Intermission Number

I can still recall when I was a second grader at the University of Nueva Caceres (UNC) during the Linggo ng Wika celebration in 1990, my class adviser, Ma’am Fe Valenciano, asked me to give an intermission number in our class. I could not say, “No” to my teacher who even informed my mother, a teacher in the secondary level of the same school, about it. So that night, my mother coached me in singing Isang Lahi, which was probably the only song I memorized at that time because it was one of Manay Cynthia’s, my elder sister, contest pieces. The next day, I sang in front of my classmates in a small class program. Then, Ma’am Fe brought me and other older students to Aling Sonia’s program at Bombo Radyo to sing on-air. AM radio-listening was a popular means of entertainment at that time, so many of our neighbors and relatives heard me sing.

That was my earliest moment of inspiration, the first time that someone other than my parents saw some potential in me and gave me a “break.” In my next opportunity to sing, I faced a big crowd at the UNC Gymnasium comprised of the school community and the Naga City general public during that year’s Founder’s Day outreach. Even today, twenty-three years later, my mind can still replay the memory of that time when I crooned The Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody,” which was a hit movie soundtrack that year. While I sang, the crowd applauded three times, especially when I reached the second to the last line which goes, “I need your love...”  In my very limited appreciation then of the word “inspiration,” that moment was what totally defined it.

Before this important point in my very young life, I did not know that I could sing. I was first labeled as paraadal and magpapadion but not parakanta. It was Manay Cynthia, my elder sister who used to be the singer in the family – that is, before the time of my “discovery.” She spent a significant part of her childhood years singing at every pageant and baraylehan in Brgy. Lerma, where we lived, and joining singing contests during town fiestas. I even remember how one time, Mama and she came home with a bag full of groceries as a prize for her having won in Dalan sa Kalangitan, a popular amateur contest then.

I was a “regular” elementary student. I barely managed to make it to the ‘Challengers list’ and never made it to the Top 10. So I tried to be the best instead in the field that I just found: singing. I was inspired and, at the same time, pressured by my teachers to memorize songs which were usually Mama’s choices namely, those of Basil Valdez, Rey Valera, Martin Nievera. I practiced hard in our old Astron karaoke, which slowly became my constant companion. Mama trained me in singing with the same zeal with which she trained her students in speech delivery. She would be very meticulous with how I enunciated every lyric of the song, how I positioned my hand so as to keep proper distance between this and the microphone, and how I projected myself on stage. Many times, our training sessions ended up with her scolding me as I always forgot the lyrics. That would be her cue to tell me to memorize my song first so she could use our karaoke and sing her favorite Blue Bayou.

From Grade 2 to 6, I sang in many other venues and occasions in and out of campus – from singing Ako ay Pilipino during flag ceremony to serenading ladies who were ten years older than I in pageants at the auditorium of then Colegio de Sta. Isabel. I joined the combined UNC college and elementary choirs, which performed Bikol songs in events like the Caceres Quadricentennial concert at the Metropolitan Cathedral in 1995. I joined a few contests as well. I still keep a copy of one issue of “Children’s World,” the elementary department’s paper, where my photo as I sang my winning piece “Nais Ko” appeared.

It was my younger sister Sweet who was somehow influenced by Manay Cynthia to enter in singing competitions. There was a time when she joined PTV 5’s “A Star” and became a defending champion for three weeks with her winning pieces I Dreamed a Dream and Cabaret. Sweet became our instant favorite singer in the family because of her confidence when performing and her Zsazsa Padilla-like vibrato.

Our youngest, John Rudolf, found interest in dancing first. When he was about five years old, he did a solo dance of the Extasy Extano, which easily roused the crowd at Lerma basketball court to exhilaration because of his kolokoy movements. But as soon as he entered grade school in UNC, his teachers expected him, simply by virtue of his being a Virtus, to sing like his brother and sisters. And so he did. His entry to our little musical world made us officially the singing family on campus.

