Woven Strands of Roses: Letters with Annotation That Sprung Forth from the Hearts of Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar Alos Robianes Tabin

By Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin

Manong, I got your masterpiece. Will work on it. Give me two weeks, and I will get it done, and send it back to you.
First off, let me say: Bellissimo! Beautiful work of personal history, beautiful love story as well. Bless you and Manang Samar more and more, and more and more. Let's see this book come to its own birthing--and soon.
And may I say: tender. Yes, the memory here is tender, so tender one can become teary eyed while reading every letter. Dr. Aurelio Solver Agcaoili

This book is divided into two (2) parts: the Ilokano (original) and the English translation. It consists of three-year love letters of the authors, from 1966-1968, with annotation. It is not a mere love letters but also touches the private lives of partys families, many Ilokano writers and the Ilokano literature in general.

It started with a prologue which is divided into two parts each for the authors where they touched how they started their writing professions, how they metthrough the letters to the editors section where Sinamar congratulated Lorenzo for his noveland how they started to weave their fibers of roses. They are the first members of the GUMIL (Ilokano Writers Association) that were knotted together (four others got married outside the association, and or after them).

The letters were divided into three years. Before each letter, there is an annotation to explain how, when, where, and who were mentioned in the letter. There are letters where private lives of friends and relatives of both sides were touched that made the book differed from other books of love letters.

It ended with an epilogue, a part is quoted: The flowers that were spread all around the whole path we traversed were not entirely roses. And while looking back to where we had gone thru, there were occasions that we want to delete so that they wont appear in the leaves of the story of our lives, but they were written in the past, although some of them were not written in words. In our hearts we are pleading that the things that we do not like to look back were not supposed to be done or happened. But is there anybody who could unfurl back the past times? Unlike the writings that could easily be edited if we want to change a part that we want to revise, to make it better, more sparkling to entice the feeling to read again and again and again!

When time comes that all our children had settled down, and we are left alone in the yard of afternoon to wait the setting down of our sun, we will be left looking back the past, discerning the profundity of life being woven by our offspring. Oh yes, we will look up the stars together, and in spite of our shrivels, we will smile to each other that in our eye reflects the woven fibers of roses.

At the end of the English translation is where the 22 pictures were added.

The introduction is written by Dr. Aurelio S. Agcaoili, a prominent figure at the University of Hawaii in Manoa; with comments of Prescillano N. Bermudez and Cristino I. Inay, Sr. prominent writers during the authors time; and Lorenzo R. Tabin II who edited the translation. --#

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493166015

Lorenzo Garcia Tabin

Lorenzo Garcia Tabin (b. May 22, 1944, San Juan, Ilocos Sur) and Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin (b. April 20, 1945, Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte) are longtime translators and interpreters of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Lorenzo authored dozens of novels, short stories, poems, and a lot of feature articles published in magazines like the Bannawag, Rimat, TMI Journal, and Asia Philippines Leader; garnered prestigious writing awards—including Pedro Bucaneg, the highest award given to Ilocano writers—from Palanca, ETTI, GRAAFIL, RFAAFIL, and other award giving bodies. He is a lifetime member of the GUMIL Metro Manila because he was once a president of the organization. He and Sinamar are co-founders with T. Gabriel Tugade, Cristino I. Inay, Sr. and Dr. Ariel Solver Agcaoili of the TMI Global (Guild of the Ilocano Writers Global). His first book is “Pakpakawan, Berde! Ken 21 a sarita.” He graduated AB Journalism from the Manuel L. Quezon University and MA Literature from the University of the Philippines. Sinamar, likewise, authored dozens of short stories, novelettes, poems, and feature articles in the Bannawag magazine, was a writer of the Normalite Bulletin, the school organ of the Northern Luzon Teacher’s College where she graduated BSEEd; was Ilocano editor of the Ilocos courier at Laoag City; won some awards; once a school organ editor of the Bangui Star, of the Bangui Provincial High School. She retired as grade school teacher. They were blessed with five living children: Loumarie Linglingay (banking and finance, and business administration), Lorenzo II (physicist and trainer), Naomi (accountant), Sinamar II (interior designer), and Marlo Bagnos (master of business administration). They live at 3667 South Yorkshire Road, West Valley City, Utah 84119 USA.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by LORENZO GARCIA TABIN and SINAMAR A. ROBIANES TABIN

With critical introduction by Dr. Aurelio Solver Agcaoili

Cover design by Sinamar Tabin Tolman

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901046

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4931-6600-8

Softcover 978-1-4931-6599-5

eBook 978-1-4931-6601-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 03/27/2014

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Table of Contents

Critical Introduction

Intersection: Narrative Of Love, Social Discourse,

And Ilokano Literary History

Remarks

Acknowledgement

SECTION II

Translation

Prologue

Chapter 1

1966

Chapter 2

1967

Chapter 3

1968

Epilogue

Pictures

About the Authors

Ti Linaonna

Kritikal nga Introduksion

Interseksion: Narrativa Ni Ayat, Diskurso Iti Gimong,

Ken Literario A Historia Nga Ilokano

Ti Masaoda

Panagyaman

BENNEG I

Orihinal

Prologo

Umuna A Paset

1966

Maika-2 A Paset

1967

Maika-3 A Paset

1968

Epilogo

Dagiti Nagsurat

Dedication

To our children: Loumarie Linglingay Tabin Galvan, her husband Glicerio and their children Brigham and Bridget; Lorenzo II; Naomi and her children LeGrand Aaron Nathanael and Lindsay Jan Miona; Sinamar II Tolman and her husband Nathan; and Marlo Bagnos, his wife Marcella and their children Lorimar and Enoka; and our late parents Clemente Ramos Tabin and Crispina Retuta Garcia, and Rafael Romano Robianes and Elena Alos Baradi

To all whose names and/or pictures are included in the book

To all our relatives, living and dead, whatever they may had done they became our inspiration in traversing the path where we get hold of our rights in this world

And to all who loves Ilocano literature.

