A Personal Reflection

 God works in circuitous ways, I realize.

I spent several nights brooding on what could possibly have prompted our good bishop and classmate to call me one late night in July, in the midst of the COVID-19 lockdown in Tagbilaran. It was the 20th of July, when he asked me, the acknowledged hari-harion and alig-aligon of the batch, to spearhead a Virtual Reunion in place of the original face to face reunion that we planned to hold in August.

I was doubtful about the whole idea, believing that it was not going to work out. But who was I to refuse a bishop’s command? After the call, I shook my head, smirked, and said to myself, Oh, well, what an amusing but silly thought for a snore-ful sleep. It can never be done, nothing will ever happen to the good bishop’s fantasies.

Why blatantly pessimistic? Here’s why . . .

When Nox proposed last year to hold the Ruby Jubilee Reunion, not a whiff of enthusiasm did I sense from the members. To say that the responses were lukewarm was an understatement, prompting me tell him, “Kita raman tingale’ng duha mag-reunion ani Nox.” To which, Nox replied, “Ok ra gihapon. Padayon. Kita ra gud gihapon manoroy sa mga lugar nga atong tig-suroy sa  una.”

Posted to our FB group, many saw the plan for a reunion, but no one made a comment, except for a hasty and almost-mechanical finger click to hit the thumbs up emoticon, like trying to swat off a nagging mosquito hoping it wont bother again. Then our bigwigs cited various reasons for being unable to attend, like conflict of schedule. The others were non-committal—“Mag-agad na laman mi sa injo.” 

After so much time spent accommodating each one’s schedule, a date was finally agreed upon, prompting some for our members to book flights ahead of time. But then COVID-19 struck, providing an even more credible excuse not to attend. 

However, as it turned out, not even a global pandemic could stop dreamers like us from holding a reunion. With that call from Soc asking me to spearhead a virtual reunion, we started the discussion that eventually led to greater things we didn’t imagine would happen.

As with every journey that starts with a single step—or perhaps a call from a bishop or on the virtual world with a click of a mouse or button—the plan for a virtual reunion gradually took shape. It eventually generated lots of enthusiasm and then was sealed with fiat when Bro Ringkoy offered to use his Zoom account and said, “Larga, Kanus-a man ni?” Everything fell into place. And so it was done.

Looking back, I came to realize—as with all realizations that become clear from hindsight—that the virtual reunion was probably just an instrument to gather us and dream together to embark on an important project: the Bursary. God led us to this, the Bursary. I am certain of that now. (by Juntabs)

Initiatives and Lessons Learned

Our Baboga Class has undertaken several initiatives since High School. And we are not done yet, with the recent launching of the Bursary. Through all these years, whether we failed or succeeded, one thing was constant: we learned our lessons and we adapted. And we did that multiple times. So, let me count the ways.

Baboga Sinking Fund. In 2nd Year High School, Mr Doblas became our class adviser. He came from a teaching stint in another High School in Cebu. We were impressed immediately for he had a way with words. Remember when we loathed being associated with the “flower power” activity at the seminary as being too feminine? Well, he turned us around by saying that “flower is a symbol of femininity, but a sign of masculinity”. We didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it sounded deep and insightful. His magical words always transfixed us, more so that when heard about how important a credit lending facility would be to help our friends who were in need, we didn't think twice. We lost track of the reason for using the word “sinking” for this initiative, and we all know what happened after that. But the one lesson that we can never forget from this is the importance of a proper and detailed accounting.

Movie premier. In 3rd Year High School, we sponsored a movie premier, “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”. We negotiated with Royal Cinema and were given tickets to sell. We went around selling ticket, even accepting IOUs. Several people promised to pay later, after the showing. Collecting money after the event proved to be more difficult that extracting a bad tooth, we found out. We couldn’t collect them at all and ended up not earning anything for all our efforts. The lesson we learned from this initiative is to never accept IOUs and promises of payment after the fact.

Katcha IHMS Tote Bag. In 4th Year College, we wanted to raise funds that we can use to celebrate our graduation. So, we manufactured tote bags. We bought several yards of the katcha canvas cloth, several rolls of white thick strings, silk screen and stencil and black ink for the printing, metal eyelet (grommets with washers). We decided on the size of the tote bag, computing the total cost per bag and whether the selling price would provide sufficient profit. After factoring in the sewing fee, we found that it was. So we went to work. We gave the katcha to a sewer in Taloto with our specifications. We would then do the silk screen printing. It was just a simple “IHM Seminary” branding that became an instant hit among the seminarians. Carrying this during outing became the in thing. I can’t remember who did the silk printing though. But I remember the attaching of the grommets and the strings was done in MarJals’ room, while drinking San Miguel in can. Our class was rich enough to be able to order anything from the canteen “charge to the class”. Every month, MarJals would take care of verifying Taning’s listahan and paying our utang. One lesson we learned from this initiative was that selling a useful product with a good branding is easy, and it really helped that this time around, we didn’t accept utang and IOUs.

Scriptum Print Format. During the very first reunion in 1998, someone mentioned that there was a “need to sustain what we have started last October 30”.The solution offered was to “Publish a one-sheet newsletter . . . Distribute copies to all class members, especially those who are not participative."

It wasn’t immediately acted upon. In fact, it wasn’t until 5 years later when Soc, McAbs, Juntabs, and Nox started writing and publishing in print format the newsletter called Scriptum. From 2003 to 2006, twelve issue were published, and distributed Bohol-wide by Juntabs. One lesson we learned from this is that some plans may take a while to gestate, but eventually they will come to fruition if you continue to talk and dream about it. The bursary is another good example.

Scriptum Online Blog. Issue number 13 of Scriptum marked the transition  to our online blog. We stopped publishing Scriptum in print format, as we said, to “save the trees”. We have continued the story-telling using a different medium and in fact wrote more than 100 articles already. Scriptum took on the character of our batch—with lots of serious stuff and also lots of crazy stuff. One lesson we gather from this initiative is that to succeed we need to constantly innovate and not be afraid to adapt new technologies.

