MANILA HOTEL

A premier hotel in the Philippines since 1910, it is a grand hotel where many American governors-general and Philippine presidents entertained their foreign guests — from kings and queens to prime ministers. General MacArthur called it home for many years while the Manila Rotary Club hold its meetings there from the very beginning. A world class hotel, though understated, it has become a venue of collective memories for many Filipinos who had attended one of the many business or social functions held there.

A few fond memories I have of this hotel; foremost was my cousin’s debutant ball in which two older brothers were part of a group of eighteen pairs of young men and women who danced the traditional cotillion. I was barely a teenager then, but remembered having a wonderful time dancing with my cousins and friends during that entire night.

But the most special of all was my memories of Manila Hotel when much younger — the Saturday evenings when my father and mother would go there for a formal dinner/dance, or to enjoy a live concert performance by local big bands or foreign music artists. My father, in a black tuxedo, seemed like a black velvet jewel box casing a precious gem — my mother; all dressed up in a flowing evening gown that seemed to sway ever so gently with her every move.

From the second floor window of our house, I would watch them as they stepped into my uncle’s car. And even at a very young age, influenced by the glamorous Hollywood movies I had seen with my father, I knew I would want to experience that same romantic scene with a girlfriend someday when I got older.

It was peacetime, as they would say, when my mother met my father for the first time. She was still a student/resident of La Consolacion College (not St. Rita’s as I had erroneously written on a previous entry; it was my sister a year older who went to St. Rita’s College). My mother’s aunt, a nun, held an important teaching post in that school. Grandmother had already passed away so raising my mother and her only sister was my grandfather’s most important priority then (he would later marry a second time and produce a number of step-sisters and brothers for my mother and aunt).

My father, already a successful businessman was tiring of living a life as a bachelor; done with his running around, so to speak, and now ready to settle down. When he attended one of La Consolacion’s fundraising events, he met my mother and fell literally head over heels for her.

Right after this initial meeting, my father aggressively sought out and charmed my grandfather; convincing him that he would make the perfect husband for his daughter. Immediately after my mother’s graduation, grandfather advised my mother she was to marry my father. She became distraught. She hated the idea of marrying a man eighteen years her senior; someone she knew nothing about nor loved. However, she had no other choice but concede to my grandfather’s wishes; letting go of her dreams to pursue college and someday marry a man she could truly love.

My mother was grief-stricken by this arrangement, but the wedding went ahead as planned by my grandfather and father. My father knew my mother wasn’t in love with him and made it his quest to make her fall in love with him even if took him a lifetime to achieve it. So, right after the wedding, the courtship for my mother’s love began; it was to last until death do them apart.

Fortunately, for my father, it didn’t take long for my mother to finally acknowledge, appreciate and reciprocate the true love my father had for her. However, despite his victory, my father continued this courtship much to my mother’s delight. He was that much in love with her.

On those Saturdays when I went with my father to his office, usually before going home, he would also buy something for my mother however simple or mundane the item may be. What was more important was he had something to give her when he got home that Saturday evening.

However, with all due respect, as much as my parents celebrated such offerings as romantic and symbolic of his love for her, there came a point in time when such gesture on his part bordered on absurdity and embarrassment, mind you.

Searching fo gold trinkets at Ongpin was fine, but dragging me over to Berg’s at Escolta on a late Saturday afternoon to look for the latest bras or girdles for my mother was just too much. And this was when I was already in high school. And whenever I alluded that perhaps, it was a bit too intimate or personal an item for the two of us to be buying instead of allowing my mother to shop for those things herself, my father would just give me his trademark if-looks-could-kill kind of stare.

So, I would just shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes whenever I heard him say to the saleslady, “I’ll take three and please have them gift wrapped.”

A couple of years after my father’s demise, my mother, to assuage her loneliness, began to entertain suitors. However, in the end, she opted not to remarry. She had learned to love my father as much as he loved her, and was very much content with that. Apparently, he filled her heart with enough love to last until the time comes when they meet again in the afterlife.