Santiago and I once again shake hands. We walk towards the door to have our picture taken. This gentleman, about 5’11” tall, cuts an imposing figure as he places an arm on my shoulder and we both smile for posterity and the camera. He pulls out his wallet and requests me to get his name card because he is having difficulty with his eyes. “Visit me” he says, almost simultaneously as I blurt out: “I will visit you”. We shake hands firmly for the third and last time before losing sight of each other in the cacophony of people and vehicles at the hall’s driveway.

In the past 60 minutes I was privileged to view the history of a 72-year old school from the perspective of an 80-year old gentleman who has the passion of an 18-year old lad. Indeed, Santiago looked so much younger than his years. Surely, he must have found the secret of youth.

The Fascinating Tour Guides of Japan. (#4/6)

Guide_#4. Kazunori Maeda is a balding gentleman with rimmed eyeglasses. I met him when he fetched me for the first time at the courtyard of my hotel. He stood erect in his black coat and immediately offered a smile as I walk past the sliding glass door, as if to say he knew I am the party he was waiting for, even if he did not care to bring out the guest name flashcard. 

He was there at the exact call time of 10:00 AM, although I suspect he came much earlier. His shiny high-roofed black van was on top of the queue of cars on the street waiting to pick up guests, since the courtyard itself was blocked-off from parking. This is Japan and the narrow streets are utilized very efficiently through discipline in parking.

“Good morning. I am Kazunori Maeda. Please call me Nori.” These were his first words as he bowed a bit, but when I offered my hand, he returned a firm handshake. He stood by the van’s left side as he opened the automatic door to usher me in, but when I asked if I can sit beside the driver’s seat, he hurried to remove a few items on top of it. He then proceeded to the driver’s seat, which by the way is on the right side of every car here in Japan. He put on his white gloves in this very cold autumn morning, set the car’s GPS to our destination, and we are on our way.

We started our drive from Osaka to Kyoto with small talk, but this soon evolved into real friends’ conversation. His English is impeccable, for the clarity of pronunciation, its grammar, and the ease of usage, which is not book-formal, but rather street-conversational. I said the mental image I have of him is that of a UN translator, because in the few times I’ve seen them on TV, they are able to soon translate just as the speaker pauses, with barely a lag. Nori politely demurred, saying he still has to process in his mind what he wants to say before actually speaking it. I told him I guess this is true for every person that speaks English as a second language.

Our first stop is at the Bamboo Forest. It was a long walk through Kyoto’s awesome nature environment, now enveloped in autumn’s fantastic colors of yellow, red, orange and brown. This was only contrasted by the seemingly perennial green of the bamboo plants. As we walked, we fascinated each other with our life stories. Nori has only 1 kid, a daughter, still single at 32, who finished school in Canada. University in Japan is quite expensive, and may cost more than 1M yen without assistance, like athletic or academic subsidies. His wife is semi-retired and the 3 of them stay together, although no one is left in the house when all of them go out to work.

Nori was surprised to know that I have 5 Samurai ō-yoroi armor collection, each about 3 feet tall, all either glass or black box-encased; that I have an authentic single-edged blade katana (samurai sword) whose tsuba (circular guard on the grip), had a family crest; and that I read a lot on Japanese culture. We talked of the traits I admired most, such as discipline, punctuality, and service above self. We talked of the Japanese soldier Onoda, who hid in the Philippine jungles of Lubang island, did not know the war was over, and surrended only several decades after, when his superior officer was fetched in Japan to order him to do so.

Nori took me to have lunch at Sinkuyo Restaurant. It was a traditional meal of steamed tofu, fish cake, vegetables and seaweed soup served in mini stoves. The main course was various sashimi sliced thinly. I was adamant in requesting him to join me. But he politely declined my invitation with a smile and the greatest excuse of all: “My wife prepared lunch for me.”

We toured several other places in Kyoto and Nara. The Gold Temple and the Deer Farm. For me it was mostly walking and experiencing nature and contemplating. But soon it was dusk and it was time to go back to my hotel. As we exited the 5.5-kilometer long tunnel that separates Kyoto and Ozaka, Nori smiled and quietly asked me: “Are you Japanese? You know a lot about my country.” I accepted this greatest of compliments with a smile and quietly settled on my seat.

It was dark when we reached Ozaka but there was 1 last stop on the itenerary at his car’s clipboard, the Komehyo, a favorite of tourists for selling branded bags and jewelry. “I have written 5 shops in the area of your hotel that has Komehyo.” As I alighted from his van, he gave me the list, which to me appears written flawlessly in both English and Japanese characters. I immediately handed him the dollar bills in my pocket that I had prepared much earlier. Again, just as he had politely declined my invitation for lunch, he is now politely declining the tip I had attempted to inconspicuously put in his pocket. He bowed slightly and said: “Please Don’t.”

Nori is now 62 years old. However, I can sum up his life’s narrative in a simple timeline: after university, he worked 10 years for a freight handling company in Japan; in 1978 he worked for 2 years in Kuwait and Iraq doing inventory, at a time when Iran and Iraq were at war; he went back to Japan and worked for 20 years in a tent equipment company; he is now about 8 years into his job as a Tour Guide. Here he found great satisfaction in meeting and talking to people.

