Wandering through the Clearing at the Old BCS

(You might want to check out my entirely new memoir on Bayambang Central School.)

Wandering through the Clearing at the Old BCS

In 2012, I heard a piece of news from my hometown that shocked me and then saddened me deeply. Bayambang Central School, or its main building, reportedly burned down. It was hard to believe, or to even accept, that something that had been there long before I or my parents were born (it was built in 1914) and survived through the decades down to the '00s would one day turn into ashes.

I was sure there were thousands upon thousands of us who reacted the same way, we who entered its portals, whose laughter, shouts, and cries echoed on its halls, until whose last moments were spent in it torn between sadness and hope come Graduation Day.

I was working in Manila when I received the news. What was worse is that no one could tell for sure what caused the fire.

***

One good day on May 2011 in SM Bicutan, I stumbled into a photo exhibit on Filipino architecture, and as I walked around viewing the shots which were mostly in sepia, I was stupefied to see a photo of something very familiar to me.

I had never expected it, but it was right there, blown up in flattering proportions right before my eyes -- our old school building, the Main Building of Bayambang Central School in Bayambang, Pangasinan, the label incorrectly indicating the address as "Bayambang, Nueva Ecija," to my consternation.

My mind suddenly reeled, as it got flooded by memories of the wide open space.

BCS -- the mere mention of it awakens in me a mix of memories and emotions, some conflicting, contrasting, clashing, but all occurring one after another in a fast clip, or together in a heartbeat, in no particular order, with no logic and consequence, as though everything was gutted by fire.

***

On October 11, 2023, the local government of Bayambang moved quickly to "repossess" the property, as per a Regional Trial Court judge's order, the campus being originally a municipal property, until it was swapped by a former administration with a private property a few blocks away in Brgy. Magsaysay, the site of the former Velodrome built by former Mayor Jaime Junio from the idea of Atty. Geruncio 'Gerry' Lacuesta.

It was only when I went home in mid-2016 that I would learn about the long court battle ensuing as to the legality of the move.

Together with LGU people, all sorts of concerned groups from the private sector signified their desire to join in the clean-up operation staged for what had become a lowland rainforest. It was a dramatic and inspiring gesture bespeaking of volumes of pent-up thoughts and feelings about the historic school, which is by now more than 100 years old, 109 to be exact.

Through the clearing, amidst hacked trunks and foliage, the old buildings emerge one by one, looking like the ruins of a lost Mayan, Inca, or Khmer civilization. As my eyes wander around, I mentally trace the innumerable steps I took in this now-decrepit campus of cherished memories.

***

One of the most memorable things about Central is the trees. The trees then seemed so tall they reached the clouds. The lone fruit-laden mabolo tree in front near the fence particularly towered when I saw it as a child. (I would learn much later in life that the kamagong wood and the mabolo tree are one and the same species.) The many caimito trees around the campus were also a constant sight and often targeted by pupils and outsiders for their shiny, milky-sweet purple fruits.

***

The first place to be visible out of the clearing is the biggest physical representation of this public institution of primary education -- the Main Building. From the looks of it, it is mercilessly a goner, and maybe for good. Or maybe not.

The elegant pillars and arches of the building gave it an air of importance or dignity. Its stage area is where big events, special presentations, and graduation ceremonies were held. Its wide steps were a symbol of the many steps a pupil must hurdle before making it to another stage in life.

The next thing I recall is how I once made a valedictory address right on the stage of this building on Graduation Day, with hundreds forced to listen.

It was March 1983, and our batch just finished Grade VI. My speech was a prepared script by Mr. Tagulao, and the topic was about illicit drugs, so of course no one listened. I knew, because no one among my batch was paying attention. Maybe the teachers did out of politeness. It was embarrassing, a disaster.

But I think I made up for it by receiving a gold medal and a tall golden trophy at the end, but the funny thing is the trophy was a donation from outside, not from the school itself, courtesy of my Manila-based aunt, Dr. Leonidas Odon Cortez and her husband, Engr. Glorioso Cortez.

