Letter for Franco Mateo, the Brave

My dearest smart and handsome grandson,

How do you make sense of feelings and thoughts that are different from what others have? What do you see that we do not, with our ordinary naked eyes? Where do you get your drive, your gentleness, your anger, your frustration and your glee? What makes you happy or sad? 

I marvel at the things that excite you now, and bore you later. I am amazed at what you can remember and describe in your own language that I am too slow to grasp. I wish to slap myself for failing you each time.

I want to understand how you think and see the things around you. I want to soak in the bizarre, the weird, the absurd that you might find amusing or just as disgusting, just because you see the difference that I do not.

I pray to God that I be able to enter your little world before I die, so that I may be able to understand your feelings, analyze your thoughts or feel your frustrations in my limited understanding and simple human heart.

I wish to be able to hold your hand, whenever you want the touch of a familiar old, rough palm. I want to laugh with you always, and cry with you if it makes you feel better.

I wish to God that I be given a small dot of a space in your heart so that I can be with you, even when I am gone.

My heart is yours, my brave little warrior Franco! You go out there and conquer the world! I will always be your #1 fan and follower!

Love, 

Manita

Our Little Juan

He was a bedimpled, handsome angel, born in the Rabbit year of October 13, 2023. It was a world that was not entirely out of the strains of the pandemic, but beginning to adjust to new ways of doing things.

In the Chinese culture, the rabbit is a symbol of longevity, peace and prosperity. It is said that people born in this particular year tend to be quiet, kind, restrained and thoughtful. They can be highly sensitive and sentimental, and proceed with caution, bent to hesitate to the point of sometimes missing opportunities. Well, I can only hope and pray that our little water rabbit child will be glib and sociable enough to thrive, that he will be kind but courageous to face challenges, and that when he decides on something, he will do so to maximize opportunities or seize the moment!

Fast forward to a year and 4 months after Juan's 1st birthday....

Our little gwapo can now walk unaided, and reaches out to touch everything he sees. And if what he touches may be grabbed or plucked, he readily puts them in his mouth for a taste. His quick little hands need a lot of minding, while his still unstable gait needs some steady knees to run about.

Never a dull moment with him and his Kuya Franco. They are either best friends cuddling up and laughing their hearts out, our chasing after one another in the grass or trying to scratch each others' eyes out, punching, pulling hair and kicking just to land a painful blow. Boys!

Juan Zachary B. Amores is named after Don Juan Atega, a late 18th to early 19th century juez de primera and mayor of Butuan City, my great great grandfather and Juanito Amores, my late father in law.  

He bears the name of two men-- the latter is one that I got to know and love until the day he died, and the older one is someone whom I wish to know through the power of story.

Readings on Recollects

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18102/18102-h/18102-h.htm

Perhaps, this can give significant insights on who Padre Garcia was.  The dates are different but it does give the reader an idea what the religious order did in the Philippines.

If the same Fray Pedro Garcia is the same person we consider as our ancestor, it is nice to know that he also has a brother called Fray Miguel Garcia. I do not know if by 'brother', the documents meant blood brothers or brothers of the cloth.

But suffice it to say that this is very interesting read.

Dear Uncle Oca

My uncle Oscar Atega must have inherited Lolo Belo's gift for machines. He may be quiet and seem unanalytical about the things that he does, but is actually very analytical. He has the mind of an engineer that seems to think of what effect one action does to another and how an array of motions make up a whole system or movement.

This is an update to an old blog I did in 2015.  Uncle Oca is now back in Stockton, California, United States with his children Roxanne, Rochelle, Rhoel and their families since 2023. He was diagnosed with liver cyrrhosis and the impact on his body is nothing short of devastating.

He is almost skin and bones, and now gets relief from morphine.

His daughter and carer Roxanne said that when he arrived, he was given medical marijuana to help ease the pain. He did not want to eat and sleeping was hard.

His sisters, my 90-year old Mama and Auntie Ansel, both also nursing their own old age concerns, are both worried about their youngest brother, but could do nothing but pray.

