My husband Rolly Fernandez and I arrive at the Cubao terminal of JoyBus at 5:30 a.m., but hustler cab drivers are ready to pounce on two senior citizens shaking off the weariness of travel. Finally, after three tries we find a cabbie willing to take us and our baggage in at only the cost of what's stated in the meter.
Where we head at that hour is for a future story. What brings us to the lowlands is the death of our brother-in-law Florentino Martin, husband to Rolly's elder sister Thelma. She and Kuya Jun, as we called the late urologist, are American citizens who had long decided to pour their savings into the Philippines by settling in Puerto Princesa City, Palawan, and building a modest hotel. Already in his 80s, KJ (shorthand for Kuya Jun) continued to practice medicine there.
Also known as Kentucky because he loved to bet at the Kentucky Derby and he practiced his profession in that state, KJ suffered a heart attack on the fourth day of the New Year. He had told relatives earlier, who had quizzed him if he had a life plan, that he wasn't all that ready to go. He wanted to die at age 94. But at age 88, his wish wasn't heeded. And so he went.
So Rolly, myself and my sister Suzy Ellen Suzanne D. Lolarga find ourselves the first visitors of Kentucky at 10 a.m. on a hectic Wednesday as he gloriously lay in state in a white coffin at the St. Alphonsus Chapel in Magallanes Village, Makati.
We say our prayers for his soul's repose quietly, and at a quarter to 3 p.m., Suzy and I take our leave to avoid the EDSA carmageddon exacerbated by the rerouting of vehicles due to the Quiapo feast.
By 4:30 p.m. friend and fellow music lover Joseph Uy is texting me, urging me to come to Oriental Pearl Kapitolyo where "tito is already waiting." Tito is Pablo Tariman, and the occasion of our reunion is a belated celebration of his 70th orbit.
Joseph is just a few years younger than me, but he enjoys addressing me as his "tita." I don't know if it's because of the dust of white hair on my head or the cane I use to assist me when I stand or walk.
What I think is merienda rapidly segues to a simple lauriat dinner (no meat dish as we are groaning from it from the holidays) of birthday noodles, shrimp balls, mushrooms, cold cuts, fish fillet with veggies and Yang Chow flied lice. :-)
The stories are uncorked like bottled champagne and plans for intimate concerts in the New Year are laid.
Joseph always has a surprise up his sleeve. A little before 6 p.m. who should walk in but soprano Myramae Tapia Meneses, back from her two years of studies at Guildhall School of Music & Drama, looking trimmer and smiling sweetly as we last remembered her.
No, she doesn't sing an aria for her Tito Pablo, but she does something better. She commits to an outreach concert in Baguio details of which will be written later when everything is ironed out, including a program that's guaranteed to make the most stoic and most hardhearted swoon in delight.
Wednesday isn't so bad. God allowed me to glimpse death (Kentucky's) and a celebration of a life (Pablo's) in a day.
May your Thursday be as meaningful!
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