The War Veteran
Lolo Anton
My Grandfather’s uncle. He fought with the guerillas during Second World War.
That much I was able to personally gather. Rarely do we visit him and even then he already had problems with hearing. But he could still recognize us back then, at least when this photo was taken which was around a year ago. We would eat tinolang manok in their little kubo and talk under the thick cover of mango trees. We would ride carabaos there and in fact the last time we did they took us around the town.
Unfortunately I wasn’t able to ask too much about his life whenever we went there. I thought that he would remain as strong as he was. So I always thought that I can always talk to him the next time we come. It was something I’ve always looked forward to since he was the only relative I know who fought in the war.
When we last visited him, It was as if someone had taken the life out of him. He was just lying there, eyes almost closed, trying to make out who we were. To talk to him, one would have to shout close to his ear. He wasn’t starting conversations like he used to. He could no longer recognize us. He was changed.
I felt really sad right then and there. Not because I could no longer hear from him directly all the interesting stories I’ve been wanting to know. It’s just that it’s hard to see someone you know who is lively and strong suddenly change into someone I could no longer interact with. More so the fact that he has already forgotten us despite the many memorable moments we shared with him. It feels disappointing to know that life could end like this. Life will introduce you to people who you will love but life will take them eventually as if they never existed.
But even then I would like to believe that what really is important here are the moments that were shared. That even if I forget everyone I used to know, when I see them and stare at them for a brief moment I will feel a familiar warmth in my heart. It doesn’t matter with whom or when it happened as long as there is that feeling that somewhere some time I was really happy because I had someone to share it with.
And this is the thought that enters my head whenever our eyes would meet and he would just look at me for a long time…
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The Matriarch
Juana Reyes Bucag
After Lolo Sopong died, it was obvious that she was to become the head of the Bucag family. Lola Jean as we would call her, she emerged as a stronger woman taking up the void left by my lolo. It was not to my surprise that she despite her aging physique continued to impose her presence upon me mentally. It was as if her very self was the lifeblood and only evidence of my every claim that I am truly part of the Bucag family… and she had her whole life to prove me that.
Life for her was mostly a series of challenges that she unrelentingly faced and she never seemed to fail to remind me that. How she and her older sister had to find ways on how to make ends meet on a daily basis because their father died at a very early stage in their life. How she graduated consistently on top of her class despite the extra duties she had apart from academics. How, after graduating, she fell for the young and prominent Dr. Bucag but everybody else insisted she wouldn’t be taken seriously. She proved them otherwise when they eventually got married. How she raised a family of five boys that would soon become five successful and disciplined men in their respective paths of life. How she established the Rural Bank of Cauayan with her own meager funds, loans from various banks and her inexhaustible will despite her detractors being her closest friends.
However, she just has this air of arrogance around her that seems to stem from the wealth of experiences she has had in her life. It has always been easier for me to take all the things she says for granted because I never find them to be in any way relevant to my own personal life. Or maybe I just don’t know for sure if it’s for my own benefit or for the sake of her reveling in her past achievements. Sad to say it almost always seemed to be the latter.
Nevertheless, there’s still that familiar feeling I get whenever I hear her talk about the things she remember. Something that makes me forget all the marks or scars of wisdom on her face. A part of her I can really thank simply just for making who she is now. On the back of my mind there will always be that person who did all she could in her life enough to convince me to write this for her… that part of her truly deserving to be dignified.
(Edited June 26, 2010; Rural Bank was funded through her meager funds and various loans from banks)