Orphanage Donation. During several online discussions via Zoom and our FB page in preparation of our Ruby Jubilee reunion, there was a suggestion to give something to the most in need, especially during the time of COVID-19. The original suggestion was to give food to poor families. Several other suggestions were voiced out and eventually our batch settled with the giving of a grocery gift card to the orphans of Albur. The initial budget of P300 became P500 and then more than P1000 per child. Funds were easily raised. And we were able to give more than we had originally planned for. A lesson gained from this experience is that projects like this that involve a one-time dole out are quick and risk-free; it can easily be replicated without risk of failure.

Bursary. One project conceived way back in 1998 finally took form during the Ruby reunion with the launching of the IHMS Batch 80-84 Bursary. This is an initiative that is on-going and gradually unravelling. It still remains to be seen whether this will succeed or fail. And the lessons are still to be learned. We will revisit this . . . years from now. (--- nox arcamo)

Realizations From Our Ruby Jubilee Reunion

The Virtual Reunion held last August 24, 2020 (PST) revealed several realizations. 

The first is that, after all these years, we still haven’t shed our habit, a  bad habit called “Filipino Time”. The original schedule was slated at 9:00 AM (PST), but requested by Ringkoy to be moved earlier to 8:30 AM to accommodate the expected late comers and the anticipated technical glitches. Well, guess what? As we are wont to do, we still ended up starting at 9:30 AM. So much for accommodation. We’ll just have to accept that we are in fact Filipinos and should just be happy about it. 

The second realization is that, the length of time that one spent with the batch does not always result into closer ties with the members. There were some who spent 4 or more years with the batch but remained out of touch. While others, who only spent a few years, mahinangup when they see their former classmates. The depth of one's experience in IHMS is a better predictor of future ties and not always the length of time.

The third realization is that our batch has a tremendous sense of voluntarism. This is probably the most salient characteristic of our class. We do not run out of volunteers to do the work that needs to be done. Baloy and ArnCes voluntereed to go with Juntabs to the Albur orphanage to hand over our donations. Rene volunteered to fund the initial deposit to open a bank account. Ringkoy volunteered his unlimited Zoom account and volunteered to be a member of the committee. Jecebu, after suggesting the mask instead of the t-shirt for our anniversary souvenir, volunteered to send money right away to start the production run. Juntabs volunteered to be the Treasurer; he also volunteered to be the Vice-Chairman. Soc was volunteered by Nox and readily accepted to be the Chairman. While some would call this alig-aligon—or sometimes derisively hari-harion—we never see it in the negative light but instead refer to it as the undying spirit of voluntarism.

The fourth realization is that the batch has a contagious sense of optimism. When an idea is proposed, no matter how outlandish it may appear to be at the onset, it doesn’t get trashed right away but rather munched and regurgitated, considered and debated. Divergent views are given. One idea is preferred over the other without junking the first one, and what follows after is the go-go-go, can-do, let’s-just-do-it attitude.

The fifth realization is that our batch is not afraid to make mistakes. In fact, we failed miserably in some of our projects. Those failures never defined us. Instead, we made fun of them—remember the Baboga Sinking Fund?—and even tried to learn lessons from them.

The sixth realization is that our batch has remained idealistic and restless in envisioning a dream for ourselves and for others. So many projects have been conceived and implemented in high school, in college and even the years after IHMS.

Finally, as we launched another ambitious initiative during the Ruby Jubilee virtual reunion, there is that ever nagging possibility that our dream to financially support a Theology student starting next school year can go either way. It can fail like before. Or, it can succeed. Who knows? But the one realization that can be gleaned from all of these is that—our batch has the experience and the collective character to pull this off. (nox arcamo)

Juntabs and the Rosary (3/3)

During my high school days in the IHMS, I was always assigned in the sacristy. I felt at home being a sacristan because in my elementary years, I was already an altarboy of Fr. Saturnino Felicitas in Jagna. On the occasion of my first Eucharistic Mass in December 1993, Fr. Felicitas gave me his (original) chalice, which I still keep in my house. But this is not about Fr. Felicitas; this is about Juntabs. 

As sacristan, I had the luxury, or rather displeasure, of observing seminarians who were prayerful, naughty, and sleepy, seeing them unkempt and scratching their bottoms. During those days, there was the usual practice visiting the chapel after lunchtime. On several occasions, I would see Leonel Grado with his friend Elmer “kid” Laput; the boyish Jecebu Ceballos; Soc Mesiona who always snorted while praying; Manuel Arcamo with his Rizal-style haircut; Marjals who had the habit of cleaning his nails while praying; the smiling Fr. Joseph Lim; Ben Ricafort; the almost-in-a-trance-like-state Wixwax Ranoa; Isaac Pala and . . . Juntabs. All of those mentioned typically stayed for about five minutes or less, with the exception of Juntabs. He was always the last one to leave. While everyone else stayed for a brief and personal prayer, Juntabs prayed the rosary. I was like the rest who went to pray and only stayed for a short while. I do not know what my subconscious motivation was. Maybe I had the hunch that priests were observing us or that the Immaculate Mother was beaconing us to come and pray. Whatever it was, I still did not commit to saying the Rosary as Juntabs did. It’s just too long a prayer to me.

