Remembering Brod Nicky. Perhaps a function of growing old: Some things I remember as having done, or having meant to do, and they turn out half done or not at all. Ive written bits and pieces about Brod Nicasio Nicky Manalo Morales (1955-1999). Now I wish to write fully about him once and for all. Forty years ago, Nicky and I crossed paths. He joined Alpha Phi Omegas Eta chapter at U.P. Diliman on April 1, 1973, as a member of Trece Hudas, and he was a lord to my pledge when I became a member of APO-Eta Zodiac batch on August 26 of the same year. Nicky was my senior brod, although hes almost a year my junior -- my June 21, 1954, to his May 1, 1955, birthday. I wouldnt say Nicky and I were fast friends, but we found one another in time. Hes from Quezon City and went to U.P. via the Ateneo de Manila University campus next door, and I came from San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, via Christ the King Mission Seminary on Espana Extension. I didnt know much about Nickys life outside of the fraternity, and his recently published Bantayog ng mga Bayani nomination bio-data was a revelation to me. We could have, but didnt, crossed paths when Nicky was a student activist in the early 1970s. I remember being allowed by the seminary priests to participate in a march to Plaza Miranda, and my classmates and I walked from Christ the King toward Espana down to Quiapo, only with me and a friend detouring at Morayta to see the movie, The Adventurers (1969), by Harold Robbins at the Miramar Theater. If the streets were full of protesters, the moviehouse was packed. We paid the balcony price and didnt get to a seat and saw the film on our feet. And while Nickys father brought home from his world travel philosophy books, I brag to this day Ive read every one of Robbins books for, of course, prurient interest. We have another chapter mate, whos Nickys blood brother. Brod Rogelio Eyo M. Morales Jr., then called Boy, was the loud one to Nickys silent type. Both were leaderly. Eyo served as a prime chancellor, and Nicky a grand chancellor, and both became U.P. APO alumni association presidents. The Manalo (of the Iglesia ni Kristo lineage) Morales family lived in White Plains, and Eyo and Nicky often invited brods and sis and friends to their home. Rogelio Sr. and Belen were most accommodating and showed interest in their sons friends and even tried to learn our names. So was their beautiful kid sister, now Leni Morales Encarnacion. I loved going to their home, because they had a swimming pool in the backyard, and I love to swim. Two occasions, however, stuck out with their home as the setting. One, we pulled an overnighter to write Eyos candidacy speech. Nicky came up with memorable ideas such as how to get rid of bubble gum on a T-shirt (apply ice on the other side of the cloth) and what condoms were for. Those ideas were made part of the speech to say, figuratively, APO and by extension the Morales brothers were participating in student government politics, because its an indirect way of making students aware in the wake of the Martial Law rule. Dont ruin the T-shirt -- use ice. Dont get someone pregnant or get a disease -- use a condom. Cant protest -- use the U.P. Student Council. Two, and I think this was earlier in our getting to know each other phase, Nicky and I were working on a project. He was writing on his journal book and asked me to pull my chair toward the coffee table. Mel, he said, heres a sketch. I saw a rough drawing of concentric circles. Lets say this is the society. Where would you be? I didnt get it. Okay, lets put it this way, which is more important: the individual or the society? I got it, if only because his sketch was suggestive. Ah, am I a pebble creating ripples on the surface of the water? Or am I, say, a leaf floating away from the center? Either way, the concentric circles are there. The society is there. Where do I place myself? As it was his nature, Nicky asked, but did not volunteer an answer. He left it up to me to decide whats important. Perhaps because of his family background (his father is also a Bantayog hero), Nicky knew the answer for himself. The work, not the individual, is important if it benefits society. So, just like Nickys figures of speech, the individuals importance is directly proportional to contribution to society, and society indirectly gives importance to individuals based on the result of their work. It is in this context I evaluate Nicky as a hero. Hes a hero, because he kept at it. In his silent type way. The 1980s found Nicky and Dudu and their children, and Gracie and me, in the United States. My wife and I visited with them in New York City and Herndon, Virginia, a few times. I remember Nicky taking me to his aunts flat in Manhattan. White Plains is a city in New York state, and our overnight stay at their Herndon home away from home just reminded us more of home. I was detailed in Washington DC for a month, and I remember our get-together with brods in the area at my Postal-provided apartment. The brods were all praises for