Uncle Oca is very dear to us. He is like an elder brother to my older brothers, and we look up to him as a hip, cool and easy to approach member of the family who is always there to listen-- because he is actually a man of few words.

We all know that Uncle Oca is not without faults, but we love him so much nonetheless. He has been a pillar in the Atega family and he is one with genuine love to give. In fact, he has always had a lot of love to give.

We were told that Uncle's bossom buddies, Blyde and Yoyoy, have since passed on but he does not know anything about it.  When he left the Philippines for treatment in the US, both were fine still. They have more or less the same ailments. It made me think about my own husband's sickness-- two of his closest friends in Pililla also died of the same illness.

So that got me thinking, even in situations like this, God really has plans -- letting you meet friends, putting you in a family that cares or keeps or maybe even neglects you, and as life goes full circle, you all go back to a certain kind of starting point -- be in an illness, a common occurrence, or person in your life, that keeps you connected on this earth and beyond.

I know that Uncle Oca does not have too long a time to be with us anymore, but I am happy that he is back with his children whom he loves in his own quiet, unique way. And America is a second home, the one where he went back to heal, rest and love.  But Cabadbaran in the Philippines will have the biggest space in his heart for all of us.

We miss you, Uncle Oca. Just hang in there. Let us hope for miracles, but believe in the will of God who knows the best for us.

We love you so much, Uncle Oca. We long to kiss your hand and tell stories of past adventures and misadventures, while waiting for your deadpan punchlines.

My Beloved Frenemy Itom

November  2022

I have always called him Itom or black in our local language because among us, siblings, he had the darkest skin. But that dark skin came with the most radiant smile because he had the whitest teeth among us, like scrubbed ivory that glinted in the sun.

When we were small, we always fought. He hated that I 'borrowed' whatever little toys, shirts or shorts he had. He did not appreciate that I used his marbles, rolling them with my thumb into the little holes that I dug from the ground because they were part of his precious collection. Honestly, I craved for his hand-me-downs, which were his own hand-me-downs, that came from two older brothers.

As we only had one bathroom back then, and there were at least five of us on queue for morning baths before school, I would sometimes try to sneak in ahead of him as he was rubbing his eyes before making it to the door, and did he get mad! He would yank me out of the door by the hair and shout, "Ma, si Lagat o..." before he either delivered a punch that usually landed either on my face or back or hit air,  the latter making him even more furious.

In family gatherings or maybe when he is out with friends, he was always one who cracked jokes, thinking of ways to lighten up a serious or dark situation. Sometimes, we would laugh at the wit of the boy then the man, and sometimes roll our eyes and tell him how corny he was and he would giggle like he still lorded over the discussion simply because he managed to think up something. Even as a kid, he was quick to run stories in his head, at times adding drama to his role in the process. Lola Tering used to describe him as 'bulatikero,' making you believe his version of an incident, always, yes always making something look funny.

Later on in life, he would send private messages on Facebook, call occasionally, mostly requesting video, and ending chats with "K, bye, love you.'

When he needed something, he would always have a nice introduction. There was a time that I thought he would have made a good lawyer or even politician, instead of a Certified Public Accountant (CPA).

There are a lot of things I remember about my beloved brother, close to 3 years older than me, the adventures and misadventures we've had as siblings, with cousins, even with life itself.

I remember Itom wanting to become a priest or take the entrance exams for the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) fresh out of high school. This was when our dreams were so lofty and limited only by the imagination.

But the reality is that in our brood, we are expected to help our younger siblings through school. The situation would have been different if my Papa's logging and repair shop businesses were doing good. The businesses had seen better days. Unfortunately, before Itom and even I could enter college, times started to get hard, further narrowing down our choices. We had to think of a course that will enable us to work right away and help the family out.

When I saw him lying in wake at Bollozos Funeral Parlor, garbed in barong, and looking like he was ready to preach, I kidded myself amid the tears, "Is this another joke because I did not see you in time, Itom? Kasakit ba! I did not call because I wanted a face to face. And I hoped that you would at least spend your 60th birthday with us."