One day, for whatever fate dictated the anima of Juntabs, he changed his place of prayer. This time he occupied a kneeler right beside the big post, rendering him hidden from view. It was also the day when Fr. Orimaco, the Bursar, announced that those students who were not updated with their Board and Lodging payment would not be able to take the Periodical Test. That was bad news. I had not settled my bills for the past eight months. So sad indeed. I remember thinking being the most miserable seminarian in the whole world. I thought I would never become a priest because I couldn't pay my dues. So, I decided to pray more fervently after lunch that day. I promised to go to the chapel to pray for whatever benevolence God will give me. All the while, I tried to put on a smile on my face so that people would never know that I was poor, the poorest who couldn't pay 8 months worth of Board and Lodging. I wanted to asked God to soften the hearts of the seminary fathers and to permit me to take the Periodicals. So, in the chapel, when I thought everyone had gone for siesta and I was alone, I knelt down at the center aisle. Then, moving slowly while kneeling, I walked towards the altar like what the women of Quaipo would always do. Fortunately, I did not say my petition aloud, otherwise Juntabs who was hidden behind the post would have heard me praying and crying at the same time. I continued the walking-while-kneeling until I reached the stairs near altar. I was about to prostrate myself on the floor when out of nowhere I saw a pair of hands holding a rosary beads. It was Juntabs who startled me saying. “Hoy, gaunsa ka nganha Abcede … di man ron Bernes Santo.” I just kept my composure, keeping silent and  pretending to tie my shoes. In my mind, I was saying to him, “Ngaway ka Juntabs, di ko ka exam ugma kay naputow ahong ampo.” That was the first and last time for me to do the kneel-walk tyopr of prayer, but also the beginning of my habit to pray the rosary. During my whole priestly life and now in my married state, the rosary is my segue from the world’s noise into holy silence. Rosary prayer is the gift of the Blessed Mother to me. 

IHMS has nurtured in me the practice of praying the Rosary. It is the most reliable knot that connects me to God. Fast forward to the present during this awful pandemic period, a motorcycle delivery came into my house and I noticed a rosary beads tied on the steering bar. Casually I asked him, if he prayed the rosary. He answered yes. “So, you also come from the IHMS?” the motorcycle driver, in utter consternation, asked, “Ano po yung ayechemes?” (by McAbs Abcede)

Bobong and the Atomic Bomb (2/3)

We were the famous twin “yayo,” me and Isaac Pala, Jr in IHMS during the ‘70s. (See article on how yayo came to be.)There were originally three “yayos.” Jones was the 3rd one. But the title stuck with me and Isaac. As you can see, the three of us loved to imagine and talk of impossible things. We were fascinated with science, physics, inventions, airplanes, rockets, and bombs. Yes, bombs . . . the kind that blow up. High School is the age of the flowering of imagination and experimentation. We made bombs, firecrackers actually, which we assembled out of posporo, tin can and buri palm seeds. Isaac was the math wiz, Jones had the know-how and resourcefulness to get the raw materials. I provided the imagination for the design. Yes, imagination--the only thing that I was wealthy of, while in other life-skills I accept humbly I was lacking of. We were always in the library doing “research.” Bobong was our classmate who was constantly striving for higher grades to the point of obsession, was always suspicious or annoyed at us for “doing research”. He would always quiz us on what subject we were searching on or who was the teacher who gave the assignment. Was he afraid that we might get a higher score than him? Who knows? We could never tell him that we were reading about explosives, gun powder, dynamites and intercontinental ballistic missiles. He was always over our shoulders and was irritated as to why we were memorizing the life of Alfred Nobel. There were also instances when we were successful in shaking his presence off from us. But on Sundays we didn't bother since we all loved going with Bobong to their house beside the Coca-cola plant because in their kitchen there was an endless supply of ice cream. Lots of it. A real mystery to me, at that time. During that time in my hometown, Jagna, there were only two houses that had a refrigerator and therefore ice cream--the house of the Du Ek Sams and the priest’s convent. Bobong’s house was therefore considered by us a sacred because they they always have ice cream.

One Sunday, we refused to go with Bobong to their house. He was upset because his Mama already prepared lunch for us. Of course, the ice cream, too. To avoid him, we hid at the Grotto. He found us, easily and without sweat. He was unrelenting in his demand for us to accompany him to Tagbilaran. But we stood our ground saying that we were in the middle of our research and that we already knew the formula. “Formula of what? Sir Pasilbas did not give us an assignment, did he, McAbs?” I just kept my mouth shut. How could I tell him that we were on the verge of finishing the design of a firecracker bomb in a tin can to be placed and ignited at the back of Fr. Cajes’ Office? But then Bobong was already livid. He asked, “What formula is that?” Jones answered, “Formula for an Atomic Bomb!” 

Bobong rolled is sleeves and said, “Ngyawa mo … sumbagay ta, tabangi ko ninjong tulo!” Guess who was the first and the fastest to run away? I ran so fast and never looked back, until now, figuratively speaking. 

Until now I am still running the race of life, especially now in the middle of the pandemic. Maybe like St. Paul in his letter to Timothy, I am still on this race called life. El pasado es dulce de recorder, how sweet it is to remember the past and still be running. (by McAbs Abcede)

Angry Jones and the Coconut Fruit (1/3)

 I cannot remember what day it was, it has been decades ago; but I can clearly recall that eventful afternoon, our faces grimacing at the mid-afternoon sun, we held our bolos as we started to cut the grasses under the “kalubihan.” It was manualia period and everyone knows what manualia is. This is the  once-a-week-nobody-likes-it chore. Each one was assigned an area to cut the grass. Myself, being an Abcede, number one in the alphabetical list, my area was always at the beginning or to be precise, at the edge of the field which is usually plenty of thorny touch-me-not grass and utot-utot vines. While I was busy attacking my assigned area, Theofanes Dumaluan, a.k.a, Jones (requescat in pace), was as busy hitting a coconut fruit with his lagaraw knife. He was in fact furious and saying invectives while hitting the coco fruit. Using his toes, he rolled the fruit in front of me and Raul Rulete saying “Rulets, imagine this is the head ni Padre.” And then, Jones took a stone as large as the size of the coconut, raised it over his head and smashed hard the fruit. The sight of the coconut was pitiful. “Nganong suko man ka kang Padre, Jones?” I asked. 

