Driver sweet lover

Drivers of public utility jeepneys (PUJ) always got me intrigued since I was a kid. On trips with my parents I would somehow manage to find a seat beside the driver and would imitate his moves and imagine that I was the one behind the wheel. I finally got my chance to drive a passenger jeepney when I was teaching in Cebu and this would be my occupation during weekends and during the Christmas break. 

This was a time when the Bee Gees, The Bread, The Stylistics, Donna Summer and the rest had their heyday, and passengers were very choosy and would rather ride the jeepneys with booming speakers blaring their favorites. There were two routes that I did: Carbon-Lahug via Ramos and Talisay-Colon. Another plus for this type of job was good-looks of which I apparently fell short of, but I still managed to attract some pretty co-ed passengers.

The day would start with my commute to the house of the owner of the jeepney where after a quick check of the engine and the wheels I would drive off to my route and start waving at potential passengers by the road and at the same time barking out my route - "ay Baling, Basak, Tabunok, Talisay derecho" or "ay Lahug Lahug Lahug!" It was not long before I knew which street corner had the most commuters and what strategy was best to get there before the other jeepneys. When it was hot I had a small towel around my neck to wipe off the sweat forming on my brow. I also discovered the restaurants by the road at Tangke where the jeepney drivers could get a cheap meal of corn grits rice, inun-unan and tinunu-an monggos. I also adapted the cebuano slang which is typical of Cebu and I could have easily stayed there as a driver with nice profits if it were not for my insistent mother who convinced me to take the medical college aptitude test in Davao.

When my acceptance to medical school in a different island arrived, I had to say goodbye to the jeepney, the sweet smelling co-eds and the sweat and smoke that I learned to love and enjoy, not knowing yet that when I got to Davao I would still have the exciting chance to get behind the wheel of a Sarao jeepney. The last 2 years of medical school are not very demanding and this was when I found time to drive the Davao-Lasang route. This time I would be barking "ay Bajada Sasa Panacan Tibungco Bunawan Lasang!" There was one instance when a good friend and classmate - Hargoon in his spic and span white uniform was waiting for a taxi for duty at Brokenshire and I happened by. I stopped the jeepney and called out - "ay Bangkerohan Bangkerohan! but he shook his head without looking up expecting that as usual the jeepney would just proceed. I then shouted... "are you going to hop in or not?" This was unusual so he looked at the driver only to discover that it was me. We had a good laugh with the rest of the passengers as we rode to Bangkerohan and I made it a point to take him up Madapo hills right at the front steps of the hospital.

A common sticker on PUJs goes this way: "Basta driver, sweet lover" and I swear to the truth of this slogan.

Finding a wife

She was 14 years of age when her cousin came home for the summer break from a school in a different province and they had a nice chat about school life and how she missed home. Before the cousin left she got a photo of somebody - a boy, from her bag and slipped it into the frame holding the mirror of the dresser. The younger lass protested and ask what that was for, and the cousin said to just keep the photo there because someday she would meet that boy.

That was about 2 years before I moved to Davao City to take up the medical course, and without my knowledge, my picture, all the while was in a 14-yearold girl's bedroom, at a strategic location where she could see it every time she looked at her face in the mirror.

I knew Jo Ann since she was about 5 years old while I was in high school. Her older brother was in my batch and so I knew his family well. Coming back to Davao City after being away throughout my college years was exciting for me and when I met this 16-year old senior high school lass it was a jaw-dropping moment. The tender bud I knew was now a flower in the early stages of blooming.

It was in a movie house with the James Bond movie - "The Moonraker," where I got the chance to woo her since she conveniently happened to sit next to me. The details of the movie were not what mattered then since I was intent in my mission and luckily I succeeded. From then it would be 3 years of romance before we tied the knot in a simple home wedding at her dad's sister Judge Milagrosa Nartatez's house who also officiated it. 

Those who stood as witnesses for the occasion where Mrs. Estrella Adao - Jo Ann's aunt, Mrs. Emmeline Maglalang - Jo Ann's cousin, Mrs. Norma Sumicad and Mrs. Letty Cerna both my aunts. Chito and Cindy Prat were also present. Ethel, my only sibling was the only one from my immediate family was the only one present, because my parents who lived in Iligan City chose not to come for the occasion.

Finding a wife wasn't actually a problem for me, it was getting married that took a lot of guts and sheer determination to do it without the backing of my own father.

Old school memories: MedSch fraternity

A few weeks into our life as freshman in medical school, the class was taken over momentarily by some guys in the higher years who introduced themselves as a fraternity and they extolled the benefits that we could have if we joined them. After they left someone in the class stood up and asked the class what they thought about the invitation. Some nodded their heads and said that it was a good idea, but there were others who wanted to know how it fared with the classmates of these frat guys who didn't join them. It was like we wanted to check on their identities and background. In a few days the idea came out that it would be better for us to organize another fraternity/sorority with some guys in the batch ahead of us, and the rest is history.

My medical school class - 1983, was the third batch of students in the newly founded medical school of Ateneo de Davao University. Our school's name was and still is Davao Medical School Foundation, and in the first years of its existence classes were held in the rooms of an old wooden building behind the San Pedro Hospital while the buildings of a new school in a campus at Bacaca was being constructed. Our teachers were a motley bunch of doctors from all the hospitals in Davao city and we discovered later that they were the cream of the medical practitioners in Davao city then.

