Hi! My name is Chin, and this is where, to quote Jane Austen, I "run mad and as often as I choose."Jan
30
2009
Lolo.
Author: ChinHe has Alzheimer’s, my lolo. He no longer knows people by name. He smiles at everyone with the guileless innocence of a child. But everyone assumes he would remember who I am and what I mean to him.
He did, that day I visited. His yaya was feeding him but he stood up when I entered. “Do you know her?” My lola asked, sure that he doesn’t. His eyes lit up. “Ming,” he said, calling me by the pet name he gave me when I stood no higher than his knee. That was all the invitation my heart needed to break.
Two minutes. That’s how long I managed to stay in his room before bolting out and crying.
He’s a man of stories, my grandfather. We used to ride about town on his bike – that rickety old bicycle which was almost as old as he was. We would set out at 5:30 in the morning. Our first stop is the docks so I could watch the sunrise and he could smell the sea. “The sea has a smell,” he told me. “I can tell what the sea feels from the way it smells.” I was all of 6 years old then —- and quite rude. I told him all I smelled was feces and seaweeds.
Our next stop is the bakery where we’d buy P5 worth of pan de sal. He would tell me to get the supot in a hurry because we have to bring the pan de sal while it’s piping hot to the munisipyo, where he works and where we need to feed his friend, the kapre.
Kapres, engkantos, magti-anak, tiyanak – my lolo knew them all and he introduced them to me. He taught me to spill a little of my drink to the ground so I could feed our friends down there first. He taught me to summon errant breezes with a “krrrruksay.” Some years later, these stories got me into trouble in school. Heathen stories, that’s what they are the nuns said and if I’m to stay in their school, I have to stop telling them. The nuns talked to my parents. Then my mom talked to my lolo. And after all the adults were done with their talking, my lolo talked to me. He told me our dear friends were taking a vacation to someplace wonderful.
Will they come back?
Yes.
When?
When it’s time to take us with them.
The last time I called, the uncles have bought tickets for Tubigon. So did the kapre – one ticket on the way in, two tickets on the way out.
Tomorrow, I am going to see my lolo. I’m taking the first trip in – 7am. Whatever it is I find, I hope it’s not that the kapre had arrived before me. I can’t lose magic and my grandfather at the same time.
January 30th, 2009 at 10:55 am
There are some things that never fade in time, – and in having the words and courage of heart to share them, these memories will always be yours. My heart broke a little too in reading this, knowing such loss is never easy, if only to remember that you will always have a special place together, far from where we all struggle to brave our own personal struggles. Thankyou for sharing..
January 30th, 2009 at 8:23 pm
my lola has alzheimer’s too and yes, it’s heartbreaking to see them struggle against this…nothingness. my lola can’t even talk anymore. but whenever she sees me, she’d seem excited, as if she recognizes me. this is a heartwarming story chin. i hope your lolo is okay.
February 1st, 2009 at 4:59 am
Oh my, this exact same story is mine, too! Before my Lolo died, he had also forgotten everybody because of Alzheimer’s. One afternoon, I was singing him the lullaby he used to sing to me (the Godfather theme song, which might explain why I am strange!). Suddenly, Lolo looked up and frowned, then smiled and said, “Prang!” That was his nickname for me and he was the only one who called me that. In the next second, his face went blank again. It felt like he had come back from the dead and was suddenly sucked back into the darkness. Sobra akong naiyak. It’s so unfair, but at least Lolo is in heaven now where he knows no sorrow or sickness. I will pray for your Lolo =)
February 3rd, 2009 at 1:38 am
I had a lolo, too. He told me stories of how he and his raggedy band of Ilokano guerillas defied the Japanese during WWII. He got his front teeth knocked out by the butt of a Japanese rifle.
He didn’t tell me much, I saw how he loved me and my brother.
Your lolo gave you a part of him, Chin. It’s in your words, in your stories…
Hugs and prayers.
July 28th, 2009 at 4:52 am
Hi, Im Alora Ramos, researcher of Maalaala Mo Kaya. I read your post about your grandfather and became very interested to know your story. If you could give us some time, i would like to interview you and check your story. You could contact me thru my office number (02 4152272 loc 5130) or thru my mobile number (+639065208107). You can also reply thru our e-mail.
Thank you very much. Hoping for your speedy response.