Well, Jones’ father was working in Saudi Arabia as an Engineer. That particular manualia day, Papa Dumaluan was coming home from abroad. Of course, it was a big day for the Dumaluan Family and Jones asked for a permission from Padre to go home and to celebrate the coming-home of Papa Dumaluan.  According to Jones, the fateful dialogue between him and Padre went this way: “Father may I go home today … “ and Padre replied “No. You can only go home on Sunday, but not today.” Jones insisted and struggled hard saying “But, Father, it is very important because my father arrives today from Saudi Arabia.” Pushing harder his luck, Jones continued “you see, Father, my Papa came from Saudi Arabia … Saudi Arabia, abroad, imagine?.” In his sarcastic brand coupled with a stoic smirk, Padre said “Jones, bisan pag gikan sa buwan ng imong tatay, dili ka mahimo mouli.”

Pity the coconut which was crushed into pieces by the sheer energy of angry Jones. RIP, Jones! (by McAbs Abcede)

And BABOGA Lives on

Through the years, our class has gained notoriety and renown, been appreciated or scoffed at, and perhaps all for the right reasons or well maybe otherwise. But for certain, BABOGA, as we called our class, had once hugged the limelight, even rising to fame and infamy, having embarked on very ambitious projects, like a lending instrument called the Baboga Sinking Fund, which like its namesake sank into oblivion, and a movie sponsorship project (“Close Encounters . . . ) which encountered nothing but fiasco.

Call it braggadocio or maybe hubris, but our class has always exhibited fortitude for slugging it out inspite of the epic failures, even earning the reputation for standing up against bullies and never cowering. What with Cecil Reluya’s famous, “Hey, Don’t touch me! Baboga Member,” as if his membership was a talisman that could render him invincible.

Yet, little is known of how BABOGA was conceived and given birth. As faint as my faltering memory can fathom, here’s the story . . .

Our time in High School in the mid 70’s was during the time of afro and bell bottom pants that gave way to the new classic baston style pants. It became our habit to roll the ends of our pants into a constricted knot following the lead of a female visitor who for a brief moment captured Soc’s heart.

 In those times, many of us were not privileged to have the capacity to provide ourselves with the latest trends in fashion, so we contented ourselves by fashioning our own DIY version of a baston pair of pants.

 We were in 2^nd high school then when a mischievous yet intellectually gifted classmate, Glenn, devised an idea to keep up with the fashion trend (sans the new and pricey pants) which we branded as The “ORIG.” He folded the bottom of the pants sideways and upwards to appear just like the fashionable “BASTON STYLE” pant. Seeing how classy it looked like, I followed his style, and seeing us, many of our classmates did the same.

 But Glenn went a little further. He espoused the idea of having a gang named after the redesigned pants, the BASTON SHAPE, and to which he added another word BOBITCH to make it BASTON BOBITCH GANG. I never got to ask Glenn what BOBITCH meant then, and after 4 decades still do not have a clue.

 Perhaps taking a cue from Alex, when asked by Sir Doblas during our Social Studies class, to give an example of an acronym, he answered, UBC for Ubay Baskeball Court. In the same breadth, the BASTON BOBITCH GANG was abbreviated to BABOGA. And the name still remains to this today in the memories of its members.

 Like everything that grows with age, BABOGA today may not be as vibrant and radiant as it was before. The new generation of seminarians may not have heard of it at all, and 8 of its members may have gone back to their Creator where we all come from . . . but until the last BABOGA member hits the ground and never to rise again, the spirit and memory of BABOGA will continue to live on . . .  (by Juntabs)

From a Different Angle

 It is but natural for us to view our experiences in IHMS from our own personal point of view. 

I remember the moment when my parents dropped me off at the seminary in 1976 when I was 12 years old. It was the entrance day—the very first day in what would later turn out to be 8 long years of stay in the seminary. 

I remember looking for my locker, then my bed.  I felt uneasy because I would be sharing a large dorm with more than 70 or 80 other teen-agers. I was not comfortable at all with the lack of privacy. At least, at home, I had a small room that I shared with my younger brother or sometimes with my grandmother, if she stayed overnight.

I was also uneasy about keeping my locker padlocked. Does that mean that I shouldn’t trust anybody around?

After arranging my pillows on the bed and covering it with a bed sheet, I looked out through the window, hoping my parents had left. But the car was still there parked near the mango tree. I wanted them to leave because seeing them made me think of packing my bags and going home with them. But somehow, I also wanted them to stay because I didn’t know what else to do but wait for the 5 o’clock when all visitor would be asked to leave and a welcome activity would begin. The interior struggle caused me to get angry at them for staying and at me for feeling that way. 

My mother kept reminding me to keep my wallet secure. I told her it was inside my back pocket. Then she asked if I had arranged my things properly inside my locker. I said I would do it later when they leave and have more time. She wanted to do it herself. I told her no, that wouldn’t be necessary. You should fold your clothes properly, she said. I told her I knew what to do. Then she asked me a second time about my wallet, trying to make sure that it was indeed in my back pocket, and the key to my locker. She also asked me if the biscuits and the powdered Tang that I brought with me would last the entire the week. I assured her that it would. Be sure to eat well, she told me. I said I know.  Where’s your dining? She asked. And I pointed towards the area at the end of the corridor. Then she got concerned about the pair of black pants whether I had enough for the week. She reminded me to hang the pants at the end of the so that it wouldn’t get rumpled. Do you want us to come back tomorrow? I got angry again saying that there was no need, that they shouldn’t fuss, and just leave, and that I can take care of my own. I assured them that anyway, we will be going home on Saturday and then on Sunday. So, they shouldn't worry.

