Living apart but zooming together

Screenshot by Gigi Lolarga The year 2020 taught me how to be at home in a Zoom room. So when the primary movers and shakers behind the Lolarga Virtual Reunion announced that we would attempt to lasso all the surviving first generation, second, third and fourth gens in one room, I was more than game. Spinning in my mind was the Burt Bacharach song from the '70s, "Living Together, Growing Together," from Lost Horizon as I asked, nagged, cajoled my siblings and my immediate family members in Baguio and Los Angeles to please show up. We were requested to come in our festive best. Rolly picked the color red for our outfits. Kimi and my grandchild Kai turned up in matching Mickey Mouse PJs. I was assigned to give a message to the Lolarga-Romero-Valdellon clan spread all over North America and Hawaii, and it was one of remembrance of the woman who started it all and kept the family together. Welcome to the first Lolarga reunion on Zoom. Let us honor our grand matriarch, Telesfora Cariño Lolarga. She was Mamang to our parents, Auntie Purang to nephews and nieces, Lola Purang to the rest of us. We owe this formerly annual tradition of gathering the clan to her. The parties were first held in her home in Sampaloc, Manila. Then the venue moved to the home of her son, Uncle Esting, on Malumanay Street, Teachers’ Village. Auntie Linda and Uncle Esting hosted reunions with aplomb. Tandang-tanda ko pa! They danced the singkil complete with umbrella and clacking bamboo poles. For a child like me, nothing that the Bayanihan Dance Troupe did could equal the spectacle that I watched up close. To Lola reunions are important. They enable us to see the latest family additions. Above all, they are occasions for thanksgiving. We the grandchildren and even the great grandkids believe so, too Especially during this pandemic, we long to see one another’s face on the small screen as an assurance that we have survived. Not just survived but prevailed over whatever our circumstances are in, whatever region of the world. Thankful we are, Lola, for the great example that you set. Thankful again for this opportunity to make another set of memories, to have a load of fun. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Here's looking at you, Bogart

He would've turned 14 years old in human years on June 16 this year. But when his mistresses Gigi Lolarga, my youngest sibling, and Ruth Taleon Terania, returned from their US trip in December last year, he was in the grip of a cancer in his mouth area.

He put up a good fight. When the family debated if we would have him put down as a kinder way of dealing with the ailment instead of letting him bear the pain, Gigi and Ruth decided to continue a holistic approach to his treatment and they changed his diet upon the vet's advice.They went to the extent of integrating turmeric paste to his soft diet. They had to stop the lugaw or rice porridge because the cancer cells would only feed on the rice. Commercial dog food was stopped.

Bogart put up an uncomplaining fight. It meant more medical expenses underwritten by my sisters.

He was our fierce guard dog whose favorite spot outside the house was the gate where he'd bark at the postal worker, the food and water delivery persons and anyone who came close to his territory. He bit the manicurist who did home service on her shin. He never recognized the scent of the cleaning woman who dropped by the house weekly. He barked and barked until he was shushed.

Unlike the other dog in our family, Bruno, Bogart wasn't the least bit gentle. He didn't sidle up for caresses on his body. But in the last few weeks of his life, he'd rub his frail, small body on my leg. I'd pet him and talk to him aloud. He seemed to understand that it was just a matter of time before the pain would finally go away.

Gigi was the most affected, almost questioning the Universe for the burden of care-giving during the holiday season (our mother was also ill during the Christmas period of 2015). Gigi took leaves from work to keep the stoic Bogart company. When she couldn't be with him all day, our physician brother Dennis Lolarga took over some of the watching hours.

In mid-January, he wrote in our family group chat this announcement that had me in tears: "Our beloved guard dog Bogart, the mini-doberman pinscher, succumbed from his terminal illness at approximately 11 a.m. today, and is now with Shintaro the Japanese spitz, Queenie, Omar Sharif the cat, Billy the kid goat, Sequester, Balky, Pipoy, Mimay, Pipay, Bambam in a heavenly place." All of those are the names of the pets who had been with us in different times in our lives.

Nerisa Del Carmen Guevara and Grace Banez, who have also lost beloved pets, speak of a rainbow bridge which these pets cross when they leave us. I am imagining Bogart prancing on that bridge and adding his barks to the heavenly choir.

