Memories of my grandpa

A lot of people would say that my Papang (grandpa) was a very quiet person. I used to observe him a lot whenever they visit us in Quirino with their old yellow Ford. He would always be sitting beside Mamang (grandma), observing. He wouldn’t be the loudest when the adults are talking. He would laugh and respond to questions but I would always see him just observing, listening in the background.

I would wonder what goes on in his mind, what he was thinking about.

Papang was also book worm. Whenever it was time for my siblings and I to visit my grandparents, I would always see him reading a book. He would be sitting at the corner under the stairs, reading, digesting those words, lost in his own world. I was young at the time and textbooks were the only books I knew, so I was really happy when he gave me the very first book I ever read. It was called ‘The Greatest Salesman in the World’ by Og Mandino. At last, there was something that we could talk about.

Over the years that followed, he would recommend a book to read or he would lend me some of his books. We never really discuss most of it. But the day would come when he started sharing one of his favourite books: Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch.

He would start by telling us, his grandkids, over the dinner table, an excerpt or two from the latest chapter that he’s read. He would share how he was introduced to this book: It was when he and Mamang were still in Canada, after his surgery. One of the nurses gave it to him. And since then, he loved reading it. He probably read it a hundred times. His demeanour would change whenever he started talking about the book, how inspired he was about it and how he thought God was actually talking to him through the book.

He was also a writer. Apart from the times when he was under the stairs, reading his books, I would see him writing. (At the time, I wouldn’t know what. But two years ago I found out – he was writing his life story.) I think this is the one thing that my Papang and I had in common – we both love writing. You see, I was a writer at a young age. I started writing in the form of my personal diary. I would write everything that happened to me during the day, all my thoughts and feelings, and even my frustrations growing up. But one of the things that got me closer to my Papang is when I started writing for my school newspaper when I was at grade school.

When I told Papang about my writing for our school newspaper and writing to compete with other students, he gave me another book – how to become an effective copy writer. I remember that I have used it to practice for my competitions and bring it with me every time. He would also give me advice. In return, I would always bring copies of my published news articles. It made me so proud – publishing news articles and getting him to read my work. Those days made me happy.

I have a lot fond memories with him while growing up, especially during Christmas. I remember my family and I would go to Bayombong to celebrate the holiday season with the maternal side of my family. We would prepare food and invite everyone. We would have a big salu-salo with all cousins around, uncles and aunties, and even distant relatives we’ve never met before.

During those times, I would see a different side of Papang. He would be dancing around, singing and you could tell that he was having so much fun. He would be one of those who handed prizes to the winner of each parlour game. Celebrating Christmas at my grandparents’ house was always a highlight of my year, also a highlight of my childhood.

Through the later years, despite me living away from my hometown, I got to know him better. Whenever I visited them in the province, there’s never a dinner where he would not tell us a story about his childhood, work experiences and even how he met our grandma. During those times, I looked forward to his stories. Even though he was the quiet type, he was really animated whenever he told us snippets of his life. I was always in awe for the memory that he’s got. He would remember all the details of his encounters (I know this because he would repeat his stories and each time is of the same level of detail). It was in these after dinner tales that I learned more about him.

My Papang grew up knowing the hardships of life. You see, he grew up in a poor family. I remember him saying that his parents weren’t able to support him in his studies. But despite these, he pursued. He went to study in UP Los Banos (UPLB), a couple hundred miles away from his hometown. In numerous occasions he would recall that he used to offer services to clean his boarding house and one of the university’s mess halls for free lodging or free food. He did this in the entire duration of his studies in UPLB. And he got by. He graduated, received his diploma and started his career.

Apart from his student and work life stories, I enjoyed listening how he met my Mamang. It was not the most extravagant meetings but to me, it was one of the sweetest and most endearing. I remember the sparkle in both of their eyes when he was telling the story. It felt like they travelled back in time to relive those memories. I was really happy I got to hear their story and see their reactions. It made me think that that was a picture of love.

Papang was probably one of the most humble person I know. Despite achieving so much in his life, his simple living and attitude towards how he was treated in the workplace got me thinking, this is the type of person I would like to become: successful but not arrogant. He set an example for me and even to this day, I still look up to him, and hope that I am making him proud.

Listening to his stories after dinners made me look forward to coming home. Although I’ve heard the stories a hundred times before, each retelling is as emotional as the rest. Each story has a lesson. Each story made me so proud to be one of his apos.

One day in 2018 I got a message. Papang had an accident. A few months after, he had undergone surgery to help him walk again. We thought he would recover. But he never did.

December 2018, I went home. I saw how he was suffering. He was already bedridden since the surgery. According to my Mamang, he just lied in bed, watched the tv. Sometimes he would talk, most of the time he would just stare. That was the first time I saw him not holding a book or a pen. That was also the first time I came home that there was no after dinner story.

When it was time for me to leave, I hugged him and said goodbye. He looked at me blankly. He didn’t recognise me. He just nodded. I cried. I felt sad.

I tried to push back the sudden flow of emotions. No it wasn’t like that. He was just recovering. I thought that I will be back and I hoped that I will hear his stories again.

I never did.

Papang, I have never thought that the day would come when I will never hear your voice again. To me, it was a bit too soon. But I hope you are in a better place now.