My father did not speak until it was time for them to go. He asked if I had enough money. And I told him that I did and that I wouldn’t even money at all. You might get hungry. You might want to buy food from the canteen, he said. I told him that I have biscuits, that I will not get hungry. For in fact, I didn’t feel like eating that day. All I wanted was to go home. But I assured myself that it probably was just the first day jitters and that after a day or week, everything would be fine. I started to envy my classmates since it appeared to me that they were adjusting very well and some were already joking with each other like Oloy and Quiao and several others. I had former classmates in HSS, like Dindo, Ringkoy, Jecebu, Marclare, Rene and others but they were preoccupied in arranging their lockers and it seemed that they already had adjusted well, befriending the 2nd year seminarians and getting friendly with the priest-formators.

The loneliness I felt reached its height that very night, as we prepared for bed. Roy introduced himself to me and the twins, Moises and Prisco. When I lights were switched off at 10 o'clock and the Coca-Cola plant siren blared, my thoughts were of home and how unsound my decision was to enter the seminary. Still, I resolved to wait for a week and see what would happen. At that point, never had I an inkling that I would even last a week. A classmate cried for 2 days, then decided to leave. So, it was not embarrassing anymore to give up after 3 days. But I wanted to give it a week. When a week passed, I gave it one more week and another. Until, before I knew it, I had lasted a full year.

I never understood what my parents were going through when I entered. Neither did they know what I was going through. I only understood what was going on with me; I never understood theirs. 

I gained a different perspective the first time my youngest son travelled without us. He was 13 years old when his Grade 8 class went for a 3-day, 2-night trip to Ottawa City. We dropped him off at the school auditorium where the rest of his classmates were waiting. He looked so small and fragile, carrying a small wheeled suitcase. He didn’t pay us much attention when he was with his classmates. In fact, he didn’t seem to want us to be around. 

My wife was uneasy, worried. It was going to be her first time to sleep in the house without her youngest child. Does he have enough load on his cell phone? Does it have sufficient charge? Are you sure you can track his location? Have you re-checked? What if the battery dies? How much money did you give him? Is it in small bills? It is enough for 3 days? She kept asking me. I kept reassuring her. 

Then she signaled to my kid about his cell phone, then about his wallet, then about his charger. My son was quiet all throughout. Then they were asked to take a seat inside the bus. We hugged him when he passed us, but he remained stoic, not speaking at all. He sat on a window seat and looked at us one more time while my wife continued to remind him via hand signal to never forget to pray. My kid looked irritated with the constant reminder. We stood there watching as the bus left and disappeared from view. Quietly, we went to the car and made our way home. She sent him a text message asking him to take care. He texted back that he would.

I finally understood what my parents went through when I entered IHMS.  (--- nox arcamo)

Our Lofty Dreams

 We always had lofty dreams, even in High School. We might even hazard to say, altruistic. With the guidance of our class adviser, Mr Al Doblas, we established a credit cooperative called BABOGA SINKING FUND with the sole aim of helping financially our fellow seminarians. Our project sank when several defaulted on their obligations. But that was more than four decades ago.

During our first ever class reunion held on October 30, 1998, the dream to financially support a seminarian studying at the IHMS was voiced out during the business meeting. But the dream did not take off owing to the fact that many of our members were still trying to establish themselves in their chosen fields and supporting several young family members.

This year, marking the 40th anniversary since High School graduation, we finally found the resolve to revisit an old dream and make concrete plans to make that dream a reality. The Ruby Jubilee celebration virtual reunion that we planned to hold on August 23, 2020 will be a singular moment, with the launching of the IHMS Batch 80-84 Bursary.

We may not have succeeded to become a priests--except for Soc, Oloy, Glenn, and McAbs--and we may not have sired one who wants to become one, but we can certainly support somebody unrelated to us who wants to pursue that dream for us. Perhaps we can experience vicariously, through our beneficiary, the slow and gradual advancement towards the priesthood. And the joy and fulfillment of accomplishing a dream. (-- nox arcamo)

BATCH ’80 @ FORTY

 (1980-2020)

This year will be the Ruby Jubilee or forty years (1980-2020) of our graduation from high school in the seminary. There were forty-two of us who entered the seminary in 1976 but only twenty-five survived to graduate four years later in high school.

On our fortieth anniversary of graduation from high school maybe it’s nice to ask what is the significance of this milestone? Are we starting a new life, following the oft-repeated expression that says, “life begins at forty?” But some say life now begins not at forty but sixty. Anyhow, in scripture number forty tells us otherwise; it generally symbolizes a period of testing, a time of great challenge. In fact, there are a good number of examples to show it and I will mention a few of them.  For example, in Matthew 4:1-3a we hear about Jesus who fasted for forty days and forty nights in which he faced a difficult test as he was tempted by the devil three times. It must have been a very hard and challenging test for Jesus not to give in to the temptation because he was hungry and thirsty by not taking in something for forty nights and forty days. But we know what happened; he passed the test.

In the Old Testament, particularly in the Book of Joshua, Israel “walked forty years in the wilderness” as God’s way to test them, “because they did not obey His voice” (5:6) and, because of it, they were not allowed to enter the Promised Land.  Since they tested God, He in return tested them as well. In the Book of Exodus, Moses was up on the mountain in the presence of God for forty days and forty nights where He wrote on the tablets the words of the Ten Commandments. It was a test of Israel’s fidelity to the Lord as many of them were already playing harlot and worshiping idols. And then we have the story of Noah in the Book of Genesis wherein flood water lasted for forty days and forty nights (cf. Gen 7:12) as God’s test and judgement over a sinful people and their failure to repent. 