Dog day afternoon

The humans of our home in Pasig took a back seat as Bruno Lancelot Lolarga, our pet pug, celebrated his 12th year with a party yesterday. This was the second of its kind (he also marked his 7th year in similar fashion), and it came on the heels of the death of Bogart, our mini pinscher of 13 years, from cancer. Rather than mourn the departed, my sister Gigi Lolarga and Ruth Taleon Terania planned something special for our surviving and furry family member. Just the same we remember Bogart with deep fondness, and we miss him.

There were party hats, a streamer declaring "Happy birthday" and dogs from far and near. Bruno had his own cake shared with Oreo the golden retriever of the family of Pinky Lolarga Susi who drove from Antipolo, and Chase, the shih tzu poodle of Jannica Jorge-Susi's son Jared who came from Las Pinas.

Our dogs are not just pets. They are so integrated in family milestones that Bruno was named one of the godfathers when Pinky's first grandchild was born. When my granddaughter Kai came into this world and was baptized, Bogart was listed as one of her ninongs.

We won't have it any other way. Once again, happy 12, Bruno!

In dog years, he's a senior citizen already. But to our minds, he's our baby.

Spot how many dogs and hoomans!

2016's Christmas card loot

The season's over, and I have to stash away my increasingly paltry collection of hard-copy Christmas cards. In my computer hard drive and Google Drive, I've saved the letters and cards sent by email.

I sent out over 20 cards and postcards by what's known as "happy mail," complete with stamps, as early as the first week of December. The addressees acknowledged my letters by email and text. I'm almost tempted to enclose a SASE, remember those? SASE stands for self-addressed stamped envelope.

Handwriting allows me to slow down. I guess it also brings down my blood pressure. It calms me. I'm able to reflect, rue, remember, regret, rejoice on paper. Not unlike keeping a journal only this time there is someone at the other end of the conversation. A friend asked me to send her a private message via her Facebook, which is faster, because she's "poor in snail mail." I assured her that sending mail by snail or donkey delights me so much so she needn't worry if my message is delayed by a week, 10 days or a month. She lives over in Western Australia and comes home twice a year at the most.

Here's the last year's mail, the last hand-delivered by the sister concerned.

Handmade's the best. This one's the handiwork of three-year-old Sophia, daughter of Liwa Araos and Archie Espanola. Made of dried leaves and shiny stickers. I like Liwa's penmanship--it indicates her lightness of being and overall cheerfulness.

Cousin Tess Lolarga Romero in Chicago is religious about her cards. They arrive as early as November. Perhaps she knows my husband is a stamp collector so she sticks assorted stamps on the envelop.

Beth Quirino Lahoz, president of the Technological Institute of the Philippines, unfailingly sends a yearly card. Sometimes, when I respond in kind, she emails quickly back upon receiving my card: "Despite the distance (not seeing each other), the connection thrives because you have also worked at it with your gracious letters."

Coming home from Baguio via Subic on New Year's Day, I found this on my desk--a card from my sister Gigi and inside were crisp 20-peso bills. She and our adopted sister Ruth Terania know my prepaid phone's limits and how I direly need the gadget for text blasts when supporting assorted causes. Thanks, baby sisters.

Junic's pics

The eldest of my parents' boys is still in town. He has been a few weeks away from cold Calgary, Canada, and coping with Manila summer. He gets a good workout with his camera when he finds the time in between working from our home, keeping fit by taking walks or biking and doing his turn in looking after and cheering up our Mom.

This Easter he took some pictures of us, and I admire the results. Can't help but post them on this space. He captured not only the physical looks of his subject but their inner essence (do I dare write the word "beauty"?).

Thanks, Junic. Keep those snapshots clear and sharp.

Panfilo Cabiz is our big clan's all-round gardener, repairman, carpenter. When we were small, he and wife Teenie looked after us while our parents worked. Mang Cabiz, as we called him, is the type of man who'll get seriously sick if he's not doing hard, manual labor. Although his legs have formed open and close quote marks from years of carrying the weight of tree branches, twigs, etc., he, like Old Man River, just keeps rolling along. Keep him away from firewater, and he's fine and super efficient.

Bianca entered her teens last year. With it comes the adolescent phase's awkwardness. But we love her dearly because she laughs at our jokes. That makes me feel good. I feel I'm the soul of wit when she guffaws hard at an "eeewww" joke and exclaims, "Tita Babeth naman!" She can also be counted upon to play the piano for weddings and other occasions of celebration. Please book her through me.

