25 October 2008. 6.47 pm. Here in Kepong, a rapidly urbanizing suburb of Kuala Lumpur. From Petaling Jaya, I moved to this apartment last 20 July, a day before we opened the new national office of Habitat for Humanity Malaysia here.
Did not have lunch. Had late breakfast and decided I would just spend most of the day holed up here in my unit at the 7th floor. Trying to finish the first of two reports I have to submit soonest so I can concentrate on preparing for other urgent things before the National Board meets again.
Actually I just arrived back to KL last Thursday after a few days’ break in the Philippines. Was able to make it to the launch of a book in memory of Monsignor Acong Sevilla who died a year ago. The book was a compilation of articles written by people who knew him. It includes some articles written by him, too. Mil Sevilla-Reyes, his sister and my high school classmate, put in so much energy, time and emotions seeing through the collection, editing and printing of articles to produce the book. “A labor of love,” she says. A tribute to someone whose work she was not so familiar with, having spent most her time abroad with commitments of her own.
She appeared spent during the program to launch the book. The event was attended by more than a hundred people from all sectors: the church people and representatives of lay organizations; Mil’s class 58 classmates; the people of Apad, Calauag who were organized by Msgr. Acong into MSK (Munting Sambayanang Kristiyano); unfamiliar faces from everywhere. Sometime in their lives they must have known him.
Mil asked me to speak and I obliged, basically answering two questions she asked me to reply to in public: a) why did I suggest to her to document Msgr.Acong’s life, and b) why did I come three times when when he was in the hospital and during his wake. It was meant to be only for three minutes but I blabbered on and on until Mil motioned me to stop.
I felt good hours after the program. I was able to say what I had wanted to say all along: that Msgr. Acong does not belong to the Sevilla family anymore, but to the growing community of development workers out there who continue to sacrifice their lives reaching poor people in remote villages with assistance and a profound message of hope about trying to help each other out during times of need and distress.
I felt good for the initial hours, but wondered as the night wore on what was I really trying to say. Did I say what I said intending to inspire awe among the audience who came their in the first place because they had been part of Msgr. Acong’s almost impossible mission to build churches physically and erect temples of peace and joy and forgiveness in the hearts of those of are most deprived of life’s goods and benefits. Or was I only trying to portray an image of myself as a committed idealist and only use the occasion to feed my own ego? Why speak at all about the friends who perished in a futile struggle against what we thought as social injustice? Why talk at all about those years I chose not remember at all?
I had the eerie feeling nobody was really listening except my friends Rem and Kits. Mil and her family were too tired preparing for the book and its launch that they seemed not to hear anything at all. The six former classmates of ours from our high school Class 58 were more interested in getting our group picture taken. Or so I thought. I could be wrong.
Again, as always, my mistake was in taking too seriously occasions such as this. I could just simply thank the Sevilla family for giving me an opportunity to contribute an article to the book. Probably say a thing or two about how I have come to admire Msgr. Acong’s dedication which has resulted to hundreds of neighborhood associations to bloom. He succeeded where the underground left failed miserably. But, again, this would be opening up a well of memories I was determined to ignore.
And so I cried as I struggled to end what was meant to be a simple gesture of thanking the Sevilla family for allowing me to say what I failed to say to Msgr. Acong when he was still alive.
Again, the ego stood in the way of communicating what I needed to be saying in memory of someone who preached Christ’s teachings with his own life.
Goodbye good Fr. Acong. May the people of the Bondoc Peninsular continue your crusade for a better life in those places too remote for politicians and government workers to reach. In those places, a fierce battle is raging for the hearts and minds of the people and the Church seems to be winning largely because of Fr. Acong’s passion and commitment.