Our motivation behind singing was not just family or school pressure but our personal desire to sing as well. In fact, it became a regular habit and an opportunity for bonding for the family to do “karaoke” singing during weekends. And when Papa had visitors, it became a practice for them (the visitors) to call us one by one and sing for them. As if on cue, we would proceed to do so like a ready multiplex ready to be played: Manay Cynthia would sing Hiram; I would sing Nais ko; Sweet would do Cabaret; and John, Father and Son. Unfailingly, the visitors would express their appreciation for our performances and tell my proud parents, “Swertehon man kamo. Matitibay magkanta ang mga aki nindo.”

As I entered high school, I started to feel awkward in singing solo. That was also the time when I wanted to explore my other potentials and pursue other interests that did not involve a huge, visible audience. I joined “Trailblazer,” the UNC high school paper, where I could not see my audience as I wrote news stories, features and poems. I did elocution and oratorical speaking, which involved smaller audiences. In these areas, I found new niches. I was not just singing the way I mostly did in elementary. I was also writing and speaking! I expanded my horizons and grew as a student and as a person even though doing intermission numbers was still part of my routine. In fact, one of my favorite performances in high school was a duet with Manay Cynthia of the song One Sweet Day. We did this song twice in UNC and once in a radio contest in DWOK FM.

One of the best things that happened to me in high school was becoming part of the UNC High School “Choralaires.”  Manay Cynthia and I joined the choir at the same time. Later, when we both were already in college, Sweet and John became part of the choir, too. Ma’am Quennie Miranda was our ever supportive trainer and friend. It was through her also that we became members of the “Voce Christiana,” a church choir which became active in the 90’s until the mid-2000. We served with the mass choir at the Naga Metropolitan Cathedral every Saturday evening and during the Siete Palabras mass. We also sang during different occasions – weddings, funerals and Christmas caroling.

I can still remember my last two performances during my final year in high school: a quartet singing of When I Fall in Love and If I Could Spend my Lifetime Loving You at the Senior’s Prom, and a solo of Here I am Lord during the baccalaureate mass before the graduation rites.

Those were just about the last times I sang in public. When I went to Manila to study, I practically left singing at home. I did try joining a school choir, the “UP Vocal Ensemble,” but I had to leave it because of its great demands for rehearsals. Even when I returned to Naga to continue my college and get a job, singing did not have a place in my extra-curricular activities anymore. I was invited by Ma’am Queenie to return to the “Voce Christiana” in their parish now, the Holy Cross Parish in Tabuco, Naga City, but I just ignored the invitation. As such, without any venue to regularly practice for the last fourteen years, my voice naturally deteriorated. This fact makes me feel guilty sometimes as I recall what my parents used to tell me about singing, “Dai mo pabayaan ang boses mo ta regalo ‘yan.”

My participation in the “Ship for Southeast Asian Youth Program” (SSEAYP) as diplomatic and cultural ambassador evoked my childhood memories as I had to contribute something to the Philippine delegation’s cultural presentation. I could not dance, so I joined our choir. Indeed, the experience gave me a sense of fulfillment as I led our contingent’s choir in singing the nationalistic songs Bayan Ko and provided support in rendering Tagumpay Nating Lahat and Ako ay Pilipino in Manila and Japan. During the program abroad, I also initiated the formation of a ‘boy band’, The Vending Machine, which performed three times on board the ship “Fuji Maru.” Those performances were not only some of my proudest moments as a Filipino, but they were also a dream-come-true for me to sing again.

Looking back to where the exciting part of my life started, I can say that I was never the same again after those moments of inspiration in my second grade. Not only did this event launch my little singing ‘career’ during my ten-year basic education years and give me bragging rights and colorful childhood memories. More importantly, the experiences it eventually afforded also gave me a positive self-image and precedents that showed me how I could later succeed in my other endeavors. Indeed, those times have had great impact on me and my life during all the subsequent years up to the present time. In my memory, I still continue to hear a young boy with a determined voice singing while dreaming: Nais kong malibot ang mundo sa kanyang kasuluk-sulukan/ Nais kong makita ang paligid na puno ng kagandahan/ Nais kong makadama ng kakaibang damdamin kahit minsan man lang/habang ako ay may buhay, wala nang hangarin pang tunay/ Nais ko… nais ko…