Critical Introduction

Intersection: Narrative Of Love, Social Discourse, And Ilokano Literary History

Dr. Aurelio Solver Agcaoili

University of Hawaii

In my research on Ilokano literary history, there are only a few Ilokano works handed down to us and that present a critical view of the future of the birth land and the homeland, a view that covers half a century.

Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar Robianes Tabin’s Woven Strands of Roses is one of these few.

It has been forty-eight years since the writing of the first of the love letters.

If we measure this length of time against the finitude of human time—against that time that is intertwined with the mortality of human life—we realize too well that it has not been easy doing this act of stringing the years, this act of safely keeping these letters of love, and this act of holding on to them with tenderest care so that these would not be rendered extinct by the passing of time.

For a witness of this kind of narrative, there is that emotion that overpowers the knotted feelings we see ingrained in these letters, an emotion that seeks the meaning of one’s own life, an emotion that fathoms the root-and-stem of a dream that one day this love would come to a realization, that it would bear fruit, that it would blossom.

Did the author of life provide this extraordinary opportunity so that these letters would be collected—or gathered—into a book?

There are those letters that were lost, letters that found their way to other places—but the more important thing at this time is that most of these have been preserved so that they could show us the way through which the primeval aims would be reflected, aims that spring from the feeling of coming-of-age and of coming into adulthood so that in the end one would be ready to face the nameless challenges in the name of love that is pure, caring, and transcendent.

The important thing right now is that there is this substantive revelation so we can see—we can come to witness properly—the events from 1966 to 1968.

In this book, there are more than two years of documentation and witnessing of the intersection of the personal narrative and the public narrative, of the private history and the national history, and of one’s claim to his own sense of heart and his dedication of that heart to another.

The personal is public—and the public is person as well.

One of the blessings—or occasions for benediction and grace that we see with clarity in this book—is the encounter of all these things so that these many forms of the desiderata of love would be able to bring us to a more sublime level.

It is a level that is elevated, transcendental, and filled with hope despite the many reasons that should have made us embrace disenchantment and cynicism.

But this book shows us the seed of redemption.

This positivity is clearly seen towards the end of the preface to the book—a preface that sums up the whole narrative, a narrative that we could subtitle as ‘love in the time of chaos.’

Manong Lorenzo and Manang Sinamar say: It is done! This love that is woven of words (and language) has borne fruit; now it has given out offspring. Now we could freely breathe because in the end, here is something that has collected—and gathered—the leaves of love. Even when we as a couple has passed on, this book will be left behind to remind others that there was a Lorenzo and a Sinamar that had woven words (and language) that inextricably bound their hearts.

This is a heritage—a heritage without restraint, knot, condition, and entangling thread.

And because it is unconditional, we are free to receive it as public text, a text that maps out the texture of love in the time of seemingly endless problems in our everyday life in the context of the personal and the public.

The intimacy is particular, but the temperament of this intimacy is the very seed of its being public.

Because it is familiar.

Because we are implicated.

Because the words of this intimacy are also our very own words.

Words that are not alien, strange, visiting.

Manang Sinamar said in her annotation of her letter to Manong Lorenzo: I am bored, really bored, waiting for the next letter of my husband to arrive, but all these doubts are now gone because of his unexpected visit.

In the other part of this narrative, Manong Lorenzo wrote to Manang Sinamar this way: . . . I do not get tired reading your letter. As if I get to hear each of your word—words where your love is interwoven. Yes, they dispel even the most minute of my doubt that comes to roost some of the time. I hear you and I feel the love your words express, words that redeem me from the bog of missing you. To be away from each other is most difficult. If only I can, at this time we should be on each other’s side, not only because of our earthly need because that is only secondary, but because of the love that springs from the fathomless care we have for each other, a love that can only be expressed when the sweet moments between us come home to roost and to take refuge. Yes, I want to experience to the full the feeling of being loved by your love only, and I also want you to experience the love I have for you. As if I can no longer wait, as if the days are too long, and the empty moments that come to me give me nothing but pain! What the heck!

In my close reading of these letters—I read the manuscript twice!—this extraordinary feeling, a feeling of being blessed came to me with this opportunity given me by Manong Lorenzo and Manang Sinamar, an opportunity that dates back to our meeting (in Honolulu) at the first international conference on Amianan and Ilokano Languages and Literatures (International Conference on Ilokano and Amianan Languages and Literatures 2007) in Honolulu when they told me about their plan of putting together a gift of a book for the Ilokano people and for Ilokano Literature.

My having become a witness to the literary lives of these two pillars of Ilokano Literature is a singular honor.

Because these writers are those same writers I read when I was very young.

Because these writers are the same ones who awakened me so I could dream, so I could take part in the struggle with words, words that give reason so I could dream, so I could become a writer like them.

Because these writers are inextricably part of a period of Ilokano Literature, of a period in Ilokano Literary History.

If there is an intellectualized way of mapping out Ilokano literary history, it is a must and it is just proper that we include as a chapter the Coromina episode where we see the many names that filled the first period of the change of the orthography of the Ilokano language, a change from its form in the 40s.

To those who study the diachrony of the Ilokano language, this is a landmark in the change of the aesthetic sensibility of the Ilokano, a sensibility that accounts the mixture of the change in the orthography, the meditative direction of the way of writing of the writers and of their artistic vision, and the welcoming attitude in including the philosophical perspective of the idea and the ideal in the name of the good life, of a just society, and of a love that is free.

