with daily prayers. Still missing you.
MEMORIES OF W.D. NOLLEDO's COURTSHIP
2011,
December 19 this year marks our 52nd wedding anniversary, which my children and I still observe even though my husband, Novelist Wilfrido D. Nolledo (of But for the Lovers, Cadena de Amor and Other Short Stories, available at Amazon. com) has been gone for seven years. Ding, as he was known to family and friends, passed away barely completing his last novel, A Capella Dawn.
I usually tend to escape a revisit to the past as it brings back images both joyful and lonely. Was it Alfred Tennyson who said ""A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times"? But I dug up recently this lovely letter from a dear friend while I was sorting old letters from Ding and from close friends. It's from Cora Bisogno, the former Cora Cloma, who was my maid-of-honor at my wedding. It was supposed to have been read during our celebration of our 40th wedding anniversary in 1999 when Ding was still up and about. Cora, however, got tied up with her public relations work in New York and could not come to share the day with us. So, she did the next best thing she could do: send us this letter to be read during the party celebration. Cora is a writer herself but like many of us in our circle of friends who were diverted to other occupations, strayed away from a writing career.
Here is her own recollection of my campus romance with Ding at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila when Ding, newly graduated from the College of Philosophy and Letters (Philet) and I, on the other hand, still a babe in the woods and poet wannabe, fresh from high school, met through a mutual college friend who submitted my first short story to Ding. Those were the years when male and female students went through separate corridors in our university but, strangely, met in co-ed classrooms. (When I think of it now, it really seems so useless, those separate corridors. I don't know if it's still done now.) Even stranger perhaps to outsiders is the fact that quite a few campus romances somehow bloomed and thrived in that university despite the strict rules of the Dominican priests. As a matter of fact, a favorite joke during one of our early reunions decades ago was the dictum that the Philet College, especially, was a happy hunting ground for the right mate. A few I can recall that ended at the altar were Recah Trinidad (to become the famous sportswriter and columnist) and Fe Lacsamana; Neal Cruz (now a long-time columnist/writer) and Marina Novenario; Meny Heernandez (who became a consul) and Yoly Canseco (now a retired GSP National Director); Writer Gerry Umengan and Vilma Dagasuan (to become a magazine editor); Ernie Franco and Cherry Santamaria, summa cum laude of her batch; Rey Vidal and Lou Hernandez; Tony Siddayao and Maricruz Prada; and Eli Molina and Nelly Balthazar; and of course, Wilfrido Nolledo and yours truly.
Well, perhaps, our dean, the Rev. Alfredo Panizo, O.P., didn't do a good job guarding us; in fact, we considered him a consintodor and we loved him for it, of course. Ding had called on me at our home, but we also met right in the Dean's office during my vacant hours, sat at the long conference table there and chatted right under Father Panizo's scrutinizing eyes, he whose office desk was just a few feet away. But he kept our confidences, yes, our beloved dean. (He eventually officiated at our wedding; who else could we have asked?) Maybe, it was his way of looking after his college children; would rather have them in the safety of our school than have them indulge in secret assignations outside. We had a good faculty, too: Manuel Viray, later to become ambassador; Erlinda Rustia, whose respect we coveted despite her stinging verdict to those she thought were not called to be writers ("If you cannot write, go enroll at the School of Hair Science," addressed to male students thus eliciting giggles from some); Julia Palarca, later to become ambassador; sweet and bedimpled Pity Guinto-Rosales; Primi Cervania (our Spanish professor behind whom we snickered when she would stick to Spanish even when we kept asking one another "what the heck is she talking about"? And Menchit Rocha, a Chabacano from Cebu, would translate roughly Ms. Cervania's Castilian Spanish.
Those were days when courtship was so pristine and virginal that the unbridled generation of today would sadly frown upon. Yet, with Ding and myself, it was a period of getting-to-know each other and sowing the seeds of a deeper relationship beyond the physical and temporary. So, when in the following recollection of Cora, she asks "why did your marriage withstand the test of time," I'll add to her answers that it must have been those school years that we "occupied" the dean's office during my vacant period and had long talks about practically everything under the sun. In baring to me his heart, his dreams, his pains, his art, Ding impressed me with his depth. Here was a man who did not laugh at other people's mistakes or weird appearance, who had compassion and felt the pain of a suffering world, who worked hard (he was already working then) and was willing to give of himself to people he loved, and most of all, knew how to love and respect his mother.( If you want to know the character of a man, I was told, observe how he treats his mother.) Even in youth, somehow I was attracted to those values, and at that time of my young life,I don't remember having found them in the men I had known, probably because of their own youth and still developing personhood. But what touched me most was the seriousness with which Ding pursued me, yet never forcing me to do anything against my moral beliefs.
Here's Cora telling a part of that chapter in my life. I'm sharing it for whatever insights the youth of today may gain from it. Inserts in italics are mine.