With the goal to organize another fraternity beckoning, we had to devote some precious time for brainstorming and planning. There were some fratmen in our midst and a lot of wisecracks, which guaranteed that our plans would come to fruitage, and in a few weeks we had the name and a rudimentary constitution.

Hazing was an unforgettable experience for all of us. We divided ourselves into two groups and then devoted one day for each group hazing the other. This was held in the vacant house on the hills by the diversion road near the present crocodile park in Maa. A carabao wallowing hole was conveniently situated in the same lot and it was the scene of some gruesome activity.

This fraternity would eventually lead in scholastic and extra-curricular activities while multiplying with additional batches every new school year. However, with the incidents of hazing deaths in the universities nationwide and the subsequent order of the government to ban fraternity activities, this fraternity wrapped up on itself and stopped growing.

The most cherished and endearing moments in medical school were made with these friends and there is no doubt that life in those difficult years was made easier with the support of the fraternity. 

The original and pioneer batch of Socci Omnium Medicorum confraternity

during one of the hazing sorties in a coconut plantation by the Times Beach. 

The hillbilly is the guy in shorts in the foreground.

Old school memories: High school

High school years found me in two schools: Southern Mindanao Academy (SMA) for first through third year and Mountain View College Academy (MVCA) for the final year. Both schools are SDA owned and they operate based on the same principles and doctrines of this church.

The students in SMA were either called "outsider, villager or commuter," because they stayed in a boarding house outside the campus or commuted daily from home, and "dormitorians" when staying in the school-owned dormitory inside the campus, because home was too far for commuting on a daily basis. Many of the those in the dormitories were children of SDA pastors who were stationed in Davao City - like my sister and I, and about 15 to 20 others during our time. This meant that on long weekends, right after the last class on Friday afternoon, we would all be lined up by the highway, just outside the school gate waiting for the bus. The bus companies that went by SMA were Minrapco, Villa Bus, CBC and Cotranco - which was our favorite ride, because it was fast and stopped only at stations - "stationary." After the weekend break this batch of kids would be in the station in Davao ready to board the 5:00 AM bus to SMA in time for the first period class. Our bags at this time would hold our supply of soap, shampoo, toothpaste,  etc, enough to last until the next break. Canned goods, pastries and other yummy stuff would also be neatly packed too. If our parents' had time they would drive us back to SMA or sometimes pay as an unannounced visit.

Dormitory life in SMA for a skinny freshman like me was trying to get accepted by the bigger and older occupants. Bullying existed very much in those days and it was not uncommon to see a kid crying and wanting his mommy while the rest of the boys laughed at him. Joel was a rather funny kid who was the butt of the jokes of the older boys. Even if I  laughed at him sometimes, I also had to watch out for myself. It is in the dormitory where I learned how to box using towels as gloves.

Falling was something that always happened in SMA during my time. Shirley fell through the ceiling of the audie while we were practicing for the piano recitals, Ethel - my sister, fell down the stairs of the dorm resulting in blue-black and painful shins, Inday May fell from the kalachuchi tree and hurt her clavicle... and Jerry fell in love with Joy under the blossoming fire tree.

The fourth year of my high school was spent in MVC Academy in Bukidnon, because my parents were taken by the school as administrators. The class that I was a newbie to was composed of some intelligent and naughty kids and was actually a bunch of anarchists who made one teacher abruptly end the class out of anger and exasperation. On another day it was a senior college practice teacher crying, because we laughed at the way she pronounced some english words. In retrospect I can see that the unusual alignment of the planets had something to do with bringing this batch together. We had one mind and that mind was bent on mischief. A day of suspension from class so all of us could clean up some part of the campus as punishment fell short of making us regret and reform.

High school had it's ups and downs, but all in all, these years were memorable and fun.

This is how the buses looked like back then.

Old school memories: Work in MedSchool

As the days in medical school progressed into weeks and months we slowly realized the difference in the learning process between med school and college. The undergrad learning experience was mostly comparative - meaning that we studied other animals and then compared them to the human organs and systems. In medical school we had to study the exact Homo sapiens - nothing else. So when the lesson is about blood, we had to extract our own blood. If the lesson was about the heart, we had to take the parameters of the our own hearts, and that would apply to all the systems of the body.

Timid is the word that can be used to describe some if not most freshman in medical school. I'm saying that in the sense of acquiring specimen for our studies. However, it is not difficult to understand that most, if not all of us were untrained in collecting specimen, which means that if blood was needed no one would dare trust an untrained guy to extract his blood and therefore there were few or no volunteers. When it came to the study of the semen, boys were also shy to go to the toilet to jack off and come back sweating with the specimen in a beaker. EKG was the same thing, because the 'patient' had to take off his shirt and with all the classmates around it was quite unsettling.

I would admit that I was a bit impatient with this attitude. Group-mates were pleading with each other for a volunteer and a lot of time was wasted in the process. This was when I decided in my mind to stand up and allow myself to be the 'guinea pig' for all the procedures that were required. The hillbilly in me that was accustomed to getting cut and bruised on a regular basis considered pain as something that was part of growing up and so I announced to my group-mates that they could consider me as the 'official' donor for all specimen needed - including OGTT, which was the worst and NGT insertion which was a breeze. But there was a hitch, which would depend on what test or procedure was needed. It could be a free lunch or dinner, assistance in visual stimulation for the spermatozoa, helping me out in research, etc. and my group-mates were more than pleased to agree to my terms. I didn't regret my decision, because at the end of the year it was just like I had an executive checkup with all the results showing that I was healthy.

