PJB

It’s my dad’s birthday today. He would have turned 58 today if he were still alive. I don’t know how much my brothers remember him, as we were still quite young when his plane went down (he was a Philippine Air Force fighter pilot) about 25 years ago. I was 6 years old then. But I still do have vivid memories of him. I guess good memories linger forever and rarely die.

I know I’ll never forget him. The happiness and love will always remain. God is good.

Happy birthday daddy!

After weeks of helping my mom pack up at Subic in preparation for her migration to the US, it felt really weird going to my brother’s place in Quezon City to pick up all of her luggages for her Saturday morning flight.

I went there alone since Conne had to stay home to take care of our toddler, CJ, who had the flu. Present at the time were my uncle Dennis (my mom’s brother), Ding (my youngest brother), Emily (Ding’s wife), Cel (my brother Bong’s wife), and my nephews – Purple, Jervis and Indigo.

The evening turned out to be an emotional roller coaster of sorts brought about by the evening’s bout of stories, misunderstanding, arguments, tears, forgiveness and laughter. But everyone could tell that the overwhelming emotion present throughout that night was love.

The night ended with a prayer, a very heartfelt one.

On the way home, I dropped off my uncle at his place and dropped off Cel and Jervis at theirs.

As I rode home alone in silence, with the midnight darkness blanketing everything, in the drizzling rain, with no companion save my mom’s things, and with the after effects of that emotional night, my whole life flashed before me throughout that drive – and as I rounded the corner near our home, I knew then how extremely lucky I really am to have a good family behind me and a wonderful new stage in our lives ahead of us. I smiled.

January 31st marks the 119th death anniversary of Saint John Bosco, the “Father and Teacher of Youth” and the founder of the Salesian Society otherwise known as the Salesians of Don Bosco.

This day is special to me primarily because of my being a Bosconian, and proud of it. I’ve been one for the greater part of my life. I’ve spent most of my formative and schooling years studying at Don Bosco schools, with a few other schools mixed in between levels. I finished my grade school and high school years at Don Bosco Academy, in Pampanga. And I took up computer engineering at Don Bosco Technical College in Mandaluyong City.

Come to think of it, most of my relatives are Bosconians (you never say one “was” a Bosconian, since once you get to be one, you always will be). The brothers four, (as me and my brothers are called), my uncles, cousins, and even Conne’s cousins, bear the same ‘mark’.

Having said that, you can bet all your marbles that my son CJ will probably end up being one too. Amen.

I spent the entire All Saint’s Day at home. I don’t usually go cemetery-hopping to honor and pray for the dead, since I don’t have a relative’s grave nearby to go to in the first place!

My dad, a fighter pilot, was presumed to have died at sea in the vicinity of the Palawan Islands. This was were his plane was assumed to have crashed on March 16th of 1983. After a few years of searching, the government wasn’t really able to pinpoint where his plane went. And so his “Missing-in-Action” status was finally changed to “Presumed Dead” five years after that fateful day.

We would have loved to have given him a proper burial. And I understand and empathize with people who cry barrels-full of tears at funerals, especially coming from the departed’s next of kin. Well, at least they get to see their dad finally rested. And I guess this is why, for so many years, I hated going to cemeteries and “envied” people who partake of the yearly tradition.

It’s a good thing Conne and CJ were able to keep me company at home. I had them all to myself. Oh well, I can always try the graveyard rounds next year. This year is for praying at home.