Sylvia Joslyn M. Sajo

I remember when I was six, I was seated on my daddy’s knee with my arms around his neck. I asked him, “Daddy, palangga mo ko?” He answered, “Yes.” Throughout my life, my dad showed me how that one word could mean the whole universe.

Growing up, I remember he had a turn table and a huge collection of ‘plaka’ (vinyl records). He loved disco music and old dance music like cha-cha and boogie. He also loved instrumental music like Ferrante and Teicher and the standard classics like Matt Monroe and Perry Como. He had a good baritone and would occasionally sing along. Aged four and six respectively, my sister Jinni and I irreverently used the vinyl records to slide across the floor. But he just let us be because we were having such a wonderful time.

I remember lazy days at home in our veranda. He taught my sister and I how to play Scrabble. My sister was the better player and they would keep at it for hours with the battered dictionary by their side. He also taught us how to play cards, and we would play Black Jack and Gin Rummy on end.

My dad had this joy for dancing. When I was eight years old we had this Family Day event in Assumption-Iloilo that required a student to dance with a parent. My dad was the only father in the group of chattering mothers and we danced to “Tonight is the Night to Remember.” In high school in the University of the Philippines, Visayas, where Daddy was the Dean of the College of Management at that time, we used to attend universitywide events together. I would see him burning the floor as he danced cha-cha and boogie with his colleagues while I danced to the 80s tunes.

In college, I took up Mass Communications in the University of the Philippines, Diliman. I remember my Dad would constantly travel there and stay in the University hotel. During that period, he was taking up his Ph.D. in Public Administration. My sister and I would spend a few days with him as we shop and watch movies. At the time, he already had arthritis and had problems walking for long intervals, but he would endure walking with us as we shopped for clothes and shoes. He would usually just sit on the benches outside the stores and would hand over the money when it was time to pay. We would watch movies that my sister and I would pick and he would end up snoring loudly in the movie house until we would tap his arm and tell him it was time to go. He also loved to eat and usually we let him choose the restaurants.

When I joined a Mass Communications organization that staged an annual variety show in February for two nights, my Dad never missed a show for four years. He would watch each show twice and would say I was stunning during my dance numbers and my comedy roles.

My dad, he never really got angry when I made mistakes like a grade of 5.0 or not graduating on time. “Tuduhi lang sa sunod,” (Try harder next time) was his advice.

When I started working in Manila and had problems with my apartment, he worked out getting an apartment in the UP Diliman campus. That worked out quite well, as he was always traveling to UP Diliman for work. He got close to my friends whom I would invite over, and sometimes would even fund our parties. During that time in the 90s his diabetes was making him weaker. He got tired more often. But, being himself, he never complained.

When I returned to live in Iloilo City in 2000 he was the one who advised me to take up Special Education so I could have better opportunities to work abroad. He also helped me get a teaching job at the Iloilo Doctors’ College. During that time, he would constantly be admitted to St Paul’s Hospital for complications with his diabetes and the whole family would take turns keeping him company in his hospital room. There would always be a throng of people visiting to bring food, flowers and offering prayers, and Dad would always have a smile, laughter and stories to tell.

I remember my Dad giving me money to help me apply for a job as a Special Education teacher in New York City. He was the first person I called when I got that job and he was last person I saw before I flew off to New York. I stayed there for seven years, but I would have regular calls with him. I would call him for the bad things, the worse things, and sometimes the good things. He would always be there to listen and laugh with me.

Soon after his 70th birthday party, he suffered a heart attack. There we found out that he had to undergo surgery, but because of his state, the doctors said there was a possibility he might not survive it. Thus, we decided to forego the surgery. At that point, I think Daddy really changed his lifestyle and his diet. Though he was a person who lived to eat, he accepted his fate with vegetables and fish.

A few years after, I became severely incapacitated with asthma in New York and was battling with panic attacks and depression in my apartment alone. My Dad became a lifeline. He would Facetime with me for hours on end just to keep me company as I struggled with my breathing problems and sanity. He would tell me constantly to go back to Iloilo because he needed a playmate. And I did.

When I came back I spent loads of time with my Dad and my niece Ali. We would hang out at coffee shops and restaurants. We would tag along with him as he socialized with his friends, especially his brods and sis. For his last three years my Dad and I became each other’s staunch allies.

On April 1, 2015, at around 1:00 am, my name was the last name he called out and my arms were the last ones that hugged him.