By Philip Lustre Jr.
NO, we did not have those cell phones, PCs, tablets and other gadgets to profess our undying love and affection to women of our choice. We did not have those social networking sites and other platforms to communicate unlike today.
Neither did we have those text messages using those nauseating text language and jejemonic mambo-jambos to express man’s noblest value - love. But we were imaginative during our days. That had made a lot of difference during our younger days, which were more than four or five decades ago.
Courtship during our younger days had followed certain set of rules unlike today. It had relied mainly on direct interpersonal relations and interaction. Because telephone lines were few, direct person-to-person communications was the preferred mode of courtship. But it was never easy. It was difficult, to say the least.
The rule was simple: if you wanted to win a young woman's heart and become your girlfriend, wife or whatever, you had to find ways to introduce yourself, gain her trust and confidence, and take your chances to get her sweet yes. Again, this was not easy. It was tedious and laborious.
I remember resorting to the usual “dalaw,” or regular visits to my first girlfriend. It was in the summer of 1968, when I introduced myself to a comely neighbor, who lived a dozen houses away from us in the busy street of Asuncion in Tondo.
She was tall and bosomy for her age; she had glistening brown skin and a pair of smiling eyes. But it did not stop the swagger in me to introduce myself to her. I was only 14, but I felt confident to own the world since I was already cut and had my own bleeding rite three summers ago.
Immediately after my self-introduction, I visited her almost daily at their house. Her parents were not around because of work, but her older siblings allowed my presence – or intrusion. They seemed to like me. I remember taking a bath and combing my hair before my daily visits.
Then, I wore my clothes as if I was a grownup man, or “binatang taring” as the old Tagalogs would say. Because, I did not have many clothes during those days, I wore my white polo shirts, which I also used as school uniforms. In hindsight, I looked like a choir boy, a perfect look to win a young woman's heart.
It was a brief summer fling, a case of momentary infatuation or “puppy love” that was not meant to become a full-blown romance. The heavy school workloads took a toll on us; we got busy and never resumed contact. We both did not have telephones at home, which could be a factor for the loss of love.
We have long left the place to settle elsewhere. But when I visited my relatives there nearly a decade ago, I saw my puppy love, a public school teacher, walking on the street to go home. No, she did not look paradoric or ballenic (or scandalously fat); she was slim with her bright brown skin. But she was tagging along two little kids, whom, I was told, were her grandkids. She is now a full-pledged lola, or grandma.
I was 16 and in fourth year high school when I started doing regular “dalaw” to my first love, a young lady, who was a trophy by all standards. I met her in late November, 1970 in a dance party at the house of a common friend In Quezon City, introduced myself, and formed a one-man barricade (or "bakod") – composed of me – on her. It was a glorious conquest, as I was the only guy whom she danced all night to her discomfiture and the other guys’.
I did the “ligaw Intsik” (Chinese courtship), arriving at 2 pm every Sunday only to leave their house in a middle class subdivision in Quezon City by dinner time, or 7 pm. Because of my persistence, she rewarded me with her sweet yes. But it was a romance that was not meant for us. The lure of political activism did not escape me; “Inang Bayan” had snatched me from her.
There were no bitter fights or recriminations between us; ours was a case of two people on wrong pages. We parted ways with regrets in my heart. She is now a registered nurse in the United States.
It took me sometime to court some ladies. But I usually went out with friends visiting some ladies in certain dormitories in the University Belt area. Later, I learned to make “sundo,” or fetching, where I took some lady friends to certain destinations, usually schools or homes. They were perfect occasions for conversations.
But communications were problematic during those days. We hardly had sufficient telephone lines; there were no cps or any of those things unlike today. Hence, there were no subsequent followups.Making appointments was difficult too.
Hence, I always ended up as “na-indiyan” (when the lady did not appear), or “nang-indiyan” (when I did not appear). There were also times when "parehong nang-indiyan" (neither appeared); it was technically a draw.
Later, I wondered why we use the term “indiyan” for the irresponsible habit of non-appearance on appointed time and place. The Indians did no wrong to us.
“Hatid,” or literally to take her home, was my strategy to show my interest to a damsel, who was not necessarily in distress. It was a perfect way to communicate with her.
Since I usually took night classes in college, I did this strategy with scintillating success, as I took home my classmates, who were objects of my interest. For them, I was “nagmamagandang loob,” but I was a vulture with an ulterior motive.
Doing "hatid" was a perfect opportunity to communicate what was inside a man's heart. But it also had its pitfalls. One time, I made "hatid" to one of the school librarians, who took notice of me because of my studious ways (laman ng library).
It was 6 pm, when her shift ended, but we detoured to land at St. Jude's Church, where we attended a novena and smelled burning incense. It became a practice every Thursday for the next four or five weeks. I kidded her that it was fine with me so long as we did not go to Baclaran.
"I was planning that we go there," she said. "Huwag," I told her. "Bakit?" she asked. "Baka tayo lumampas sa langit," I said in jest. I could not imagine attending two different novenas on two consecutive days every week.
One time, I took her home only to be greeted by her three brothers, who were having a drinking spree. They harassed me by asking my intention on their sister. I said I had no bad intention, which they did not believe anyway. It was the last time I saw her.
A few months later, I was told that she had married a drug detailman of uncommon ugliness. Whether they live happily ever after or not is something I do not know until now.
Comparing my personal experience with modern-day courtship, I could say that nothing beats personal interaction. All those person-to-person talks and conversations remain incomparable because of their intimacy and passion.
I still favor and prefer the old fashioned ways. I am old school. I rest my case.
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