MEMORIES OF DING'S COURTSHIP, an excerpt from a letter from Corazon Cloma Bisogno to Ding and Blanca on their 40th wedding anniversary.
It's amazing to realize that you've been married 40 years! I know few couples who have remained together that long. My parents' marriage ended after 18 years and my own marriage lasted only three years ...You and Ding are blessed to have met in this lifetime. Time may play tricks with my memory, clouding details of remembrances... So, forgive me if I don't do justice to our joint histories.
...We were in college when we met Ding. I believe we were sophomores when you noticed him. I think he attended one of our classes--he was a senior or had graduated already and in fact was in the graduate school at the time. He was the literary editor of the Blue Quill, our college journal--that's how we met him; we submitted poems. (Unknown to Cora and my other gangmates, Ding had been writing letters to me already even before that. I was to take over as literary editor of the Blue Quill two years after, and Ding moved on to become the literary editor of the Varsitarian, the university organ.)
I remember Prof. Erlinda Rustia raving about Ding. He was a big man on campus, soon to become a major national writer... When I met you, I thought you would enter the convent later and become a nun. You were really so pure of heart and deeply spiritual. I had been a postulant in the convent for a year, so I knew I wasn't one of those called, but I thought you were. (Was this perspective elicited by my daily visits to our university chapel together with another close friend, Nene Marquinez (now Navarro), with whom I prayed the rosary during our vacant period?) Imagine my surprise and delight when you were becoming interested in Ding.
Your courtship was very quiet and private, both of you being quiet and private persons. How wonderfully astute Ding was to have an insight into your character and soul. With so many attractive and equally talented girls around, he saw your true beauty and looked into your beautiful heart and fell deeply in love. Being shy, you did not gush openly about your feelings, but I knew you were in love, because you spoke much about how kind and gentle and brilliant Ding was. You related the gist of your conversations you two had about literature, philosophy and the arts and subtly gave me a picture of a strong yet gentle man who could dominate a conversation, yet brought out the artist in you as well. Your eventual marriage was a foregone conclusion.
Your lovers' tiffs were brief little incidents that served merely to spice the relationship, add a little excitement and color, perhaps to ensure that a future life together will be interesting and perhaps bring some scintillating challenges. They were perhaps reminders that you were both, afterall, artists with the requisite temperaments to watch out for. The quick darting looks Ding would throw your way when we would accidentally (or were they really accidental?) encounter him on campus or in hallways, were eloquent expressions of his affection. I was thrilled as a happy spectator. (Wow, Cora, I didn't know you took notice of all of that.) How you would shyly avoid looking directly at him, hiding your emotions even from us who knew. How young and innocent we all were.
Your wedding day itself is a hazy memory now, as I have seen so many weddings of family and friends in the eternity of 40 years... All I can remember is that you were a pair who looked perfect together and everybody had a sense of that "happily ever after" feeling...
(Ah, walking down the aisle in a traje de boda designed and sewn by no less than the genius poet and dramatist Rolando Tinio, later to become a Philippine National Artist, and Ding in his immaculately white suit I suspected he felt uncomfortable in because he hated formal suits so.)
I felt I was embarking on a new relationship of having to share your friendship with Ding. But I was very happy for you. Now all I had to do was wait to become an extended member of your new family as an "aunt" to your future children. We kept in touch. You did not allow our friendship to become a casualty of your new life... then Ding received a grant from the U.S. Embassy to come and study in America. (Ding was actually invited to the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, that was followed by four consecutive grants.) With children you were off to a new adventure of raising a growing family as Ding's writing career flourished.. Then our paths led to different directions as I myself immigrated later to America and started a new life. Years later we reconnected when you had a brief stint here in New York as an associate editor. W have continued communicating with each other since then though you had gone back to California to be with your children and then to Manila to get Ding to join your children.
Why did your marriage withstand the test of time? It is not just love you have for each other but respect and friendship as well. Even as you raised your children, Ding and you have been partners who have kept pace with each other. Perhaps you compromised a little by encouraging his career more than yours, but your reward has been his love and loyalty to you. You share common interests, you have grown and evolved together. You continue to fascinate each other. You are true to yourselves and live very simply. Our friendship is like your marriage, in a way. It doesn't go out of style. Forty years later, I have no doubt we can pick up where we left off the last time we saw each other, for we would still hold similar interests and values.
So, congratulations as you celebrate with your children, grandchildren and friends. I regret I cannot be there to share your joy. But my thoughts and my love are with you.
Thursday, December 17, 2020
Monday, September 7, 2020
My Brother, Manuel...
Today, Sept. 6, I went to the St. Genevieve church for the Sunday mass I offered for my brother, Manuel J. Datuin, who passed away last night in the Philippines. Saddest thing to die during this pandemic. His sons and myself abroad cannot even travel for his funeral. Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul rest in peace. We'll appreciate prayers for him.
