Daisy- she of those black expressive eyes and very modest ways- and I were married in an austere ceremony officiated by a friend, the Rev. Fr. Ramon Ma. Navarro on the 26th of May, 1982 at St. Vincent Ferrer Church in the town of Angadanan in the northeastern province of Isabela, Philippines.
She and I graduated from the same secondary school but were not in attendance at the same period since I am seven years her senior. Then several years later, we were at the same teacher-training college when I was a senior and she was a freshman. We saw each other at show choir and dance troupe rehearsals and performances.
After graduating from college, I landed a teaching job as a third-grade teacher at a big elementary school in town. A couple of years later, Daisy was among six would-be teachers assigned for internship at my classroom. I worked well with the student teachers, assisting them in all aspects of their off-campus experiences. Daisy was the most organized in the group. She prepared her lessons well and executed them successfully.
I was moved to a primary school in a rustic barrio, and taught there for more than two years. The transfer was very discouraging, but as time went by, I learned to like the place, the people, the school children. I taught a combined class of 3rd and 4th graders and another teacher handled the other combination class of 1st and 2nd graders.
Soon Daisy finished her teaching degree and got her initial teaching stint at the very same school I was. We lived in the same boarding house, owned by the barrio captain, the head of the village. It was the safest thing to do at the time, since there were leftist insurgents in the rural areas. She cooked our meals while I fetched water from a pump well. As time passed, I was slowly beginning to fall for her.
She must not have been aware of it, but she was giving herself away day by day. We drew much closer to each other. Friends started to ask what the real score between us was. They doubted that there was nothing special going on. I asked myself: Could there be something that could be spelled L-O-V-E between us? Had there been a singing vibratory attraction which made itself known without words spoken? I wanted to believe there was. Yet I was afraid that she was treating me as a big brother and that she was confident that she would be treated as a sister in return. I feared that telling her my feelings for her would ruin our smooth friendship. Then there was the fear of being rejected.
I wanted more than friendship. I wanted a more intimate relationship. How could I let her know that I loved her without making her think that I was taking advantage of her trusting closeness to me? What I needed were the opportune time and the right way.
Daisy moved to the central school in the town proper without her knowing that I cared about her, that I loved her. I was almost 30, and I was certain that I was in love with her. There have been a few women before, but I had never felt this way before. I had found the woman I would spend the rest of my life with and the would-be mother of my children. A year after she left the barrio school, I was moved to the central school where she was, to fill in a vacancy. We were together again at the same school.
It was the age of whirlwind romances, but there I was, not having the courage to speak up for myself. Every time I tried to tell her of my feelings for her, I felt a big lump in my throat. I was not good with spoken words, so I had to put it down in writing to start. What were love letters for?
On weekends, I would visit Daisy at her home. Filipino culture dictated that it was an honorable thing to do - visit the lady one is courting at her own home and get to know her family. Or get yourself known (or scrutinized) by the family. I lived in the town, and I had to walk a few kilometers and cross the Cagayan River, the country's longest, to get to her home in Macalauat. One had to cross the river by boat or by bamboo raft. It was practical for every family to have a boat of its own. On those days when there was no way to get across, I had to call out for someone to row a boat from the other side of the river. A family member or a relative, if not Daisy herself, would come to get me across.
I almost left my job when I was offered to supervise student teachers at the state university where I got my teaching degree. Before my scheduled move, the teachers in the school where we were now both teaching, organized a send-off social. We both were asked to sing. Daisy sang "Yesterday..." to which I countered, " Lady, are you crying? Do the tears belong to me?.." The offer of employment in the university fell through, so I stayed. What could have happened had I left? Could our story have ended differently?
It did not take very long before she agreed to enter into a relationship for the very first time. It might be hard to believe, but at 22, Daisy had never been involved before. She understood that behind the cheerful happy-go-lucky image I was projecting was a lonely soul longing for someone to call him her own.
Despite the lack of preparedness for a wedding, I proposed. Following Filipino tradition, I had to formally ask Daisy's hand in marriage. When I did, her parents shed tears, and asked if we could set the date in December to allow her older sister, Levie, who, at the time was employed overseas, to attend. The date Daisy and I set was May 26, 1982. I assured her parents that they were not losing a daughter, and that they were gaining a son-in-law. Her brother asked her if she knew what she was getting into. And why the haste? Did we do something that we were not supposed to have done, he wondered. In the Filipino culture, a man and a woman have to be married if they broke the moral mores prematurely.
Both families met to agree on the date and make plans. Since both of my parents had passed on, my party was composed of my two brothers, two sisters, and a few relatives. Traditionally, the parents of the bride would ask the groom for dowry, a sizeable amount of money for start-up money for the newlyweds. In addition the groom would be asked if he owned a parcel of land, a "carabao", water buffalo, and farming implements. In my case, Daisy's uncle, her family spokesperson, suggested that there was no need for me to produce the traditional requisites since I was gainfully employed - my job was my "plow" in making a living. I would not need any farm implements because I would not be farming anyway.
It was customary to have the Filipino groom's family to spend for the wedding. Since I had been without parents, Daisy and I shared in the expenses. She bought her own inexpensive ready-to-wear wedding gown. We spent our joint fund to purchase our 10k wedding bands, and spent the rest in the rental for the bridesmaids gowns and accessories. Several pigs were slaughtered, one of which was lechon, a whole pig roasted over live coal, which was donated by a friend who was working in Saudi Arabia. Cavans of rice, several ducks and chickens, the wedding cake, and the church decorations were donated by friends and relatives. Fr. Monch, my parish priest friend, waived the church fees and provided a soloist. My older brother, endowed with culinary abilities, led in the cooking the menu of the day.
And so it happened on Wednesday, the 26th of May, 1982 - the ceremony that bound us together as husband and wife. The reception which was held at the Marcos home in the barrio was very well attended by family and friends, including the folks from the barrio where we both taught, who brought presents that included a furniture set made of rare Philippine mahogany - a round table with matching stools.#
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