Manong Lorenzo says: I miss the happenings in those days because of the gradual coming to an end of our brotherhood in Coromina. That separation gave rise to the pursuit of our dream, or of our dream that our goal in life would be fulfilled. We had to search for the light that would lead us to our future. There is that deep feeling of missing each other because of our camaraderie and I doubt if there will ever be a group like ours that come out as tightly knit as ours. That thought came true because there has never a group like ours that has been formed. Now, we seldom come across each other since we parted ways.

And with this Coromina episode, we come to know these pillars of Ilokano Literature, to wit: Teresito Gabriel Tugade, Peter La. Julian, Constante Domingo, Ben Chua, Prescillano Bermudez, and Lorenzo Garcia Tabin. Of these six, four of them did not turn their back to the call and the invitation of literature, and each of them has left behind a rich body of work, each work a product of their individual imagination.

There is enchantment in the everyday life in Coromina, like the half-naked, bare-chested Terry Tugade while trying to form in his head the idea of the freezing cold in Anchorage, Alaska, the setting of his novel White Gold.

I remember this novel so well, a copy of which I bought from saving up my money reserved for snacks.

Manong Lorenzo writes of this everyday life: At this time around, Pres (read: Prescillano Bermudez) is ironing his clothes. Ben (read: Ben Chua) is preparing our midday meal—today is Sunday and it is his turn to be our houseboy. Tante (read: Constante Domingo) is embracing firmly his pillow even as he dreams of a nurse. Peter (read: Peter La. Julian) and Tito (read: Terry Tugade) are not around—they might have gone on a date. Did I tell you that there are days assigned to each one to serve as houseboy? Whoever is his turn, he must go to the market, cook, wash the dishes, and clean up the mess of the room!

And many more, like the hegemonic dominance of Bannawag over those who wish to write outside the authority, stranglehold, power, and blessing of this magazine, the reason why the writers must hide under a pseudonym when they write for other publications, like what happened to Manang Sinamar who had to assume four pseudonyms.

There is something tragic in this phenomenon, and this is a symptom of reading through which we the next generation of critics could begin to unravel this Ilokano literary experience.

In this love in the time of chaos, there are many questions.

These questions are fixed firmly in the confusing event of society, of the everyday event of absence of justice in our collective life, and in the blatant display of lordism in the birthplace and homeland of kings whose throne is the result of an illusion of democracy and freedom.

Manang Sinamar says: "What is my worth to you, Lore? Sometimes, I imagine you have another woman in your life in Manila, that you pretend you have fallen in love with me, and at times, I could not help but tear up, and then tell myself at the same time: that in case Lore thinks this way, for as long as he is happy, I will also be happy for him and will promise to the Creator as well that I will never trust anyone who will offer his love to me.’

In criticizing textually, there is in this episode an inherited solution of an Ilokano woman to all her love woes, a solution ingrained in martyrdom and in becoming a martyr as a defense mechanism of a woman in the face of a rotten society that produces rotten men.

That is the same defense mechanism that is inherent in the aesthetics of Leona Florentino in the face of the machismo of her husband, the father of Isabelo delos Reyes.

But Manang Sinamar is not—never—a Leona Florentino. Instead, she overcomes the century of Leona, and trains her sight on that direction of love that is requited by a love that is immaculate, the love of Manong Lorenzo.

But there is context to these doubts—and this context is complicated and complex—and we include here the observation of Manong Lorenzo on the country, and this pertains to the bigger social reality, of the nation: If this continues to go on (the election in the Philippines), the government becomes murky and the people lose their trust on the political leaders. Another thing, the performance of the politician is no longer the measure the voters use, performance that serves the many and lasts long to benefit the people. If there is something gleaming shown them, the people open their mouth right away and open their palms right off. Many just try to figure out who serves the next meal so they could go there. They say that the politician with the thickest pocket line is where the voters go. In other words, many of the electorate is now blind. I think now of the best way to put an end to these things. Is this now the real picture of the Philippines? What tough luck! Whoever has the boldness and daring to stand up to right these wrong things, they are snuffed out. If only I have the power, I would file my candidacy and I would pull out the horn of the small gods!

This is not a flimsy idea that gets to reside in the mind, thought, and consciousness of a writer, and with the passing of time, we see in the writings of Manong Lorenzo and Manang Sinamar these same ideas of refusal, of resistance, of rising up so that the younger writers that come after them would be educated of what is happening to the country.

Because there is a role of the wise writer and his wisdom-filled work: the education of the reader, the need to leave behind a way to awaken the citizens, and the need to insist that it is just right and fair that an element of criticism must be in place in one’s work even as the reader enjoys the sweetness of what he reads.

This is the virtue that this book leaves behind.

And this virtue is what is being passed on by the love of Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar Robianes Tabin, a love that is borne of the intersection of a society going through a lot of difficulties, of the life in the everyday marked by innumerable questions, and of the vision that there is goodness in the days ahead.

In the end, we say: Tempus fugit, ars longa—Time flies so fast but art remains with us forever.

The art in this book will remain with us forever.

NOTE: Dr. Aurelio Solver Agcaoili is ‘the Program Coordinator of Ilokano of the University of Hawai’i at Manoa, Honolulu, Hawai’i, USA. The program is the only academic program in the world that offers a bachelor’s degree in the arts with a focus on studies on Ilokano language and literature. Aside from various books on poetics, criticism, and translation, he has written plays, and fiction. He writes in Ilokano, English, and Tagalog.’—Adopted from his Contemporary English-Ilokano Dictionary. A Pedro Bucaneg Awardee, the highest award given to Ilokano writer, he is also one of the 10 outstanding Ilokanos of 2013 for his tremendous contributions for the preservation and advancement of the Ilokano language and literature.

Remarks

A Tale of Chivalry

It is done! Woven fibers of roses had borne fruits; even with grandchildren. It would make the breathing freely, for at last, here is the collected fibers of roses. Notwithstanding we couples will no longer here, this will stay to remind that there was Lorenzo and Sinamar whose hearts were knotted together by the Woven Strands of Roses… says Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin in the Epilogue of their epic love story.