Thursday, April 23, 2020
REFLECTIONS ON THE PANDEMIC OF YEAR 2020
One cold, breezy morning in March, 2020, I woke up feeling the fresh air of my plants out my backyard: petunias, begonias and aloe vera grown wildly into thicket as I neglected to water regularly, so busy I had been. But the magnolia tree by my bedroom window was beginning to sprout tiny pink flowers, a sign of the coming spring. That should be enough to brighten my day, I thought, despite the threatening morning clouds. Moreover, the morning mass at my parish this first Friday was something I looked forward to. It was the day to spend more hours with the Sacred Heart after enjoying the mass ritual, to receive that precious gift of Holy Communion, and let my soul commune in silence with Christ in front of His Blessed Sacrament tabernacle. Before leaving, I turned on my cellphone for my email and was surprised by the news from my parish. Church events cancelled? My First Communicants will not have their day? No Lenten fish Friday? This couldn’t be true. It never happened before. But yes, new directives from government officials were announced. It was all because of a virus called coronavirus that was fast becoming pandemic, catching unsuspecting victims by surprise. This was a foreboding of more unpleasant news. The coronavirus was beginning to take a tragic toll on parishes, businesses, communities. The day turned out to be as gloomy as the cold, blustery weather.
After mass, I had to go to the groceries for stuff I was running out of. Shelves in the market emptied of usual products. “Where can I find your bathroom tissues?” I asked one sales person. His answer, “I don’t know where they were moved. They must re-arranging things.” He looked as bewildered as I was of what was going on. When I went to another supermarket, all bathroom tissues were also gone. Not only that. Rice, milk, sanitizer, and a lot more. Panic buying? Could it have come to this? Then the announcements and directives were all over TV, radio, throughout all of media. Originating from Wuhan, China where thousand were reported having died, news of more deaths also sweeping all over the United States and other countries---Italy, England, Denmark, Netherlands and other European countries. Travel bans to and from practically all countries issued. Tourists, travelers entering countries put on quarantine.
Guidelines and directions issued were to be followed: Stay home; workers are to do their jobs at home; same with students as all schools were closed; the old, especially those with health problems never to be allowed outside; no social gatherings of any kind; people to be 5 to6 feet from one another with the social distancing rule, no touching of one another, no handshake, much less hugging as was our wont when we want to comfort, to commiserate, to show love. Schools, churches, offices, any place inhabited by people shut down as all were to stay home instead. Work on-line at home, school lessons delivered through online for students to study at home. Events of any kind canceled. No festivities, no world games, meetings, conferences. In short, almost all of life outside had stopped. The hub of business, commerce, the country’s economy---all had ceased grinding. Swamped with rules and directions to observe and follow, our movements and actions constricted, it seemed more than what Adam and Eve were forbidden in the Garden of Eden. Yet, the risk was truly a reality. Disobey and suffer the consequence; it’s at your own peril.
Lockdown has never been a frightening word. What does one do when locked in the house for days and days of unknown length of time. While most employees were allowed to work online at home and still received salaries, others---laborers paid on a daily basis---were not as fortunate. The nannies, the housecleaners, the manual laborers, the fruit pickers. These were breadwinners paid with minimal wage and had to earn to be able to put food on the table and could not even do panic-buying due to lack of purchasing power. What tragedies this Covid19 had inflicted on all of humanity. If not death, it’s making the poor poorer, the aged confined at home as being considered vulnerable and at risk. Fear in the heart of everyone.
But flash forward to the present: As of this writing, this corona virus disease, nicknamed Covit19, is still raging as a pandemic all over the world, an infamous plague, never to be forgotten in history, that brought down mankind to its knees. Thousands dying, from east to west, the Covid19 not choosing its victims: black or white, believers or non-believers, rich or poor, literate or illiterate, the powerful or powerless, celebrity or not. No one is excluded. Everyone, except for doctors, nurses, all other health staff needed in caring for patients, are all mandated to stay in their houses for fear of contagion as the covit19 continues to spread unabated in all countries.
Lockdown has never been as frightening a word as it is during these times, when everyone is quarantined, suspended in a world suddenly turned upside down.
Life’s hub is at a standstill except for hospitals where doctors, nurses and other health workers are ceaselessly scrambling to get patients to breathe again. But lamentably, the bell continuously tolls for the dying, reminding us of our mortality and the presence of the hidden evil stalking grimly all over. Ah, Azrael, whence did you come from? How you have succeeded in striking a world taken aback by your slithering tongue?
______________
Melissa Nolledo, community awardee artist in Oregon, describes her feelings in art in the opposite page. A jumble of emotions: angry over the scourge on humanity, fearful for loved ones, befuddled over the barrage of information, prayerful for the end of the pandemic.
___________
This is a time when sharing is a word absolutely prohibited and condemned, and distancing from neighbors a law. No sharing of any kind. How is sharing ever to be fulfilled in a world of individuals isolated from one another? Boxes of stuff ready to ship to those in need in another country, books to feed those thirsty for knowledge, sacred materials to those hungry for the Light, goodies, children’s books, and holy cards for my First Communicant children whose First Communion ceremony was cancelled as all other events, activities, festivities---all will have to wait till life begins humming again.