They are the M & M's of our lives: Marga the mom and Machiko Skye, a.k.a. Max, the un-shy. Marga and I like to do collaborative work on my books, while Max and I are pen pals.

When the human children Jared Franco Susi, Max Susi and Kai Fernandez aren't visiting in Pasig, guess who's our baby? Not my youngest sister Gigi but her own baby, the mini but overweight pug Bruno Lolarga. He's got the papers to show he's a Lolarga, too.

I never look good in pictures which is one reason I prefer to be behind the camera shooting away. But this time, I asked Junic if I could pose by the mural of Corazon restaurant at Shangri-la Plaza Mall's East Wing. This is what I call my summer look--a dress that's cool on my body and sandals, courtesy of my daughter Kimi, on my feet. I'm even proud of my cane, symbol that I'm growing into crone-hood.

Photos by Junic Lolarga

Bruno, the youngest senior citizen

It's fit to be consumed by people like me, a butter-frosted chocolate cake with Bruno's portrait baked by Classic Confections on Brixton street, Barangay Kapitolyo, Pasig City. Giveaways are some sugar cookies.

My student once asked me during an interviewing exercise in class: "Teach, are you a dog or a cat person?"

My answer was diplomatic: "I live with dogs, but I love cats."

Our neighbors in Baguio are cat people whose pets sometimes run wild and upset plants in my granddaughter's secret garden, to my husband's mortification. Still I admire the grace and independence of cats. Their scavenging instincts are still strong, the call of the wild still present. And they have such dignity.

Dogs are different. They need their human master's attention and companionship.

Our dogs in Pasig are the family's babies. The first one is a mini pin, the other a mini pug. The older one is Bogart, the younger Bruno. Bogart is fierce, the perfect guard dog, scandalous in his barking. Bruno is gentle and quiet when awake and a loud snorer when asleep. He is one of those creatures who lives to eat, not eats to live.

In dog years, he's slightly older than me. I will become a senior citizen this year. But in human years, Bruno is only seven.

The works! A tarp, balloons and human-friendly cookies

So his humans, my kid sis Gigi and our adopted sister Ruth, decided to throw a party for him today, complete with balloons, birthday cake, party favors, a pabitin for the tots, our grandnephew Jared and grandniece Machiko, who'll be dropping by.

I'm excited. I have rehearsed my number for the short program. I'll serenade Bruno with "My Funny Valentine."

Excuse me while switch to my blue and yellow costume. I'll be the biggest minion in the world!

Blue and yellow are the colors of the day.

In praise of Bogart and his tiny shadow

Kuya Bogart

The boy on the left, a mini pinscher, is curious Bogart peeking out of our main gate on a sunny morning. He is the older brother to a pug named Bruno. Their surname is like mine: Lolarga.

I do believe that the pets we adopt or invite into our homes should also be considered family and be given humane (to mean human-like) treatment. Like us, they need to bathe, to eat, to drink, to take walks to clear their heads, to feel the warmth of the sun, to have their own "blankies" on cold, rainy nights.

My youngest sibling Gigi has shown by example that if you can't commit or love a pet fully to miss him/her enough when away on long trips, you are better off raising virtual pets in your cell phone or in your other social media platform.

I have a whole album of ponies, cats, kittens, baby elephants and their mommies, calves, chicks and hens, cubs and lionesses in my Pinterest account. By attending to them in this fashion, I am also saying I have my own form of fulfillment as the online master/mistress of these blessed beasts.

By whatever name you call it, it's a kind of loving. Good night, little boys!

The younger dawg who really lives up to his name and his looks: Bruno! Photos by Babeth Lolarga

Hard Lessons

"Hold me up to the light;
 you will see poems.
 Hold me in the dark;
 you will see light."
--Erica Jong, "We Learned"
 
birthday poem Jerry Araos 

it has taken years

the aid of medicine men

the chemicals of bliss & evenness

before i could learn

to even like the light

to welcome daybreak

& the softness it casts

on a leaf

on a spider's web

or on tufts on a baby's head

sometimes i burst out

of that self-made, suffocating trap

when you dangle that most irresistible

of invitations to a dance

that zestfully embraces

all that is worthy

of celebration & our combined contempt

i sense you unconsciously pushing back

the edges of my ever-encroaching darkness

look at you now!

your own brilliant madness transmuted

in the palpable curves of grace-filled torsos

in the sturdiness of tables from which

we sup & grind ideas & feelings, even those of pain,

down to their wispiest essences

for us to imbibe them

for strength to dream on

& to welcome the fecund darkness

that instructs us once more.
 
