by Linda T. Lingbaoan-Bulong

THE spotlight still felt hot on my cheeks as I descended from the ramp. I had finished singing three songs as a guest singer in a concert held in one of the big function rooms of Hotel Nikko. The warm response of the audience, whether it was sincere or feigned, elated me.

I had known that this was an exclusive audience. Rita, a close childhood friend who planned the concert, told me beforehand that this was intended for big-time businessmen and entrepreneurs. She was the chairperson of a women’s movement engaged in several civic activities, and she told me that this was one of their projects.

I had told her that I didn’t care who would be there. I wanted to decline as I had done in the last give years, because I had not done any singing since then. But she insisted that the proceeds of the concert would go to the victims of the Mt. Pinatubo eruption. That melted all my defenses. Rita always knew that I had a soft spot for the unfortunate.

I sang for Rita’s circle—a group of people I had earlier dreamed of being identified with, but which I later shunned.

Rita was a townmate, a high school classmate and a roommate in college. In youth, we both dreamed big dreams. We were both ambitious. We were both determined to rise from poverty. Rita had used her brain and beauty (and perhaps cunning) to land a good job in a big shipping company. That’s how she met and finally married the son of the owner. Her newfound world took her away from me. After marriage, she had set up her own garments export business and succeeded.

Rita and I drifted apart in the last twenty years, although our paths crossed once in a while. While she was busy making herself rich, I was also busy carving a niche in the memory of men. That was how one movie writer put it—carving a niche.

Although we seldom talked, I knew that both of us already achieved what we wanted. At 43, we were both reaping the fruits of success.

I was jolted from my thoughts when a man extended a hand as I reached the last step of the stairs. I automatically gave him my hand as I had been used to.

“Congratulations! That was a fine performance, Ms. Muñoz—lady with the golden voice!”

His was an effervescent tone.

“Thank you, sir.” I had been blinded by the lights and my eyes were still adjusting to the dim surroundings. I could not figure out his face. But there was something familiar in his voice that sent a ding-dong to my ear.

He led me down the aisle. As we walked side by side, I tried to peer at his face. He was about an inch taller than me, or perhaps he was just too fat for his height. His face was round and it seemed even rounder with his wide grin. His forehead was full and shiny, his hair thinning. There was something characteristically familiar in his smile.

I was so preoccupied with the thought of identifying him that I forgot where I was headed. Where was the exit door? He was leading me to the back of the room.

“Can you stay for a while, Lizzie?” he spoke again.

“Oh,” I hesitated. All I wanted to do was walk away, disappear as fast as I could. I knew he was not a teenager who would clamor for autographs. But something in his firm grasp told me to stay. He led me to two vacant seats at the back. Did he intentionally reserve one seat for me?

“Elusive queen of ballads, I’m glad you stayed,” he spoke again in his booming voice. My mind was still reeling. Who could this man be?

“I can stay for just a while. Otherwise, I need to leave.”

He was silent for a while. He was serious when he spoke again. ‘Why are you so in a hurry, Liza?”

He spoke my name as if he had known me all along. Then he had to be somebody I had known in my younger days! I tried to peer at his face again. If he had been a little younger… I realized that I was looking at an older version of a face I had known long ago. Suddenly, the image became very clear.

“M-Manuel… Manuel?”

“You have a good memory, Liza,” he chuckled. “I thought you had forgotten me.”

My God, how could I forget? I was not a teenager, but small beads of sweat started to form on my forehead as my heart started to pound. Was this really Manuel Diwayan?

“Are you real?” was all I could say.

“Flesh and blood!” He chuckled again.

“But where have you been all these years?”

“Seeking fortune in a foreign land.”

I had heard from one of his relatives that he had gone to America and had never been heard of since.

“When did you get back?”

“Oh, I often did. But the last time was when my wife divorced me.”

“Divorced you?” So he got married after all?

“For another man.”