Before we applaud and share in jubilation of the completion of this epical book of love, we tarry for a while to thread together a ribbon of memories akin to that of our Compadre in our entry into marital status who said: You have an important role in our life as can be seen in our book… and… so we scribbled an episode—a tale of chivalry beginning with Compadre Loring’s own words when he reminisced the visit of Comadre Samar, upon his invitation, to their residence along a seashore which we know well having been there ourselves…

Our short but memorable moment of meeting together is nostalgic… Yes, Ma, I was happy that time because you conformed to my invitation… But do you remember the single kiss I asked, on your cheek? You gave your consent, but I did not know if it was wholehearted, but you may not know that I was ashamed afterwards…

How lucky was my Compadre Loring to have planted a kiss on the check of his lady love!

I really envied him! Read:

I tell you something, Ma, concerning Pres. Last February 16 that was Friday, his sweetheart, Mercedes Pascua or Mercy for short, came into our boarding house. Prescy was so shocked… !

Just like Samar, my sweetheart stayed with us overnight in that little room. Picture the place in your mind: Tito Tugade, Peter La. Julian, Constante Domingo, Ben Chua, Lorenzo G. Tabin and I—all young Ilocano writers—were literally and actually packed like sardines in that mosquito infested cubicle. But how can mosquito nets, the only divider, hide a minute spark of intimate flame?

Two days after that interlude, I received Mercy’s missive:

I love U Jo… A million thanks to our Lord Jesus Christ… I really love you, Pa; more than anybody else in the world for you have honored my dignity as a lady. I am very sure no other man can endure not to touch his sweetheart as you did during my night stay in Coromina…

We wrote in our response dated February 27, 1968: Now you know what kind of love is my love for you. Yes, I have my ardent desires but my respect for she who brought me into this world is reflected to every woman. My dearest, I have no more doubt—you have proven how sincere is your love for me!

Two poems were attached in the letter, one of them is included:

I LOVE YOU NOT JUST BECAUSE OF LOVE

I will fly to you on the wings of pen,

Love songs for you I will always sing,

For you I will recite ardent love poems,

I will, because I love you my darling.

Let’s see us tonight—every night in our slumber

Hear my serenade whispered by the zephyr,

Poems I will compose for you no end in numbers,

Because my love is endless—I love you forever!

I love you not just because of love

For you mean much more to me, beloved;

You are a song, an orchid and a flame,

You are life itself—I breathe your name!

To those of us who occupied the upper room of that age-old, nondescript wooden structure but for a time was listed as the postal address of:

GUMIL FILIPINAS

Tangguyob ti Kultura Ilokana

(Monthly Newspaper of the Ilocano Writers Guild)

703-A Coromina St., Quiapo, Manila

We want to believe that we, Lorenzo G. Tabin and Prescillano N. Bermudez, were the only ones who were not talking about their relation with the other sex. I was the first to be ‘exposed’ with the unexpected visit of Mercy. And to be honest, I only came to know about the relationship of Compadre Loring and Comadre Samar after reading the down-loaded text of Woven Strands of Roses!

Not long after, I was fortunate to land our first job as a staff writer of KATAS Magazine. I was then hired, by the recommendation of Mr. Juan Alegre, a former staff member of Bannawag magazine, by the Malacanang Press Office, and join the National Media Production Center as a writer-translator. Mercy and I got married on May 27, 1968, almost three months earlier than the civil wedding of Compadre Loring and Comadre Samar!

When the people’s revolution ended the new Society regime, we came home and resided here in San Manuel, Pangasinan, home province of Our Father, Enrique Decierto Bermudez. Our mother, Cesaria Gacayan Nisperos, traced her roots in San Fernando, La Union. Mercy, a BSE graduate, was employed as an elementary grades teacher. Blessed with five siblings, we are now both retired. When besieged with writer’s itch, we try courting the muse of our pen and try hard to compose a story and or a poem. Seems it is now next to impossible to write but God’s will, who knows, we might still write a masterpiece! One definite thing: we are enjoying the bonus blessings of life from our loving Creator even as we fervently pray for our golden sunset to stay longer!

Prescillano Nisperos Bermudez

45 Cerezo St., Guiset Norte,

San Manuel, Pangasinan

2:20 PM/Sept 29, 2013

What We Can Say About Woven Strands of Roses

All of a sudden, after reading the book entitled ‘Woven Strands of Roses,’ my memory slipped back to the fibers of shaded events of colorful yesterday that will never be forgotten. How dazzling it is! How verdant it is! How bright it is! Its brilliance and radiance is comparable to the glittering stars when the moon is full in the unfathomable universe! It is an exceptional and superb book! For its content is tangible that will stay forever with the raging time. It is kind of a relic that will never ever be dissolved by raging storms, floods, earthquakes or whatsoever catastrophe that will come to ravage it, for those hands which will be lucky to handle this book will surely value and overly protect it because it is a golden treasure that contains something that will serve as guide and inspiration while traversing the long and winding road in this world.

Yes, I was amused. I was overly comforted! I felt like I was cradled by pure clouds on above! I was lullabied! The content of the book is amusing. Truly it is only this time I ever read a book like the Woven Strands of Roses where true events of the lives of Compadre Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Comadre Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin recounted and outlined.

It is likewise here where it was recounted how they started writing novels, short stories, poems and feature articles/essays. It is not an easy task! I witnessed how Compadre Loring writes novels—I now confess what I had seen. There is a plot of every chapter he followed when he writes a novel. I admire his perseverance in weaving words! It is not easy to find somebody comparable to him! He had written 15 novels published in the Bannawag magazine. I repeat: he is a valiant novelist! He is a pride of Ilokandia, or even of the Philippines.