--Babeth Lolarga
 
First published in Sunday Inquirer Magazine 

Photo of Mr. Araos taken by Gigi Lolarga 

The April Borns

birthday poems for Butones Fernandez & Bianca Ysabel Susi 

written to Mahler's Adagietto from his 5th Symphony in C sharp minor

march marches out

with a loud stomping

of the pachyderm's feet

the wails of the mournful

the lifting of night

welcome now

the hours of morning

the promise of ice cream

a stifled scream over

a child's mess

an outburst of giggles

echoing through a

valley of green

welcome now

the perplexed look on

a little one

while new shoes in

the hue of tenderness

are fitted on her

for her first step

followed by two

three  four

a hundred  a thousand

as calendar pages

are cast off

welcome now

the harp  the violins

that sear the heart

as white lilies

turn purplish

in the easter  sun

--Babeth Lolarga

Photos of Bianca and Butones by Gigi Lolarga and Kimi Fernandez

Consider the Rose

for butones & her mamita gigi

how this picture
makes me think
of a man named luke
who wrote about his lord
who told him & other followers
to consider the lilies
that toil not, spin not

consider the rose, too,
admired by sister & grandchild
how its roots find home
in a pot so small
how it manages to bud,
then stand proud & tall
with little water, lots of sun
on a balcony up a windy hill

the rose has no name
except for a latin one
but it has a color though that draws
the eyes of sister & grandchild

another week & the velvety petals will fall
someone, maybe the baby's mother,
will pick them up, return them to the pot
till soil & crumpling petals are one

meanwhile, sister has gone a-toiling
like grownups are destined to do
grandchild is spinning
on her sunny balcony anew
& the rose, faded & gone by this time,
will array someone else's memo-ray

--Babeth Lolarga

Photo of Butones and her grandaunt Gigi Lolarga by Kimi Fernandez

Surviving the Kitchen Sink

i cannot & will not make
a roll of morcon as good
as my mother does
nor simmer soothingly
a pot of mechado as lip-smacking
as my husband does
but i can thoroughly wash tomatoes
whose bottoms are as round
as half-moons of my toes
dice red apples as crisp
as baguio weather in december
slice bell peppers as green
as the sheen of leaves after a rainfall

with a slightly steady hand i can paint
stones pebbles the lips of broken jars
but i cannot arrange
them into an artful still life
for the landscaping skills i do not possess,

through a game of evasion
i have survived
the sorrows of the kitchen sink.

let me not name them
let me instead paint
with this unsteady hand
the contours of the vegetable basket's contents
for here with my acquired vocabulary of acrylics
i have found a pocket of peaces
discovered the strategies of strawberries
tasted the temperance of tomatoes
empathized with once chaste chayotes
now plucked from the vine
& lain on a bulging pillow of bell peppers.

--Babeth Lolarga

first published in Malaya, May 14, 2007

The same poem was also exhibited alongside the author's works at her first solo show of acrylic, watercolor and ink paintings at Gallery Nine, SM Megamall, Mandaluyong City, made possible by the artists' collective Salakai under master sculptor Jerry Araos.

all photos taken by Gigi Lolarga

Aspiration: To Achieve Cat-like Insouciance

Victoria Rico Costina, my friend who has acquired the shibboleth of "Cat Woman of Baguio" and a literature professor at the UP Baguio, will launch her book Those Who Love Cats, essays, profiles, reviews and basic cat care tips for Filipino homes (she's too modest to claim it as her autobiography) on March 4 at the university's student alumni center on Gov. Pack Road. The slim volume (82 pages) will soon be available at Baguio book shops and at National Bookstore branches. Coinciding with her book launch, Vickie invited UP Diliman journalism alumna Angie Salanio to exhibit her watercolors of cats at the same venue.

Vickie asked me to introduce  her book with some urgency while I was holidaying with family in the US. I responded with equal urgency, but then she had some difficulty finding a welcoming publisher until she took matters into her own hands. Recently, she asked me to act as program emcee. I've begged off from that duty.  But I'm returning the honor by reproducing the intro as my contribution to the book's marketing.

