This coming weekend is a special one for me, for I shall be coming home to the land of my father, some seventy-four kilometers south of Cebu City, a beautiful town called Dumanjug. It is directly opposite the City of Guihulngan, Negros Oriental. It is north of Ronda, south of Barili, and east of Argao and Sibonga. Dumanjug has so far, produced no less than three governors for the province of Cebu, namely Dionisio Jakosalem (in whose honor D. Jakosalem Street had been named), Pablo P. Garcia, and Gwendolyn F. Garcia. Had Pablo John and elder brother Winston respectively won over our current Governor Jun Jun Davide, Dumanjug could have produced five governors. Nonetheless, all is fair in love and politics.
Actually, I am coming home for love-three reunions based on three kinds of love. First, the love among former high school classmates in the sixties. Second, the Christian love among Cursillo brothers and sisters in the mid-seventies. And third, the timeless and boundless love among the members of our clan, the Jimenez-Quirante clan, to which my father belongs. My 92-year old father (now a US citizen based in the US) was a classmate of former Governor Pablo Garcia in what was then called the extension of the Colegio de San Carlos, Dumanjug campus. My mom passed away last year, and today, she would have been 89 years old. My parents met for the first time here in Dumanjug in the late forties. And so, I am also coming home to pay tribute to the love between my parents.
I was born in Argao, the home of the Birondo clan to which my Mama belonged, and while I grew up in Langin, a mountain village between the interior boundaries of Argao and Ronda, I studied in Dumanjug, in Little Flower School. I have had pleasant memories of my high school days in this town of gentle and fun-loving people. My classmates, many of whom are already living abroad, have organized a reunion of the Class 1966. And I am excited to seeing my first crushes and my first buddies. Reminiscing my youth, kids distinctly acted very much differently compared to today's millennials. Those were the times when the words of our parents and teachers were accepted and obeyed "ex-cathedra."
I'm also coming home for the cursillo, which we organized in 1974 from the revised version created by the Franciscans who were based in Guihulngan. The little course in Christian and Catholic renewal was a cross between the charismatic forms of worship and the liberation theology spread in South America. The difference between the original version of the "Cursillo de Cristianidad" and our revised system is that ours was very strong in its emphasis on social justice. Our Franciscans mentors were teaching the sacada workers in Negros that the most despicable mortal sins are the social and economic injustices inflicted by the greedy rich against the hapless poor. Thus, there was some political color in our cursillo, which we propagated during the Martial law.
But most of all, I am coming home for the planning session organized by my ten cousins for our clan's reunion next year. Our close relatives are all over Cebu and many are in Mindanao, Metro Manila, the US, Canada, and elsewhere. We are having a big reunion next year to renew our blood bond and to honor the great love and labors of our forefathers. We hope to gather together perhaps a thousand attendees composed of cousins, uncles, nephews, nieces, our spouses, and in-laws. At this point in my life, what matters most is family, friends, close relatives, and neighbors. Dumanjug is the place where my father started, and I am tracing his footsteps and gather the many bits and pieces of his many stories. For they complete the story of my life too.