Wexistence

Father Fernando Cuenca, Augustinian Recollect

While I was in Bacolod over the weekend, I sought to find out more about my family’s progenitor, Fr. Fernando Cuenca (or, as I like to call him, Lolo Friar). What I’ve learned about him so far suggests he was a good priest (the obvious indiscretion notwithstanding) who contributed much to the development of the province of Negros. He was apparently well-loved, as people still leave flowers at his statue in the San Sebastian Cathedral.

Gran bienhechor de Negros; Fundador del molino “la hidraulica”; Medico; Constructor de las carreteras provinciales de Negros y Parroco de Talisay por 50 años.

The inscription on his statue reads: “Great benefactor of Negros; Founder of the hydraulics mill, Doctor, Constructor of the Negros provincial highways, Parish priest of Talisay for 50 years.”

A brief account of “The Spaniards” in the Negros Museum mentions that “Recollect Father Fernando Cuenca modernized sugar production by building the first water-powered mill in the 19th century.”

In the Negros Museum: a photo of Fr. Fernando Cuenca from a book, what looks like a page of his handwriting, and a tile with his name and some kind of coat of arms

There’s a short description in Spanish next to his picture, but I only understood the part about him being “Castillan of the city of his name” and the rest I could not translate.

A few years ago I came across a short paragraph about him in the first volume of “Documentary Sources of Philippine History” by Gregorio Zaide, which says that he introduced the use of geothermal energy in Negros. There were no details but I’m assuming that this had something to do with the water-powered sugar mill.

Somewhere in my paternal grandparents’ house there is a book about him that I intend to unearth when I have more time.

Some notes about the Spanish friar as a historical figure:

We would like to think that the Philippines had flourishing civilization before the Spaniards arrived on the scene. But “civilization” presupposes certain tools: wheel, plow, road, bridge masonry, paper, book, etc. We didn’t have any of those things before the Spaniards came, and therefore we cannot claim to have been a great civilization.

We would not have had those tools if the Spaniards – specifically the friars – hadn’t introduced them to us. We owe the friars for our civilization, and yet the friar is portrayed as the villain in our history. When we think of the friar, we think of Padre Damaso. We think of abuse and oppression and exploitation. We fail to acknowledge that the friars were our economic and cultural heroes.

The friars shaped our economy with the crops they planted: tobacco, cotton, coffee, sugar, melon, guava, and many others. We take for granted that these crops are not indigenous to the Philippines — the friars brought them here. When we broke away from Spain, we did not fear economic upheaval. We weren’t a colonial economy, tied to the factories and markets of Spain. We were economically independent.

They revolutionized our agricultural production by introducing the wheel and plow. Most Filipinos seem to think that the image of a carabao pulling a plow is intrinsically Filipino, but it is not. The pre-Hispanic carabao was meat, not a work animal. The wheel and plow lifted a mountain of labor off the farmer’s back and expanded his ability to produce.

The friars’ revolt against their superiors in Spain resulted in independent friar provinces in the Philippines.

They organized our dialects into grammars. The propagation of dialects instead of Spanish resulted in an independent Philippine Christian culture that is not merely a mirror of the Spanish or Mexican culture.

They opened up and mapped our lands.

They pulled us out of the midst of folklore and into the era of written history.

They built churches, bridges, damns, and irrigation systems that we still used today.

It’s not widely know that there were never many Spaniards in the Philippines and that lack of manpower translated to an inability to commit widespread abuses. Not that there weren’t any abuses in the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but the bulk occurred in the nineteenth century as a consequence of the political strife in Spain and the decline of the empire.

It was in the nineteenth century that civil administrators and soldiers from the colonies Spain had lost came flocking to the Philippines and only then did the widespread abuse become possible. I think that it’s extremely important to make that qualification because otherwise our perception of colonization and the impact of friar influence becomes skewed.

(As an introduction to the historical role of Christianity and the Spanish colonization in constituting the Filipino and the Philippine nation, I recommend the following writings of Nick Joaquin: (1) A Question of Identity: Bringing Out the Invisible Filipino in History; and (2) Culture and History: Occasional Notes on the Process of Philippine Becoming.)

At some point in the dinner conversation, I said “leche” and “lechugas.” My kid sister looked at me reproachfully.
Cookie: Ate, aren’t those curse words?
Me: No, “leche” means milk and “lechugas” means lettuce.
Luigi: I thought “churvaloo” was a kind of breakfast cereal.

Fer: It perplexes me.
Luigi: WTF. I’m not used to you sounding smart. You’re not allowed to use words with more than one syllable.
Fer: Like “exacerbate?” I like that word.
Me: You only like it because it sounds like “masturbate.”
Fer: I’m not like that! I don’t laugh when someone says “butt.”

Fer: My friend’s brother has a Subaru Impreza. It’s got a carbon fiber hood!
Me: What’s so great about a carbon fiber hood?
Luigi: It can’t be detected on dradis!

At Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Alabang Town Center
Me: Dude, that guy so looks like Bill Adama. Bill Adama is ordering coffee!
Fer: No, he’s ordering the launch of the alert Vipers. That’s Mr. Gaeta at the counter.
Me: Set condition two throughout the ship!
Fer: Prepare for an FTL jump to emergency coordinates!
Girl sitting next to us: …

While watching Return of the Jedi, during that scene where the Super Star Destroyer crashes into the Death Star
Manol: Dude, that’s stupid. Why didn’t the Super Star Destroyer just float out into space?
Luigi: Because it was drawn in by the gravity of the Death Star.
Manol (confused): …
Luigi: Everything that has mass has gravity.
Manol (appalled): No!