One area that medical students hate is the anatomy laboratory. No normal person would want to stand by the side of a stinking cadaver for a long time and cutting it up piece by piece to visualize and identify the different parts of the body. There were about 12 cadavers in the laboratory that we had to study for the whole year. Most often the designated laboratory period is insufficient that we needed to come back after classes to spend more time with the cadavers. Sometimes we had to bring our snacks to save time and in some occasions a bottle of whiskey or rum helped us cope with the odor.

School work in medical school was really demanding, and the road to becoming a doctor was not an easy one.

Old school memories: Boarding house

Anyone who is from the province and has gone to school in the city knows what "boarding house" means. It practically means adjusting to living conditions in the city, which could range from cramped to hot with less privacy and of course adjusting to the other occupants who are also from the province with the same predicament. It also means choosing to buy or rent a whole apartment unit for the well-off probinsyano or sharing a room with someone else like the hillbilly from Bukidnon.

For the first year, I stayed in two different boarding houses - Rolling Hills and Adams Center. I shared the small room with a handsome Indonesian who was a classmate in my pre-med years. In the second year I moved to a bigger room in Adams with 4 other medical students and this is where things got interesting. This was a motley bunch with two older guys and 3 same-batch-in-college guys, and at one time or another all five of us were together in MVC. Boarding house blues like keeping the room clean, checking for bed bugs - which netted more than a dozen, trying to sleep when others still needed the lights on, coming home to find a blond German in bed with one of the guys (he thought that he had secured the door), helping ourselves to a ripe durian high in a tree outside the building in spite of a noisy chicken watching over it, taking out empty beer bottles that have accumulated in one corner, straining the eyes in the darkness to see who the lady companion is when one guy comes home and silently enters the room in the wee hours of the morning after the lights are out, etc. were some of the things that made my stay in Adams memorable.

The third year found me getting bed-space at the dormitory behind Brokenshire Memorial Hospital so that I wouldn't have to commute for duty. Meals were at a small house turned resto at the sloping area behind the hospital.

For my fourth and final year, I moved to my ex-girlfriend's house in Ledesma village beside our school at Bacaca. She wouldn't let me stay anywhere else since we already signed our contract for marriage. This setup was ideal for me because I didn't have to worry anymore about meals, laundry or finding time to visit her. Prior to this move I would get on a bicycle to visit her 5 kilometers away at about 11:00 in the evening when my eyes were tired of reading. It was also around this time of the night when her dad would come home and we would use his car to drive to the city for a midnight snack. Sometimes it would be raining or I was too busy to pay her a visit, but I know that towards midnight I'll hear a car honk and my roommates would clap their hands in delight knowing that there is some pizza or ice cream brought by Jo ann for our snacks. 

These are some of the memories of my boarding house life in medical school that I will treasure.

Old school memories: Fun in MedSchool 2

Thank God, there was no smart phone or Facebook in our days at medical school. I can't imagine how life would be back then with these gadgets and apps - each to each own while holding a phone with one hand and swiping it with the other and staring at it continuously. That scenario is the total opposite of our time. During breaks in the lectures and when school was out we were in groups either in discussion or planning for some fun. Someone would suggest that we eat at Shakey's and all 15 or so would troop there, give our orders, eat and succumb to the dare to sneak a large pitcher on the way out. Station 55 was another place were we rowdy guys accidentally broke the door handle. Delumbar, D' Counter, One down, Uncle Toms Place, Aling Minat's, Merco and a dozen more places knew that these doctors-to-be are a unique bunch to deal with.

Movies? Yeah, we had enough time for that even with our busy schedules, and the best way to see a movie was to take an empty notebook page and a pen and sit next to Khalil. He would not ask what the items are for, because he knows that all he has to do is write: "Admit one + his signature." This "pass" is accepted without questions at the Lyric and Crest cinemas and we went in for free. During breaks in the "double showing" movies, we would hie to the bathroom and take some puffs on a joint and the movie would become funnier than it actually was.

Spiritual retreats were something that we looked forward to. This meant no boring lectures, a cool day in a hilly or coastal retreat house of the Jesuits, and free snacks and lunch. Meditation was one of the highlights of our retreats and when comfort room break time came it would sometimes take a little longer for some of us to get back to our seats. Some of our classmates would giggle when we would file back inside with our sheepish smiles and our hair and shirts smelling like a field of grass on fire, but this brought meditating to a higher level, no doubt. 

Out-of-town sorties on a convoy of cars was another activity during long weekends. A stop at a roadside store for eggs and ripe tomatoes gave us enough ammunition for throwing at each other while we sped to another province. Activities like these gave the much needed balance to the grind for survival in medical school. 

Old school memories: Fun in MedSchool 1

If I imagined prior to setting foot in medical school that postgraduate students were a serious and no-fun bunch, I was wrong. Again I was wrong if I thought that medical school would reduce my hyperactivity and mellow me down. One thing that added to my attitude was the presence a dozen other guys who were also hell-bent in having fun to balance the seriousness of our undertaking. So while the rest of the class dug deep into their books, we dug deep too, but spewed a lot of color on our daily routine - figuratively, and on the pages of our books - literally. I wished that I preserved our textbooks or even some photos of the pages, because we practically colored the paragraphs which we thought were important with all the colors that gay pride wasn't thinking of yet.