***

Then scenes of my first days in school, the quiet afternoons in class, and the young friends I made soon follow, almost at the same time. I am overwhelmed, needless to say.

This is because this large L-shaped building is where I spent my years in Grades I and II.

I can still remember the names of my classmates who belonged to Section 1 or what they referred to as Special Class, which of course made us feel special, for good or ill. (I would question, years later, the wisdom behind calling certain classes as that, or some other, like Star Section.)

There were those who I constantly competed with academically: Vilma de Leon, Rosabella Austria, Janette Magsanoc, Cesar Bato, Raquel Velasquez... Then there were the likes of Waldy Ferrer, Jocelyn Inacay, Armi Casingal, Manolito Camacho... My cousin Marjorie 'Dennis' Odon and Hernani Pangilinan were particularly good in math, and so being the competitive kid that I was, I felt threatened... The one I was closest to was my next-door neighbor at home in Poblacion, Joel Macam, my childhood friend. I was also friends with Ericson 'Dave' Camacho, Gary Tamondong, Benjoe Agbuya... The others were Luzviminda dela Cruz, Angelina Pacquing, Marivic Sabado, Anabelle delos Reyes, Jocelyn's cousin Marilyn Inacay, Don de Leon (the Principal's son), Mina Rita Rosario, Melvin Garay, Arthur Torres, Rex Gutierrez, Sydney Mamaril, Eunice Aquino, Cecilia Lagoy, Ma. Cecilia Calimlim, Michelle de Leon, Farah Santillan, Christopher Lacoste, Heidi Galang, Nelson Ordoñez, Donna Contreras, Jacqueline Juan, Marvin Gangano, Gilbert Quinto, Monette Simpao, and two other boys surnamed Papio and Contreras.

There were those I got to know on a limited basis because they became my classmates only in certain grades and were transferred from or to other sections or left the school or Bayambang for good: Elena Addun, Michael Brillante, Enrique Vinluan, Roderick Quinto, Michael Curaming, Marvin Tañedo, Herel Claudio, Edwin Caliyon, Christian Evangelista, John Ray Santos, Lorelei Paningbatan, Ignacio Imperial III, Venus Pagsolingan, Dondee Bautista, Gerraine Ruth Orcino...

There were still many, many names on this list because they became my classmates in combined classes in subjects with limited instructors, such as Scouting, Practical Arts, PE, etc. This way, I got to know at least someone from practically all the families in Bayambang.

***

In Grade I, we pupils bought Nutribun as snacks for five centavos. It was too huge and too packed a kind of bread for my appetite back then, so I had to bring home some of it. They say it was a project by then First Lady Imelda Marcos.

***

With embarrassed laughs, I remember the classmates who were told to go home after they relieved themselves in class, perhaps too shy to say, "Ma'am, may I go out?" as instructed by Ms. Fernandez.

***

Another unforgettable spot is the flagpole. It was installed near the fence lining on huge block of the town's prime property along Rizal Ave., a national road. Across the front gate was a fashion house (a store of made-to-order gowns) called Makapuri. The wide open space in front of the flag pole was, of course, where the Monday morning flag-raising ceremonies were held, after which a brief calisthenics exercise was conducted. A pupil was assigned to hit the pole repeatedly using a stone so everyone exercised at the same time according to the beating. I was assigned once to the job, and I think I was able to do it right despite my fear of failing at the simple task, being the hopeless introvert that I was.

The open field holds a special place in my memory because this is where we attended PE and Scouting classes, particularly those held by the impressive Mr. Reyes. During recess, it was where we played different versions of inabong (agawan base). We kids got enough sun, we had fresh air, and we had enough exercise. (Of course, we stank pretty bad right after.)

***

Many of the old structures are now gone, replaced with new ones that are a far cry from what the Americans built (why we can't do the same thing or better?), but I can still remember where we had classes in Kinder and Grades III, IV, and V.

