I loved the way you wore lavender eyeshadow. Through my eleven-year old pre-teener eyes, I thought it was a fancy way of being noticed above conventional colors of blue and gray in different shades.
You wore lovely dresses too; plus shoes and bags to match. You brought along with you a curly-haired toddler who also came in pretty dresses, socks and doll shoes -- and wrote squiggles on the blackboard until we figured it read -- or at least sounded -- "Isel".
Thirty-seven years later, that is my enduring image of you, our 6th grade teacher. That was my Maam Hilario for me. To be exact, as you wrote on the blackboard, your full name is Corita Paz Hilario. I don't remember whether I verbally asked how a first name could also be a family name, i.e. Paz; but I know I asked it in my head.
We were the first class you handled upon arriving in Musuan to join Sir Robinson (I always thought he was a bachelor). You said you hail from San Pablo City (we had to look it up) and it was fascinating for us true-blue Bisdaks who were taga-Bukids to hear you speak in true-blue Tagalog, er, Filipino.
You called us "Gels." That you couldn't pronounce the R in GIRLS wasn't really a big issue: it was how you called us and we found it endearing.
You wore your makeup like it was the most natural thing in the world. I thought I would be as savvy when I grew up but that sort of just didn't happen. Even if you would go with us scouting, dancing -- your makeup didn't stain. Your moves were always paced, consistent. Was it because you were so calm you didn't perspire...?
There we were, a bundle of raging hormones in a time when teasing in the class revolved around boy-girl matchups; puppy loves that we thought would last forever until we found out that forever was actually only a few months. You must have teased me as well with a wink or with that one quick raise of an eyebrow and a demure smile.
Oh, you taught us Balagtasan like it was as easy to memorize as Yoyoy Villame's Magellan. I wonder how you made me get those lines in my head. I no longer remember who was the Kampupot or the Bubuyog -- or what my role was. It just left an imprint that writing poetry was a strong form of expression and that there was not just one form of the Tagalog language. I left Musuan for high school somewhere else and I only had glimpses of how you were.
Fast forward to 2010. CMU Elementary School Batch 76 met during the Centennial Celebration where we invited our teachers. You were still the same smart dresser with the measured movements. Apart from a couple of lines on your face, you haven't changed much.
I get updates of you through our FB Group, and of course through Eizel. Our batch was chattering (to use the word 'chatting' would be tame -- we do virtually sound like bats: we don't have squirrels in Bukidnon although we have flying lemurs. I just don't know how they sound) about a 40th Anniversary Reunion. I got a text message from Candido Mercado Jr aka Didong who now lives in MVC and regularly sends me inspiring text messages. It took some time for this particular message to sink in -- saying that you already went ahead. Lillibeth Coruña aka Yvette Cueto and the rest on Facebook provided the answers even before we posted our questions.
My only regret is that I do not have childhood pictures with you anymore -- pictures that I could have shared with classmates and friends in our middle age. Moving from one residence to another over the years have taken its toll on these mementos. But images of you are still etched in my head; and the comfortable feeling of being guided by one's mentor still etched in my heart.
These are my fondest memories of you, Maam. I will miss you.
Sunshine,
Aveen
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Cotabato City
15 January 2014