It is also mentioned in this book how these two endowed writers met. It could be mentioned that Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin was so-called the only rose of the poetic town of Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte because she was the only writer in the place during that time. As it is mentioned in her section at the prologue she had been writing in her early age for radio, stage plays, and more—the prologue should not be missed because it contains a lot of information regarding their blossoming as writers.

Through this book we read precious letters where it was woven their unceasing love and care for the Ilokano Literature. I am positive that when you start reading this book you will gain the tendency not to bring it down until reading its last page, of the Woven Strands of Roses. The title alone, it already sounds like a piece of poetry. May I suggest then not setting this book aside, instead read it wholeheartedly, especially the youngsters who are also gifted with an itching of writing, to grasp the nuggets of gold from every single word of the text of this book I consider as treasure. Follow the footsteps of Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and his beloved wife Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin and you will not regret, I assure you!

Cristino Iloreta Inay, Sr.

644 Newark Avenue Apt. 3

Jersey City, NJ 07306 USA

(Note: Cristino Iloreta Inay Sr. is one of the renowned Ilokano poets, with bunch of poems and commentaries, a Bannawag writer, with a column at the Ilocos Times in Laoag City, and member of a group of poets in New Jersey, USA. He founded the Sinait Writer’s Guild; he retired from the Registrar’s Office of the University of the Philippines Diliman before migrating with his loving wife Betty Rebucca in the USA. He is preparing the anthology of his poems in Iluko and English for publication in book form.)

They May Not Be Einsteins or Rizals

There are two groups of young men easily were brought to my mind as I read the letters that my parents exchanged during their courtship years.

First: In the early decades of the 1900’s, a revolution in the world of physics changed forever our concepts of space and time, and eventually led us to the atomic age, the age of computers, and the age of information that is now our everyday life. This revolution started with the birth of the atomic theory, and the idea of the quantum by Max Planck. And then Einstein in 1905 published his paper on relativity and photoelectric effect, and suddenly everything was new and exciting. Those first thirty years of the 20th century came to be known informally as the age of boy physics, because the new ideas were mostly coming from these young men with both the revolutionary ideas and an enthusiasm of their craft to match it. And these young men changed the way we saw the universe.

Second: Closer to home, the last few decades of the 19th century were also a tumultuous period for the Philippines, which was at the time still a colony of Spain. Starting with the martyrdom of the three priests Gomez, Burgos, and Zamora, a generation of young men grew up inspired by these martyrs and developed a burning sense of nationalism that spurred them into action. In the 1880’s, a group of these young intellectuals were studying in Spain, and the names Rizal, Plaridel, Lopez-Jaena, Luna, and Amorsolo, among others, banded together to become the blazing bonfire that spawned the term ilustrados to represent them. Their writings and ideas went back to the Philippines, spurring other young men like Bonifacio, Jacinto, Mabini, and other young patriots. Their sacrifice became the seed that eventually bore fruit when our country became independent. Because of those young men we have a nation today.

It might seem out of context, since they were supposedly exchanging love letters, and it is true that that element is plentiful there. But what is also evident in their exchanges were the stories they told each other about their contemporaries, who like them were also young, budding writers of Iluko literature. These letters are not simply letters of love being exchanged by two souls who grew to love each other, but it is a very beautiful mirror of the golden years of Iluko literature in the 1960’s. The stories of the young men and women, their friends, really, show us a glimpse of how they lived and interacted during those years, when they were all just beginning and struggling writers, and not the legends that we now regard them as.

I fondly remember one story that our father always gleefully told us five siblings when we were kids. It was when they first met in a writers’ convention—GUMIL Ilocos Sur/Ilocos Norte—at the Raquiza Garden in Laoag City and mama was helping out in serving the refreshments, and she saw papa sitting in the middle of the group. Mama took pity (her words) at papa and walked over to him and gave him a sandwich. A guy besides papa made him a jest, saying She’s yours, my friend! Instead of eating it, papa brought it home with him to Ilocos Sur and showed the sandwich to his family, and how Grandpa Undo was laughing he-he-he! and saying he is a lucky guy. This element of playfulness, of just being a typical young man, is very much there in these letters, and it is a real privilege to read them and not only to get to know my parents more in reading them, but to realize that these great writers were really, really, also people. They are humans with human foibles and extraordinary human talents.

Reading these letters is also a history lesson for anyone who wants to know how those years were seen in the eyes of these writers. Although the letters only gives us a brief glimpse of a few years, during these years they were still all in the same boat, just journeymen poets and novelists who would wait for the publication of their stories so that they can have some extra money and buy something nice to eat. And in their world, even though they may have started with dreams of emulating their own literary idols, they soon found out that writing is real work, and that being a writer does not immunize your form the challenges of everyday problems. But at the root of it all, the bottom line is still, that there is love.

It is amazing to realize how they were able to preserve these letters, and it is indeed a rare privilege for everyone who loves literature to have these letters shared with us. And I am personally glad that they did not have cell phones and texting during their days; otherwise, we would probably not have these letters today.

Maybe they were not Einsteins or Rizals, but having grown around them, I know that they, too, are my heroes, and it is a privilege for me to claim that I have associated with these legends in the literature of Ilocandia.

Lorenzo R. Tabin II

Poet and essayist

Former Instructor,

University of the Philippines Manila

Currently Biomed Engineering and Training Specialist

Moog Medical Devices Group

Salt Lake City, UTA 84123 USA

Acknowledgement

We are hereby expressing our heartfelt gratitude to the following for their support to this book where we spent a lot of time:

Dr. Ariel Solver Agcaoili for his noteworthy and incalculable effort in taking time to write the critical introduction and giving some final suggestion of this endeavor in spite of his frenzied schedule as organizer of the NAKEM conference and his many activities at the University of Hawaii in Manoa;

Mr. Prescillano N. Bermudez for his inexhaustible support in taking time to scribble a remark for this book;

Mr. Cristino Iloreta Inay, Sr. for his uplifting and encouraging comment;

Herman Garcia Tabin, our brother, for his suggestion for the cover of the book; and

Lorenzo Robianes Tabin II, our son, in editing the translations of this book;

Sinamar Tabin Tolman, our daughter, in designing the cover;

And most of all we mention here our deepest gratitude to the husband and wife Mr. Juan S. P. Hidalgo, Jr. and Namnama P. Hidalgo for their guidance while in the process of building our family.