I fell silent. Then I spoke.

“How did you know about this concert?”

“I called Rita when I got back two weeks ago.”

“So you are keeping in touch?”

“Often. They have a house in California, very near our house. Sometimes she calls me when she is there.”

“She never told me.”

“We always talked about you. She told me you have changed. You have become as elusive as a deer. Both of us were wondering why.”

I did not speak. I remembered how I deliberately turned down several invitations from Rita. I always told her I was busy. She didn’t know I was just preoccupied with gardening and propagating fruit-bearing trees in my lot in Antipolo, a hobby I had always loved since I was a child. And that I preferred to spend my nights, not in socializing, but in reading romance books which, for sometime, took me away into another world. These activities did not demand of me to be refined and well-mannered even if I had wanted to be cross and rude. At least, I didn’t have to tire the muscles of my face putting on a plastered smile as I had done several minutes ago.

“Actually, I wanted to see you as soon as I came back. But Rita warned me that you might not entertain me. She told me she had visited you several times in your house in Diliman. But the maid always told her you were out.”

Nobody knew of my retreat house in Antipolo. I didn’t want anybody to know about my sanctuary. Not anybody! This was the only place which shielded me from intrusion. I had enough of hypocrisy and madness. My body had been exhausted from the demands of my social life. I had not been used to being a night person, yet I had been forced to stay as late as two o’clock in the morning when I had concerts.

Perhaps this was why I wanted to buy a house far enough from the city to allow me some privacy when I wanted it, a place where I could wallow in books all night and sleep all day and still have time to talk to my plants in the late afternoon. Even if I had a gardener, who was from my hometown, I always saw to it that I visited my plants, especially my collection of orchids, everyday.

“Are you really that busy even these days, Liza?” he spoke again.

I remained silent. Would I tell him that I was busy tending an orchard which I had always dreamed of having? I knew he loved this, too, but I didn’t think I still had to tell him so.

“Would you want us to find some place where we can talk?”

“I cannot stay late.” Actually, I could stay out very late because my body was already used to sleeping at two o’clock in the morning, a habit I was not able to get over with. I had been trying to learn the art of meditation to change my sleeping pattern but I knew I still needed discipline in this field.

“An hour maybe? I know a good place right here.”

“Where?”

“The Concourse.”

“Nice place,” I agreed. I had been to the place several times in the past. Not only was the service good, the place was also ideal for talks. I also wanted privacy.

We sneaked out as the next singer was straining his voice. Maybe I would just call Rita later.

The Concourse was just at the southern side and we had to cross the lobby.

Manuel was as spry and bouncy as ever. The years had done nothing to dampen his lively spirit. I had to slow down since I had a difficult time with my high-heeled shoes and my evening dress which was too tight.

“Your voice never faltered, Liza,” Manuel kept on talking while we were walking. “I wonder how you were able to maintain that mellow quality of your voice which nobody had been able to imitate.”

“Ginger, perhaps,” I laughed feebly.

“ Tata Kinio’s legacy?” He chuckled.

Tata Kinio was a well-known local healer in our town who always had an herbal prescription for all sorts of illnesses.

The first thing I noticed as we stepped into the dimly lit dining area was the soft sound emanating from the piano. Except for a few middle-aged men who were in barong or in coat and tie and who were speaking in hushed voices, the place was almost devoid of people. We chose a seat far from the small stage where the pianist was visibly having a good time.

“Wine? Coffee? Or…?” Manuel asked when we were seated.

“Just a cup of tea.”

Manuel started the conversation as he gulped his coffee and as I sipped my tea.

He started recalling our high school days in Peñarrubia, a lethargic town of Abra where we were raised.

“You remember your microphone?” He grinned.

I smiled at the thought of the sardine can which we had used as a microphone when we sang under the shade of the acacia tree when we were in high school. We used to sing while waiting for the afternoon bell to ring.

“And your ship?” I countered.