For the first time, I feel the grief of not having anyone to share that which I long to give and to share with people who may be in need. Except for food sustenance, of course, medical equipment and supplies to heal the sick, the afflicted, the victims.
How forlorn seems the universe. The usually busy thoroughfares are deserted. How empty, how deadening is the silence in this earth planet that now seems uninhabited. Talk of doomsday, of the earth drying up, as resources are fast depleting---these are fears of peoples losing hope.
For the first time in the history of mankind peoples were united in prayers to beg the Creator for mercy to end the scourge, to transform souls, to heal the wounded both in body and in spirit and save the diminishing world. But heaven seems unresponsive. Is God sending a message to earth by allowing evil to engulf us, by letting Satan succeed in plaguing the earth? Is this a trial as cruel as what was heaped on Job by Satan to test his faithfulness to God? We know it’s not the doing of God, for God does not wish any evil on His people that He loves so much. But why has He allowed Satan to dump this evil on humanity gasping now for the freedom to breathe and move on in life? Are we being punished for the depravity of our rapidly degenerating morals, the perversity of men and women of our unbridled generation? Could God’s wrath not be contained anymore at the abuse of His mercy and generosity?
He tested Job. Can we keep our faith like Job who never for a moment lost his trust, and never doubted His inexhaustible mercy and kindness? But the heroes, the innocents, the aged, the vulnerable, the helpless, Lord, are being taken away from us, we might argue. Oh, how mysterious are Your ways. How unfathomable. They are a puzzle we cannot even attempt to unravel.
We need to fortify our trust in the Lord. If we lose our trust in Him, who else can we turn to? As Simon Peter responded to Jesus when many of His disciples turned away from Him, and He asked if the others would also want to leave, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe, and are convinced you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:67-70)
Yes, He alone, we trust, can heal and raise again this abysmal world, if we repent. Thus, we ask forgiveness for our iniquities: Lord, beneath your cross, we kneel and cry mea culpa, for what we have done and for what we have failed to do. For the millions of babies murdered in mothers’ wombs or out of their mothers’ womb as infanticide. For all mankind, especially sinners that Jesus wants us to bring to Him, as St. Faustina has written in her diary; “for those who do not believe in Jesus and those who do not yet know Him; for the souls of separated brethren; for the souls who are detained in purgatory; and for the souls who have become lukewarm.”
On each day of a novena to the Divine Mercy, St. Faustina continues, Christ says, “you will bring to My heart a different group of souls and you will immerse them in this ocean of My mercy...” Thus, we are asked to pray:“Most Merciful Jesus, whose very nature it is to have compassion on us and to forgive us, do not look upon our sins, but upon our trust which we place in Your infinite goodness.” We are asked to pray for others unlike our usual wont to pray for our own selves. The faithful are called upon to pray for their brothers and sisters.
Is this a message that we have not prayed enough for others? That we have not shared enough our faith or in support of our priests and religious? Perhaps, we have not humbled ourselves enough in penance and bathed enough tears at the Lord’s feet, as Mary Magdalene had done with pure nard as token of her penance? If, as Jesus is pictured in a song as telling us, “… my people will humble themselves, and pray; if they seek my face…” will Jesus hear and cast Satan away and end this pandemic that brought us havoc? Ah, the dark consequences of our iniquities. That evil has been able to penetrate the soul of every country and inflict the worst to its people, this is as deplorable as the sun hiding from our planet.
How has this evil traveled to the whole world? Who can be held accountable for its origin? China admits it started in Wuhan when people started dying due to the corona virus. Whether in a market place or in a lab is still being investigated as of this time. Meantime, dead bodies overflowed the river of life. Who is the guilty mankind can point out to? No matter. It is Satan who must be gloating secretly. Should we let him? Nay, surrender should not be in our vocabulary. So long as the sun shines, the moon and the stars light our way in darkness, love will continue to reign, and hope will spring eternal.
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
Cropsharing in the Bounty of Love: Psalm 42
Cropsharing in the Bounty of Love:
Psalm 42:
One of my favorite psalms:
As a deer longs for flowing streams,
so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
My ears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
Psalm 42:
One of my favorite psalms:
As a deer longs for flowing streams,
so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When can I go and meet with God?
My ears have been my food day and night,
while men say to me all day long,
"Where is your God?"
Thursday, January 2, 2020
New Year, 2020
After mass today, New Year's Day, saw a glimpse of Fr. Renato talking to a parishioner as my son, Ruel, and I were about to drive off. I waved and he waved back and then ran down the steps of the church to greet us, "Teacher! Happy New Year!" (I had actually asked him before just to call me by my first name.) We conversed for a while, and I felt so proud he could now carry on a conversation in English. A brilliant young Brazilian priest who speaks Portuguese, French, Italian, and Spanish but could barely speak English when I was asked to tutor him a few months ago, it's amazing how much he has improved. It only goes to show how determination can speed up language learning. No one is probably happier than I. As I always tell my students, "learning mostly depends on you, not on the teacher." So, credit goes to Fr. Renato, not to the teacher, as some had said.
