The last three
weeks, we were drenched by a daily dose of an unbelievable amount
of rain. It seemed that the floodgates of heaven had gone berserk
and spilled its contents to the already soaked earth below. It was
not just the usual sporadic bursts of the annual monsoon Habagat,
but a continuous downpour that went on for hours, and days. Luckily,
Subic in Olongapo where I now live, is not as unfortunate as Metro
Manila, or else we would also be plunged in waist-deep floodwaters.
Sometime within
that week, my sleep was interrupted by a cold, sleek drop on my cheek.
Our roof was leaking. It was trickling on my headboard; and on it
was my bookshelf. The tiny drops have started to drench several of
my books that lay there. I noticed one particularly thin book: I peered
closer and recognized it as my copy of NVM Gonzalez's "Seven
Hills Away and Other Stories".
I reached out
to it, meticulously wiped away the wet part with my shirt and gently
blew it dry. While doing so, my eyes caught the writings at the back
cover. It said there, NVM Gonzales was born in Romblon.
Of course, I long
knew where he was born. But even so, getting reminded again never
ceases to amaze me to have a kababayan in NVM's stature. Maybe
I'm just such a lover of the written word that knowing someone from
our sleepy little hometown excel in literature gives me goosebumps.
As I read further, I felt a little jealous to know he actually grew
up somewhere else: Mindoro.
Nestor Vicente
Madali (NVM) Gonzales took his pen and paper seriously and started
his career on writing soon after finishing high school. He was the
first Filipino writer to come out into the limelight after World War
II. Born in 1915, he received recognition for his novel, "Seven
Hills Away", which also won him a fellowship at Stanford University.
He is recognized for his ability to put into beautiful combination
words and poignant phrases to describe the otherwise insipid life
of our simple Filipino villagers. When his stories are funny, he is
really funny. When he is melodramatic, the dainty characters embrace
you with feeble hands, crush your heart in pity and drive you to tears.
When I read his book, I am hurtled back to the time when man searched
the wilderness for his own niche. No GPS, no e-mails, no high-tech
gadgetry, just his plain old bolo, a worn-out shirt and sheer guts;
relying on the bounty of nature to make ends meet.
In 1997, after
half a century of writing, NVM Gonzales was finally read and understood
by a grateful Filipino nation. He was awarded the National Artist
for Literature.
Shortly after
he was given this esteemed award, he came back to Romblon. He stayed
at Talipasak, an idyllic beach resort tucked in a beautiful private
cove that looks out to the sea and the island of Tablas.
Last December,
some friends and I had the opportunity to stay in the same resort.
On a round of drinks we were to share on a makeshift table under a
tree that stood between the guesthouse and the beach, someone pointed
out that it was the exact spot where NVM Gonzales' "Confession
Of A Dawn Person" was written. I pondered on it for a while and
for some unknown reason, felt moved by the thought. I decided it was
the closest I have come in contact with the writer. Somebody suggested
we have our drink on the sand nearby instead and not surprisingly,
the rest agreed.
Later, we took
out some red wine to replace our cheap bottle of gin or "bilog".
We really did not know what we were celebrating. But as we left for
our cottages to call it a night, I threw a glance at the tree. I thought
I saw a silhouette of an old man sitting by the round table, collecting
his thoughts for another great literary piece.