Then I got reminded of all my teachers. There was quite a number of them, including those who didn't handle our class but whom I saw everyday. Mrs. Iglesias, Ms. Tamondong, Ms. Fernandez, Mrs. De Leon, Mrs. Tagulao, Mrs. Muñoz, Mrs. Paez, Mrs. Rosario... Mrs. Lim, Mrs. Garay, Mrs. Guevarra, Mrs. Lorica, Ms. Versoza, Mr. De Vera, Mr. Basa...

Around the different spots in the campus, I remember the few times I came across Principal De Leon, with that stern demeanor of his. Around him, everyone was suddenly in his or her best behavior. That was funny in retrospect.

***

Beside our Grade VI room, there used to be an herbarium where several "medicinal plants" were grown and carefully tended. One fine afternoon, Cecilia Lagoy discovered a tree that bore fruits whose seeds inside she tried to munch on: tagumbao (jatropha). Then she exclaimed how it was 'magata-gata" or creamy, so why didn't we try it? Properly intrigued, at least three of us tried it and it proved to be nutty and creamy indeed, better than peanuts or cashew nuts.

What happened next gave us, gullible ones, a scare of a lifetime. It was about 5:00 pm, and our adviser, Mrs. Rosario, learned about it, and all she could exclaim was some euphemism for swearing, like, "Ay agi, anak na lalasi kayo!"

We knew we were in trouble when we each walked our way home. In my case, it was providential that I munched on a raw saba banana and downed a glass of condensed milk and immediately vomited everything I had eaten. After that, I felt better and went back to normal. When I told my grandmother that I, together with some classmates, tried eating tagumbao seeds, she too went into panic mode.

Thankfully, the next day, it was as though nothing happened, and we survived to tell the tale, including the culprit. The stories were all the same, the same stupid incident of nausea and vomiting and the thought that we were about to die.

I can't forget how Dave and I even made a quick visit to the church along the way, with the thought that we were sure to die of poisoning that night, to the point that Dave even said something to me that I can no longer recall, most likely because the same morbid thought was racing through my mind. "Resty, pag ako namatay,..." I have no idea why we didn't even think of rushing to the hospital.

***

Another building I can't forget is the Library Bldg. at the back, which was another concrete Gabaldon Bldg. that is said to have been torn down after it was infested by termites. It was here where batches of students, including ours, studied Music under my aunt Naty, Mrs. Natividad Romero Agas. The well-maintained room there held lots of books which ever-curious me of course checked out, with one even borrowed and returned late, for which my aunt upbraided me aloud. It was here where I learned so many songs: "Caisson's Song," "Tirinding," "Up, Up with People," "Pobring Alindahaw," "No Te Vayas," "Dandansoy," and get this, "When I Grow to be a Lady." The traditional pieces we learned served as the alternative music to the ones we were absorbing daily from mass media.

Around the room were interesting displays, including a stamp and coin collection that fascinated me. I would have a long-running collection of stamps and coins of my own when I grew up.

In that building that is now totally gone, I had an experience of the supernatural. Don and I had just finished cleaning up the room on the day we were assigned to, when suddenly Don could not find the key and large padlock entrusted to us so we could open and close the Music Room on our own. The two of us went round and round searching for the missing thing for some minutes. Just when we were about to give up and leave the door closed without locking it (and hopefully tell Mrs. Agas), lo and behold, the missing objects suddenly turned up on one of the tables that we had cleaned spotlessly earlier, just like that.

***

On the steep stairs of this building, I remember Farrah Santillan playing with the steps using her feet with the skillfulness of a dancer.

***

Another Gabaldon building on the far left side adjacent to the water reservoir and Municipal Hall is the Home Economics Building, still intact after all these years. It is where I bought nutritious snacks made by HE teachers like Mrs. Viray and Mrs. Basilio and their students, an alternative from those we routinely bought from the roadside vendors right outside the fence at the back and the roving vendors inside.