There were about 7 of us boys who occupied the last row of seats in the room and our attentiveness to the lectures depended on who was talking. If it was Dr. A. Panuncialman you could expect us to be all-ears and trying to be less conspicuous, because he had the habit of calling students to the stage to demonstrate certain principles or procedures. If it was Dr. M. Dayrit who lectured on Epidemiology, you could expect us to be betting on the last numbers of the pages of a textbook that we opened at random. If we were not gambling, we were throwing pieces of crumpled paper, which at one instance went the wrong direction and hit the fiancé of Dr. Dayrit (also a doctor) who was seated at the back at that time. The outcome of our foolishness was only apparent at the end of the course when Dr. Dayrit gave 3 of us (the exact culprits in the paper throwing incident) a failing grade. The curly Lebanese, a chubby Maguindanaoan and the scrawny hillbilly. We had to approach him to ask for a reconsideration of our grades and he gave us some make up work to do. It was to submit a paper about the incidence of sexually transmitted disease in Davao city - a topic that required us to prowl the kingdom of pimps and hookers, which was not at all alien to us.

You could imagine the uproar caused by the whole gang when they heard of our misfortune and everyone promised to pitch in so this could be accomplished in the least possible time. Hargoon pledged his typewriter and expertise in drafting the results of our research while Khalil, Nasser and the Hillbilly plus some other helpful guys got to the act of procuring the data. In less than a week we were done and our grades adjusted. 

You bet that a sober and well behaved bunch sat at the last row when the next semester opened. 

Old school memories: Group study

As each day in medical school wore off, the greatest challenge for me was to keep awake at night to be able to catch up with the assignments. Apparently I wasn't alone in this predicament as almost all of us voiced out the concern. We realized that there was a need to get together at night so that we could help each other stay awake and also take the time to discuss certain difficult lessons. 

I didn't have to wait long for someone to invite me over and in a while I was rotating in 3 - 4 different groups, which eliminated the boredom and increased my bonding moments with most of my classmates. One group had dormitory beds and mono bloc chairs where we propped ourselves up, another had gourmet coffee, deli-bought stuff, air-conditioning, and servants at our beck and call, and yet another group studied out in the open lawn and adjacent steep sloping street with a balut vendor patiently waiting at the opposite curb knowing that it was just a matter of time when these raunchy dudes got hungry.

A cup of hot coffee, Marlboro, feet in a basin with cold water, intermittent breaks for brisk walking, a small towel dipped in ice-water and placed on the head, tooth picks or match sticks to hold the lower and upper eyelids apart - were some of the tricks that we tried just so we didn't drift off to dreamland. We disciplined each other, got into arguments, and some would pair off like lovers, and studying in groups was now getting to be popular among us. There were some though who could not concentrate when in a group and these loners somehow managed to eke out their survival in undisturbed and drowsy solitude, and in no time lagged behind in tackling the assigned chapters. 

It was in one group study that a classmate had an "aha moment" and he declared that finally he realized that being a successful doctor only need either of two things: you are intelligent or you have good public relations (PR). He than added by saying: "Sunni you have a good PR. Hmmm... that sounded good to me, but the other guys present won't have any of it, because they said that it meant that I was not intelligent. We had a good laugh when Anatole tried to defend himself after that.

One morning, a few days before examinations, I was approached by a classmate and she invited me for group study at her home. This lady was tall and lanky, with a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers, she came to school on stilettos and had a chauffeur who was asleep most of the time in a sleek sedan at the parking lot. She said that she needed to brush up on some practical anatomy concerns and she thought that I could help her. Before I could think, my head nodded the approval and then I realized too late that this could be a problem for me. How does a hillbilly behave in a group of high society ladies? I was actually dreading the setting of the sun at this point, but when 9:00 came the hillbilly was seen reluctantly knocking at her impressive gate.

We got on with the study amid bowls of delicious snacks and drinks. Her bedroom was huge and air-conditioned with a sofa against the wall, some fuzzy expensive carpets, a study table and of course a very soft and sweet smelling bed. At about midnight - like most nights in Davao in those days, the lights went off. She announced that we take the opportunity to sleep knowing that in about half an hour the lights would come on again. I was thinking of going out to the living room when she said that I could lay down beside her on the bed. I feared that I might look like an intruder in their sprawling living room with the lights off, so I thought it wise to concede to her gesture - but you bet that I kept as still as a scared skunk while lying beside her. I could feel my heart shaking the bed with each beat and I could feel hers too. Before we knew it the lights came on and we resumed our review in anatomy.

A few weeks later I thought that the incident at the group study in the bedroom would be the last of its kind when another classmate invited me to her parent's posh home at Juna subdivision for group study. This time I was more relaxed, and that night we got along well studying in the kitchen until I felt really sleepy and asked for a break of about 20 minutes of sleep - on the couch in the adjacent darkened living room. I drifted immediately into a deep sleep only to be awakened by someone unbuttoning my shirt. I peeped through half-open eyelids and realized that a 'vampire' was going through her moves on my neck and body. It was apparent that my classmate wanted to reward me for my efforts in helping her with the lessons. I was not aware if word was going around the grapevine that I was a big help in study groups although I kinda suspected it.

Before the sun rose that morning as I rode back home, I vowed never to turn down invitations for group study - ever.

Old school memories: Medical school

No, it is not my intention to bore you with stories of the four years that I spent in medical school. A few chapters will be good enough - I hope.

After all the preparations, applications, examinations, the move to a different city, the search for a boarding house and purchasing bedding, mattress, hangers, bathroom stuff and all the things needed in a new place, for a new experience, in a new school (phew, I can still recall all the trouble just to get started in medical school) I was ready for the first day of school. Honestly, I didn't doubt my attempt at this demanding course nor did I doubt my ability to finish it. I had some friends who were not really intelligent or studious, but who made it. So I reasoned out, "if they did, I can do it."