Safe trip, Father, on your way to visit your ailing mother in Brazil. Will see you when you get back.
Friday, December 13, 2019
December 19, 2019--- our 60th wedding anniversary. Not a single day I don't think about you and remember with daily prayers. Still missing you.
MEMORIES OF W.D. NOLLEDO's COURTSHIP
2011,
December 19 this year marks our 52nd wedding anniversary, which my children and I still observe even though my husband, Novelist Wilfrido D. Nolledo (of But for the Lovers, Cadena de Amor and Other Short Stories, available at Amazon. com) has been gone for seven years. Ding, as he was known to family and friends, passed away barely completing his last novel, A Capella Dawn.
I usually tend to escape a revisit to the past as it brings back images both joyful and lonely. Was it Alfred Tennyson who said ""A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times"? But I dug up recently this lovely letter from a dear friend while I was sorting old letters from Ding and from close friends. It's from Cora Bisogno, the former Cora Cloma, who was my maid-of-honor at my wedding. It was supposed to have been read during our celebration of our 40th wedding anniversary in 1999 when Ding was still up and about. Cora, however, got tied up with her public relations work in New York and could not come to share the day with us. So, she did the next best thing she could do: send us this letter to be read during the party celebration. Cora is a writer herself but like many of us in our circle of friends who were diverted to other occupations, strayed away from a writing career.
Here is her own recollection of my campus romance with Ding at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila when Ding, newly graduated from the College of Philosophy and Letters (Philet) and I, on the other hand, still a babe in the woods and poet wannabe, fresh from high school, met through a mutual college friend who submitted my first short story to Ding. Those were the years when male and female students went through separate corridors in our university but, strangely, met in co-ed classrooms. (When I think of it now, it really seems so useless, those separate corridors. I don't know if it's still done now.) Even stranger perhaps to outsiders is the fact that quite a few campus romances somehow bloomed and thrived in that university despite the strict rules of the Dominican priests. As a matter of fact, a favorite joke during one of our early reunions decades ago was the dictum that the Philet College, especially, was a happy hunting ground for the right mate. A few I can recall that ended at the altar were Recah Trinidad (to become the famous sportswriter and columnist) and Fe Lacsamana; Neal Cruz (now a long-time columnist/writer) and Marina Novenario; Meny Heernandez (who became a consul) and Yoly Canseco (now a retired GSP National Director); Writer Gerry Umengan and Vilma Dagasuan (to become a magazine editor); Ernie Franco and Cherry Santamaria, summa cum laude of her batch; Rey Vidal and Lou Hernandez; Tony Siddayao and Maricruz Prada; and Eli Molina and Nelly Balthazar; and of course, Wilfrido Nolledo and yours truly.
Well, perhaps, our dean, the Rev. Alfredo Panizo, O.P., didn't do a good job guarding us; in fact, we considered him a consintodor and we loved him for it, of course. Ding had called on me at our home, but we also met right in the Dean's office during my vacant hours, sat at the long conference table there and chatted right under Father Panizo's scrutinizing eyes, he whose office desk was just a few feet away. But he kept our confidences, yes, our beloved dean. (He eventually officiated at our wedding; who else could we have asked?) Maybe, it was his way of looking after his college children; would rather have them in the safety of our school than have them indulge in secret assignations outside. We had a good faculty, too: Manuel Viray, later to become ambassador; Erlinda Rustia, whose respect we coveted despite her stinging verdict to those she thought were not called to be writers ("If you cannot write, go enroll at the School of Hair Science," addressed to male students thus eliciting giggles from some); Julia Palarca, later to become ambassador; sweet and bedimpled Pity Guinto-Rosales; Primi Cervania (our Spanish professor behind whom we snickered when she would stick to Spanish even when we kept asking one another "what the heck is she talking about"? And Menchit Rocha, a Chabacano from Cebu, would translate roughly Ms. Cervania's Castilian Spanish.
Those were days when courtship was so pristine and virginal that the unbridled generation of today would sadly frown upon. Yet, with Ding and myself, it was a period of getting-to-know each other and sowing the seeds of a deeper relationship beyond the physical and temporary. So, when in the following recollection of Cora, she asks "why did your marriage withstand the test of time," I'll add to her answers that it must have been those school years that we "occupied" the dean's office during my vacant period and had long talks about practically everything under the sun. In baring to me his heart, his dreams, his pains, his art, Ding impressed me with his depth. Here was a man who did not laugh at other people's mistakes or weird appearance, who had compassion and felt the pain of a suffering world, who worked hard (he was already working then) and was willing to give of himself to people he loved, and most of all, knew how to love and respect his mother.( If you want to know the character of a man, I was told, observe how he treats his mother.) Even in youth, somehow I was attracted to those values, and at that time of my young life,I don't remember having found them in the men I had known, probably because of their own youth and still developing personhood. But what touched me most was the seriousness with which Ding pursued me, yet never forcing me to do anything against my moral beliefs.
