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)