I scanned the large hall that held all 85 freshmen. As usual I found my place at the rear half of the room and laid low with a very observant eye. I realized that I wasn't the only hillbilly among the bourgeois-looking and sounding throng. There were some ladies who looked too sweet and some who looked a bit advanced in years. Hmmm, I mused to myself - this could be an interesting year. After a pause for introductions - Mr. Cullamar, a physically well-rounded guy with a funny bone, rehearsed us through the policies of the school and what was expected of us. His jovial approach actually broke the ice, and when break time came the mood was light and we didn't have trouble getting to know each other.

Time and again in my life I have proven that when new to a group, to just trust my senses and in a few days I'll be in the right circle of friends for my temperament and attitude. With such a demanding course ahead of us it was not difficult to find the right rhythm among my classmates and in no time I was in a core group of friends that has lasted up to this moment.

After a day of orientation, securing lockers, introduction to the stinking cadavers and the school staff we hit the second day running. I mean, the lectures started and the shock waves came one after another. Our teachers figuratively threw the ultra-thick and ultra-heavy textbooks at us, and at the end of the day we realized that medical school had more work at home than in the classroom. The race to catch up in reading all the chapters covered by all the subjects for the day started at day two and without let-up ended the night before final exams 10 months later.

There was one aspect in the first couple of months that I had quite a struggle with, and it was partly due to my being a hillbilly among the decent and well-bred city dwelling classmates. How do I react when a voluptuous sweet-smelling classmate snuggles up to me and without much ado sits on my lap and asks me to go through the different parts of the human anatomy that was the lesson for the day? Another would put her arms around me while looking over my shoulder and ask me to teach her how to identify the parts of the cadaver. This was too stressful and I wanted to go home to my mama in Bukidnon. 

At any rate I was getting to like medical school (most especially Anatomy) as the days unfolded until group study was invented.

That will come next.

Old school memories: Graduate

Four and a half years and three different courses since I entered college and finally I had a degree - BSBiology. Prior to my graduation I received an invitation to connect with East Visayan Academy in Cebu City and immediately after finishing the requirements for the finals I took the boat to the island of Cebu.

This place was rather familiar to me, because I was born here and my parents were former educators in this school. Now as a Biology and Chemistry teacher I was excited to get on with my new job. The job itself was challenging and more so with students who had a different upbringing than mine. These were city kids and fun for them apparently took a different meaning, therefore some time was needed to adjust to their style, but I had it all worked out. 

Like any SDA academy there were a lot of restrictions including going to movies and drinking in parties - something that I didn't take pains to conceal and somehow word leaked out among the students that sir "Moring" loved prohibited stuff and some guys started to gravitate toward my direction. There was once when 14 of them were caught inside a cinema watching a movie and the punishment was to "dig a hole without suhol" (no pay). They were the butt of the jokes for the rest of the students as they worked on their punishment. These kids did me a good turn by not reporting my presence inside the cinema or I could have been the only teacher with a shovel digging the hole with them.

A weekend and school break activity that I loved while in Cebu was driving a public passenger jeepney in the city. The routes that I did were Talisay - Colon and Lahug - Carbon. These jeepneys had loud stereos blaring the hits of those times by the Bee Gees and the sound track of Grease by John Travolta, and choosy passengers avoided jeepneys that didn't play good music. Ladies also were choosy with regards to the driver, because they knew that "basta driver, sweet lover" and we drivers reminded them that "God knows Hudas not pay."

At this time I was also waiting for the results of the MCAT exams that I took earlier and one day I got the acceptance letter from the Southwestern University (SWU), which had instructions for me to submit my downpayment of 1,000 pesos so that I could be included in the next batch of medical school freshmen when enrollment time came. I had a cheque for the amount done and was about to send it in when a letter arrived from my mom in Bukidnon telling me of a school in Davao that was offering late exams for prospective medical students. She wanted me to try out Ateneo de Davao University first before finally committing to SWU.

This changed the plans that I was pursuing at that time and life took a fateful turn for me.

Next: Medical school stories. OMG.

Old school memories: Weak heart

Putting off the writing of this topic is only possible when you have other things to write about, but I admit that an autobiography isn't complete without the details regarding matters of the heart and so, here goes. I had a weak heart - a very weak heart indeed, that it had the tendency to "crush" frequently and it kept on "falling" in love. 

I have vivid memories of a crush who lived in the girls' dormitory. Short of being able to let her know of my feelings I decided to put a flower - a white sweet smelling Magnolia flower, in her shoe at the rack outside the entrance of the dorm. She somehow got wind of who her secret admirer was and made a beeline for our house. It's only good that I saw her while afar off and hid myself - under my parent's bed. It was both an embarrassing and hilarious moment when my parents let her in to peek under the bed. What was so queer about this crush? She was in college and I was too young for school yet. It was at my final year in high school when I met her again - now a teacher, and we had a good laugh.

After that under-the-bed episode, as a kid growing up in the hills, I had a girl named after a flower, another who is now an accomplished musician in Las Vegas, and almost had one who now works as a nurse in LA - if only she just paid attention to what I was saying. I guess the second grade (I was 3rd grade) MJ was too engrossed in weeding her garden at school when I said "Ning, I love you!" that she didn't take notice, so I just let the topic drop. It's funny how my weak heart would get the most of me in impromptu moments, but somehow I managed to thrive on to high school where girls took the back seat in my life. Playing pranks and trying out adult stuff occupied my waking moments and I almost forgot that I had a weak heart.