Here's Cora telling a part of that chapter in my life. I'm sharing it for whatever insights the youth of today may gain from it. Inserts in italics are mine.
MEMORIES OF DING'S COURTSHIP, an excerpt from a letter from Corazon Cloma Bisogno to Ding and Blanca on their 40th wedding anniversary.
It's amazing to realize that you've been married 40 years! I know few couples who have remained together that long. My parents' marriage ended after 18 years and my own marriage lasted only three years ...You and Ding are blessed to have met in this lifetime. Time may play tricks with my memory, clouding details of remembrances... So, forgive me if I don't do justice to our joint histories.
...We were in college when we met Ding. I believe we were sophomores when you noticed him. I think he attended one of our classes--he was a senior or had graduated already and in fact was in the graduate school at the time. He was the literary editor of the Blue Quill, our college journal--that's how we met him; we submitted poems. (Unknown to Cora and my other gangmates, Ding had been writing letters to me already even before that. I was to take over as literary editor of the Blue Quill two years after, and Ding moved on to become the literary editor of the Varsitarian, the university organ.)
I remember Prof. Erlinda Rustia raving about Ding. He was a big man on campus, soon to become a major national writer... When I met you, I thought you would enter the convent later and become a nun. You were really so pure of heart and deeply spiritual. I had been a postulant in the convent for a year, so I knew I wasn't one of those called, but I thought you were. (Was this perspective elicited by my daily visits to our university chapel together with another close friend, Nene Marquinez (now Navarro), with whom I prayed the rosary during our vacant period?) Imagine my surprise and delight when you were becoming interested in Ding.
Your courtship was very quiet and private, both of you being quiet and private persons. How wonderfully astute Ding was to have an insight into your character and soul. With so many attractive and equally talented girls around, he saw your true beauty and looked into your beautiful heart and fell deeply in love. Being shy, you did not gush openly about your feelings, but I knew you were in love, because you spoke much about how kind and gentle and brilliant Ding was. You related the gist of your conversations you two had about literature, philosophy and the arts and subtly gave me a picture of a strong yet gentle man who could dominate a conversation, yet brought out the artist in you as well. Your eventual marriage was a foregone conclusion.
Your lovers' tiffs were brief little incidents that served merely to spice the relationship, add a little excitement and color, perhaps to ensure that a future life together will be interesting and perhaps bring some scintillating challenges. They were perhaps reminders that you were both, afterall, artists with the requisite temperaments to watch out for. The quick darting looks Ding would throw your way when we would accidentally (or were they really accidental?) encounter him on campus or in hallways, were eloquent expressions of his affection. I was thrilled as a happy spectator. (Wow, Cora, I didn't know you took notice of all of that.) How you would shyly avoid looking directly at him, hiding your emotions even from us who knew. How young and innocent we all were.
Your wedding day itself is a hazy memory now, as I have seen so many weddings of family and friends in the eternity of 40 years... All I can remember is that you were a pair who looked perfect together and everybody had a sense of that "happily ever after" feeling...
(Ah, walking down the aisle in a traje de boda designed and sewn by no less than the genius poet and dramatist Rolando Tinio, later to become a Philippine National Artist, and Ding in his immaculately white suit I suspected he felt uncomfortable in because he hated formal suits so.)
I felt I was embarking on a new relationship of having to share your friendship with Ding. But I was very happy for you. Now all I had to do was wait to become an extended member of your new family as an "aunt" to your future children. We kept in touch. You did not allow our friendship to become a casualty of your new life... then Ding received a grant from the U.S. Embassy to come and study in America. (Ding was actually invited to the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, that was followed by four consecutive grants.) With children you were off to a new adventure of raising a growing family as Ding's writing career flourished.. Then our paths led to different directions as I myself immigrated later to America and started a new life. Years later we reconnected when you had a brief stint here in New York as an associate editor. W have continued communicating with each other since then though you had gone back to California to be with your children and then to Manila to get Ding to join your children.
Why did your marriage withstand the test of time? It is not just love you have for each other but respect and friendship as well. Even as you raised your children, Ding and you have been partners who have kept pace with each other. Perhaps you compromised a little by encouraging his career more than yours, but your reward has been his love and loyalty to you. You share common interests, you have grown and evolved together. You continue to fascinate each other. You are true to yourselves and live very simply. Our friendship is like your marriage, in a way. It doesn't go out of style. Forty years later, I have no doubt we can pick up where we left off the last time we saw each other, for we would still hold similar interests and values.
So, congratulations as you celebrate with your children, grandchildren and friends. I regret I cannot be there to share your joy. But my thoughts and my love are with you.
