Ed Castillo De Vera Alum Profile Page
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| Hits | 224 |
| Online Status | OFFLINE |
| Member Since | 09/02/2009 16:21:53 |
| Last Online | 10/24/2009 02:12:24 |
| Last Updated | 10/20/2009 17:00:51 |
| Avg Profile Rating |  |
| Connections | 1 |
| Forum Ranking | Fresh Alum. |
| Total Posts | 1 |
About Me
| Gender: | Male |
| Birthdate: | 10/16/1954 |
| Class Year: | 1971 |
| Civil Status: | Married |
| My High School Life: | |
| Nothing could ever top those four high school years (1966-1971) in a decade known for a dance craze called Soul, a seminal hippie event across the ocean called Woodstock, the first moon landing, pop music giants (Beatles, Beegees, Bread, The 5th Dimension, Tom Jones, Pilita Corrales, Eddie Peregrina, Victor Wood, and Amapola), TV mainstays like "Stop! Look! Listen," Ike Lozada's "The Sensations," and Ate Ludz’ “Inday Badiday Show,” our homegrown Oprah-like TV gem at the time. That eventful decade also sizzled with those avid Noranians and Vilmanians who, like some feral creatures of the night, were ready to gouge eyes and pull hair for their celluloid idols. Hormone-addled teenagers, in crisp white polo shirts and khaki pants, worshipped in the temples of Divina Valencia, Merle Fernandez, and Stella Suarez. They were alluring mermaids this side of teenage angst, deliciously cavorting onscreen in their skimpy bikinis, artificial eyelashes, long silken hair teased and woven into towering beehives--who could possibly save us, Sariaya's young blades, from a certain watery doom? SI'ans, even then, were young warriors in full battle regalia, eager to rush headlong into battle--not unlike those war-hardened Spartans--against infidels who would dare to hint that the citadel of our youth, our dear ol' Sariaya Institute, was a poor waif who, with nose pressed against the glass panes, was peering jealously at her allegedly more privileged and bejewelled cousins west of Capitol Panciteria and Trillana's billiard hall (I think they were called St. Joseph's Academy and St. Francis' High School). Didn't anyone get the message from our rousing parades all over town that we, loyal SI'ans, had stood with Jack Dawson and Rose Dewitt (Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslett's characters in "Titanic") on the bow of that unsinkable ship, and with arms outstretched for all the world to see, shouted and proclaimed that we were on top of the world? Those were eventful years, rife with youthful dreams, aspirations, illusions, self-doubts, naivete, and a huge dose of idealism, too. Oh, how we loved the years we spent memorizing those long and haunting quotations from Rizal's Noli and Fili. We felt in our bones that the dastardly act of missing the precise words as we filled those unforgiving blanks in Mr. Alvarez's quizzes would be an affront to his enduring love for Crisostomo Ibarra, Maria Clara, Elias, and Sisa. Frankly, while we were enthralled by our teacher's fame as a Rizalian specialist, we were also titillated by veiled passages hinting at the naughty mischiefs of Padre Damaso and Padre Salvi. The old lush mango tree that for decades had shaded the flagpole area changed leaves and bore fruits through all our adrenaline-pumping intramurals. Like those screaming San Miguel and La Tondena fans, we watched our varsity stars (the Espinosas, the Austrias, the Atienzas) playing stellar basketball games in our then unpaved courtyard, their agile limbs and prowess all harbingers of their winningest stints at both district and provincial athletic meets. Each morning, right after mumbling our way through "Panatang Makabayan," we impishly grinned as we watched Mr. De Luna, like clockwork, jotting down fines against the names of hapless students caught sashaying in their slippers or "civilian" clothes (of course, they promptly got even by tagging him with monikers like "Baruk" and "Mr. M" - well, not in honor of James Bond's crafty inventor of high-tech weaponry, but simply "M" for "Multa"). We swelled with pride as we watched Mr. Ricardo "Baden Powell's Man Friday" Sumague drilling and prodding his boy scouts toward sheer perfection. Knot-tying, bamboo bridge building, semaphor flag signaling, and those precision marching drills up and down the two cratered streets that sandwich our school--they were riveting showcases and unfailing magnets for medals and trophies during provincial jamborees and showandos. Ricky Sumague's scouts became Mamala's roving "kilabots" as they bravely traipsed and read trail signs during those arduous forest hikes in the foothills of Mt. Banahaw. We gasped in shock when one of our fellow scouts was gored in the face by the horns of a crazed “kalabaw” or water buffalo—thank heavens his injuries were not life-threatening. Our scoutmaster, known for his thick hair and brisk, no-nonsense gait, plus thick portfolios chronicling his scouts' frenetic activities, could still find time to mentor our math wiz and Eagle Scout, Mario Masilang, and Sariaya's first Boy Mayor, Dante Cadiz. Some mornings or afterschool hours, our hearts and feet thumped with the heady beats of our famed Drum and Bugle Corps that blossomed under Agelio Abril and Senen/Nestor Racelis's deft batons. At recess, we'd scamper across the street to Aling Nita's store, famed for her almost sinful "pansit habhab" and camote/banana "kyu" -- two fares that had nourished us during those all-nighters that preceded our interminable tests and finals. Every single day, we looked forward to our topnotch Physics, Biology, and Literature classes taught like some enchanting Harry Potter wizardry by our legendary teachers: Mr. Jacinto Ilao, Mrs. Lucy Raga, and Miss Bustamante, the latter embodying for us the grace and charm of the fictional Laarni (from our Freshman year's favorite short story "Laarni, A Dream"). On Friday nights, nobody could halt our guilt-free treks to that fleabag of a film palace south of our long-neglected town park, eager to get our weekly fix of "suntukan, bakbakan, at karatehan" courtesy of Fernando Poe, Jr, Jess Lapid, Tony Ferrer, and Erap. Even our class brain, PMT Top Gun, and Class Valedictorian, Ted Manalo, would come down from the peak of Mount Academia to join us in deciphering that melodramatic world of Pinoy cinema where the long-suffering Marlene Dauden and the husband-snatching Bella Flores or Rita Gomez traded obligatory "sampalan" and "pataasan ng kilay." (Just between you and me: I wondered even then if Pareng Ted had imbibed his suave and winning ways with the ladies from those lovey-dovey scenes brimming with "makalaglag-pustisong digahan" that had catapulted to stardom the likes of Ricky Belmonte and Rosemarie, Vilma Santos and Edgar Mortiz, or Tirso and Nora plus their engagement doll called Maria Leonora Teresa). Some nights we'd hurry home to catch Lucena's Tawag ng Tanghalan on the radio, and we held our collective breath listening to Leticia Casino's masterful rendition of "Free Again" and "Where The Boys Are" - two songs that propelled her to the Regional Finals in Naga City. Whenever a teacher was absent or tardy, our classroom would hum with voices feverish with dreams of fame and immortality beyond our town's Sadyaya and Balubal Rivers. My buddy, Ismael Alcantara, would tug at our heartstrings as he sang "My Way," "Two for the Road," or any one of Matt Monro's soulful ballads, perfect foils, indeed, to Vic Rustia's poignant "Among My Souvenirs" and to my own bewildering cover of Frank Sinatra's "Fools Rush In" which our resident humorists, Cecilio Hernandez, Rolly Ilao, and Boy Idea, would parlay into a fecund site for dead-on and hilarious impersonations. Upstairs in the Annex Building, we'd spend hours in our school library playing "dama" and chess while occasionally glancing at books that always looked brand-new behind their locked shelves and then getting shushed, when the cacophony became too intense, by our softspoken librarian, Mrs. Zenaida Valderas, or, sometimes, by Roger Borruel, our Principal's right hand man and later Registrar, whose Underwood typewriter in his office next door had never known a lethargic moment. Behind the old building, we watered and tenderly whispered to our eggplant and tomato plants, coaxing them to grow and bear fruits huge and juicy enough to tempt neighbors who might want to surprise their brood with veggie treats come dinner time. While sitting like some dreamy Don Quixotes and Sancho Panzas on tiered choir bleachers in front of the Physics Lab (this elevated room doubled as stage for plays and talent convocations that gave birth to campus superstars like Imelda Alviso, Ismael Alcantara, Letty Casino, Eppie Calatrava, Ligaya Ilao, Marilou Malana, and Adelaida Zaide), we'd practice conjugating our Spanish nouns and verbs even as we wondered if we'd ever get to first base with that elusive Iberian tongue. Then came Graduation Day one early evening in April, 1971 ... and now, as we shyly wipe away a few guilty tears of nostalgia and glide closer to our 40th class anniversary, we may pause to reflect on our lives' varied and exciting trajectories. We have forged our identities through the blood and gore of battles won and lost, through nuggets of wisdom picked here and there, and through commitments kept or ignored. Life, we gradually realized, is a tangle of facile and difficult feats achieved. We can only frown at some compromises we made along the way. Still we are enthused by our discovery that there, all the while running beneath the surface of our lives, is a steady stream of teachable moments gleaned from small or huge disappointments, dreams realized and sometimes deferred, and vast talents or potentials squandered or, better yet, turned into a gradual personal growth or unimaginable wealth. We might nod our heads, shake them in protest, shrug our shoulders, or just smile knowingly when we hear that tired bromide: "Youth is wasted on the young." Hopefully, we could all agree that our S. I. - that oddly familiar and life-changing PRESENCE we simply couldn't leave behind - truly touched our lives, and continues to do so, in so many more positive ways than we give her credit for. | |
| My High School Buddies: | |
| Great friends who made those four formative high school years too eventful and wonderful to forget (1967-1971): Ismael Alcantara, Ted Manalo, and Vic Rustia. | |
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| 09/05/2009 05:15:50 | Memories are made of these... | High School Days | 61 |
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SI Alumni Association ~ Ed Castillo De Vera
Sariaya Institute Education is what most receive, many pass on, and few possess. | |
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