Clarissa was her real name but she could not pronounce it correctly as a child. Instead, she would say "Liclic," a moniker that stuck from then on. And that was how most everyone called her; the only person who would call her by her real name was her mother, my late Lola Carmen.
When I was old enough to understand the concept of fear, my cousins and I were made to believe that Tita Liclic was someone to be frightened of, so much so that we had an almost iron-hand image of her, one that was similar to that of a very strict and stuffy high-school principal combined with the glamorous antagonist of your favorite soap opera. Gamely, she played along and, innocently, we believed. And for some time during our very young lives, the mere mention of her name would never fail to compel us to our best behavior.
As we grew up, though, we realized that she was not one to fear. As a matter of fact, she was as mushy as a marshmallow; deep inside, she was just another little girl all too willing to play our childhood games with us, take care of us and, yes, love us. Her fierceness was all for show, and as we discovered, it was simply a convenient way for our uncles and aunts (her brothers and sisters) to make their procrastinating toddlers take action quicker and for the misbehaving ones to conduct themselves more appropriately. Tiger – that was the other nickname she had. Despite the connotation, it was nonetheless lovingly and light-heartedly coined and in no way did it embody who or what she was.
Although Tita Liclic succeeded at pretending to be strict, try as she may toughie, she could never be. She was much too fun-hearted to be that. And that is precisely why kids easily took to her. For one, summer vacation (which was almost always spent in Lola Carmen’s house in the compound in Cebu) was always a much-anticipated affair because of her. Of course, it helped that all of my mom’s siblings living there were just as game and fun to be with. We would be entrusted under her care and together with my sister and Tiger’s two kids, John Paul and Johanna, we would do everything together – from dancing in the rain to playing Simon Says, to wearing makeshift Halloween costumes and frightening unsuspecting househelp, to playing hide-and-seek, filling out teeny-bopper autograph books that were all the rage in the ’80s, playing dress up and putting on makeup, to watching movies and eating out. It was in her home that I had my first midnight snack, in her home, too, that we were given the liberty to watch TV until the wee hours of the morning. She was unconventional; she did not strap us with traditional do’s and don’ts, and was always reasonably lenient. Even our first time ever at a disco we did with her and because of her. We were allowed by Mom and Dad to go simply because she was with us.
My earliest memory of Tita Liclic was when she visited us at our old house on Bonifacio St., Ormoc City. She stayed in the guestroom adjacent to the dining room and she came out that morning in a floral duster, her curly hair parted neatly in the middle and pulled into two buns on either side (think Pucca, that cute Japanese character whose image now abounds in every store). As pasalubong, she had for me and my sister Caren a whole batch of fruit-scented miniature stationery. That was how she was through the years. She always gave practical yet thoughtful gifts.
She, of the red lipstick and bright red nails, was at her fattest then but that would be the last time we would see her that way. The years that followed saw a slimmer, more figure-conscious Tita Liclic. She was so slim there was even a point during our college years where the four of us (Caren, Johanna, Tita Liclic, and I) would swap and borrow each other’s tops. Because we stayed with Lola Carmen in Cebu for college, which was where Tita Liclic lived, too, most of my memories of her were formed during that time. We were all-night owls then, and weekends would be spent pigging out on pizza, kesong puti, bread, barbecue from larshan, junk food, and de lata in front of the TV in the sala. Collectively, we would all watch, talk, and laugh until the sun came up.
She cooked very well and it was through her culinary skills that I first learned to like and eventually love liver cooked adobo-style. It was also in her kitchen where I first tasted French toast long before I even knew what French toast was. And to this day, her chicken salad and party spaghetti are unparalleled. Our family gatherings were never without them. They were her trademark dishes.
I remember riding the big boat from Ormoc to Manila with her, again together with my sister and our cousins, and she was like a walking refrigerator: Ask for any yummy edible and chances are she would have it in a little bag that seemed to hold much more than it actually did. One time during a Superferry ride from Ormoc to Cebu, we made a game out of finding out just how far she would live up to her reputation of being laging handa when it came to food. She asked us prior to the trip what we wanted to eat during the boat ride. Nothing, we decisively answered. But fickle-minded as we were, once on the boat we soon felt that eating was not a very bad idea after all. Thank God Tita Liclic had prepared a goodie bag just the same. Soda? She had both diet and regular. Sandwich? She made both chicken and tuna for the trip. Hotdogs? Did we want it with bread and mayonnaise or just plain? Peanuts, we asked, pushing our luck. She had one packet of Tobi’s garlic peanuts. Chocolate? She had several miniature bars plus menthol candy, too! And when seasickness struck, of course, she had her reliable White Flower to ease our queasiness, too. We just all burst out laughing helplessly. All these ammunition for a two-hour boat trip… and to think the boat boasted a canteen!