College opened a new perspective for my heart problem. Registration time comes and I'm shocked to find too many beautiful ladies to count. So enrolling in a subject now depended on the presence of a heavenly figure who took my fancy. Joining glee clubs and other extra-curricular activities also relied on the same principle. I was sure back then that I wasn't chasing skirts around - I was just taking care of my weak heart. It is not my intention to mention the names of the sweet smelling ladies who helped me through college by being kind to my heart. Waking up their emotions now - since they are my friends in Facebook and might happen to read this, is the last thing in my mind.

Medical school was a different story, because my heart miraculously recovered and got well when a gorgeous 16-year old high school lass entered the picture. No longer would my failing heart need to be resuscitated every now and then. 

I was cured forever.

Old school memories: Erbing

Excuse me for bringing the topic up, but this guy - by all means, deserves a chapter in my autobiography. Not only was he a classmate in high school, he was also a 'teacher' back in the hyperactive years of my existence. We'll get to that teacher thingy later.

It is a wonder how soulmates find each other spontaneously and without deliberate effort. Erberto enrolled in my high school at Managa, was assigned to my class section - Mercury, and the rest is history. It was instant bonding without questions asked. Bromance is not a word you can use for this friendship, because it was purely based on our love for adventure and for outwitting authority, which we deemed back then as stifling and anti-fun.

He hailed from a nearby town - Bansalan, and commuted daily to school, while I was billeted in the dormitory and confined like a seminarian. This setup forged a teamwork that we believed was undetected by the school custodians and we relished our small successes in carrying out these clandestine activities. Erbing had a nice arsenal of resources at his disposal, one of which was a green mini bus named "Habagat" that they owned and this conveniently ferried us to our destinations without the fear of being caught. Another asset that he had was his Dad. Even up to this day I can't get over the thought of wishing that I had a Dad like him. 

On extra boring days we would escape to their home in downtown Bansalan and his Dad would welcome us in while bringing out some ice-cold San Miguel beer from the refrigerator. They had a Claire de Lune phonograph player with dozens of long-playing albums including our favorite Stylistics, Bread, Carpenters, Beatles, etc and you could imagine how I wished my own home was like this.

Now back to the teacher thing. On second thought I would rather liken Erbing to a facilitator of sorts, because he was the door to exciting activities like introducing me to the girls at the Holy Cross of Bansalan, some spirits in a glass and a chance to smoke a cigarette, which took some time to perfect to a flair. Quick movie escapades in the city was not a problem with the availability of the Habagat, and while on transit we would puff on our Marlboros like we were full adults. The adolescent stage for boys is quite awkward and insecure, and outings like this afforded some feeling of security and accomplishment, which we fancied amid the restrictions in our school life. I have always hated being held under curtailment, and outings with Erbing was actually breathing the refreshing air of freedom, while raising a clenched fist at authority.

One thing that I treasured about his friendship was the total absence of hypocrisy, pretense and a judgmental attitude and the much abounding sincerity that he offered and as manifested by his family as well. Something that is quite the opposite of the guys that I am used to rubbing elbows with whose parents were my parents' colleagues. You get what I mean? It was not easy to trust a friend from your church if you were into things that the church condemned even if he was doing the same things you did.

This friendship apparently is forever and Erbing will forever be my friend.

that's our school

Old school memories: ADHD

Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder - an exact description of me. Even if this disorder was only formally considered a scientific entity in the 1990s, I was already manifesting it in the early 1960s. Its eventual appearance and inclusion in the medical journals and textbooks confirmed my fears and put to rest the nagging question: "why am I like this?"

The many scars that I have from accidents testify to the fact that I always got myself into trouble. My mom who had a degree in child education noted that I had a short attention span and easily got bored so she decided not to enroll me in school when the friends of my age started at grade one. Ruel and May Ann were some of those friends and they were already looking good in their school uniform and sitting in class, whilst I was falling from broken branches and gotten stung by wasps.

The place where I grew up had endless opportunities to spend my energies on. We lived beside a ranch, and in mornings while my friends were walking to school my mom would pack some sandwiches, a jug of water or milk, a large hollowed-out carrot with mayonnaise inside, and place these inside a leather saddlebag - a gift from a cousin (Irma) in the US, and I would run to the ranch where the cowboys took charge of me for the whole day. I would stink like a horse by the time I came home, but this was life!

Fast forward to high school and by this time we were living in Davao City and I was in boarding school at Managa - near Bansalan. Unfortunately 'Hyperactive' didn't stay behind in Bukidnon, but tagged along and here I was struggling through class hours with my mind trying to concentrate on the activities. Again in God's own wisdom he supplied a teacher (Luzviminda) who understood my predicament and she provided some release for the fire burning inside me. She would stop the lecture, call me out of the classroom and ask me to go to downtown Digos to buy something - fish or groceries, for her. I loved those escapades from schoolwork and apparently my teacher's strategy worked for me... and for her. She confessed many years later - when I was already a doctor, that aside from my distractive movements in class, the other reason why she wanted me out was because of the questions that I asked, which she often found difficult to answer.

Sunni, Mimi, Luzviminda & Gervacio

College and medical school saw me somewhat mellowing down, but not totally free from this scourge. I still would excuse myself from class, walk around, get on a bike or just do anything to ease the boredom. Girlfriends offered some release, but that is a different story.