I'm especially proud to be connected to the book. Firstly, it's a Baguio production through and through--from the writing to the illustrations (by my fine arts classmate Czarina Calinawagan and fellow visual artist Rishab) to the layout and design by Frederick Pedragosa to photography by Vickie's husband Ruel and printing. Secondly, like I wrote in the intro, this book may be some kind of first in Philippine publishing. Thirdly and more importantly, it marks Vickie's coming out as a writer. So enough of false modesty, Vickie. Please follow up this book with a second one. Congratulations and much affection!

_________________________________________

Do cats procrastinate and prevaricate? Put off things for later at the rate that I do and delude myself that nothing is as important as prioritizing de-stressing for health’s sake?

Author Victoria Rico Costina, in what must be the first book of its kind in the Philippines, described cats as pleasure-loving creatures. If I have a choice, I would like to be described that way—a pleasure-seeking adult who has never quite grown up. One time Vickie did call me a “lady of leisure,” but the image that entered my mind was of a matron with bejeweled fingers playing endless rounds of mahjongg with amigas.

I was raised with a killer combination of Catholic guilt and Protestant work ethic so I’m not quite there in the cat summit of perpetual pleasure seeking. I aspire to days of lazing on the bed, curled under a comforter on another foggy Baguio morning. I’d rise when I want to, comfort myself with a glass of milk, pad around softly in the house in my nightgown, go back to bed and siesta as much as I want. Then I’d stretch again, go down to the fridge, help myself to more cold milk, sniff around the bookshelf.

Come to think of it, I’ve been leading a cat’s life of some sort on the day I officially declared myself graduated from the workaday world. So much for guilt and working hard for the money.

I had a black and white cat in my youth. I called him Omar after the Egyptian actor. My kid sister Gigi never forgot how I got her to cradle him like a baby so I could take a picture of her in her sando and shorts. She never forgot the experience—she must have been less that six at that time. I was teaching myself to take a different kind of portrait with my new instamatic camera. I didn’t want anything posed so I instructed her to hold Omar the way a mother would. He would have none of it. For posterity, the photo captured Gigi flinching in pain as Omar clawed her. Perhaps this is why Gigi would rather care for mini pugs and pinschers and has had nothing to do with cats to this day.

Omar was admirably independent. I have no recollection of minding him, except for the time he came down with conjunctivitis. My cousin, a vet, advised me to put ointment on his eyes. By then I was working. From the office, I’d call home and instruct the helper in detail how to apply the ointment. My officemate overheard me and was smiling when I put down the phone. The smile read: “All that for a cat?”

Indeed, that can be said of Vickie’s book. I hope that it’ll be the first of many on singular loves.

To care this much for God’s small creatures, to allow them to take over her life almost to the exclusion of everyone else, affirms her humanity. She reminds me of another cat lover, Nieves Benito Epistola, also a professor of English and literature who reserved her gentlest cooing when she was caressing the head of one of dozens of cats that had the run of her house and garden.

Like Vickie, Nieves always used her cats for a reason for declining an invitation, even if it was a year in Greece with Anton Juan.

The Garcellanos of Kamuning, Quezon City, are in Vickie’s league. They count Kayenne as a family member. Whenever I drop by their place, I try to remember the “catiquette” observed there, one of which is not to talk about the cat when he is present in the room. Kayenne senses when he is the subject of the conversation. Kayenne and his deceased brother Bugsy are immortalized in Edel Garcellano’s poetry in the same way F. Puss the cat “nanny” is in Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast.

“The cat world has a lot to teach us,” Nieves once said in a professorial tone.

I wonder sometimes if the cats in Vickie’s life observe her as keenly as she does them. Like F. Puss, they may be her sitters and she the baby they protect.

Nov. 15, 2009
Torrance City, California

 Cover of book reproduced from philstar.net

A Doggy Life

Exactly a week ago today, Bogart, our family's mini pin, went missing. I slipped out of the house early that Saturday to catch the bus to Baguio to make it to the opening of “Produce from the Garden” at Cafe by the Ruins (still up on its walls are our lip-smacking paeans to fruits, herbs, vegetables, favorite ulam and desserts, all things that sustain our lives).

