Pandemic Potpourri

MY FIRST AND LAST Leni rally was the Pink Sunday at the Circle. My dyed-in-the-wool diehard-ness for my Busy Presidente died a natural death when I had a mild stroke on March 3. It cut shorter my short-lived support for the last woman standing from Naga and I had to content myself with following on social media the increasing groundswell of zeal for Jesse’s widow.

I may have been sidetracked by that stroke but my spirit would not be stilled as I watched in awe hordes of people uniting and standing up for what they believed in in Cebu, Iloilo, Pampanga, Pasig, Pasay, Baclaran, Bataan, Pangasinan, Tarlac, Laguna, Angono, Albay, Sorsogon, Naga, Makati, Leyte, Samar and, outside the country, the Netherlands, Japan, Italy, U.K., Ireland, and elsewhere.

The cohorts of Ferdinand Marcos Jr. believe that their candidate has nothing to do with his parents’ ill-gotten wealth. But according to former Commissioner Atty. Ruben Carranza of the Presidential Commission on Good Government (PCGG), the sins of Marcos Jr. are hiding and using the ill-gotten wealth amassed by his family and their allies. Add to that former Comelec Commissioner Rowena Guanzon’s uncontested (by Bongbong Marcos himself) outcry about his 4-year unpaid taxes (and the shameless attempt to whitewash it by a building rental receipt). Astonishes one to plumb why, in spite of the surplus, the insistent cheek to cheat.
I’m admittedly a late-bloomer, not because of age and health, but that I get wind of stuff that matters rather at the last minute. Like I was pleasantly shocked to hear Leni’s fluent Bicol speech (she refused to be egged to lapse into English, Tagalog, or Taglish) in Naga, transforming the assembly into a practical “pag-iribang Bicolnon” (Bicol get-together). Erstwhile, her three daughters took turns in endearing themselves to the mammoth Makati crowd before sharing their Mom with them; and the humblest presence of perspiring Piolo Pascual and his rendition of “Hawak-Kamay,” also in Naga (its composer, Yeng Constantino, had earlier rendered her own “Liwanag sa Dilim” which, along with Nica del Rosario’s “”Kulay Rosas ang Bukas,” completes the triune tribute to the gentlewoman’s integrity. It’s not my tardiness that disgruntles me, no, I’m amazed rather at the tears that massively flowed when I watched those classic clips. This does not include yet the dynamite discourse of Catriona Gray and the pink, exuberant presence of Anne Curtis-Heussaff, all lapped up by Leni’s adoring admirers.

The Association of Mary, Queen of All Hearts (AMQAH) scheduled, on his Feast Day, a Recollection of St. Joseph. Fr. Mauricio Ulep, CMF, gave a fitting, timely talk entitled “Walking Along the Margins with St. Joseph.” “Being There,” the sub-theme of the Claretian Missionary Friar’s speech, more than captured the essence of the patron of a happy death and terror of demons, and placed the audience in the peripheries of service dear and near to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It helped alleviate the anxieties of the coming elections polarizing the populace. The recollection was an offshoot of the Society of Montfort Missionaries (SMM’s) reopening the doors of Montfort Center of Spirituality (MCS), in Madriñan, Timog, to the public in March this year. The Marian advocates lost no time in rejoicing over the return to, particularly, the Saturday Devotion to Mary.

We lost my brother Edgar’s wife, Merced, on March 26. May 4 was the 40th day since she passed, coincidentally the interment day of Ate Hermie, our cousin Pedro’s wife. Kuya Eddie and I have been to her wake already but we chose to return one last time if only to stay overnight and reunite with our nieces, Eden and Mary Ann, who travelled (with their Mom Vangie) overland all the way from Naga to Parañaque to mourn for her and see us. Our meeting was more joyful than sad, reason why we preferred the 40-day prayer for the dead to a tearful, funeral send-off for another.

Election day, on my way to the precinct, I met Kuya Max; Ivan John, Susan and their daughter Sarah; and Kuya Butch and, on my way out, Ate Letty and Kuya Ed; Ate Remy, Kuya Nito and their daughter Ate Clare. Amiable smiles concealed the ambivalent sentiments of neighbors who were casting their votes for differing, if opposing, choices. I was blessed by the fact that, while there was no incident during my voting, Ate Daisy would tell me later that one of the VCMs malfunctioned and caused a slight furor. Probably because BF Homes is a peaceful village, it had no reason to prosper.

Despite misgivings (primarily caused by my un-techie senior age and recuperating health), I chose obedience and proceeded to UST’s Quadricentennial Building, where PPCRV’s command center was conducting a manual recount of the election returns. Registered volunteers were milling about the entrance to the command center. Lady guard Yap did not mind walking me through the intricacies of downloading the safety app all the way through screen-shooting the QR code so I may be registered and allowed entry to the encoding room. It was through her that I learned that they were accepting walk-ins, too. I felt sorry for Kuya Boyet, who said his e-mail application to volunteer was turned down. Only when I completed my 8-11 am contribution (the next batch was already queued up for their slot), did I collect my token shirt and pins and find the excessive food provision from Bayanihan-spirited donors (I remember my friend Belle asking where she and her fellow Labor Attachés could send their share). More than anything else, our 3-hour service was blessed with a Eucharistic celebration.

I had to agree with most of the comforting counsel of Leni’s loyalists that, while it is not over till it is, it is time to move on. Very sensible for her and her daughters, particularly Jillian, who was graduating from New York University on the 18th. A much-needed bonding-cum-respite from the excruciating campaign.

My pink tarp and sticker still hang proudly on our wall. I wear my pink shirt and baller ID whenever I can. It will take forever to keep my adrenaline down even if I have been surprisingly calm since the election outcome.

The dignified Pink Thanksgiving Rally was supposed to be held at the Quezon Memorial Circle. That would’ve been history twice for me, but for fear of the predictably humongous crowd, the QC Hall gave a permit to hold it at the Ateneo de Manila University grounds, where the anticipated throng posed considerably less threat to traffic. Leni easily eased the grief of her supporters, albeit a tentative speech intermittently distracted by woeful screams every now and then.

Indeed, there is still work to be done. Come July 1, in spite of the premature attempts to already take it off the ground, the “Angat Buhay” NGO will be launched. It will certainly usher us, diehards, into another phase of our patriotism. We cannot allow democracy to die with our dreams. If there is no longer need for supporters to inhabit the streets bearing chants, banners, placards, streamers, and even songs of hope for a president that we will yet install in Malacañang, we can rest easy with the certainty that God will not allow bleak history to repeat itself, especially if it is tainted with calumny and impunity. As always, the truth will set us free.

Amen.