He laughed. Perhaps he remembered the lengths of bamboo he bound together. We used to go rafting in Sinalang River when we were still young. He used to tell me that he would one day cross the Pacific.

“We’ve gone a long way, Liza. You have gone farther,” his tone changed. “Are you happy?”

I did not expect the question. Was I happy? I hadn’t asked myself that question for so long. I just shrugged my shoulders.

“You still look young and contented.”

“Money can do a lot of things. It can change your looks.” I forced a laugh. How could he notice the lines on my forehead and below my eyes when my face was neatly covered with layers of cosmetics? “I think you look younger. Is it also because of money?”

He chuckled again. “Not money. Disposition, you might say. I have learned the hard way. Nothing had ever brought me down. Nothing will.”

He was as interesting as ever. He never ran out of stories to tell. The last time I remembered about him was when we were in college. He was a working student. I had no idea if he graduated. I was in second year when we drifted apart because of my ambition. He avoided that part.

He only told me about his hardships in America. He had been petitioned by his uncle, his mother’s brother. He had thought his call would never come. Fortunately, it came. It happened so fast, he said, I had no time to say goodbye to friends. He stayed in Hawaii for several years and worked in papaya plantations as a fruit picker. Then he worked as a machinist. But he said that his fortune came when he entered the real estate business. I knew he had the knack for talking. It was his job as a realtor that brought him to California.

“I married late in life,” he recounted. “I married a young girl from our own town. She was sixteen. I was forty. Can you beat that? After she got her citizenship, she divorced me.”

“You had a child?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Did you love her?”

“My cousins in Peñarrubia said that she was fine for me.”

I nodded. I knew the culture in our place. When they know that one is a balikbayan and a bachelor, they would match him with a young girl in the place who also aspired to go to America. Once the girl is there, she will find a younger man and will divorce her balikbayan husband if he happens to be old. I had known of several cases in my youth. I was nearly one of those girls. I was glad I went to college. I was spared from a marriage I didn’t want.

“When was the last time you went back home?” I changed the topic.

“A week ago.”

“How is the place?”

“The road is very bad. The asphalt road had been scraped. They said it would have been repaired two years ago. It still lies there, waiting for funds.”

“Any other change?”

He shook his head. “Do you honestly think there is still hope for our town?”

I sighed. I didn’t want to talk.

“You see, I plan to go back. I’m not bragging, but I am richer than anybody in our town. I want to help our people. But perhaps I need to run for public office.” He shrugged his shoulders. “How’s politics in the place?”

“I haven’t been there for a year. I don’t think I would still go back.”

His forehead creased. “What happened to the girl who had kept saying that she missed the springs, the golden rice fields and the terraced paddies? Have you forgotten the tall mango and sarguelas trees we used to climb? Were you not the one who had told me that Peñarrubia was a paradise and that we only had to enlighten the people about it?”

“What enlightenment are you talking about?” I unconsciously raised my voice. “The young generation has forgotten us. Our roots are there, but we are strangers. We don’t belong there anymore. Why waste your time and your hard earned money for people who will never change?”

He did not speak for a long time. He seemed to be studying my face. “You seem so cynical now. What happened to your dreams of going back and helping your people?”

I sighed. I couldn’t take much of this anymore.

“It’s getting late.” I intentionally looked at my watch. I did not mind his quizzical look. I was determined to leave.

I told him I had my car and a driver, but he insisted on driving me home. He told my driver to go ahead while I protested. He won. He had a shiny BMW that he drove by himself. His big ring flashed as he drove. Yes, Manuel had gone a long way, too. But his pudgy fingers told me he really worked hard to attain it.

I felt a strange twinge of pain in my chest as I thought of it. He deserved all that he got. After all, he had been hardworking.

I wanted to go straight to Antipolo. But I was reluctant to let him know about my sanctuary. I directed him to Ayala Heights in Diliman.