She was a stickler for cleanliness. I remember when I was all set to graduate from grade school, she came to attend my graduation. I dressed up in a white dress that was our uniform for the ceremony, put on white socks, and black shoes. My shoes were shiny, every strand of hair was in place, my dress immaculately pressed. But just like in a detergent commercial, she told me I should not leave the house. Not with the socks I had on. Apparently, it was not as pristine as they were supposed to be, their pureness marred perhaps by the careless hands of our laundrywoman. She told the driver to go to the nearest store to buy a new pair of socks (note that there was absolutely no traffic in Ormoc back then, there hardly is even now, so that was really not a very tall order). I might be late, I protested. She winked and laughingly declared I would be better off late than attend the ceremony with bluish-white socks. I was not late, and thanks to her, I had socks as white as my dress. And yes, I have pictures to prove that.
Two years ago, Mama Clar (as my sister and I fondly called her) was diagnosed with stage 2-3 colon cancer. She had surgery and went on to complete the prescribed round of chemotherapy. Even then, she did not look or act sick. Johanna once told me she had a bout with depression after that, but she was not one to wallow in it. She visited me several times here in Manila after her treatment and she looked as healthy as she could be. Despite chemo, she did not lose her hair, she had stopped smoking and often, when I would wake up in the morning, I would find her in the guest room drenched in sweat, her cheeks flushed after a round of tae-bo. She was no longer a night owl and had taken on healthier sleeping habits.
While she let on that her tests had all come out clear and that she was given a clean bill of health, that was not so as the family would find out on Dec. 22, 2004. She had hidden the truth from us, carried the burden alone, while we all thought she was okay. Everything came as a really, painful shock. The day after Christmas, she was rushed back to the hospital for the last time, and on Dec. 29, she breathed her last despite the doctors’ best efforts, the family’s highest hopes, and her loved ones’ most fervent prayers. Again, there was nothing left to do but submit to God’s will, accept that it was her time to go back to the One who loves her the most.
The last three days of her life were probably the three most beautiful in her lifetime, ironic though that may seem. See, Tita Liclic was one of those people who could actually truthfully say that love would be enough for her. She harbored no grandiose dreams, she was child-like, and had very simple needs. All she ever really wanted was to love and be loved. And, the two people who unconditionally gave her that were my mom and my Tito Gabby. My sister Caren was also especially close to her.
In death, she still looked beautiful and spunky. True to form, Johanna made sure she was all glammed up. She would not have wanted it any other way. With her orange dress, glossy lips, why, she looked like she was off to a party.
Well, she was off to a party – in heaven, the grandest one she would ever attend. Who knows? She may even show the folks over there a thing or two about ballroom dancing. Our loss is heaven’s gain. Already, I can hear the angels giggling. There will be even more laughter now that she is there.
Mama Clar loved to laugh. More than that, she loved to make people laugh. She would always say that she had the feistiness to match her curls. I say she had the humor to match her curls. She hated her curls, but she looked beautiful with them. She had the distinct gift of managing to see comedy in any and every situation. Even during the saddest times in our family, she would be a treasure trove of funny things, silly stories, funny anecdotes, zany thoughts, hilarious musings. She was always armed with something (either in thought, word, or deed) to make us laugh. She was not irreverent, but many times, even during solemn occasions and celebrations, if you found a family member collapsing in fits of hysterical laughter, chances are it was because of something she said or did. When my mom was terribly depressed after Lola Carmen passed away, it was Tita Liclic who could make her laugh and snap out of her dark mood. When she was still in school, she would greet the strict German nuns by politely saying "Monster," instead of "Morning, sister," while her classmates giggled helplessly beside her, and she could easily confuse her dazed yaya when she put her mind to it. I remember Tita Liclic as always being the first to volunteer to take care of any sick member of the family.
She had a consuming zest for life. I somehow always felt that she would never grow old. And I was right. She never grew old. Because she died too young. Much too soon, much too fast.
Ma Clar, you will be missed. Thank you for the gift that was your life. You were a walking, talking laugh box. Thank you for your love and for making us laugh until we were both blue and red in the face, until we were breathless and gasping for air. I will not remember you smiling. Always, I shall lovingly remember you smelling of baby powder, curly hair and all, laughing with your shoulders shaking in mirth. That is the picture of you that I will cherish.