Speaking of..., right outside the school fence, I remember buying an assortment of snacks: boiled saba, sago, palamig of various kinds (melon, buko, sago't gulaman, being the main ones), rattan fruits hanging in bunches (which I never tried, being unfamiliar with it at home), chicharon, iskrambol, banana cue, camote cue, and so on. Then there was this manang (old lady) who regularly sold tibok-tibok and another who often sold pudding, which is a dry cassava cake formed like a fat stick and wrapped in clear plastic. An old man named Soniega sold dirty ice cream while making sound with his quivering lips, while saying an incantation that sounded like, "Ah-brrrrrr!", thus spraying some of his warm saliva to his frozen product. (He would constantly be the butt of jokes, for such an unsanitary antic.) Another man sold incredibly rubbery hot cakes topped with sugar and margarine which we gobbled up while laughing at how awfully crude it was. Yet another man regularly churned out pink cotton candies using a fast rotating machine, and we definitely had fun eating it, knowing it was one of those forbidden junk foods at home.

We bought these snacks at then incredibly low prices, from five centavos to ten centavos in the earliest years up to 25 to 50 centavos later on. We who bought these things knew we belonged to poor families because we had a classmate like Luzviminda whose merienda was always Nestle canned sterilized milk and a sandwich neatly wrapped in paper towels.

***

At the farthest end of Central near the PSU campus lay a wide space for the vegetable plots used by the Practical Arts classes under Mr. Agas and another male teacher. (Male teachers were very few back then you could count them on your fingers.) Our classes were held inside a cool nipa shack, but most of the activities were a practicum: actually working on the plot, planting seeds, taking care of seedlings, and weeding out the pesky grass. Together with the lessons we learned from Mr. Bancolita in the Practical Arts building nearby, we learned to work the land with our bare hands in those vegetable plots.

***

And now my thoughts turn back to my own peers and even contemporaries from higher and lower grades. A number of them are based abroad now, many of them as nurses and healthcare workers. One is a respected professor and university administrator. Others have become businessmen. Others are employed in various industries. Some have been blessed with their own family; some, for various reasons, remain single. A few, sadly, have died too soon. As for the rest, I don't know what happened to them or their whereabouts.

In the intervening years -- no, decades -- life happened. I wonder if they are happy and contented with their lot, and how much, with the wild lottery that life threw at them.

I wonder what their regrets might be, if any. I can't help but compare and contrast (I know that's a sure recipe for sadness, but I am only human), and gauge my thoughts and emotions from there.

***

As my old alma mater's fate is locked in an ongoing court battle that is reportedly almost 10 years old, in a case I had no involvement in and therefore I had no knowledge about prior to coming home in 2016, I next turn wistful about the history of this place and the history of education in the Philippines itself.

I guess I have seen and heard so much, a big advantage of thinking from this age as compared with my thoughts when I was a lot younger.

When I was very young, our grandparents would talk about things like cartilla, katon, how the Spanish-speaking teacher hit their balled fist if they didn't write in cursive properly (the letters should be written at a certain angle, not straight up).

Then my parents would reminisce how they learned to read using the textbook, "Pepe and Pilar," the time of the Thomasites and their normal schools...

In comparison, my time in BCS harks back to "Henny Penny," ("Tok, the egg fell!") and how the education department changed from Ministry of Education to DECS, to stand for "Department of Education, Culture and Sports," before becoming the DepEd of today.

From 2-2 Plan to K-12, a lot of things have indeed changed. Like the proverbial phoenix, may BCS rise from the ashes soon. May we build this place back better.

Now that the local government workers continue to hack away through the remaining outgrowth of unnecessary forest vegetation, I can't help but muse on the vagaries and vicissitudes of time and the fickleness of memory with its ever-shifting ways. How much of my recollection is accurate, how much erroneous? I can only wonder.