I wasn't aware of anything unusual until I got an urgent SMS from my sister while the bus traversed Tarlac asking if I had seen or heard Bogart before departing. No, I answered, but I heard him wailing a short while the night before— his usual lament for his mistress, my kid sister Gigi, because she wasn't home at her usual hour. But I dismissed the sound

Earlier, I made a mental note to use Bogart for a future subject for a painting. His “austere dignity”, to borrow poet Denise Levertov's phrase, never fails to impress me, especially when he sits very still on his haunches, his head up, his eyes looking past the window, his ears like antennae, keen to the sound of the car as it turns left on our street with Gigi at the wheel. Mommy calls him a good guard dog because he yelps non-stop when he picks up the scent of strangers at our gate.

Because I was too far to be of any help in the neighborhood-wide search for him, I texted that they post a picture of him in Facebook. This social network has helped others find their missing pets. Gigi managed to compose an emotional email with a photo of Bogart attached. She sounded like she was saying goodbye, giving him up for lost.

My youngest brother Eric got a rude awakening that Saturday when he heard the news. Without even splashing water on his face, he dashed out, going from street to street, alley to alley of Barangay Kapitolyo, calling out Bogart's name. Another sister recounted how Eric would return home just to quaff his thirst, catch his breath a few minutes. Then he went out to resume the search.

Later in the day, Gigi thought of telling the security guards to spread the word that she was offering a cash reward for information leading to Bogart's recovery. She went in to shower. She wasn't done toweling her body dry when the doorbell rang, and a street urchin came forward with information. The child had seen someone catch the dog when he wiggled his small body free from the fence railing and jumped to what he must've thought was freedom.

Because Bogart can be fierce and noisy, the captor put him in a sack and brought him to a new home. Gigi was led to the place. From her account, it was blighted, filthy and dark, a narrow passageway allowing one person at a time to pass through. There a man reeking of alcohol met her and demanded P200 for Bogart's release. He kept the dog in a bird's cage.

Gigi paid up, he asked for more, but once Bogart was handed over, she left, silently furious.

Yesterday I called to ask how dog and mistress were doing. Gigi said Bogart has shown signs of trauma, fearful and shaking at the sight of strange men when they go out for walks.

I impulsively said, “He might need the services of a dog whisperer.”

I could feel Gigi brightening up on the end of the line: “You know of one?”

I told her I was kidding. I've heard of horse whisperers but no one for dogs yet.

Bogart has been the center of everyone's attention since his return. Bruno, the playful, spirited mini pug, doesn't mind playing secondary actor to this little drama.

I imagine there must be double poignancy when Gigi calls out to Bogart and Bruno when she leaves for work each day, “Be good boys now. Take care of each other and the people at home. See you later. When I get back from work, we’ll play.”

Photo above shows Kimi Fernandez carrying Bogart a few days before he went missing. Lower photo, Bogart in his green shirt on St. Francis Day

Naalaala Nila si Uncle Junior

From the cousins (Lolarga side) scattered in North America came these reactions to "Diary," the recent episode of the ABS-CBN television program "Maalala Mo Kaya," based on the life story of Enrique C. Lolarga Jr. He was better known to them as Uncle Junior. The Lollikins referred to are his wife and children.

From Erline Valdellon Mendoza of McLean, Virginia:

"MMK was recently added to our ‘must know’ set of acronyms. Rudy and I and Mommy and Beng drove to Maryland to watch MMK last Saturday at Nini’s house since they subscribed to TFC.

"Maalaala mo kaya…Opo, naalaala ko ang kabaitan at kagandahang-loob ni Uncle Junior.

"Naalaala ko, the mornings when he came and checked on our Mommy after Papa died. Pinky reminded me when she visited us last May - when she and her siblings quietly and patiently waited in their car parked outside our gate in Little Baguio – before being dropped off at school when Uncle Junior came to see Mommy with his doctor’s bag – checked her blood pressure, etc.. Later, our Ninang Ening also consulted with him. Naalaala ko that those morning visits were very assuring and comforting to me as a young teenager.

"Ako – naalagaan din niya – can you imagine being almost 18 years old, starting college in UP, being more independent and taking care of my own hot bath and falling whole holding the caserola of hot water to the banyo – second (maybe third) degree burns on my face and neck – Eby rushed me to Trinity Hospital – before I knew it – Uncle Junior was there. Naalaala ko when he carefully put the dressing on my face and neck with the medicine and when he carefully removed it later. In his soft manner, he assured me that I was going to be ok. Naalaala ko, I did not even think of being concerned about my face. I started my freshman year in UP two weeks late and wore a scarf over my neck.

