‘Wala ka sa Lolo ko!’
LET ME tell you about my Lolo. He was quite a smart guy, a good writer, and based on the stories of my relatives, he was quite a witty guy, too. He has an impressive list of published books, although none really made it to the bestseller list at any time, much less to Oprah’s book club. His writings seamlessly blended social commentary and wit in a way I can only try to emulate. Until now they still inspire, and that says something about the timelessness of his ideas.
In addition to his gift for literature, he was also a man of science, having studied in universities in Europe. When he came back to the Philippines, he did his best to help his community and touched the lives of the people around him. However, as with all good things, he was taken away too soon.
All I have now are stories from my relatives about how great my Lolo was. I just wish I could have met him.
In a letter, my Lolo once told a friend:
“It is my ardent desire that without becoming enemies or disunited, six or seven Filipinos get to eclipse me completely and make everybody forget me. As I shall not stop working for our country, if these Filipinos get to eclipse me completely, it will be because they have worked more than I did and had rendered more services than I, which for the present is my immediate desire.”
His challenge wasn’t hurled really exclusively to my relatives, but then we take family challenges a little more seriously than others. Despite my extra motivation, I feel that I cannot really measure up to him or to his legacy.
I try to write like him, but I haven’t developed the patience to write a real book. All I have are a couple of short essays that made it to Youngblood that have since been used to wrap dried fish sold in wet markets across the country. My attempt to emulate him as a man of science mainly involves a short flirtation in grade school with being a doctor and then discovering in my high school biology class that frogs are gross.
Since then, I have come to realize that I need not eclipse the legend of my Lolo. Instead I should write my own legend. Although my legend revolves around the mundane (i.e., boring) world of corporate finance, I try to be the best finance guy I can be. Just like my Lolo, I studied abroad and gave up a lucrative career in the United States to come home to the Philippines. I may not be a man of science, but I did teach at the University of the Philippines and the Ateneo, and hopefully those of my students who did stay awake during my lectures in finance and economics learned something that they are using in their careers now. I may not be as great a writer as he was, but occasionally I muster enough courage to whip up a few words to send to the Inquirer. My thoughts may not be timeless, but I hope someone finds some value in them.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, my Lolo is Jose Rizal. It will be his 150th birth anniversary tomorrow. The whole nation will be celebrating because, as our family has come to realize, he isn’t just our Lolo anymore but every Filipino’s Lolo, too. Consequently, his challenge is for everyone, too: Write your own legend and try to be better than him.
Now that’s a tough thing to do, but it will be the best birthday present anyone can give to him.
Paolo Lopez Azurin is a fifth generation Rizal from the Paciano branch and an investment banker.
Who’s your daddy?
By Jeanne Bianca Abad
TOMORROW IS Father’s Day, but I will not tell you good things about my Dad. In fact, I will tell you what he did to be called a bad boy. Oh yes, he was a very, very bad boy.
My Dad was born to a middle-class family—more specifically, to an ever-thrifty Ilocano dad and a business-minded Batangueña mom. From their humble abode in Asturias, my grandparents bought an 880-square meter lot in Times Street, and built a big house. Their business grew. Their business thrived. My grandparents were the perfect mix of success, and success meant money. A lot of ’em.
Dad got every material thing he wanted. There were the cars, oh boy, his cars were the deal back then. Of course, there were the girls—hmmm, Mom’s raising her eyebrows now. There were also the people, who wanted to be called friends, but just really came along for the ride. Dad was pretty much influential back then. You know in this world, money does the talking. Right?
Dad used to drink. He used to party, and boy did he. He was under the influence of drugs. He gambled. Really, I told you, bad boy at its finest.
And then I came along.
No, he didn’t stop his vices when I was born. He was just 21, and a father already. What would you expect? Disaster, right?
And then, like I said, I came along.
I could describe myself using a thousand great adjectives. But I won’t. I will not let you accuse me of loving myself way too much. But I will, however, ask you, to look at me now. Where I am. What I’ve accomplished. If I may but say a few things about myself, I would like to think I turned out pretty well. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs. And like my brother said, no one can make us. I’ve got a decent job, OK, modesty aside, I’ve got an awesome job with a cool pay. I’m 23, and pretty much still intact. I’ve got my life going on for me—the way I would’ve wanted, and the way I know any parent would be proud of.
So, I didn’t turn out to be like my Dad. My record is clean. Oh, yes, thank God.
My Dad was a bad boy, but look at me, and look at how he has raised me. My Dad stopped being a bad boy somewhere along the road. And he turned out to be a great man. And I will be forever grateful.
No matter how he was, you have to give him credit. He was the tree, I am his fruit. It couldn’t get any better than that!
I love you bad boy Pa!
Happy Father’s Day!
Jeanne Bianca Abad, 23, is a flight attendant of Delta Airlines.
