I once wrote about Justice Romeo Capulong as one of my favorite lawyers. (Ka-Blog! April 2006) I also remember writing I was not really close to him; I just admired him from afar. Serving him coffee or bringing him papers while I was NDF-JS PIO do not count, do they?

     Today, I finally got to know him up close. We are making a tribute video documentary about him and we spent some hours with him and his family.

     He and his partner welcomed us into a humble house they are staying at present. I noticed the many antique furniture inside the house they obviously like to collect. This was confirmed when we were taken to their real home. The house is nowhere near as big as one would be excused to assume a top notch lawyer like Ka Romy would own. But therein are many furniture (mostly second-hand and acquired cheap) that are as beautiful and tasteful as those that could be seen in a palace. (Atty. Capulong had to leave his house because of threats against his life by gloria’s dogs of war.) Molave, apitong, narra, yakal—name all treasured Philippine hardwoods, Ka Romy and wife have them as cabinets, chairs, floors and chests. How I wish we both had time to talk about all of them but we had a video to produce.

     This day is one of the most enjoyable times I have spent with a real celebrity. He took us where he does his morning walks. He prepared us capuccino. He instructed us on his health regimen, including the benefits of drinking wild yellow ginger tea. There is so much to this man than just being the best human rights lawyer this country ever had.

      Two things I like most about being with Ka Romy today.

     For breakfast, the couple took us to the nearest wet market where they do their regular shopping. He said the market is where he feels most acutely the people’s pulse. The market is where he can easily belie the government’s rosy economic forecasts. Atty. Capulong treated us to goto or rice gruel (ten pesos) and lumpia or deep fried veggie wrap (five pesos each). His easy repartee with their suki carinderia, suki fish vendor, suki vegetable vendor and the jueteng kobrador or collector (not suki) say so much about Ka Romy’s humility. They all consider him their friend though they often see him on TV. “Lagi naming napapanood si sir. Sikat na, mabait pa!” they said.

     We talked about Ka Romy’s roots extensively. A shared tenant farmer’s son, he narrated his humble beginnings. But he is aware of his family’s noble history. “Muslim kami, galing sa Tondo. Ninuno namin si Lakan Dula.” (Lakan is a Tagalog and Pampango word for “king.”)

     As my personal tribute to Ka Romy, I researched the following (okey, cribbed from the book “Manila, My Manila”):

 

Before the palefaces arrived in these shores, Metro Manila was of two kingdoms—Maynila and Namayan. The former is where Fort Santiago is now; the latter had its capital where Sta. Ana is now. Namayan’s territories include familiar places—Quiapo, San Miguel, Sampaloc, Santa Mesa, Paco, Pandacan, Mandaluyong, San Juan, Makati, Pasay, Pateros, Taguig and Parañaque.

     According to Manila historian and National Artist for Literature and Journalism Nick Joaquin, the high point of Namayan history was the marriage, sometime in the 13th century, of Namayan princess (later Empress) Sasaban to Madjapahit Empire crown prince (later Emperor) Soledan (orAnka Widyaya). They ruled Indonesia.

     The imperial couple had a son, Prince Balagtas. Because he was to become King of Namayan, he married Lady Banginoan. Banginoan was the daughter of Lord Lontok and Lady Kalangitan, princess of Pasig. Her grandfather was Archduke Araw.

     One of King Balagtas’ descendants was Lakan Takhan who had a bastard son named Pasay. Takhan bequeathed to his son the kingdom we now know as Pasay City.

     After Takhan, Namayan was ruled by his son Palaba, who was in turn succeeded by his son Laboy. Laboy was succeeded on the throne by his son Kalamayin. It was Kalamayin’s sad fortune to be the sovereign when the palefaces arrived. When Kalamayin’s son was baptized a Christian, prince Martin, the Kingdom of Namayan was no more.

     The Kings of Maynila, Tondo, Namayan and others were originally Borneans. It was therefore natural for them to embrace Islam as their religion.

    As an aside, Joaquin wrote about El Kapitan Juan de Salcedo falling in love with a local Princess—the Lady Candarapa. Salcedo was Legazpi’s nephew while Candarapa was Lakan Dula’s niece. Both Legazpi and Lakan Dula frustrated the love affair. Salcedo was sent to conquer Ilocandia; Candarapa died three months after her lover sailed north. Salcedo christianized the Ilocos and the Cagayan Valley regions; Candarapa gave us the word that means “hopeslessly in love.” (Shades of Captain Smith and Pocahontas and Romeo and Juliet.)