How fast time flies. I thought to myself: ‘what is the one word that can best describe this man’s life?’ If I should find one word, the most appropriate to describe Nori's life would be “CONTENTMENT”. 

But really, in the silence of our thoughts, we each have a tendency to compare our life’s journey with others, especially those we admire. So in a moment of silence, I bowed my head and prayed: “Lord, let my life be one of contentment. Amen.”

A Day Too Late: My Tribute to Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol.

It is June 12, 2018 and I am in Manila to purchase supplies for my school. It is Tuesday, a holiday commemorating Philippine Independence Day.  Since it is rainy the entire morning, I open my Waze to get the quickest route to my destination, but inadvertently clicked my Facebook Apps. Lately, I’ve been trying to impose on myself some internet browsing discipline, opting to open only on designated intervals, because of my tight schedules. But as soon as my newsfeed came through, there it is, Geoffrey’s birthday on that day, being announced by a sprinkling of well wishes from his friends.

Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol, or Buddy to friends, is a gentle, amiable guy. He was my upperclass at the Philippine Military Academy, having once been a cadet of the Class of 1982, he was a year ahead of me. He lives in the province of Camiguin, a part of northern Mindanao, and a place I’ve never been to.

We belong to a few common Facebook (FB) groups, owing to the fact of our being “Bugo-bugos”, or those bugs who, in their youth, were qualifiers of the prestigious PMA scholarship appointment. Nonetheless, Buddy struck me as a mild-mannered persona, who did not make his seniority come to bear on his juniors, as is wont among bugo-bugos who hold tradition close to their hearts.

Buddy and I have some things in common. We spend some time advancing our advocacies by creating Facebook Pages that promote them. For example, he is administrator of the Facebook Page called the “Friends of Jesus”, which fosters dialog and guidance on spirituality. On the other hand, I maintain 3 FB Pages for my school - the “Dive Sorsogon”, which promotes love of the environment; the “Speed Center for Leadership”, which helps send college students to school; and the “Speed Computer College”, which is a friendly Page for connecting with present and former students.

On the night after his birthday, June 13, 2018, I chanced upon Buddy’s post on FB, where he put up a new profile picture. It was typically him, with a big, happy smile on his face. He captioned it with a verse quoted from Desiderata, thus: “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.”  His citation said it was an “Extract from Desiderata.”

Although dead-tired and half-awake, I found Buddy’s quotation very endearing, as it brought back memories of long ago, how we were trained to memorize long literary pieces under pressure. So in the same thread that carried his new FB profile picture, I wrote back: “very appropriate quote, sir, I wish you all that, plus great health, great wealth, and many more fulfilling years ahead.” I had posted this in the late-hours of June 13, 2018. I then jumped to bed, but told myself I will be writing my birthday well-wishes for him on his FB wall the next day.

On June 14, 2018, I woke up early, mindful of my schedules, and so the day passed by quickly. I did not give it much thought, but found it quite odd that I did not get a quick emoticon from Buddy, much less a short, quick reply. Many who know him are accustomed to getting prompt, gracious replies from him, by way of emoticons, emojis, GIFs, or one-liners. His wit is infectious, and sometimes I wonder where on earth he is getting all those; besides the fact that I think his present work engagement is as an IT professional. I went to bed exhausted from a long day, unable to post my birthday well-wishes for him on his FB wall.

Early, the next day, June 15, 2018, I was startled to read on my newsfeed a post on the demise of Buddy, requesting for prayers for the eternal repose of his soul. After sitting dazed for several minutes in quiet thought, I messaged my mistah, Mon Averia, former cadet of the Class of 1983, Philippine Military Academy, for some details. He said he had none, and learned about it from his newsfeed. I wished Mon well, reminding for both of us to enjoy our moments.

Meanwhile, my birthday well-wishes for Buddy have suddenly become irrelevant. In short and simple language, it has become a day too late due to a supervening event.

On June 12, 2018, Geoffrey Antonio C. Macatol celebrated his 60th birthday. On June 14, 2018, exactly 60 years and 2 days since he first saw the light of day, he is dead. I began to think of the wise adage that in this world, only 2 things are certain: taxes and death.

However irreverent my thoughts are, I began to wonder how unfair life can get. Here is a good man, who can touch other people’s lives by his good manners and his sterling graciousness. He certainly touched mine; although we never saw each other, nor do I know the circumstances of his life.

We endeared our connection by our “Bugo-bugo” stories, and how we held on to traditions that are sacred to our hearts, in a way that kept our respect for each other above the level of common lives. I remember Buddy giving passionate advice on hope and spirituality to members of his FB Page because he suffered a relationship setback or distress in the past. But even that, I am not sure of.

Last night, June 15, 2018, 1 day after he passed on, I lay restless on my bed, wondering what lesson I can learn from Buddy’s sad and untimely demise. We all tend to ignore giving time to talk or think about our own mortality. But as surely as taxes, death will come. And when it does, what will people say about me?

Each one of us has the power to chart our own journey up to the last day. So I pray, not only for myself, but for us all: for courage to change, without delay, the things that we still can; and for grace to accept the things that we can no longer change; and finally, for wisdom to discern and help those who are less steady in their own journeys.

Do not delay. No one can control his tenure in this world.