When funeral guys opened his casket to 'retouch' his make up and fix his sleeve, I ran my hand on his cold, hard limbs to say sorry and 'I love you.'

Up to this moment, I honestly thought the joke was on me, for thinking he would bother to wait, for hoping that the heavens will let him wait for us, and we could take one final picture together as seven brothers and sisters.

But as the loving brother he was, we knew later on that among the last wishes he left with his children was -- in the final rites before burial, he wants his siblings in front of his casket. And yes, we were able to take that final picture with him in that white box. We were and we are Rosales 7, as the name of our chat group goes. We will always be Rosales 7, not minus 1.

How I miss you, Itom! Please whisper a joke straight to my heart, and no matter how corny, I promise to laugh and tell you how witty you are. Maski sa damgo, I want to embrace you one last time, my beloved frenemy. You are a part of me that I will never let go.

February 2023

This is the third month since Itom left. And finally, one early weekday morning before I woke up as usual to go to work, I dreamt of him. 

He was in the pink of health, wearing his usual white shirt, and looking at his daughter Hannah and one other male person as they argued over the mounting of what seems to be a giant tarpaulin.

Itom was looking good. He was his usual self and just chatting about, but I could not remember anything he said. But the sight of him was enough to make me feel happy.

My dream ended with Hannah getting the better of the argument and finally able to mount the giant tarp on the wall. As it was being spread out, I thought it was empty-- no pictures, no photos-- nothing except the word "Papa" somewhere in the middle.

I immediately called Mama that morning and told some of my siblings about the dream--- my most requested and cherished dream so far, one that took 3 months for Itom to grant.

Now, all that I know in my heart is that we should take care of his family; especially his little (big) girl, Hannah who is so like him in temperament, and a bit of the color.

Thank you, Itom. Please come visit again anytime. I will always love you.

Inroads to deeper knowledge of Atega roots

The file below is a thesis done by a Cabadbaranon student at the MSU.

Truly worth reading to understand the role of the Ategas in politics and the formation of Cabadbaran.

file:///Users/amores.cr/Downloads/VirgilioNojaAtega-TheWartimeMayorofCabadbaran.pdf

3.1. The Origin of Atega Family 

In 17th century, the settlements in Caraga back then was controlled by the Recolectos or Recollects, in which they were known for evangelizing the town people that became pivotal in the Hispanization efforts rather than having a military presence in the area. For over 200 years, their efforts molded the spiritual character of the region of Caraga along with the set of influences from Spaniards such as their government policies and religious order.26 One of the missionaries who arrived in Caraga was the 23-year old Recollect Fray Pedro Garcia de la Virgen de los Martires on April 23, 1864 in Butuan parish and became a parish priest until 1865. By 1866, he was transferred to become the curate of parish in Dinagat, Surigao until 1871. He was given another assignment in the parish of Cabuntog (present General Luna, Siargao) until 1874. He went to Cebu convent on October 27, 1874 where he was asked to be the parish priest of Tayasan, Negros Oriental which he served until 1882. 27 It is to be noted that in every church assignment, he had secret relationships with women and had children.28 Fray Garcia was an excellent naturalist as he was an acknowledged authority of Philippine flora collections exhibited in the Museum of Natural History in the Recollect Colegio de Monteagudo and various species of Philippine wood in the Philippine Exposition in Madrid in 1887. He died at the convent in Cebu December of 1893 and his body was preserved at the Museum of the University of San Jose - Recoletos. It was on display together with different ....

 26 Jocel J. Dagani, La Reunion de Cabarbaran (Davao City: Midtown Printing Co., Inc, 2002), 50. 27 “Fray Pedro Garcia,” Missions sent to the Philippines, (Honorary Consulate of Spain: 

For another beautiful summer

 This is my writing workshop output and was edited by columnist, editor and writer Alya Honasan. She is such a master at guiding your work in such a way that you are prouder of how it comes out after she works on it.