My mother turns 100

On Monday, Nov. 22, my mother will turn 100 years old.

Tomorrow our family will celebrate her centennial at her home, the house surrounded by trees and ricefields in Dampul, in the village of Sta. Monica in Sta. Rita, Pampanga.

Her mind still alert, Inang can look back to those 100 years with vivid recollections, nostalgia, mirth, and flashes of wit. And with no regrets. Whatever pains she may harbor can’t dampen her deep sense of satisfaction and, as she often declares, pride that her large brood has stayed harmoniously whole, humble, unblemished by any errant behavior or scandal.

Large brood? Yes! 12 children (the 13th child died at three), 12 children-in-law, 49 “apo” and 31 in-laws, 81 “apo sa tuhod” and two in-laws, and four “apo sa talampakan.” That would total 191, but last year three in-laws passed away; in 2005 a grandson died. We are now 187.

 And yes! Inang remembers the number and names of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and the network of relations — our aunts, uncles, cousins, both gone and still around. She is updated on the goings-on, the gossip in the barangay and around town. She is a fount of knowledge on the events before, during and after the Japanese occupation, among others.   

At 19, Cecilia Soriano Cunanan married Macario Alviz Ocampo, 21, on January 14, 1930. Our parents came from peasant families inured to life and labor in the ricefields, although in her teens Inang had worked in a candy factory in Manila. Despite a modicum of formal education, they preferred to read and write in Kapampangan. Inang can also read and speak in Tagalog.

Raising a dozen children was Inang’s and Tatang’s great labor of love. They partnered perfectly in parenting and farming, in building a cohesive, happy family that highly values work and concern for others. 

Even as we went to school, each of us — eight brothers, four sisters — did chores at home (cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing clothes), and in the fields (planting, harvesting, tending the carabaos, weeding the ricefields, fishing, gathering snails and mushrooms for our meals, watering the vegetable patches, sorting and packing the harvested veggies for delivery to the trader in town).

We grew up happy and healthy, Inang being a wizard in whipping up simple, nutritious and delicious meals and meriendas.

We did not own the lands we labored and lived on — not even the ground where stood the farmhouse we grew up in, or where now stands the rebuilt one-level house we all call our home.

 Since the 1930s, Tatang was the tenant of five contiguous rice fields and one isolated patch, eight hectares altogether, owned by different small landowners who collected reasonable rent. Tatang made maximum use of the land, it never was left idle. Today five hectares remain under tenancy. Tatang and a nephew, who had worked in Saudi Arabia, managed to buy two hectares he had been tilling.  

When Tatang passed away in 1974, Inang took over as tenant, aided by two of her sons-in-law. She is the center of gravity of our ever-growing family. Dampul, where she has decided to stay, close to the soil that nurtured us and to the memories of Tatang, has become our Mecca.

Unfailingly, whenever we gather in Dampul we look forward to feasting on Inang’s unique menu of “asado,” “menudo,” “tidtad,” “nilagang manok at mais” and “tipe,” a dish of stringbean pods and tops sautéed with fresh shelled shrimps. (A family joke goes: “‘Na’ng nanangnang nang ‘Nang?” or “what’s Mother grilling?”)

I owe Inang much for what I have become. She helped nourish my yen for knowledge and interest in journalism. When I was in high school, she would buy me a copy of the Manila Times whenever she went to Guagua (our town had no newsstand). Later I became a Manila Times reporter and business editor.

Inang encouraged my reading of varied books and publications supplied by relatives. She also bought every issue of Liwayway, from which Tatang would ask me to read aloud the serialized novels of Nemesio Caravana, Susana de Guzman and other authors. We would do that after lunch, Tatang flat on his back and I sprawled prone on the bamboo-slat floor of our house.

 When my younger brother Lito and I were arrested and tortured separately, but later detained together under martial law, Inang spent weeks searching for us. Lito was held for five years, I for over nine years, until my escape in 1985. Inang endured the countless long trips and the hazards of visiting us in different detention camps. She infused us with much strength and courage by her undiminished trust in us and in the correctness of our struggle against tyranny and injustice. 

And I cherish Inang’s smile, her image of quiet dignity and pride as she watched me receive from the provincial government an award in 2002 as “Most Outstanding Kapampangan in the field of Social Justice”. 

Dakal a salamat Inang! Mahal na mahal ka namin.