“Can I visit you again, Liza?” he asked as he saw me to the gate. I did not invite him in.

“I will give Rita a call,” I said.

“She gave me your number.”

I hesitated. This seemed to be a ploy. “Call me later,” I finally answered.

AFTER a brief lull, just when things were beginning to get better, why was I fated to meet Manuel Diwayan again? As I lay on my soft bed, I could only stare at the blank ceiling. And my mind wandered back in time.

Manuel and I had been more than friends. We had plans and dreams that only the two of us understood. But I had not been strong to remain committed to our plans. Perhaps this was the primary reason he left without notice when I entered the entertainment world.

In youth, we promised that we would not be tied to the soil. We would go to college, and prepare for our life together. We thought then that the only way to improve our life was to leave the dusty town. The city was our refuge.

But life in the metropolis was not easy for students who had to scrimp and save to be able to study. My body was not used to the pressures of working and studying at the same time. Besides, work was scarce for someone who had no college education.

Then, through Rita and Manuel’s prodding, I found my way through several singing contests. They kept on telling me to harness my voice. Indeed, my voice was my asset. But it also became my burden. Small successes were traps I was not able to avoid.

At first, I thought I was contented with small-time singing contests. But Rita prodded me again to try singing in small folk houses. She found one for me. I started singing for one night a week. Then it became two. Then three nights a week. I became a regular singer.

I thought that what I earned there was enough. Until a manager of a popular folk house promised to pay more than what I was being paid every night. Rita insisted that I had to accept the offer while Manuel advised me to think it over. Despite Manuel’s hesitation, I accepted the offer. Then the manager planned a concert for me. A year before the planned concert, he started to spend a lot for my publicity. The concert was a success.

Eventually, offers to sing in different shows poured in. I held concerts twice a year. My aging manager had indeed found a gold mine in my voice. But he was not only interested in my voice. He was also interested in my body. Although I was only five feet and I had ordinary looks (my nose had not undergone any noselifting yet), I had a trim body, good legs, and thank God for cosmetics, I had smooth and soft skin.

By that time, I was greatly indebted to him; an indebtedness that required me to live with him. That was when Manuel and I drifted apart. I had been too busy that I barely had enough time for him and my studies. I knew Manuel wanted both of us to obtain a degree but my manager told me that my studies could wait, while the opportunity for fame could not. And I chose to listen to him instead of Manuel. I had even given up the values I nourished since I was a child. I had also given up Manuel and our plans; a decision I could not explain until now.

When Rita tried to counsel me, I no longer wanted to listen to her. After all, she, in part, had driven me to this kind of life. And who cared, anyway? I was already a part of a world where living together outside marriage was a fad. The klieg lights did not only blind my eyes, they also blinded my sense of reason.

The feeling of being popular was something new and I reveled in its glory. The world of fronts and acts was a whirlwind that engulfed me and changed my personality (or that was what I thought). It also changed my values. Able to buy all that wanted, I began to develop greater confidence. Plastic surgery, facials and bleachings had remedied everything that I didn’t want in my looks.

But everything went upside down when my live-in manager abandoned me for a struggling singer. I realized then that I was alone. So successful but too alone. I searched for Manuel. That was when I learned that he had left for the states. That was when I also heard the Rita had graduated from college. I felt a bit of remorse.

Determined not to let myself feel dejected, as otherwise I would lose my career, I sought refuge in different relationships with men. After all, I consoled myself, I had lost Manuel, the only man I really wanted to marry. I had lost Rita, the closest friend I had since I was a child. I felt like an uprooted tree at the mercy of the wind. But at that point, I couldn’t acknowledge that I was at fault. Why would I shun success when I was fated to have it?

But I did in the end.

I had been a very private person and I kept wondering now why I ever fell into a life where I could be degutted. While I reflected on this later on, I eventually realized that it was not the kind of life I had wanted. So I slowly withdrew from its grip.