Nicky and his ability to navigate through the capital pre-GPS. They all worked part-time delivering Wall Street Journal newspapers, thanks to Nicky. His bio-data would tell us his WSJ supervisory work was his graveyard job. Nicky kept at his Filipino workers advocacy during daylight. One time, Nicky and Dudu honored us with a visit in San Jose. They stayed overnight. Because we wanted to talk through the small hours of the morning, as it was our wont in college days, Gracie and Dudu slept upstairs in our bedroom, while Nicky and I were on separate living room couches. With lights out, we kept talking. At one point, I asked Nicky how he felt about fellow Filipinos who gave their lives for the cause. All gave some, some gave all. I said, What makes you think your life is more important than theirs? Perhaps we were groggy from the little drink and the need for sleep, but I believe my question was left hanging in the dark. In the 1990s, Nicky and family went back to the Philippines. I dont presume my question had anything to do with their decision, but I know Nicky wanted to return to where the struggle was. In May 1999, when Brod Gene Licauco was APO-ACNA president, I went home to attend the APO-Philippines convention in Davao City. Genes medical mission was in full swing in San Mateo, and Nicky was UP-APO-AA president and coordinated a welcome reception for balikbayan brods and sis and the APO-USA delegates. On the side while we foreign delegates were in town, Nicky took me to Kamayan on EDSA. It was my first time, and I was impressed by the buffet restaurant. It was also the last time I saw Nicky, as he passed in November that year. As it was his custom, Nicky was at his desk at home, writing his journal, and had a fatal heart attack. His father succumbed the same way. Nicky was not even 45 years old. Remembering Nicky would not be complete without my fessing up to a weakness to this day I am guilty of. Nicky, together with Brod Chato Marinas and his girlfriend and future wife, Lynn Buenaventura, Brods Romy Munda and Benjie Gonzales, and Sis Maybelle Raquel and the future Sis Susan de Leon Prudente, and some other guests I apologize for forgetting, went to my hometown, San Jose, Occidental Mindoro, one school break in the 1970s. I was a willing host, but not a good one. Unlike White Plains, our accommodations were modest, but, like Nickys parents, my father was just as accommodating if only for the fact I would dump visitors on our household without any heads-up. We left Pier 4 of the Manila north harbor, and I still remember to this day the September Morn song by Neil Diamond the ship captain was playing over and over. Once on land, I did my usual tour of guests -- Islang Puti during the day then overnight stay at the ranch, not ours which was quite a distance in the mountains, but that of the family of Boying Camandangs, my sister Annies husband. San Jose is a beach town, and we were between water and sand when Nicky found himself on my bad side. I was shouting, and Lynn commented, Naninigaw pala si Mel. As usual, I dont remember why I got mad, but I forced Nicky to leave ahead of all of us. An airline ticket was purchased, and off he left the island of Mindoro. I dont know how he felt about it, but it must be a relief compared to the rest of my guests who had to suffer me through the rest of their stay. Also, I learned later it was Nickys first airplane ride. To this day, the people I mentioned are my close friends, except, of course Benjie, Susan, and Nicky who went ahead of us to the Greenhouse in heaven. Im tolerated perhaps, but I know its more than that. Chato, Lynn, Romy, and Maybelle can say what they want to say about me. I am concluding this piece to say something on behalf of Nicky. Perhaps a function of growing old: Some things we remember to be grateful about. Every person we cross paths with might be a future hero. We might see things with different sets of eyes. We might have crossed words. If we give each other half a chance, however, at worst we may tolerate one another, but, at best, we may become friends who try to understand. And we would be thankful, almost in how Will Rogers would say, I never met a man I didnt like, but more so in how Id say, Every enemy is a potential friend. It took years, but I believe I learned this from Nicky. Nicky and I, all of us, come from different background, but Nicky always found the common ground. He did not actively recruit for his cause, but knew, by planting pointed questions, by setting a silent example, by keeping at getting things done, he would find an ally, a comrade, a friend standing by him, heads facing front, shoulder to shoulder, from heals to toes on the ready, to move. Forward and onward. It does not much matter Nickys no longer here, because hes always with us. Heroes have a way of lingering in our minds. To think Nicky was just a family member, a neighbor, a school mate, a friend, a brod. Yes, to think. Thank you all for all you do. -- Brod Mel
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 16:34:03 +0000