SECTION II

Translation

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It is true that in life a rose has many faces; each one different. And when the affected one commits a mistake, there is where bitterness and pain begin; because many cannot fathom the true nature of love, because for them the feeling is just a plaything and they forget about the bitterness they bring to those they have toyed with.—Lorenzo Garcia Tabin

‘. . . Completely strangers, very, very far yet so near!’ How true would such things, Lore! Perhaps if we are meant for each other, there shall always be the chances of promising so… I do not know how fake the words of writers are yet I am a writer myself! We have varied ideas of things, yes I accept…—Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin

Prologue

We, Lorenzo and Sinamar, were twenty-two years and three months and twenty-one years and four months old respectively when we began corresponding through letters. At the time, we were like young-pods-of-the-cowpea in our thoughts as seen in our letters. When we began arranging our letters, many memories crossed our minds and we realized that we need to look back at those years when we were still learning how to recognize words, and we decided to share the recollections in two parts, one for each of us.

Six pairs of Bannawag writers eventually married, and these are: Pelagio A. Alcantara of Sto. Domingo, Ilocos Sur and Crescencia Robianes of Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte; Leonardo Q. Belen of Santa, Ilocos Sur and Crispina Martinez of Asingan, Pangasinan; Jose A. Bragado of Santa, Ilocos Sur and Crispina Balderas of Bauang, La Union; Genaro R. Sumaoang of Sta. Ignacia, Tarlac and Lina Lorenzo of Laoag City, Ilocos Norte; Dionisio S. Bulong of Sta. Teresita, Cagayan and Eden Cachola of Narvacan, Ilocos Sur; and the two of us who were respectively born in San Isidro, San Juan (Lapog), Ilocos Sur and Pagudpud, Ilocos Norte—but we were the first product of the GUMIL (Association of Ilocano Writers) who were tied together by words, or rather by our letters. We count ourselves fortunate because our paths met and we became husband and wife.

Here we have the Woven Strands of Roses (which originated from The Waves of Life) which comprise our letters to each other between 1966 and 1968. We count ourselves fortunate again for we were able to save these letters; more so now because at the time we did not have the internet where we could communicate almost instantaneously, and cell phones for text messaging, and Facebook, otherwise we might not have these letters which we consider to be gold nuggets in our possession. We are grateful for the guidance of Mr. Juan S. P. Hidalgo, Jr. during the time when we were still looking for our own place in the world of Ilokano literature. Mr. Hidalgo was then the literary editor for poetry and for new writers in Bannawag, which many believe to be the Bible of the North, most especially by the Ilokano people.

Although the collection focuses on the theme of the letters, we intersperse it with annotations and explanations, as part of the history, not only of our lives, but more importantly of our love of literature, which carried us to where we are now. In addition, and this is important to know, some individuals’ ‘secrets’ are unveiled here in our youthful meddling. We did not intend to offend these people whom we know very well, but we consider these portions of our letters as part of the literary history of the North—we hope they will not mind it so much, and that they will instead take it with a smile as they are reminded of those ‘important’ events that they went through. We also believe that this will attract the interest of the readers, to find out these secrets!

Because love was the harvest of our letters, we would like to share our own thoughts about the subject.

What, then, is this so-called love? Is the external appearance of a person enough to engender love? Do the stirrings that come from the deepest parts of one’s soul enough to bring forth true love? Is there love between two people just because of the many years that they had spent together, in spite of the many shortcomings of each one? Is the society where one moves in, and its possessions, power, or professions, enough to place love upon?

Love, we believe, is first and foremost, what we feel not just because what we see of a person’s external totality, for if so, that is not true love but only worldly lust. Not just the stirrings of the soul, for if so, then the emotions are mute, and it is doubtful if it can last long.

Secondly, we believe that love is the sharing of each other’s feelings because of what is seen, what stirs in the depths of one’s heart and which results in caring, loving, and thoughtfulness, without discriminating due to one’s standing in society. And understanding (not merely accepting) each other so they can walk hand in hand in their journey to find their place in the world, which if we look deeper into it, spreads warmth that can touch the heart. Love cannot be measured by material treasure. Instead, love is measured by pure understanding that can brighten the world.

This is the kind of love that we hope will spring from this collection.—Lorenzo Garcia Tabin and Sinamar A. Robianes Tabin.

I.

I have not yet started school when I began liking to listen to stories—legends, local stories, short stories, novels, or comics as narrated or read by my father (Clemente Ramos Tabin). It must be mentioned that Iluko was not taught in schools at the time. My father enjoyed narrating the stories that he read in the magazine Silaw from Pangasinan, or he might read the contents of Bannawag. When he began narrating at night, the whole family were all lying down and ready to listen.

Every Wednesday father would go to the market in Magsingal, Ilocos Sur, although Guimud Sur (which was Abbarit then) was part of San Juan, still Lapog at the time. The only reason I remember why it was father who went to market, was mother’s reputation as a master haggler, so much it was almost like she was buying them for free, which often resulted with her arguing with the sellers; and her propensity to get dizzy when traveling. I would say that Wednesday is the most important day of the week for us because that was the day that Bannawag comes out and father never fails to return without one.