And here I was not, trying to flee from the chains I had put around me. Here I was, trying to escape the memories that were flooding me. I got up and popped a pill. Pills, Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, Fame, Fortune. I had my fill. I had more than I needed. What else would I need? Why was there a gnawing feeling inside which would not leave me?

There was no answer in the silence of my spacious bedroom.

MANUEL did not stop until I allowed him to visit me again. Since my maid told me that he kept calling me in Diliman, I thought of allowing him to visit me. Just once, I resolved, so I invited him for supper in my house in Diliman. For the first time in so many years, I cooked. I prepared a bowlful of pinakbet, ginataang kuhol, roasted mudfish and a salad of edible ferns. I knew he loved all these.

As I led him to the candlelit dining room, the sparkle in his eyes told me that I tickled his appetite.

Our meal together was spiced with conversation he himself had enlivened. And I found myself talking sincerely for the first time in so many years.

“You know that all I wanted was a peaceful and quiet life…” It was my turn to speak as he feasted on the basi I ordered from Naguilian, La Union.

“But you aspired for riches and fame. And you know that both do not guarantee a life of peace and quietude.”

“I’m wiser now.”

Silence.

How could I tell him now that I had thought that being rich was the only way to free my family from poverty that chained us to the soil? And how could I tell him, too, that I failed in my hope to give my family and all my relatives a better life; that they just squandered my money and forgot how I spent sleepless night to earn it? How could I also tell him of the wasted half a million fund that I donated to the province for a livelihood project? Or, would I let him do the same and let him learn his lesson, too?

“I knew some of the things you went through,” he finally spoke with such solemnity that was not characteristic of the old Manuel I had known. “I also learned of your disappointments. I am not a prophet to admonish you. I am not also a redeemer. I cannot promise you heaven. Only you can redeem yourself. You have chosen the direction you took. Only you can change your direction. But if you need a helping hand, you can have mine.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I was starting to feel uneasy.

“You have changed, Liza. At least, outwardly. But I haven’t. I worked hard to succeed because I had a commitment to fulfill. And I have not forgotten. You hurt me when you decided to live with that man.” He paused and looked at me, perhaps trying to ascertain my reaction.

I remained silent.

“So I resolved to get rich if that was the only way to win you back,” he continued. “I succeeded. But when I came back, you were too busy and too popular, I could not reach you. I went back to America frustrated. I came back time and again, only to know you were out of reach. I was rich but I was intimidated. You asked me if I loved my wife. I didn’t. There was only one woman I had loved through the years…” He looked at me intently.

He spoke so seriously that I never saw the usual glint of playfulness in his eyes. There was an unexplained emotion that swelled from within but I did all my best to suppress it. Had I not been used to suppressing my emotion and to feigning something that wasn’t really there?

“It’s too late, Manuel,” I avoided his eyes.

“As long as man breathes, nothing is ever too late, Liza. We can always start all over.” His voice was soft and soothing and overwhelming that my defenses were starting to break. Perhaps, all through the years, my success had been hollow. Perhaps, I had been living a zombie-like existence, using and being used, mistaking pretentious passion for joy, deceiving myself all along. Perhaps, there was a part of me that had been cut short by my instant popularity. And perhaps, it was that part which I sought in vain.

When was the last time I had talked to a sincere friend? I could not remember. But here was Manuel, restoring everything that had been lost in the past.

“Not on me,” I tried to sound adamant.

“Ice does melt,” he insisted. “I know you more than the facade you are wearing now. Somehow there are basic things in people that never change.”

I still didn’t speak. There were lots of things I wanted to tell him now. And I would tell them gradually. If he could wait until I was ready, perhaps, I would learn to trust again. Perhaps, I could tell him then that what I had lost was more precious than what I had gained. But if I were to believe his words, although I could not retrieve a lost yesterday, there was still time left to believe and hope again.

In time, I would take the risk.