Cora
MEMORIES OF W.D. NOLLEDO's COURTSHIP
2011,
December 19 this year marks our 52nd wedding anniversary, which my children and I still observe even though my husband, Novelist Wilfrido D. Nolledo (of But for the Lovers, Cadena de Amor and Other Short Stories, available at Amazon. com) has been gone for seven years. Ding, as he was known to family and friends, passed away barely completing his last novel, A Capella Dawn.
I usually tend to escape a revisit to the past as it brings back images both joyful and lonely. Was it Alfred Tennyson who said ""A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times"? But I dug up recently this lovely letter from a dear friend while I was sorting old letters from Ding and from close friends. It's from Cora Bisogno, the former Cora Cloma, who was my maid-of-honor at my wedding. It was supposed to have been read during our celebration of our 40th wedding anniversary in 1999 when Ding was still up and about. Cora, however, got tied up with her public relations work in New York and could not come to share the day with us. So, she did the next best thing she could do: send us this letter to be read during the party celebration. Cora is a writer herself but like many of us in our circle of friends who were diverted to other occupations, strayed away from a writing career.
Here is her own recollection of my campus romance with Ding at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila when Ding, newly graduated from the College of Philosophy and Letters (Philet) and I, on the other hand, still a babe in the woods and poet wannabe, fresh from high school, met through a mutual college friend who submitted my first short story to Ding. Those were the years when male and female students went through separate corridors in our university but, strangely, met in co-ed classrooms. (When I think of it now, it really seems so useless, those separate corridors. I don't know if it's still done now.) Even stranger perhaps to outsiders is the fact that quite a few campus romances somehow bloomed and thrived in that university despite the strict rules of the Dominican priests. As a matter of fact, a favorite joke during one of our early reunions decades ago was the dictum that the Philet College, especially, was a happy hunting ground for the right mate. A few I can recall that ended at the altar were Recah Trinidad (to become the famous sportswriter and columnist) and Fe Lacsamana; Neal Cruz (now a long-time columnist/writer) and Marina Novenario; Meny Heernandez (who became a consul) and Yoly Canseco (now a retired GSP National Director); Writer Gerry Umengan and Vilma Dagasuan (to become a magazine editor); Ernie Franco and Cherry Santamaria, summa cum laude of her batch; Rey Vidal and Lou Hernandez; Tony Siddayao and Maricruz Prada; and Eli Molina and Nelly Balthazar; and of course, Wilfrido Nolledo and yours truly.
Well, perhaps, our dean, the Rev. Alfredo Panizo, O.P., didn't do a good job guarding us; in fact, we considered him a consintodor and we loved him for it, of course. Ding had called on me at our home, but we also met right in the Dean's office during my vacant hours, sat at the long conference table there and chatted right under Father Panizo's scrutinizing eyes, he whose office desk was just a few feet away. But he kept our confidences, yes, our beloved dean. (He eventually officiated at our wedding; who else could we have asked?) Maybe, it was his way of looking after his college children; would rather have them in the safety of our school than have them indulge in secret assignations outside. We had a good faculty, too: Manuel Viray, later to become ambassador; Erlinda Rustia, whose respect we coveted despite her stinging verdict to those she thought were not called to be writers ("If you cannot write, go enroll at the School of Hair Science," addressed to male students thus eliciting giggles from some); Julia Palarca, later to become ambassador; sweet and bedimpled Pity Guinto-Rosales; Primi Cervania (our Spanish professor behind whom we snickered when she would stick to Spanish even when we kept asking one another "what the heck is she talking about"? And Menchit Rocha, a Chabacano from Cebu, would translate roughly Ms. Cervania's Castilian Spanish.
Those were days when courtship was so pristine and virginal that the unbridled generation of today would sadly frown upon. Yet, with Ding and myself, it was a period of getting-to-know each other and sowing the seeds of a deeper relationship beyond the physical and temporary. So, when in the following recollection of Cora, she asks "why did your marriage withstand the test of time," I'll add to her answers that it must have been those school years that we "occupied" the dean's office during my vacant period and had long talks about practically everything under the sun. In baring to me his heart, his dreams, his pains, his art, Ding impressed me with his depth. Here was a man who did not laugh at other people's mistakes or weird appearance, who had compassion and felt the pain of a suffering world, who worked hard (he was already working then) and was willing to give of himself to people he loved, and most of all, knew how to love and respect his mother.( If you want to know the character of a man, I was told, observe how he treats his mother.) Even in youth, somehow I was attracted to those values, and at that time of my young life,I don't remember having found them in the men I had known, probably because of their own youth and still developing personhood. But what touched me most was the seriousness with which Ding pursued me, yet never forcing me to do anything against my moral beliefs.
Here's Cora telling a part of that chapter in my life. I'm sharing it for whatever insights the youth of today may gain from it. Inserts in italics are mine.
