Simplicia and German

My maternal grandmother Simplicia lived the last thirty-five years of her life without her husband, Lolo German. Two years ago, on Valentine’s Day, she passed away, leaving behind all her eight children, including my mother Rosita. During her simple funeral in a chapel at Abella, Naga City, I overheard my aunts describing how Lola met Lolo: She was a teenager taking a bath in a river when my Lolo saw a glimpse of her and was so smitten that he asked her parents for Lola's hand in marriage. I found my aunts’ story somewhat fictional as I recalled my little conversations with Lola.

Once, when Lola still managed to come with Aunt Estelita to our house in the weekends, I pried into her and Lolo’s love stories. I was not expecting her to engage in that kind of up-close and personal conversation for she was not the kind of grandparent who had a chest of old anecdotes. Rather, she was a very secretive woman. But one time, she suddenly started spilling stories about her old love affair. Even Mama, who was then hurriedly removing kalunggay leaves from the stalk, was slowed down to partake in Lola’s sudden generosity in sharing her private life, even as she never tried to interrupt or stop me from probing Lola’s life. She listened too attentively to Lola like she was hearing the story for the first time. Lola started opening up when I asked her whether Lolo was her first dance partner. She said no.

She explained that Lolo was not her first love. It was a certain Diego whom she revealed was the real father of her first two children. She never told Aunts Magdalena and Gloria about this important detail of their identities, though they already had an inkling because they both look so much alike but look different from their six other sisters. But Lola’s story with Diego was not a story of unfaithfulness to Lolo. On the contrary, Lola said that Diego abandoned her and their children for another woman. I believed her story. At her age, she had no reason to lie and nothing to gain from telling this story. Hence, a more realistic re-imagination of my grandparents’ first meeting could look like this: Lola, an abandoned wife and mother of two, was farming in Mataorok, Pili, Camarines Sur when Lolo German first saw her, got attracted to her, pursued her and assumed responsibility for the fathering of her children. Considering the ages of Aunts Gloria and Estelita, her third and my Lolo’s first biological child with her, Lola was most likely aged 23 when they lived together.

Lolo German, on the other hand, was already 52 years old that time he and Lola became a couple. But before this, his sixteenth and last relationship, he had already experienced the major historical periods and transitions in the country. He had lived through the last few decades of Spanish colonization, the American time, the Japanese occupation, the Independence, and the wars in between.

According to my aunts, Lolo had figured in 15 romances before Lola. He probably had some children before my aunts. This time, my aunts’ story seems believable. In fact, they know one of these women, named Gabriela. Apparently, Lolo’s relationship with her was not successful, but the couple had a daughter, Conchita, who married Mr. Miller, an American whom Lolo served in the 1930s. My aunts remember receiving a sack of shoes owned by Conchita when she died of cancer.

During the Japanese Occupation, Lolo joined the guerilla movement, but he was captured, imprisoned and tortured. Mama shared the war horrors that Lolo had told her about: for days, he was hanged upside down - his head facing a deep well, his stomach poked with a knife and burned with cigarettes. But Lolo managed to survive the war. A few years after the Second World War ended, most likely in 1946, my grandparents met and lived together and had many children. The church wedding came much later when Lolo was coming to terms with his mortality. In February 1976, he died at the age of 102.

To some people like me, the stories of my grandparents, especially those of their love life, may be so complicated to be interesting. But to many who are expecting stories of greatness or grandness, theirs may be too insignificant and ordinary.  

Truth is, they lived a simple life. They had neither luxurious properties nor political powers. The only time that they had a land of their own was when President Ramon Magsaysay introduced the National Resettlement and Rehabilitation Administration (NARRA), which led them to be relocated from Pili to San Ramon, Tinambac, Camarines Sur.  Lolo farmed lands of lords. Lola was plain housewife for the longest time. At times, Lolo was paid to tell stories of his escapades or sing old verses like La Traviata to farmers. At other times, because he was a strong and fierce man, he became the companion of an alleged land grabber in Campo 6. When life for the family got more and more difficult, my Lola helped by hand-weaving banig which my Lolo peddled when he was not in the farm.

My grandparents were incapable of sustaining their children’s education. Lolo’s old age and Lola’s lack of literacy contributed to this incapability. Hence, their children had to depend on their own means for education. Most, however, dropped out as soon as they reached high school. With this sense of resignation, some married early and ended up depending on their husbands while others worked as house helpers in Naga and still others tried their luck outside Bicol. My mother, on the other hand pursued her dream. To do this, she had to be at the top of her class from elementary to college to maintain the scholarship.

Given my mother’s achievements in school, Lolo’s disposition was inclined to discourage my aunts from pursuing their studies and instead work so as to help Mama’s studies. Obviously, Lolo played favorites and heavily favored my mother. Lolo was the father who spoke to Rosita Spanish and Latin, spared her from doing household chores, and sang old verses as she slept. And even when my mother was already married, Lolo took care of her when she got seriously ill until she recuperated. Before Lolo died, he was somehow happy and fulfilled knowing that her favorite daughter finished college education (the only one among his children), even became a school principal in Tamban, Tinambac. When he died, his favorite daughter bathed him, arranged flowers at his funeral, and put a rosary in his hands.

Lolo was the typical macho and domineering husband, so I can understand why my mother and aunts talked little of Lola: She kept herself at Lolo’s background. Lola’s being so much younger than him and being plain housewife pronounced further my Lolo’s authority. But my kind and patient Lola had her ways when it was time to express herself. Once, she tried to leave Lolo after a major argument. She intended to go back to Pili but she unknowingly rode the Cuadlalader Gibson train carrying tablon going to Tandoc, Siruma. Lolo came after her and brought her back home. Despite my Lolo’s shortcomings as her husband and father to her children, she was faithful to him. She loved him.

When Lolo died, Lola stayed in the house of one daughter to another. She even stayed at our house for some time and had the chance of taking care of me as an infant. But when our family grew little by little and life for us got harder, Lola had to be in the care of Aunt Estelita who is childless.

My memory of Lola is limited to her weekend visit to our home and, when she was already bedridden, our occasional visit to her at Aunt Estelita's. In our last visit to her one day after Christmas in 2010, Mama, Papa and I brought her spaghetti and burger from Jollibee. I remember that I even assisted her to eat. That was my last act of kindness to Lola when she was still alive. At her funeral and burial, my aunts were not very emotional. Even Diego’s daughters never expressed any hatred towards her for maybe not honestly telling them a part of their identities and preferring to keep the secret till they were too old to feel pain. They did not feel any of these for, practically, they were Lolo's daughters. Devoid of material expectations, they felt loved by my grandparents. That love, no matter how imperfect it was, was enough for them.

My grandparents lacked formal education. They did not make notable names for themselves, gain wealth or leave any extraordinary legacies to their communities. Their hardwork did not suffice to provide my aunts and mother a comfortable life. They were not perfect couple, nor were they perfect parents.But they were good people, especially if seen today against the backdrop of grandoise lifestyle and worldly pursuits. Most importantly, they loved truly.