Yes, number forty is a symbol and a time of testing. So, will it be our time of testing as well? If so, what does it mean? It is interesting to note that test is from the old French word which means “small vessel used in assaying or examining the authenticity of precious metals.” It is actually derived from the Latin testum which means “earthen pot”, which is related to testa, “piece of burned clay, earthen pot, shell.” The word test therefore connotes that which will determine the presence, quality, or genuineness of something. Applied in the context of our celebration of the Ruby Jubilee, we can deduce that it’s a time to ascertain the quality of our genuineness and faithfulness as persons formed and honed according to the vision of our Alma Mater, the IHMS, as expressed in the triple values of pietas, scientia et sanctitas. Like clay from the earth we went through meticulous and tedious process of formation for many years through the hands of our seminary formators and teachers. Then, after graduation we parted ways and chose our own different paths; since then many things have happened in our lives, some good while others may not be so good. But in hindsight we survived the hurdles and challenges and become who we are at present because, whether we like it or not, the seminary has imparted values that in one way or the other prepared us for them. Now, after forty years, we have been tested and found to be persons who may not be perfect but are continuously trying to be authentic, genuine and faithful to the ideals of IHMS, our Alma Mater. (Soc)

Ransack of the Faculty Room

In 1^st year HS (SY-76-77), we were a restless bunch. For us, it was a period of experimentation. We were simply acting our age--daring, adventurous, and foolhardy. We were not some moralistic little saints sporting a halo on our heads. In fact, we committed a lot of mistakes--mistakes that made us realize the consequences of our actions.

From the St John Bosco Dorm, there was a crude exit through the grilled window that led outside to the roof of the adjoining kitchen. From there, you could walk to the media agua of the north side of the High School building. It was actually one of the spots to clean during manualia on Saturdays.

But that night, after supper, Glenn had something in his mind. I followed him through the grilled window and we stealthily walked on the media agua under cover of darkness. We walked close to the walls so that no one would see us and also to use it as a guide since it was dark.

At the area near where you could see the stairs, Glenn stopped and fell on his hands and knees. Then slowly he bent low to peek below the media agua.

I followed suit and rested on my stomach, afraid that I might tip over. We could see Pidoy working on the mimeographing machine. He pulled one stencil from a pile, then examined it against the light. Then gently, he tore the carbon paper between the stencil and the hard paper backing. He crumpled the carbon paper and nonchalantly threw it in the trash bin that was teeming with discarded carbon papers.

A mother lode of gold that glittered in our eyes. But I had some misgivings. I always liked the challenge. What’s the thrill in answering a test that you were previously fed with an answer to? I felt that it would be equivalent to parroting the answers and not knowing what they really meant. But the thrill of acting out our ninja skills, moving stealthily in the shadows, was what captured my imagination.

“Is that our exams?” I whispered to Glenn.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he whispered back. Then he jumped to the ground--the height was probably 10 feet high--in darkness. The impressionable me followed suit, only to land my right foot on a large stone which caused my right ankle to buckle and threw me off balance.

It was a painful sprain that became worse the next day. I don’t even recall much the incidents that happened after that. But it seems that we waited until the mimeographing room was empty. What we found were not our exams so we just left them there undisturbed.

I couldn’t do much activity after that mishap, except to limp slowly from the dorm to the chapel to the refectory to the classroom. That’s why I wasn’t surprised days later--actually this was after the exams--when I went to study hall for the study period and found myself alone during the Angelus.

I didn’t pay much attention to it, and I didn’t want to move around, until Inday came to the study hall asking me, “Where are your classmates?”  I said that I didn’t know, which was the truth.

Later, I heard a commotion. There were lots of running and trying not to appear to be in a hurry, as they started trickling in one by one, hurriedly sitting down, opening a book, and looking immersed in their study. Something urgent and hush-hush was definitely afoot, like a gold rush or something.

The commotion turned into something serious: the prospectors caught and their secret revealed. There were talks of being called to the office by the Prefect of Discipline, as silent bickering suggested that someone squealed.

I learned later on, after the gold dust had settled down, the reason for the commotion. What I didn't know was the punishment meted out to the perpetrators after the incident. Or who squealed. Then as suddenly as it happened, it also was quickly forgotten. References to the incident have since been called unceremoniously as “ransack of the faculty room”.

It was another misadventure of our class that thankfully I was unable to participate.   (--- nox arcamo)

Reminiscing Seminary Life

 I once visited a minor seminary somewhere in the Visayas and I was shocked to see the seminarians. “Oh my God,” I said to myself, “they are too young to be in the seminary!” Actually, it was a reaction that I think was directed more at me than at them as I saw myself in their situation who was also in the seminary at a very young age.

Yes, I entered the seminary in 1976 right after I finished Grade 6 when I was still a very young boy wearing purol (short pants) instead of pantalon (trouser) in school. In fact, I was so young that I was still sleeping with my parents at night which I would regularly do until I entered the seminary. How I came to the decision to enter the seminary at a very young age was really a puzzle to me now. Of course, we can call it a mystery if one looks at it from the vantage point of view of faith. Be that as it may, the decision to enter the seminary did not come from my parents but from me who was attracted upon hearing stories from my older brother who was then a seminarian.

To be in the seminary at a very young age is not always a walk in the park for some, because it has its own sub-culture that one has to adapt. While there are those who have the capacity to adjust quickly and make seminary life fun and memorable, some few others, however, go through it with difficulty to the point of experiencing “culture shock” that they carry with them for a long time. But I want to make it clear that it is not my purpose here to argue either for or against a minor seminary at the present time. My only purpose, however, is to reminisce my own personal experience of seminary life in light of the Ruby Jubilee of my graduation from high school in 1980. Yes, it’s exactly forty years now (1980-2020) that I finished my four years of high school in the seminary.

So, what are some of the experiences that I can easily recall when I was in the minor seminary?  Well, there were just so many that I cannot write them all here; maybe I can just recall a few. The first were the tears that welled in my eyes when my parents left for home after bringing me to the seminary. It was like being left orphan amidst a milieu of new faces who will be my dormmate, classmate, playmate rolled into one in the years to come. But that feeling did not last long as I slowly established friendship with many of them. Then, there was the experience of being bullied by a senior year who was much, much bigger than me wherein I was ordered to climb up a coconut tree with the threat of a solid punch from his big fist if I disobey. In fact, the order was to steal because the coconut tree was already outside of the seminary perimeter fence. Trembling in fear I obliged even if I was not used to stealing and was not good at climbing a coconut tree as well, which of course is water under the bridge now.