As soon as we are finished with lunch, father would sit down and start reading at the top of the stairs. I always sat by his side when he started reading, and I started by looking at the spot where he begins. Not long afterwards, I started asking why a word he just read was written that way, like the word ‘nga’, or the syllables that have two successive consonants in them. He must have been surprised because ever since I did that, whenever he would stop reading he would ask me where he stopped. I always pointed to the precise word right away.

The saying that Bannawag was the Bible of the North has a grain of truth in it because I never even saw a Bible until I was almost graduating from high school in Cabugao Institute, while like I said earlier, there was no Wednesday that father failed to buy a copy of the Bannawag.

After we have finished reading all the short stories, novels, comics, and when father has finished reading his favorite column by the late Judge F. Ma. Chanco regarding the law, and Wednesday is still days away, I would scan all the classified ads.

There was at the time an advertisement by Eveready Flashlight, which was asking for written experiences regarding using their product. They would give away free flashlights if they liked your submitted experience. I was already in the second grade in San Isidro Elementary School in Lapog because I have finished my first grade at Baybayabas Elementary School at the edge of Kimmandela which was a small village in the mountain of Magsingal—we were moving around for a lot of reasons. My father mailed in the experience that I wrote, which was fictional and not a real experience. Whoa, they actually kept their promise! I received a flashlight, of which I can’t forget the presence of a small hole or rust damage on its side.

That was the first written article I did that was given value.

At the time, I often overheard the whispered conversations between father and some of the neighbors in the darkening twilight. They were talking about the night-time attacks of some bandits and what they did to a certain Hawaiian. Their voices were mingled with fear, more so my father who had just started receiving his pension for being a World War II veteran. That resulted in me being left with relatives on my father’s side in Panay-ogan, a small community in the western part of Cabugao, Ilocos Sur because they have enrolled me at Daclapan Sur-Panay-ogan Elementary School for my sixth grade while they went to Quezon City. They came back and brought me with them after I graduated. We did not stay long in Pag-asa, Quezon City because of the scare of a flu epidemic and we went to Labut which was nestled between Sabang and Daclapan Sur.

I was already in Cabugao Institute when my interest in writing truly blossomed. I still read the Bannawag weekly, which more often I bought personally as I was boarding in town, in a house of my father’s acquaintance—I moved around often. First it was in a couple’s house in Ruaran whose names I cannot recall anymore but I do remember how patient the wife was and she had a sister crippled by polio who cooked and did laundry for them, and they had a small son whose father was the kindest person when sober but whose house turned to hell whenever he imbibed the marca demonio. Second, I boarded at the house of the late Apo (old woman) Isang at the center of town. She lived alone and always returned very late at night. I feared the dark most of all so I always kept a gas lamp lit by my head because I was always thinking that some monster or what-not would appear. The third place I boarded in was the house of a couple whose names I also can’t recall, but I can’t forget the old man whose fingers were so bent out of shape and whose legs were paralyzed, who was bedridden on a very dirty bed and who could not do anything without the help of his wife, but who was still boorish and would always shout at the kind and patient woman. It was in that place where my desire to read the Bannawag really grew. Very early in the mornings of Tuesdays or Wednesdays I would already be waiting for the shout of the kids who were peddling the Bannawag. I believe a copy already cost 20 or 25 centavos at the time, and even if I had no five-centavo piece left to buy myself a choc-nut to eat with the left-over rice for lunch I was fine as long as I had a copy of Bannawag. My cooking pot was only as big as a coconut bowl and when I cooked in the morning it would be good for breakfast and lunch. If I don’t take from my food allowance I used the money for my fare back home on Friday afternoons to buy a Bannawag and I would go home by foot a distance of more than five kilometers from the town to West Labut (there was an East Labut).

Aside from the Bannawag magazine, my interest in writing grew from what I read in the Philippine Prose and Poetry (I cannot remember any particular story or poem now, or any names of the writers!). But most importantly, from the brief biographies that came with the articles, I learned that the writers were also people! Neither ghosts nor Gods! My admiration for them grew so much.

It was from the pages of Bannawag that I learned that they were in need of articles for publication, and that they would pay (as well!).

And the editors of Bannawag were also people! And they also ate the same things that we did! I just wasn’t sure if they have also experienced eating nothing but cold leftover rice mixed with salt!

I thought: what if I try it? But can I?

But I’m also a person! If they can do it, so can I! They might sound boastful, but those words steeled my resolve.

The announcement said: Type your articles triple space on regular coupon bond pages. If handwritten, make sure it is legible.

My first problem was: I did not have a typewriter! And if I used my handwriting, I was sure they would not be able to read it for even I had difficulty in reading my own chicken scratch handwriting—I blame my first-grade teacher at the Pangasaan Elementary School in Magsingal, Ilocos Sur for not teaching me how to write with my right hand! I don’t remember her name, but it was Mr. Pacleb who was the head teacher. Later I learned that many great writers were also left-handed!

How then could I write?

My dream of writing would keep me awake at nights. The worse part of it was that I was so focused on the Bannawag that I entirely neglected my school lessons; I was happy to get a passing grade. The howling of the waves as they blew brackish winds in Labut made me restless; the caress of the breeze in the early evenings made my imaginations soar to the heavens.

Unbelievable but true: I began writing a novel, by hand. I left behind the ledger where I wrote it in Montalban—later I learned that almost all my collections including that novel were destroyed by rain or eaten by termites!

I wrote poetry and short stories when I could. Afterwards, I asked my father to find a place where I could type my writings.

He had a friend in Cabugao—the late Tata Osi who would later be chopped to pieces at the boundaries of their farm because of arguments regarding irrigation—who owned a typewriter. I went there several times in a rush to type, using the painstaking two-finger system, my poems and stories. But that did not last long because of my shyness. But it was there where I typed up my first published article, a poem entitled Allon ti Biag (The Waves of Life), on December 10, 1962. I had just recently arrived at 506 Evangelista St., Quiapo, Manila where I stayed with Auntie Immiang who was my mother’s sister.

