That’s nothing unusual, but my brain seems to enjoy doing what I hate doing most: Reminiscing memories I wanted to tell nobody about.
…Be drawn to my tales if you want to learn of my pain….The pain was in my head and in my stomach. Who could resist the ripe star apples? I only breakfasted on coffee every morning before school, walked the long arduous road to education, and lunched on nothing at noon. I had seen the star apple trees in my school grounds now as I came over here, how their limbs have been bent by too many winds and storms, like the storms of my life which in a way too had been bent and conditioned for survival. I was then a young Catholic boy, having not learned yet how to ask for grace that comes from above. But I had mastered the way of looking up and looking around the crowns of the star apple trees. Star apple trees, to my way of thinking then, operated on the law of diminishing returns; whenever I looked up, while the watching eyes of our industrial arts teacher were not looking around, those fruits would surely diminish. There were five of us hungry youths who kept returning to our favorite tree as we saw its fruits ripe and ready for the taking. We had been caught not only once but many times, but we kept on returning. It is true that I graduated from that school with honors, but I too had been dishonored by the guardian of the star apple trees. He had kept a list of our sins; we also keep an array of scars on our thighs, cuts his fingers had made whenever he caught us. The star apple trees had been my angst, personally speaking. I thought I could not graduate….
And I also remember Miss Elizabeth Dooma, my Baptist teacher, and Mr. Eduardo Montoyo Sr. (back then he was still known as a Baptist pastor although he had already left that denomination and ministered to a small church of Christ in the city of Bacolod). These two fought for me–a young Catholic boy–as cats fought a dog. The dog was the establishment that wanted to take me off the honor list for failing the PMT. They fought the principal’s ruling (the principal too was a Baptist, but of a different stripe). The PMT commandant too was a Baptist. I had not listened to their very hot discussion about me. But I heard that the noble Miss Dooma and the equally noble Mr. Montoyo turned the table on the principal and skinned the PMT commandant. Thanks to them, I graduated with honors.