MEMORIES OF DING'S COURTSHIP, an excerpt from a letter from Corazon Cloma Bisogno to Ding and Blanca on their 40th wedding anniversary.
It's amazing to realize that you've been married 40 years! I know few couples who have remained together that long. My parents' marriage ended after 18 years and my own marriage lasted only three years ...You and Ding are blessed to have met in this lifetime. Time may play tricks with my memory, clouding details of remembrances... So, forgive me if I don't do justice to our joint histories.
...We were in college when we met Ding. I believe we were sophomores when you noticed him. I think he attended one of our classes--he was a senior or had graduated already and in fact was in the graduate school at the time. He was the literary editor of the Blue Quill, our college journal--that's how we met him; we submitted poems. (Unknown to Cora and my other gangmates, Ding had been writing letters to me already even before that. I was to take over as literary editor of the Blue Quill two years after, and Ding moved on to become the literary editor of the Varsitarian, the university organ.)
I remember Prof. Erlinda Rustia raving about Ding. He was a big man on campus, soon to become a major national writer... When I met you, I thought you would enter the convent later and become a nun. You were really so pure of heart and deeply spiritual. I had been a postulant in the convent for a year, so I knew I wasn't one of those called, but I thought you were. (Was this perspective elicited by my daily visits to our university chapel together with another close friend, Nene Marquinez (now Navarro), with whom I prayed the rosary during our vacant period?) Imagine my surprise and delight when you were becoming interested in Ding.
Your courtship was very quiet and private, both of you being quiet and private persons. How wonderfully astute Ding was to have an insight into your character and soul. With so many attractive and equally talented girls around, he saw your true beauty and looked into your beautiful heart and fell deeply in love. Being shy, you did not gush openly about your feelings, but I knew you were in love, because you spoke much about how kind and gentle and brilliant Ding was. You related the gist of your conversations you two had about literature, philosophy and the arts and subtly gave me a picture of a strong yet gentle man who could dominate a conversation, yet brought out the artist in you as well. Your eventual marriage was a foregone conclusion.
Your lovers' tiffs were brief little incidents that served merely to spice the relationship, add a little excitement and color, perhaps to ensure that a future life together will be interesting and perhaps bring some scintillating challenges. They were perhaps reminders that you were both, afterall, artists with the requisite temperaments to watch out for. The quick darting looks Ding would throw your way when we would accidentally (or were they really accidental?) encounter him on campus or in hallways, were eloquent expressions of his affection. I was thrilled as a happy spectator. (Wow, Cora, I didn't know you took notice of all of that.) How you would shyly avoid looking directly at him, hiding your emotions even from us who knew. How young and innocent we all were.
Your wedding day itself is a hazy memory now, as I have seen so many weddings of family and friends in the eternity of 40 years... All I can remember is that you were a pair who looked perfect together and everybody had a sense of that "happily ever after" feeling...
(Ah, walking down the aisle in a traje de boda designed and sewn by no less than the genius poet and dramatist Rolando Tinio, later to become a Philippine National Artist, and Ding in his immaculately white suit I suspected he felt uncomfortable in because he hated formal suits so.)
I felt I was embarking on a new relationship of having to share your friendship with Ding. But I was very happy for you. Now all I had to do was wait to become an extended member of your new family as an "aunt" to your future children. We kept in touch. You did not allow our friendship to become a casualty of your new life... then Ding received a grant from the U.S. Embassy to come and study in America. (Ding was actually invited to the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, that was followed by four consecutive grants.) With children you were off to a new adventure of raising a growing family as Ding's writing career flourished.. Then our paths led to different directions as I myself immigrated later to America and started a new life. Years later we reconnected when you had a brief stint here in New York as an associate editor. W have continued communicating with each other since then though you had gone back to California to be with your children and then to Manila to get Ding to join your children.
Why did your marriage withstand the test of time? It is not just love you have for each other but respect and friendship as well. Even as you raised your children, Ding and you have been partners who have kept pace with each other. Perhaps you compromised a little by encouraging his career more than yours, but your reward has been his love and loyalty to you. You share common interests, you have grown and evolved together. You continue to fascinate each other. You are true to yourselves and live very simply. Our friendship is like your marriage, in a way. It doesn't go out of style. Forty years later, I have no doubt we can pick up where we left off the last time we saw each other, for we would still hold similar interests and values.
So, congratulations as you celebrate with your children, grandchildren and friends. I regret I cannot be there to share your joy. But my thoughts and my love are with you.
Cora
Tuesday, December 3, 2019
Goodness sake, am finding myself multi-tasking again: changing my mind on what to include in the book, publisher inquiring if I have finished it, revising no end and (time is running out), Ateneo's Karina asking for WDN's mss., dealing with an avalanche of mail, jittery about our Purisima youngsters' speeches for the Ring Ceremony this weekend, property tax to pay, car registration, HOA raising monthly assessment (group demanding protest that I will just have to let go)---challenges never end. But that's probably what keep us going.
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