We were on our way to a family Christmas lunch and as we rolled down the car windows to smoke we were blasted by the chilly December air.
Manol: Dude, it’s so cold.
Me: That’s because the Earth is at the farthest point from the sun.
Manol (indignant): Of course not! Pluto is the farthest from the sun!
Luigi: She meant the farthest in our orbit!
Manol (baffled): But Earth is the only planet in our orbit!

I don't know why my mother insists on plunging headlong into the cemetery craziness on November first. Our relatives aren't going to be any more or less dead if we visit them on the weekend before or after the holiday. We were on the road for four hours and we live just fifteen minutes away from Manila Memorial.

The Filipino capacity for merrymaking is a sight to behold. Even something as dour as commemorating someone's death is transformed into a festive occasion. I can relate to some extent, because at our family's wakes you'd likely forget that someone actually died. When Filipino families get together, regardless of the circumstances, it's cause for celebration. But I don't understand why they insist on having their family bonding activities at the cemetery itself. I mean, you could go to the cemetery, pay your respects, and then go to someone's house and hang out and stuff. You don't have to camp out and set up the karaoke machine on your dead relations' graves. The phenomenon amazes and slightly disturbs me.

The temporary dwellings people set up are kind of cool though. Some of them are pretty elaborate, and aside from the every-present karaoke they've got dvd players and game consoles, water dispensers and microwave ovens. I've always wondered where they get their electricity.

This two-storey tent was next to my grandfather's grave:

My family didn't even bring so much as a cooler of sodas and this family brought their own scaffolding.

There's a kid in a sleeping bag on the “second floor.”

It took me a while to find my hotel shuttle, because it didn’t immediately register that “Bela Euñita” was supposed to be me. Take that, Rhayan Sumo.

Having local chief executives call my cellphone to ask me how my flight was allows me to pretend I’m some kind of VIP.

My mom likes to fuss over me whenever I leave for a trip. Not because she thinks I’m a half-wit who’ll forget to lock her door or keep an eye on her valuables, but because it’s her way of showing affection. This morning her motherly admonitions were:

“Dress conservatively ha. Probinsyano mga tao doon. Hindi sila sanay sa Manila girls.”

“Wag ka masyadong mag e-English doon.”

“Text me every now and then so I know you’re still alive. Teka, how will I know it’s you? We should have a password.”

I’m in the hotel cafe using the wifi and having a halo halo. I’m going to go have an early dinner now and then a massage in my room. My grueling meeting schedule starts tomorrow!

Dogma
Unknown-May 4, 2008
Beloved Friend, Outsmarter of Cats (and Humans), Lover of Chinese Food
We weren’t ready for her to leave us, but Dogma always came and went as she pleased.

There was one time she went missing for nearly twenty-four hours. My brothers and I searched the entire village in the wee hours of the morning but she was nowhere to be found. We were all sick with worry, but she eventually came home looking perfectly healthy and unscathed. I scolded her severely, and she just looked at me like I’d grown two heads, thinking me silly for being so upset that she’d come home late from a hot date or a night out on the town with the girls. After all, she’d already proven that she was more than capable of defending herself, whether it was against other dogs twice her size or people who tried to take her against her will.

It’s a rule in the village that dogs must be chained at all times, but Dogma would have none of that. She wandered about freely, and she fought the dogcatchers who tried to impound her so fiercely that eventually they just gave up. She was a law unto herself. She would not be tamed, she couldn’t be caged, she refused to wear a collar and leash and you could never get her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

As such, I’ve never walked Dogma. Following her around as she strutted up and down Sampaguita Street was the closest the two of us ever got to walking, and it always felt more like she was walking me than I her. Sometimes she waited for me to catch up, sometimes she didn’t, especially when she spied cats or tricycles or water delivery trucks invading what was, as far as she was concerned, her kingdom. She was a sovereign who ruled from our front steps, always inquisitive and keenly alert as she observed activities of our family, her loyal subjects.

There’s a guy with cart who comes around to collect aluminum cans and Dogma would watch with interest as our maids handed over our recyclables. One day she trotted up to the guy herself, in her mouth a plastic bag filled with aluminum cans. The cans couldn’t have come from our house, because all we ever drink at home is diet Coke and Dogma’s bundle contained an assortment of cans. How or why she did these things was a mystery to us.

There’s a lot we didn’t know about Dogma. We didn’t even know what sort of dog she was, how old she was or where she came from. She appeared out of nowhere one day, decided that, for silly humans, we weren’t so bad, and simply never left.

A few days after she’d made herself quite at home she gave birth to puppies, the first of many litters that would be born at 28 Sampaguita. We couldn’t keep them, but we made sure they found good homes. They were characters all, inheriting their mother’s quirkiness and intelligence. Our friends who adopted them never run out of hilarious stories to tell about the adventures of Dogma’s children.

We didn’t name her until months after we’d gotten her. For a while she was “Mommy Dog” or just “Mommy,” which made things at home a tad confusing.

Kids: Mommmy! Mommy! Come here, Mommy!
Mom: Whaaat?!?
Kids: Not you! The dog!
Mom: Punyeta!

It was my dad who decided to call her Dogma, which he thinks is a clever play on words. (And it is, Dad, really.)

There’s a bald spot on the front lawn that marks the site of Dogma’s frantic digging. Dogma never did anything for no reason, and I’m convinced that if she’d kept at it just a little longer she would’ve struck oil. I get teary-eyed whenever I pass that spot, which is everyday because it’s on the way to the front door.

Coming home just isn’t the same without her waiting to greet me on the steps, her tail a whirling propeller of happiness. She never failed to lift my spirits. For years it’s been my habit to sit outside with her as I cleared my head and sorted through my emotions. She was a friend whose company I sought whenever I was troubled. She was perfectly happy to sit next to me for hours, and her presence is a comfort I miss dearly.

Cheers to you, Dogma. You brought our family so much joy and we’ll love you and remember you always.