"Ayan, your Daddy, Kimi’s 'Lolo Daddy,' our Uncle Junior, so beloved, not only by family and friends but also by others not known to us.

"Maraming salamat for sharing your Daddy with us.

"Maraming salamat, Lord, for dear Uncle Junior.

"God bless the Lollikins! Our warmest regards to your Mommy!

"Take care always."

From Telly Lolarga Valdellon of New York City:
"yes, maraming salamat.

"the MMK episode was truly a tribute to uncle jr. & whoever watched it will learn something. no matter how life is there is something we can share to others. and that it'll make us happy.

"all of us (lolargas) have been under his care for a long time. from birth till we were working. no need for health insurance. we could always rely on uncle jr & no matter how sick we were, he was always calm & assured us we would be ok. home service pa.

"pinky & i studied in baguio together in lola's care, and i don't recall nagtigas ulo siya. hmmm? aside from uncle jr., im also proud of lola. she took care of us, too. alam ko na kanino nagmana si uncle jr. kay lola. i'm proud to be a lolarga.
as erline has said, thanks for sharing ur dad to us, lollikins.

From Ramon L. Romero Jr., better known to us as Sonny, comes this email from Windsor, Ontario, Canada:

Today is Sunday 4:30pm . Yesterday at noon Baby and I had lunch before we watching the tele-movie about Uncle Junior’s diary. As we were having lunch, I told Baby that I'd bet that it wwould be about the vow that he took after medical school that he would help the sick and those who would ever need his services. Baby reminded me about Uncle Junior’s letter which had written us when Junic lived with us briefly in Windsor. Baby remembers how touching it was and how appreciative and sincere his words were which ended with 'Thank you for taking care of my Junic.'

"As we began to watch the movie, the scene where he said what would be happier than to fulfill life’s mission brought a tear to my eye. There were more scenes like that until Baby and I emptied Nanay’s box of tissue. The scene where they were playing mahjong, I still remember as a young boy. Now I understand.

"I have always respected Uncle Junior and Auntie Nene, how they were able to raise a big family, and I admire them more for their forgiveness and the sacrifices they made.

"I called Junic after watching the movie and told him the scene when he got home was probably when he was out with Ferdi and Melito. Uncle Junior did not have a moustache, and he was better-looking than Christopher de Leon, but kidding aside he did us proud in his portrayal of our Uncle Junior.

"I will watch the movie a second time. It will be a few days before I feel normal again. We did not have a MMK party here in Windsor, but I felt like we had one.

"Love and regards to all,

"Sonny"

Response from Daddy's pet, my youngest sibling Gigi:
Dear Cousins,

"Thank you so much for all your kind words about Daddy. I'm sure wherever he is, he is at peace and overwhelmed by the thought that he was able to touch our lives in many ways.

"At a young age I already knew that Daddy was not ours alone. That we share him with other people, too. Sometimes it was difficult to understand, but as MMK creatively put it in one of Christopher de Leon's lines: 'Hindi na niya kailangang ipaalam kung ano ginagawa ng kanang kamay sa kaliwang kamay.' He never owed us any explanation; what he left behind said it all.

"Maraming salamat sa pag-gunita sa lahat ng kabutihang ibinahagi niya sa inyong lahat. Life is short indeed. It is never enough to fulfill one's aspirations. But all the kind words, the sharing of one's gift of talent and love shall sustain the lives of other people he left behind.

"Again thank you and may we never forget Daddy's legacy to us, his children...and that definitely includes all of you, dear cousins. May we learn to live following his example, even in our own little ways.

"Love & prayers,

"Gigi"

Inset photo shows Eric and Pinky Lolarga with our Lola Purang (Telesfora C. Lolarga) at the old family residence in Lower Brookside, Baguio City, in the 1960s.

Top photo is the last taken of Dr. Lolarga alive (in striped shirt and dark glasses) and together with his children, grandchildren and sons-in-law taken in Pasig City, July 1991, after he survived his first heart attack.

Pahabol from Rose Romero de los Reyes, the oldest grandchild of Lola Purang and Daddy's oldest niece on his side; she is based in Ontario:

"Uncle Junior introduced me to a hobby of caring for love birds. He encouraged me to raise love birds, which i did. I was able to come up with 16 different colors of love birds which I later sold to pet shops in Manila. Your Dad really loved pets and nature. this is why I miss him."