    From the seeds of King Balagtas sprang such Tagalog-Pampango dynasties as the Soliman, the Lakandola, the Gatbonton, the Gatchalian, the Gatmaitan, the Gatdula, the Malang and the Kapulong or today’s Capulong. In fact, in later times, if a person has distinguished himself, his name is preceded by a “Gat” like Rizal and Bonifacio.

     It should be remembered that Rajah Soliman, along with his uncle, Rajah Matanda (Rajah Laya), Lakan Dula, and the great Lakan Macabebe from Pampanga were the brave kings who fought Legazpi in the battle off Bangkusay in Tondo. They lost, Lakan Macabebe killed. But there were lost battles that inspired wars of liberation at some later date (Alamo, Texas; Moncada, Cuba; Tet Offensive, Vietnam).

 

Five hundred years later, one of these kings’ descendants fights his battles and wars defending the Filipino. His name is Romeo T. Capulong.

 

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1-23-2007

I go by two names (and about four other besides).  I am Raymund to family, friends and acquaintance outside of the movement and the media.  To most comrades however I am Bukaneg.

             For a nickname acquired so late in my life (I was about 22 then), Bukaneg stuck to me like the oil spill on Guimaras’ mangroves and beaches.  When it was given to me coincided with the time when I took that turn, leftwards, in my life.

       Poet and international development worker Gilbert ‘Gibo’ Sape is to be blamed.  He took to giving new CEGP recruits archaic/funny-sounding names.  I remember Anakpawis Partylist secretary general Cherry Clemente was ‘Pokwang’; ABC 5 reporter, compadre and Raymund Villanueva Fans Club president Erelson Cabatbat was ‘Procopio’; women’s right advocate Carla Mortel was ‘Pruki’; and writer Pia Saavedra was ‘Prek-Prek’.

       I do not know if Gibo had a hand in giving names to others.  But there were others in the CEGP then who had queer-sounding names too.  Joshua was ‘Tibor’, Cecille was ‘Pekpek’, Randy was ‘Poyeyo’, and Nigel was ‘Ateng’. 

      This name giving was in line with Gibo’s christening of grouplets in the CEGP national office.  Those who came from the national bourgeoisie and the landlord class were the Pamilyang Maharlika like Teddy Casiño and Cherry Thelmo.  The asthmatic-looking ones were the Pamilyang TB (tuberculars) like Joshua and Lorelei Sanchez.  The poor-looking ones, such as myself, were Pamilya Labandera. The head of our family is named, totoo ito, Vilma Santos—the star for no reason.  We even gave the house rat a name: Rat-bu (it was huge and unafraid).  There were also two sorry-looking houseplants named Bukaneg and Pekpek (because Cecille had a crush on me).

       Name-calling is just one of the things I remember most when the CEGP had its national headquarters on Pepin Street in Sampaloc, Manila.  The house, owned by the Thelmo family, was condemned even then.  Its rotten wooden floors sagged so badly we had to prop it up with a piece of wood at the center of the receiving area.  Its sofa was so beat-up not even a stray dog would sleep on it.  Two other chairs were kept from collapsing with generous knots of plastic straw strings.  Its door only had a single bisagra working so it sagged to the left and creaked like an old man’s arthritic bones.  Floodwater would come in whenever it rained hard.    But it was our home.  

       I remember when Lei and Vilma were conned and gave away our gas stove to a smooth talking stranger.  I remember clambering up the walls to try to restore electricity to the house (and being reported by neighbors).  I remember the neighbors throwing empty bottles at our door at three o’clock in the morning to shut us up.  I remember sleeping and sharing space with ten people in a room meant for only four.  I remember Ateng’s laundry soaked in the tub for ten days and polluting the office air with their stench.  I remember receiving dagger looks from Aling Ine because the list of our debts from her store was longer than the street itself.  When we didn’t have money to school hop, which was often, we joked about letting the sewage canal do the job of delivering our letters to the student publications instead.  But I do not remember any other time when instant noodles and sardines tasted just as good.

      Yes, that house had character.  It was so only because it was peopled by characters.

       Poet Camilo Villanueva would wake up, don his suit jacket over his walking shorts, grab his grass basket and rush to his La Salle morning classes without even brushing his teeth of washing his face.  (He once slept on a vegetable stall at the Tagaytay Market after getting lost going to a National Council Meeting.  He was seen curled up among cabbages by Guilders out on an early morning jog.) 