This poem was the first roots of the sun’s rays.

I had no problems typing up my poems, but how about short stories?

Triple space. The way I understood it at the time, was the same way it was published in the magazine (the magazine printed articles in three columns). So that was the way I typed them up!

The first story I sent came back, with a commentary from Mr. Guillermo R. Andaya, who was the literary editor at that time: This is not the way to type! and he drew how it should look like.

Later I learned that there was only one editor for the Poetry Section and for the New Writers.

That was Mr. Juan S. P. Hidalgo, Jr.

What did you notice was wrong with this? he asked when I visited their offices at Soler Street in Sta. Cruz, Manila. I telephoned before I went because I wanted to know if it was all right to visit and it was at the same time as the publication of the said poem, so they invited me over.

This, I said pointing to the notch at the head of the N in my surname. I had an idea of what he meant at the time. But what did I know about a poem’s weakness? I was overflowing with excitement at its publication, the appearance of my name in the pages of Bannawag. In my mind, I was asking: am I already a writer?

That poem was worth ten pesos. And I got a free copy of Bannawag as well!

Frame it as a souvenir! my Aunt Immiang said. Her eyes were twinkling, and I understood why.

It should be mentioned here that since I was jobless, I took my turn in cleaning the communal toilet at the lowest level of the building occupied by the stores between Life Theater in Quezon Boulevard and the Aliga’s Flower Shop in Evangelista Street near the Quiapo Church. The late Uncle Narcing (Narciso A. Cacananta), Aunt Immiang’s husband, cleaned the toilets as part of his job as rent collector for the stores, which he would bring over to Mr. Villongco in Malabon. There were two toilets, one for men and the other for women, and they were also used by the customers of the small eatery and pub, and by the Aliga’s Flower Shop, which you pass by when you go out. That was the only restroom available for the people to run to. It is not farfetched when I say it felt like you have just ascended from the cesspits of Manila after cleaning them and you just had to take a long bath afterwards and even if you scrubbed with all your strength that it felt like your skin was peeling off, you still bear a lingering ‘fragrance’ when you finish!

Nine short stories were returned consecutively by the editor. He probably pitied me with the tenth so he must have closed his eyes and published it in the section for New Writers.

Its title: No Di Agunget ti Akin-aywan (If the Guardian Doesn’t Mind). March 4, 1963 was the Bannawag issue it appeared in.

I almost did not recognize the story! There were so many cow-eye-sized corrections in the manuscript, written by a heavy hand with a dark pencil—I guess the editor sharpened that pencil many times! (I saw the manuscript years later when I was serving as a Research Assistant for the Filipiniana Section of the University of the Philippines Main Library, in Diliman, Quezon City where I was assigned to arrange the magazines and manuscripts that were donated by Liwayway Publishing, Inc.)

But my ill feelings were soothed when I read the short biography of my life, and my picture. I took that Bannawag copy to bed with me on so many nights!

That short story was my second roots of the sun’s rays!

Because of the publication of my articles, I became more engrossed with writing. I used Uncle Narcing’s typewriter when he was not around. As time went by, the number of my published stories increased. For every three stories I submitted, one would get published. There was even a time when I was able to publish a story weekly.

I would often visit the Bannawag offices when I knew that a new issue had been published so I won’t have to buy a copy any more. They were kind enough to give one away, if copies were still available. (I was influenced there by many writers, like Edilberto H. Angco, Leonardo Q. Belen, Segundo La. Foronda, Jose Castillo Galbis, and many others!)

My attention was caught by a name I saw several times in the pages of the Bannawag: SINAMAR A. ROBIANES. Sometimes she would use Al. as her middle name.

It was a beautiful name, a voice inside me whispered. Was she still unmarried? I wonder how she looks like. I wonder who is older between us. During this time I did not want to court someone who was older than me! Where did she hail from? How could we meet? Was she rich? Has she finished studying, or was she still a student? I wonder if she looks down on people.

But who was I to meet with her?

To take her out of my mind, I assumed that she was already married. And with a litter of little kids following her!

But every now and then, she would get a story published in the Bannawag. And my eagerness to get to know her would increase.

I never had enough courage to ask about her in the Bannawag! I was like the leaves of the touch-me-not bush whenever somebody teases me.

Later on, I tried to write a novel for the Bannawag. Ambitious! I was almost twenty-two by then. I titled it Tinapay (Bread). It was about the life of a little boy Pupoy in Tondo. They liked it in Bannawag, and they published it with the title Ti Imetda nga Impierno (The Hell That They Bear). It appeared from March 14, 1966 until May 30, 1966.

That was my third roots of the sun’s rays!

I followed it up with the second book about Pupoy, as suggested by Mr. Juan S. P. Hidalgo, Jr. titled Ramut ti Sinamar (Roots of the Sun’s Rays), which came out September 12, 1966 until February 6, 1967. It just so happened that my manuscript was on the table of Mr. Andaya when Sinamar visited the offices of Bannawag. They told her—they must have gone overboard—how much I admired her.

What a great kid! she allegedly said while pounding on Mr. Andaya’s table so strongly that it almost broke the glass on top of it. Mr. Andaya even joked about what if they reversed the syllables of the word ‘ramut’ (the meaning of which is not for decent ears), and they laughed about it!

My wife bristles like an ampo (a fat and ugly fish) nowadays whenever I remind her, while scathingly saying (her tone when offended nowadays is different, not smooth like those from Laoag; she often scathes! She now even calls yours truly Loring in heavy syllables!): They’re a bunch of liars! I never pounded on it!

They asked me if I have read her letter in Dakami Met (We as Well) (shown in later sections). They told me she was studying in Northern Luzon Teachers’ College