The last poet

The story of finding one’s passions can often be traced back to childhood influences, especially when expertly guided by a loving – and sometimes imposing parent. It was very early on that I first discovered, no, needed, sports. And I didn’t have the luxury of a Dad to show me patience and fortitude as other kids did. But sports did save my life. Since then, it has filled my life with fulfillment, and enjoyment, and through my work, I am able to help people find enjoyment either as participants, or as spectators vicariously experiencing the improbable success of others.

But playing sports was more of a duty, an act of self-preservation in the beginning. I needed to swim, run, do calisthenics, just to be normal and healthy. The true passion for these games was enflamed in me in high school, as a short, pale and skinny high school freshman who, unknowingly, had stepped into the fire by transferring from De La Salle to Ateneo.

All these things came into my awareness in high school, and there is only one man to thank for that.

Onofre Pagsanghan turned 83 last Saturday, and seeing him and the usual gaggle of prodigal sons in the theater now named after him, touched off a firestorm of memories for me. I had met this big-eared, balding little man 30 years ago, and my life has always been the better for it. In many ways until my dying day, I will also be a son of Pagsi, forged in the warm, safe blaze of Dulaang Sibol. Taking the 5:15 a.m. school bus and getting there torturously early, I would often spy Mr. Pagsi running on campus each day, keeping himself fit not just to keep pace with, but to lead hundreds of young men to maturity. I would soon be one of them. By some freakish gift with standardized tests, I landed in the honors class. I would belong to Pagsi. To a certain extent, this lonely boy always will.

One of the first lessons I learned was living at a higher standard. Mr. Pagsi was always, unfailingly, on time. He was impeccable with his word, perhaps today the only living soul I know who has kept every promise he has uttered in the time I have known him.

Each day, we had our 10-point quizzes in English and Pilipino. Each day was a new challenge, short stories where every syllable was golden, enunciated, appreciated.

That was where I learned the exquisite gift of savoring or as Pagsi says, sucking the marrow out of life. In a life of sports, it made complete sense. Why in the world would you do something you loathed?

At this gathering, Jimmy Bondoc, a fellow Sibol alumnus, performed for the first time a song from his new album “Ang Mahiwagang Bisikleta at ang Huling Makata” (“The Magical Bicycle and the Last Poet”) which is out this month. The song, entitled “Ang Huling Makata sa Mundo” or the last poet on earth, is a loving, touching tribute to Mr. Pagsanghan, filled with the touchstones of a beautiful youth, colored by memories of simply walking and talking after rehearsals, making sure everyone was full and got home safely, with the upperclassmen taking care of their juniors, exemplified by volunteering for the most prized task: cleaning the bathroom.

That was where Pagsi taught me the many ways one can love. He said one can love by driving people home, treating them to affordable pizza, or simply sharing whatever meager resources one had. That lesson stays with me still.

Fighting for what or who you believe in is another belief I always treasure. One year, when the members were voting who to allow to join the group, Mr. Pagsi spoke up. “There are some people Sibol needs,” he said when the members decided that one kid was too rotten to be allowed in. “And there are some people who need Sibol.”

He was speaking for me. It changed my life. I learned the wonder of theater, speaking, writing, acting, singing. I learned love songs, Christmas carols, lullabyes, prayers, dirges, in English, Filipino, Spanish, Latin, German. There were no boundaries. Then when I grew from 5’3” to 5’9” in one year, then to 6’1” the next, I carried that belief onto the basketball court, as well. And, at age 45, writing songs again after three decades, I understand it even more deeply.

Living my passions will be another enduring lesson Mr. Pagsi. I would cry unashamedly onstage while we sang, overwhelmed by emotions flooding through me. He made me understand that I didn’t need to understand them but first accept them. That lesson became even more valuable when my own sons became teenagers, and pursued their passion for basketball. I encouraged them, knowing from my Sibol experience that it didn’t matter what people said, that it was your inner voice that mattered. Don’t die with your song in you. In a way, they are Pagsi’s descendants, too. And now, the cat’s out of the bag: Dad wasn’t the original genius.

Father’s Day is days away, and it has always been a sensitive occasion for me, because I never met my biological father when I was 23 and I haven’t seen him in 21 years, and I never knew how to get along with my stepfather. And being a single parent to two priceless boys who share many of my passions and have an ever-expanding world, I always go back to Mr. Pagsi’s simple metaphors: “You can’t buy Rustan’s with P200. You have to make a choice.” And sometimes, those choices take you places you didn’t expect.

Over the last two decades, Mr. Pagsi has been given tributes. The theater with the simple painted sign has now been re-christened “Bulwagang Onofre Pagsanghan”, and he has awards older than some of the trees at the Ateneo. But that’s never been it. He has always been the guide for his God, the channel for the divine. There is a solitary spotlight perched behind the audience in that small theater, and it points away from the stage, to a hand-crafted mosaic made of illustration board and cellophane. A crucified Christ in mock stained glass, with only the words “I love you.” at the bottom. Almost nobody sees it. But every young man who has stood on that stage shares the secret: he’s the reason we do what we do.

John Wooden died last week, and his canvas was college basketball. Mr. Pagsi’s opus is every single one of us whose life he has impacted for the good. He hit us like a holy freight train. You felt it, and would be irreversibly changed by this force for good. Hundreds of us from the theatre, thousands of us from the classrooms. He taught our fathers and has taught our sons. The energy of young people around him gives him boundless energy, and endless pride. It has even spilled over to the Sibol Hesus school, which gives an Ateneo (and Dulaang Sibol) education to those who most direly need it. More gems for Pagsi’s heavenly treasures.

If I had a treasure chest of memories to bring home to my Creator, Mr. Pagsi would fill half of it. And God would be proud of His son, and countless sons His beloved child molded in turn. They don’t make them like Mr. Pagsi anymore. I hope he lives forever.

Actually, I’m counting on it. And even if he someday leaves this mortal world, he will be immortal. There are simply too many of us infused with his goodness for him to vanish.