       Nigel ‘Ateng’ Rances loved to perform a sultry wall dance on top of the stairs landing.  He would wake up at ten when he had an eight o’clock meeting, resume his slumber on top of the stairs, then navigate the stairs while sleeping on every step for five minutes and end the morning sleeping on the worn sofa.  By the time he is fully awake, the day has gone.  (He once won the Miss Gay Pageant at the Polytechnic wearing a gown hand-stitched by his CEGP ‘handlers’.

       Among all of us, poet Poyeyo would go without a bath the longest.

       Gibo wore shiny boxer shorts to his UP classes, the same boxer shorts he wore to his gym sessions.

       Dennis Torrecampo would often shock all of us by doing a pirouette in front of everybody.

       Miss Philippines pageant semifinalist Charmaigne always wore the skimpiest blouses with her ample boobs threatening to pop out. 

       Jazminda Lumang would wear the shortest ‘pekpek’ shorts after squirming out of her prim St. Paul’s uniform. 

       I remember Cherry Clemente and Clara Garabiles doing a duet one time.  It was AWFUL!

       I remember Rosalie ‘Lahlee’ Taguba exhausting the Ms Saigon repertoire before finishing her bath.  (She passed the auditions but wasn’t allowed by her dad to postpone her studies for London’s West End.)  

       Former Starbrighter Hazel Garcia cracked all sorts of jokes about her vagina but once intimated to us she only lost her virginity in 1998, well into her 20s.

        Those that have yet to be mentioned were ‘Manay’ Esit, ‘Tatay’ John, Mila, Lionel, Robert, Red-G Salas, Randy M., Tina Toupee,  the late Sammy Tiu, the late Chris ‘Bading’ and others. There were so many others but I only remember the names of those who frequented Pepin.

       On Friday nights, we had poetry reading.  There were lots of good poets in that house—Gibo, Poyeyo, Bobby, Camilo, Teacher Roland.  Even Gary Granada joined us one time.  The others, including myself, braved to read some of our first efforts as well.  My sonnets never earned a good response.  My modern poems were fine with them.  Our poetry nights would often go well into the night, fuelled by booze.  We often did not have money to eat but we always had beer money for our poetry nights.

       It wasn’t the house nor the street.  We were a group of pimply kids enjoying our first families outside of our own families.  Outside, we would still be riotous.  We used to walk all the way to SM Centerpoint to see a high-brow movie.  We once were chided when we went skinny-dipping in Batangas.  (Erel kept close to the edge of the pool, deathly afraid of water that goes higher than his beloved crotch.)  We found to our delight that the cottage we stayed in was the location of a porn movie shot in that same resort in Tanauan.  We were stranded once in a Baguio convent for five days with hundreds of hungry and horny teenagers as wards.  We had to wait for our delegates to leave some food before we could eat at San Fabian, Pangasinan.  One regional Guilder had to pawn his car so we could settle some of our bills in Initao, Misamis Oriental.  We had to break off a riot between the RAs and the RJs in Boracay in 1993.

       There were dramatic moments, of course, especially on matters of the heart.  Digmaang rosas, we called it.  I could not even begin how to explain it; it was so convoluted.  Just take these names—Charmaigne, Dennis, Cherry C., Teddy, Robert, Lorelai, Vilma, Erel, Randy M, Maita, Tina, Pia, Carla, and a few other names besides—and put them all in a blender.  There. You get the idea.

       Every CEGP batch has its own stories to tell.  These are just some of mine.  When prodded by beer and the presence of those mentioned here, I could write a book about our misadventures.  We were college seniors or new grads or dropouts who had grand dreams about helping our country unshackle itself from poverty and subservience from the imperialists.  We managed what could be the biggest student organization of its kind in the world at the time and managed it well.  For most of us, this was our first stab at life and struggle.  Some moved on, some dropped out.  But I am sure we all look back to our days on Pepin Street sometimes.

       As for me, I entered Pepin Street as Raymund and left it as Bukaneg.  I go by two names (and four other besides).

 

= = = = = =

 

The most famous Bukaneg is, of course, Pedro Bukaneg, the foremost Iloko poet.  I heard village mate Jeffrey Dolatre called Bukaneg sometimes.

= = = =

         Not a few asked me my real name.  I often just smile.  Some even assume Bukaneg is my real name or, at least, it’s Raymund Bukaneg.  A lot thought Raymund and Bukaneg were different persons.

= = = =

08-25-2006