Up close with 'Personal'

This Week’s Winner

Emerson Bengco is a freelance writer and vice president for local broadcast of the Subic Bay Press Corps. He has a background in psychology, culinary arts and journalism. He had an honorable mention in the 2007 PBBY for his children’s story “Ang Makulay na Mahika ni Tito Mona.”

Paradoxically, my favorite book is about the exposition of an author’s mainly confidential, influential, and solemn life stories. I say paradoxical because I am completely the opposite — I am a rabidly private individual.

Rene Villanueva’s Personal: Mga Sanaysay sa Lupalop ng Gunita is based on his most intimate and life-altering memories. The stories are segmented into three chapters: “Matris ng Memorya,” which encompasses his memories of parents Francisco Villanueva and Vicenta Ocampo; “Lunsaran ng Malay,” a patchwork of experiences that molded his values, beliefs, ideals, habits and demeanor; and “Lupalop ng Gunita,” a mélange of the people and places that form the deepest recesses of his past.

Among the collected essays, I am most fond of “Aling Bining,” “Teddy and Ludy,” “Restawran sa Cubao,” and “Lilip.” “Aling Bining” talks about gaining self-esteem and hope from a very unlikely source. In “Teddy and Ludy,” one can literally feel the resilience and desire of the character to finish his studies amid the screaming reality that it is hopeless; while “Restawran sa Cubao” is more sentimental and retrospective. On the other hand, “Lilip,” one of the shortest yet arguably one of the most heartrending narratives, takes into account a facet of the author’s relationship with his mother. In one instance, the author describes the moments he shared with his seamstress mother while assisting her in filling out job orders during Christmas Eve:

Tahi siya nang tahi. Lilip ako nang lilip. Nabubuo namin ang mga damit, sari-saring damit. Siya sa harap ng makina. Ako nakaupo sa silyang malapit sa kanya. Pero nanatili kaming magkalayo, pinaglayo ng katahimikang di namin mabasag-basag. Katahimikang di matabas-tabas ng gunting, di mabuo-buo ng makina. Katahimikang di malilip-lilip ng mga sinulid at karayom.

And that’s just the third story.

As compelling as the stories may be, the book does not alienate readers. They can easily relate to situations like his inclinations towards music and the arts (“Liwayway,” “Sine,” “TV,” “Komiks,” “Movie Fan”), coming of age (“BTS,” “Bomba,” “Idol”), breaking out of one’s shell (“First Award,” “Binyag,” “Butil”), and even the “one that got away,” or to be more specific the “one who was taken away” (“Charito”). Not to be forgotten is a sprinkle of comedy such as the stories of “Kapitan Mais” and “Kinder.”

There is also a pervading sub-story to Personal. Villanueva captures the readers’ empathy by admitting he found himself caring for his father only when it was a tad too late and if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would have shown more love and compassion.

Personally (pun intended), I can relate, since my father was not present 90 percent of my formative years. I do not hold him liable for that since he had to do what he had to do for our family. But despite our misunderstandings — because we hardly know each other — deep inside I consider him a good man. Instead of bickering, I made a resolution that whatever he might have lacked I would never overlook when my time came to be a father.

That time came when I had my own son. Well, technically he is my godson. I have known Jaice since he was two days old and we have been inseparable since. One cannot explain the fact that to some extent he looks like me; has the same mannerisms that I have, yet no DNA tests are needed because we are not related. Not by a long shot. Despite our obvious similarities, there is also an air of poetic justice. I did not spend time with my father when I was young and Jaice, for all intents and purposes, cannot. (Pardon, I have to be vague since he is a minor.)

Having Jaice around makes me see things in a different light. He is my herald of patience (he has broken two of my eyeglasses) and I learn the makings of the world from him as much as he learns from me — although I am still waiting for him to be my presage of winning lotto numbers.

Borrowed time is basically what my godson and I spend.

In the book’s postscript, “Sulat sa Hangin,” Villanueva writes:

…Pero sa tuwing nakakakita ako ng mag-amang magkaakbay, mag-anak na nagbibiruan … naiinggit ako… kung nagkausap kaya kami ni Tatay kahit minsan, ano kaya ang nasabi namin sa isa’t isa? Napatawa ko kaya siya sa aking mga biro at kalokohan? Nasabi kaya niya sa akin ang mga gusto niyang gawin at hindi niya nagawa?

At times I do ask those questions. Half have been answered since my mother and my siblings and I are quite tight. Maybe my father and I could be friends, maybe not. After all these years, I have reconciled myself to both possibilities.

There is also a chance that Jaice could be whisked away to another place, or he could be adopted, or maybe he finally gets a new father. Life’s complexities assure those twists and turns. Yet come what may, no what-ifs. We will enjoy our little book readings (coincidentally, I have also given him Villanueva’s children’s books), nature trips, and fast-food playpen raids.     

Speaking of which, every time Jaice plays in the park or in play pens he always does one thing: he climbs to the peak of the slide and just before he descends he looks at me, waves and shouts: Nonong (Ninong)! He does this like clockwork. The first few times I admonished him to be careful. But the more often he did, the more I understood what he was trying to tell me. He felt a sense of security just knowing I was there.

Inevitably, we do have to part. A feeling of despondency permeates within whenever I think about it, like realizing that you have come to the closing pages of Personal. You do not want it to end. Imagine a friend who has been telling you the most vivid, heartwarming, and poignant stories as you saunter along the streets. And then he tells you he no longer has stories to tell. But that’s just it. Personal gives you the impetus by letting you delve into Villanueva’s cherished moments and stops just in time to tell you: it is your turn to make the stories.