Now at 61 I'm still a hyperactive doggie, but a very matured and seasoned one indeed.

Old school memories: A walk in the dark

"Bols" a dashing Chinoy with a mustache - one of those close buddies during my wacky high school and college days approached me one afternoon and asked if I could accompany him to the city - Cagayan de Oro. This pal was a rich man's kid who lived at the crossroads from MVC and we used to hang out at his parents' place for the stuff that is prohibited in SDA schools. He said that he needed to deposit some money at the bank in the big city. Valencia was just a small town then and didn't have a commercial bank yet.

While on the bus the next day Bols showed me the thick wad of bills in his pocket - 20,000 pesos. In those days you could buy a car with that money and I thought that traveling with such a large amount of cash was just crazy. We got to the Philippine National Bank in the city and after the transaction we decided to order a few beers at a roadside resto while waiting for the bus home. Buses in those years ran about 2 - 3 hours apart and the last trip through Bukidnon was in the mid-afternoon.

We took our time and one bottle led to another, and another, until we realized that the last bus home had just chugged by. Our remaining option was to take one of the vacant logging trucks going back to the mountains. The forests in Bukidnon in those years were still lush and thick and logging was big business. Surely in a matter of minutes an empty truck stopped for dinner and we asked the driver if we could hitch a ride to Bagontaas. He nodded and said that we would have to make ourselves comfy at the back of the truck since the cab was fully occupied. 

Roads back then were not paved and you could imagine the 5-hour bumpy ride at the back of the truck with us just sitting on some boxes of merchandise. At about 11:00 pm we got to the crossing where the road to MVC starts and where Bols lived. I decided to walk the 15 kilometers back to the school in spite of his vehement protest. I don't remember now why I wanted to get back urgently that night, maybe an important class was scheduled for the next day. Anyway Bols reluctantly wished me a safe walk home and I started walking - 15 kilometers in the middle of the night with nothing to illuminate the way.

There was virtually no vehicular traffic at night on those desolate hilly mud roads and there were only a few houses by the road that were by now standing in eerie silence. In a while I realized that I was passing the cemetery and the hair on my nape bristled at the cool wind blowing on me. Sing! Yes, sing, and that's what I did to take my mind off the nagging horror of the spirits stalking me through the rows of white tombstones and crosses. "Walking with Jesus" was just the right song for the fear and for the tempo of my strides, and in about 3 hours I was back in the comfort of my room. 

Old school memories: Nangka

When you're a hyperactive kid, living out in the country with countless hills to climb, clear mountain streams nearby and a rainforest for a backyard is awesomely ideal. A ranch with hundreds of Brahman cows and horses plus vast fields of citrus and jackfruit trees, sugarcane and pineapple all add up to the equation of the best place for a kid to be.

In the years prior to the 1970s we had the whole world to ourselves - what I mean is the world as a frontier, devoid of supermarkets, delis, theme parks and the like. What bread and pastries we ate were baked at home by an all-around mom. Meat was from a freshly butchered cow on a meadow just next to the house. Games and toys were derived from discarded cans and boxes constructed with ingenuity and skill acquired from the regular use of garden and carpentry tools.

Neighbors? They treated us like their kids even if we had their poultry and garden all mapped out and knew when a particular fruit was just at the verge of ripening. 

Friends? Yeah we treated them like siblings. Their dining table and pantry was ours too.

One particular buddy who was about my age, but was at a different level in school could be considered a friend-closer-than-a-brother. Maybe it was because I didn't have a male sibling or we had the same bottomless stomach or our level of hyperactivity shared the same frequency. 

Gershon and I had an inherent GPS app long before google and the satellite was invented. We knew the exact location where the paitan fish would bite our homemade hooks, the wild ducks could be caught by hand amid the flowering rice paddies, when the bread at the cafeteria was out of the oven and cooling on a table, and like previously mentioned, where the sweetest fruits were just right for eating.

One hungry afternoon Gershon met me as I exited from class and said that today was the day that a large jackfruit would be at its sweetest point before harvest. The particular tree was at the fringe of the orchard, smack behind the house of the agriculture big boss and an attempt to snatch it would be quite tricky. One thing that was at our advantage was the tall grass around the trees that afforded some concealment. In no time the huge tasty fruit was on the ground with two hungry blokes busily attacking it. Halfway through I noticed Gershon looking some distance behind me while the color from his face drained to a deadly pale hue. Before I could manage to turn my head he held up his hand with some jackfruit in it and said with an unsteady voice, "let's eat sir, it's so tasty!"

I almost choked on the jackfruit, but managed a wry smile to appear less guilty. Dr. Era didn't see the need to scold us since we looked so remorseful and repentant and he just said that we could finish the fruit, but this should be the last of our forage into his territory.

We learned our lesson right and the next time we were more careful. LOL

Old school memories: Kamay

Dormitory life in Seventh-day Adventist boarding schools is quite stifling and controlled, considering that there are quite a number of rules that are derived from this church's doctrines and the application and imposition of these policies tend to be dictatorial and authoritative. Considering the nature of high school students - hyperactive, mischievous and unruly, one could imagine the impact of these rules on their lives. For us back then it was a constant preoccupation to outwit the custodians or to create situations that could offer a balance to the strictness, so to speak.

One day word got to us that a movie of Bruce Lee was showing in the city 68 kilometers from Southern Mindanao Academy. Since most of us in the boys' dormitory were Bruce Lee wannabes, missing this movie was unthinkable. However, there were two policies that stood between us and this awesome karateist. One was "watching movies inside the cinema is a sin," and therefore we had to make sure we were not caught in the act. The second policy was "no one can leave the campus without a duly accomplished campus leave form," and we knew too well that acquiring that permission to leave in the middle of the week was impossible. 

