The tale of Imelda and Rosa

The ever-controversial and ever-elegant former first lady of the Philippines, Madame Imelda Romualdez Marcos (whom I affectionately call Auntie Meldy, being my paternal grand aunt—she’s my grandfather’s cousin and they lived on the same street in Tacloban where the Lopez and Romualdez lines of our family trace their roots to Don Francisco Lopez, an influential friar originally from Granada in the Andalusian region of Spain), is always such a joy to be with—no dull moment, always gracious, generous, and gregarious, consistently forbearing, quirky and perpetually charming—and I enjoy every bit of the dinners, lunches, and long trips I’ve spent with her.

 Not only am I eternally fascinated by her (she is after all an icon of globally mythic proportions) and proud of the rich family heritage we both share, I also take pride in the fact that we celebrate for our birth anniversaries the very same day, the 2nd of July. In fact, this year, as she turned 82, I turned 28, and she described this “82-28 on July 2” connection in a Lopez-Romualdez reunion back in May as something short of cosmic.

 So much has been said about THE Imelda Marcos, covering an entire gamut of hearsay: the terrible, disgusting, below-the-belt, outrageous, even bizarre. And having had the rare pleasure of really knowing her and having been able to observe her for extended periods, especially during her unguarded moments, I find most of what people say about her to be both silly and amusing, even irritating—yet another testament to the exceeding gullibility of the human race. She is severely misunderstood, and it’s a pity that some people have made up their minds on her, considering how pitifully little they actually know of her. Discrimination, after all, as with those done against blacks, gays, and Muslims, is always rooted on ignorance. People fear or hate that which they don’t know or understand.

 Anyways, I’d like to share with you, whatever your opinion is of her, one of my favorite anecdotes from Auntie Meldy, supposedly one of the ‘greediest people in the world,’ according to Newsweek. ‘Tis the Tale of Imelda and Rosa.

 When the young Imelda Romualdez moved back to Tacloban after her mother had passed, she became classmates with a girl named Rosa. Rosa was much older than she, supposedly old enough to be in high school but was stuck in grade school with Imelda, being an astonishingly slow learner. She was the laughingstock and they would all call her names, “gaga talaga si Rosa, boba talaga si Rosa, such an idiot, so stupid,” Imelda admitted being one of the many who made fun of how gravely obtuse and dull-witted she was.

 When Imelda finished college, Rosa was still struggling in high school. That would be the last time she would see her until many years after when she was already First Lady.

 During the investiture of our beloved Ricardo Vidal as cardinal at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, Imelda attended as one of the witnesses (like a ninang in a baptism), and having already met the pope several times as first lady, she let other members of the delegation enjoy the pontiff’s company.

 She was standing at a corner of the Sistine Chapel when two nuns approached her, “oi, Meldy! Kumusta! You’re very beautiful…and first lady!” One of them was Rosa.

 “Oi, Rosa, how are you?! Where are you now?”—Imelda exclaimed, excited to see her classmate from Leyte. “I’m here Meldy, I’m here!” Rosa answered, equally excited to see her beautiful classmate, now first lady of the Republic. “I know you’re here, Rosa, but where are you now? Where do you live?” “I’m here Meldy, I’m here!” Imelda had thought to herself, “asus, Rosa, boba, idiota pa rin, stupid still!”

 The other nun felt she had to intervene. “What Rosa meant, Meldy, is that she is here, she lives in the Vatican. Do you see those? The vestments of the Holy Father? She makes all of those! Do you want to see her works?” Imelda was gobsmacked, embarrassed. “Yes, please, please bring them to the presidential suite of the Hotel Excelsior tomorrow before lunch.”

 The following day, as Imelda awoke, the long table of her presidential suite was filled with “the most beautiful, intricate, exquisite, embroidery and beadwork I’ve ever seen in my life, as if these were done by angels!”

 The lesson and realization of Rosa’s tale, Imelda ends her story, is “that everyone is born with a purpose, even the most seemingly stupid and slow person is born with talent, a mission, is born beautiful. And Rosa is proof of this—who would have ever thought that a ‘tanga and boba’ and provincial girl like her would be making vestments for no less than the pope, the now-Blessed John Paul II?!”

 And that “throughout the time we were laughing at her, mocking her, calling her names, Rosa didn’t have a problem, it was I who was the stupid one, ako pala ang tanga, because I failed to see the beauty in her!” 

 Now that’s self-deprecation for you from the supposedly most selfish, greediest person in the world!

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