Life in the seminary was so routine and regimented so much so that one could almost predict the next activity of the day. While spontaneity is admirable, ordered and regulated life has also its upside especially with regard to instilling discipline and formation of values. For example, we were trained to develop study habits, thus we had in our routine schedule a regular time for study periods. It was a big help especially for me a product of a public school who did not acquire much study habit. That is why some had to adjust for a period of time before shining out academically in class. If it’s true for academics, it’s true as well for the formation of spiritual life. If prayer is the means for the growth of spiritual life, I would say that we were also trained to acquire the habit of prayer with our regular prayer time schedule. We allotted time for prayer literally from the rising of the sun to its setting every day. But whether the routine schedules helped us internalize the said values or not can only be answered by each of us who went through it. But surely it was a big help, if not all, to many!

Another memorable experience I had, which I believe was shared by all of us in our class, was our participation in the 2^nd National Inter-Minor Seminary meet held at St. Vincent Seminary in Iloilo City.  I was in fourth year high school then. It was memorable because it was my first time, like majority in the class, to take an airplane. Someone like me whose exposure was only limited to a barrio setting, taking an airplane was already a big deal then. Likewise, meeting other minor seminarians on national level was challenging and exciting, especially to hear that we had similar common experience of seminary life. The euphoria of that experience took a while to fade away not only from my consciousness but to the rest of the class even when we were back in Bohol as we would talk about it again and again to almost no end.

If I was shocked to notice very young boys in a minor seminary because I saw myself in them, I would not categorically say I would never enter the seminary at that young age if I were given a chance to decide again now. The fact is that I have no comparison to make whether the decision is for or against. But one thing sure is that I had happy memories of my experience in the minor seminary. Even until now flashback of seminary experiences would appear from time to time in my dreams which I am not an expert of interpreting them from the Freudian understanding of the unconscious. But one thing clear to me is that it is indicative that the seminary has a deep impact in my life. (Soc Mesiona)

Entrance, June 1976

It the year after the great fire of in Tagbilaran City which gutted the Agora Market in front of Bohol Quality and Hitime Hotel and its restaurant which served the best pancit in the city. Hitime was right across Policarpio which somehow survived the conflagration. 

It was a time when Dante’s Tailoring competed with Springwood. When you had the choice between Caltex, Quibir and Flying-A Gas Stations. Solidad Press or Balili Press. It was also a period when Sayong’s Furniture reigned, just like Joel’s Bakery.

We bought our school supplies either from Bohol Quality, Butalid store near the Divine Word College, and Society store near the Holy Spirit School. Villa Ondolana always smelled of tahop, humay and copra that competed with the smell of pencil, paste and pad paper. 

We went to the only barbershop in the area, Bill Romo Barbershop, and the most conspicuous pharmacy, Farmacia Libertad near the Agora. It was a quiet period in the City of Tagbilaran which didn’t have a single traffic light, for there was no need to have one.

It was also the golden age of IHMS, when the Jeduthun Ensemble brought renown to the school and the city. Against this backdrop, we entered at the age of 12 or 13 into the portals of IHMS. Motivated by various reasons, we joined other teen-agers struggling to fit in. We didn’t know what future was in store for us. We only knew that we had to take it one day at a time as life gradually unraveled. We were all starry-eyed dreamers looking out ahead of us and wondering. 

Now 44 year later, we have the opportunity to look back. (--nox arcamo)

Drumbeating Excitement

What COVID 19 has done to us is change our way of life. I think you all know what I mean. In my case, if not for this pandemic, my schedule of activities this year would have been a fully loaded one with our class reunion set on August 15 & 16 in the list of priorities. But, sadly, it’s one of the perceived casualties of this health crisis in view of the fact that our freedom of movement has been restricted indefinitely to stem the spread of the virus. Thank God I was not able to purchase a plane ticket to Bohol in advance; otherwise, I will have another ticket that I need to claim for refund.

But COVID or not I thought our reunion should proceed because this year is our 40th anniversary (Ruby) since our graduation from high school in 1980. Yes, it’s a milestone that we should not allow to skip in our consciousness and treasured time! But how can we do it when we are told to stay home? Well, today we live in a technological age wherein distance is no longer a barrier to our desire to meet and celebrate, although not physically but virtually.

Convinced that we can still proceed with our class reunion amid a situation of pandemic, I called up Juntabs -- being the acknowledged virtual class president (translated as hari-harion ug alig-aligon)-- by phone to propose to him that we proceed with our planned class reunion even virtually through the help of the internet with apps, like, ZOOM as a very convenient means. Approving without thinking, he immediately posted my proposal on our class facebook page hoping to solicit reaction. Luckily, Ringkoy picked-up the proposal and offered his ZOOM account for the initial meeting. Racing for time, we immediately set the first ZOOM meeting last July 24 (Philippine time) which was participated in by Ringkoy, Arnces, Liklik, Juntabs and yours truly. The first ZOOM meeting was very productive in which we were able to set the virtual reunion on August 24 (Philippine time). Ringkoy suggested to have series of ZOOM meetings before the reunion in order to create a groundswell of interest from our classmates. In hindsight, I think Ringkoy’s suggestion was a stroke of a genius for true enough some of our classmates who were in hiatus are showing interest lately.