Not to be deterred by these rules Rodney and I managed to leave undetected through gaps in the fence and we took a ride to the city. The movie was so thrilling that we almost kicked and punched each other while intently watching it and we vowed to practice those moves the moment we got back to the dorm. Getting back was as clandestine as getting out, but the moment we entered the dorm we knew that we were doomed when the dean barred our entry with his hulking form and demanded that we be honest in describing our escapade.

In no time we had the verdict and the punishment. "You are suspended from classes for a whole day and you will scrub and clean the entire dormitory including both lower and upper floors and bathroom." You could hear the other guys in the hallway snickering at our plight.

The next day we tackled one room and one level at a time. Collecting garbage, sweeping, scrubbing, pushing lockers so all corners can be cleaned, and that was when we spotted a 500 ml Coca Cola bottle lodged behind a locker. It was filled halfway with months-old crystalizing urine apparently forgotten by someone who didn't want to go the toilet in the middle of the night. The chemist in our minds kicked in and we thought that soaking a bar of bath soap in the concentrated urine and then drying it in the sun would make a nice-scented piece of soap.

It is common for occupants of the dormitory to run out of stock of the basic commodities before the scheduled trips home and many of us had to share our soap or toothpaste with others. Anyone who inadvertently left his soap or shampoo in the bathroom would find it being used by someone else without his permission and this practice was just perfect for our plan.

After the piece of Kamay soap was seasoned and dry we left it at the ledge by the showerhead before going to bed that night and warned our close friends about it. The usual rush to the showers early the next day ensued, and as we foresaw it, the guys in the other room that laughed at our plight took advantage of the unguarded soap. Next thing after bathing and dressing up for school is the cafeteria, and we were all lined up for our plates when someone said, "I can smell spoiled pee." People started sniffing around and it was discovered that the guys who used the soap stank like a public urinal. There were four of them who had to rush back to the bathroom for a more thorough and tediously done bath. By that time we already threw the offending soap away and our identities remain unknown up to this very day.

Old school memories: Chicken Adobo

Only those who have attended Mountain View College as a student, will fondly remember stories like this. It is about the Ministerial Seminar (MS) - a department in the School of Theology that assigns students to the different SDA churches around the school either “walking distance” or “riding distance” depending on the means to get there. The churches they are assigned to become their “district” and they are expected to assist or lead out in the church services on scheduled Saturdays.

For the theology majors, membership in the MS accounts for their course credits, but non-theology students may tag along with the permission from their respective deans. To some, this activity breaks the boredom of having to sit through church services in the campus.

School vehicles for distant destinations are not always available and personal or private cars are sometimes “borrowed” by the MS with a gas subsidy. This was the reason why I was present in one trip to Calao-calao Don Carlos on board Winston “Kid” Tan’s renegade jeep/pickup as his substitute driver. Winston at that time was under suspension for some misdemeanor and he wasn’t allowed by the school to drive.

We got to the church in Calao-calao that Saturday morning and in no time the theology students were busying themselves with the worship activities. This left Winston and me in the jeep that we parked by the church elder’s house a short distance away. We had no plans to join the worship service, but intended to doze off until one daring chicken hopped on the hood of the jeep. It looked like it was used to being around people so we figured out that we could catch it without it making much noise. After a few failed attempts the plump and unlucky rooster was  among the other contents of the glove compartment with his head under a wing to make him believe that he was asleep.

With the day’s activity done we drove back to the campus with thoughts of a delightful meal of adobo dancing in our heads. It was an hour before midnight when we got back, and in no time the tasty rooster was reduced to a heap of bones. 

The reader may want to know that we repented in due time. 

Old school memories: Tinapa

The last leg of a trip to Mountain View College in the 1970's regardless of where one came from, was the most trying and wearisome - it being a jeepney ride through 15 kilometers of a dusty or muddy road depending on the season. The only comfort that it offered was the thought that journey’s end was just a few more hundred bumps away. 

One thing that was a bit urgent for some of the students returning from a day out in town, as the jeepney inched its way up, was the need to de-scent, deodorize or to remove any trace of cigarette and alcoholic drink odor that could make entry into the boy’s dorm risky due to school policies against the consumption of these stuff. The usual Chiclets gum, Hall's candy or kalamansi helped although brushing the teeth and a face-wash with soap was the best choice. However, it required time and resources, which were not readily available at the bus terminal in those days.

On one particular trip there were three of us who were the only MVCians in the crowded jeepney. We only realized that we forgot to go through the ritual of de-scenting when the jeep got to San Carlos and we were quite in a quandary with our stop fast approaching. A quick search of our bags for a solution was futile until one guy realized that a can of sardines - Tinapa (the local term for the smallest can of sardines) might do the trick. He hastily opened it and stuffed his mouth with one sardine while handing the can to us. We followed suit and presto! our mouths smelled like tinapa - not cigarette. One thing though wasn’t addressed and it was the odor on the rest of the face and hair. That was quickly resolved with the sauce of the sardines that we dabbed on the hair, face and neck.

All the while the other passengers were amusedly watching us and the final touches to the hair and neck really roused the whole jeepney into fits of laughter. Suffice it to say, we got into our rooms without being detected, but mind you, the tinapa smell stayed on for a few days to our chagrin.