Memoir
John Ehrenberg
I don’t think this humble recount will do Marj or our friendship justice, but here it goes. I am not a poet, but Perla and I have always loved any expression of art. Somewhere science and art do cross paths. Thanks to Elsa, the sister of another good friend from Guatemala, we were incredibly fortunate to meet and become friends with Adlai back in DC. When Adlai found out we would be transferred to Manila, he quickly put his network of old friends in Manila together, and we were given a royal welcome upon our arrival. Our dear sweet Ross opened her arms and doors of her cozy apartment in Malate and introduced us to Marj and her incredible tribe. We all clicked right away.
Countless veladas at Ross’s apartment, our apartment, the Instituto Cervantes, at Nene and Rufus’s, and Marj’s University made us fall in love with her poems. Do you know that feeling of belonging, of family, of old, old friends? That is what we felt with Marj. The huge Pacific Ocean in between, and we still do. A longtime dream of having her visit us did not materialize till now. Still, she graciously accepted an invitation to participate in this year’s FILEY (Feria del Libro de Yucatan), the most important book fair in Mexico’s Southeast. Perla read her poems in Spanish, Marj in English, and Boholano. It made us remember her incredible language skills. Mind you, I don’t think I have ever come across a poet who writes in more than two languages, at least not in the West. Marj’s poem melts from Boholano to Tagalog, into Cebuano, to English, and into Spanish in a remarkable flow of languages and cultures, something like Yo Yo Mas’s silk road ensemble in a single person.
Many stories are to be shared, but I will limit myself to a few in honor of everybody’s time and patience. We often embarked on weekend trips with Ross, Marj, and Judy (a remarkable conceptual artist and quite a character) to various villages around Manila. To our amazement, they almost always knew the owner of the restaurant where we stopped to have lunch. We call this “pueblear” in Mexico. Perla always drove. Mind you, she is fearless and was never afraid to drive in the Philippines, if you know what I mean. She is a true explorer. On one of those occasions, she stopped the car dead in its tracks. All of us nearly flew out the windows of our old Pajero. Perla then asked us to step out of the car, but Marj, Judy, and Ross picked the perfectly round volcanic rock from the middle of the road. I knew by the look on their face that they could not believe what they had just done. We all laughed for hours. That rock is now sitting on our veranda in front of our kitchen, where we see it daily.
One day as we (I should say, Perla bravely behind the wheel) were driving on Roxas Boulevard, we saw some beautiful trees in full bloom. White flowers. I asked Ross and Marj what these white flowers were. Both answered, “kalachuchi.” This reminded us of a similar word for the same flower in Mexico, “cacaloxochitl.” This Aztec word must have jumped the big pond with the famous “Nao de China.” Other words made their way back to Mexico from the Philippines. One of Mexico’s traditional white shirts is also called “Filipina,” which is only used on official occasions. It is the direct descendant of the Barong Tagalog.
We will never forget enjoying all those culinary delights with Marj and Ross at the Sofitel, the lechon from Cebu in Ross’s apartment and Nene and Rufus’s “Quinta” in Tagaytay, the kilawin pusong saging at the cozy, bohemian restaurant in Malate or the crispy pata at Josephine’s, my all-time favorite.
We never learned Tagalog, much to our shame and regret, but we love the sound of it. One evening Perla and I kidnaped Chito Carinho, who played the guitar and sang beautiful old Filipino songs in a café in Makati. We invited him to our apartment on Roxas Boulevard in Ermita for a serenata to our dear friends, Marj, Ross, Matthew, Judy, Rufus, Nene, Coke, and Alfred, a sweet reminder and wrap-up of our friendship and of the beauty of the Philippines. Although this should all be about Marj, it would have been impossible to discuss our friendship with her without mentioning the group of friends we left behind. But I am sure you know this, Marj. May you continue to age in grace and peace, and may you continue to enrich our world with those lovely poems of yours.
John Ehrenberg and Perla Coll.