Raul and Sonia: Que sera, sera

It really wasn’t in his stars – to live long enough to be president, or simply to just live long.

Former Senator Raul Roco’s passing after a battle with prostate cancer makes one believe even more in destiny, in fate, in God’s will, and that, somehow, "if it’s your time, it’s your time."

Fifteen years ago, it was Raul’s wife Sonia, trapped in the rubble of the collapsed Nevada Hotel in Baguio during the devastating July 1990 earthquake, who seemed to be by heaven’s door. Trapped for 36 hours without "a pin of light" in the "coffin" she was in, Sonia knew that only a miracle could save her. Her sister-in-law Peachie, buried in the rubble with her, pinned down and unable to move, succumbed to her injuries.

In an interview with Kap Maceda Aguila for PEOPLE Asia magazine, Sonia recounted, "The whole experience really changed the way I looked at life and death. And the way I look at family and everything, they are like precious gifts. And it’s a second life, so you will really appreciate it more. Now, I know what salvation really means."

Outside the collapsed building, hoping against hope in the nearly two days that Sonia was trapped, was Raul. He faced the grim prospect of his wife’s death, but Sonia was miraculously rescued from the depths of the rubble. Alice Laya, wife of former Central Bank Gov. Jaime Laya, who was also buried under the same rubble, did not make it. She had died almost instantly from the impact of a concrete beam that fell on her head.

This week, 15 years later, Sonia will bury Raul. His time had come.

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When I first met Sonia Roco and heard her ordeal in the rubble (she used a plastic flower vase to relieve herself, so she was very presentable when she was unearthed), the thought crossed my mind that she was destined for greater things, and that she had a purpose in life that was yet to be fulfilled. Maybe she was spared from death because she was meant to become first lady of the land, I thought then.

To have been by her husband side as he sought the presidency twice could have been part of Sonia’s purpose. Now that Raul is gone, I hope Sonia, a magna cum laude Liberal Arts and Education graduate from St. Joseph’s College, takes a more prominent role in civil society, if politics is not her cup of tea. Widows of great men draw sympathy and support to their late husbands’ causes, especially if most of the latter’s dreams have yet to be fulfilled.

In the same PEOPLE Asia interview, Sonia described herself as someone less regimented than her husband, who had a very "definitive career path."

"Ako, I go here, I go there," she said.

But she did admit to one big strength: her eloquence.

"Magaling ako magsalita, so when there is a speaking engagement and Raul can’t go, I can replace him. I don’t know if other wives can do that, but that I can."

I don’t think she has the fire that an angry Susan Roces possesses now. But after she buries her husband and mourns his death in private, will a different Sonia emerge? I’d really like to know if she’s got anything to say about the times, and if she does, will she go onstage to say it?

Because of her second lease on life, I can’t help but wonder about Sonia Malasarte Roco’s destiny.

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Sonia after all was married to one very extraordinary man. When I met Roco in the early ’80s during a dinner hosted by then UP president Ed Angara, we discussed the poems of T.S. Elliot, like The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and The Wasteland. That conversation left an indelible mark on me, for I doubt if very many politicians could quote from T.S. Elliot! (I was fresh out of college and English Lit then, and both Prufrock and The Wasteland were still quite familiar.)

Looking back at news clippings from Roco’s campaign, I was reminded of his achievements, among them: He authored bills establishing the new Philippine Central Bank, liberalizing the local banking system, protecting intellectual property rights and creating the new securities regulation code.

He was fondly called the "Honorary Woman" because he championed legislation that benefited women. He was also known for his colorful Hawaiian shirts, which he said were a symbol of his politics of hope. Roco believed in flower power. HOPE stood for his campaign promises: H for Honest government; O for opportunity for all, special privileges for none; P for Peace, productivity and prosperity; and E for Education and Environment for sustainable development.

Roco, the son of a farmer and a schoolteacher from Naga City, included a blind man in his senatorial lineup to open the electorate’s eyes to the cause of the handicapped.

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The last time I saw Roco, he was, ironically, not in his trademark Hawaiian shirt. He was in a jusi barong, over which he wore a denim jacket.

It was February 2004 and STAR and PEOPLE Asia chairman and publisher Max Soliven was hosting a dinner for presidentiables. Three – FPJ, Roco and Ping Lacson – showed up. It was a first and the photo of the three presidentiables together made it to the front page of The Philippine STAR and the cover of PEOPLE Asia.

Everyone was in high spirits and Roco told guests at the dinner: "I think the three people here tonight can end the elections today – if they just agree with each other."

Well, they didn’t agree, and the rest is history.

Or destiny?

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