If the second ZOOM meeting last August 3 (Philippine time) were to be the gauge, I am very hopeful that our scheduled virtual class reunion will be a success. In fact, more joined in the said meeting, like, Rene, Ringkoy, Jecebu, Manox, Juntabs, Arnces, Baloy, Eric, Liklik, McAbs and me. Was it not Sir Eronico, our CAT Commandant, who taught us of the importance of a good preparation when he would constantly remind us: “a good start is already half the battle won?” And to stress the point, he would add: “Ana na, bai!” Feelings of nostalgia, tamed by the wisdom we gained from experience through the years, has made us very calculating in our discussions. Nobody tried to monopolize but each one had his chance to speak out and share his thoughts and ideas. Whatever we have reached so far is a product of our collective decision!

On August 8 (Philippine time) we will have our next ZOOM meeting. I hope we can fine tune the finer details of our preparation. Likewise, I expect that more from us will join the meeting so we can accelerate the crescendo as we drumbeat more interest and excitement for our reunion.

Personally, I am excited of our forthcoming virtual class reunion not because I initially broached the idea but because I am very positive that it will draw us closer to one another again. I am hopeful that our virtual interaction will go beyond our reunion. For several years many of us have not been in contact with each other after we parted ways but now we are starting to reconnect. Perhaps it’s part of nearing old age that we like to look back and treasure the friendship we have established in the past. For after all, we are a band of friends and even brothers with common experience of growing up together as teenagers in the four walls of the seminary that we once called home. (Soc Mesiona)

A Class Ruby Reunion

The meeting was like a sumptuous meal. Everyone partook in a buffet of ideas, though characteristically with a side dish of jeers and laughter. Rene gave hints of shouldering the wherewithal for the meals and a night stay at a resort reserved for our exclusive use. Plans were laid and everything seemed to be right on track towards the CLASS RUBY REUNION.

Now came the time to have it presented to the plenary via technological channel created by self-proclaimed computer genius Manox, looking like his cave man idol nong calix. And presented it was. Some were mum, maybe as a result of over excitement, or conversely, the absence of it. Others looked terror-struck as if they had drank the “salted kape” concoction of Baloy. Agreeing to the dates in holding to what is supposed to be a momentous event seemed unlikely:

Msgr. Jeff had his US vacation fixed for the whole of August; Bishop Soc viewed a conflict of schedules with the CBCP annual gathering which is usually done in the month of August; Mc Abs? well the same yayo mc abs, (“you are here and you are there,” blasted tigoy, followed with thunderous deriding laugh of ramir cimafranca); Marclare intimated to come home early for a family reunion on May and to head back for Canada before August; Manox preferred to have it on the first week of August for his children to catch the opening of classes in September. There are 31 days of August and we were not able to pick a day or two.

Until bleak curtains fell, and COVID-19 knocked it off. Confusion gave way to clarity as the virus rampaged. It became clear: NO CLASS RUBY REUNION was going to take place, at least for this year …

But then, some of us refused to let dreams die; just like pareng Arnold who wants something to be alive and standing firm for what it aspires.

Thank you Bishop Soc in keeping the flame of hope burning for us to attain our dream of reconnecting with our classmates-brothers, dead or alive(do we have a sister/s?). Please keep on pushing, just push, do not pull -- well, you know what I mean.

We are now halfway in our journey towards our destination. VIRTUAL CLASS RUBY REUNION. Together, let us make it happen. (by juntabs)

Time Flies

Tempus Fugit--that was what I had in mind when our High School batch ’80 and College batch ’84 held a virtual meeting on Aug 2, 2020, 9:00 PM EST to plan for our virtual reunion. Before the meeting, there were conversations and jokes that we continued were we had left off, only to realize that a wide span of time separated them.

It's the same feeling when I spend too much time on a certain hobby, not realizing the passage of time, all of a sudden stopping to take stock of the progress, and asking “Hey, where did it go?” Before we knew it, 44 years have passed since our entrance to IHMS, 40 years since our High School graduation, and 36 years since College graduation.

The Zoom meeting hosted by Ringkoy revealed that indeed we have aged--as some of us struggled with technology, another admitted that his memory is not as sharp as it used to be, and the rest tried not to show it. But our wrinkles, bald pate, flab and loose skin betrayed our age as we tried to recollect the last time we saw each other in person and wondered what happened in between.

I had met Juntabs in Toronto last year when he and Faith came for their family reunion. I had also met McAbs, Liklik and Soc several times in Manila before migrating to Canada in 2008. I had met Rene, Eric and ArnCes in 2005 during our last reunion. But for Baloy, Jecebu and Ringkoy, it was my first time to converse with them in a long while.

So much has happened. How are you? Where have you been all these years? – could not capture all the questions we would like answered. And no amount of time would suffice to recount the answers we would like to provide. But we will have 5 minutes on Aug 24 EST to do exactly just that. 

Let us take this moment then, since we may not get another chance, like some of our classmates. In our last reunion on December 27-28, 2005, Alex said that he was so happy to meet us once more and that we shouldn’t wait another 25 years before scheduling another reunion. For most of us, it was our first time to meet Alex since high school. And sadly, also our last. 

MarJals, too, in that same reunion couldn’t seem to contain his happiness while drinking the bahalina, laughing and joking and insisting that we should do it more often. It was my first time to meet MarJals since that summer afternoon at Rose Restaurant after our College graduation. I didn’t realize then that it would also be the last.

Iking came for the 2005 reunion, attended the mass, stayed quiet all throughout, then left early to attend to some business matters. He didn’t get to share what happened to him during those years after high school. Unfortunately for us, we will never get to know.

Marclare who was based in Edmonton, Canada and couldn’t attend the 2005 reunion. He looked forward to this year's reunion and purchased a round trip ticket in January. Covid however thwarted all his plans and he had to cancel his flights. He, too, will not be able to share with us the events of his life since High School, just like Cecil, Quiao, Samuel and Manolo who passed away several years before. But we will have 5 minutes on Aug 24 EST to remember each one of them. 

This coming Aug 23/24, 2020 virtual reunion will provide us a rarely opportunity to bridge the lost time through our stories. Let’s grab this chance before time flies again. (--- nox arcamo)