CRIS EVERT LATO-
RUFFOLO
My maternal grandparents — Dado and Patring — showed me how to read newspapers.
They operated a seafood stall at the Mandaue City Public Market ever since I could remember. A big part of my childhood up to when I was 19 years old involved a million visits to the wet market. Lolo and Lola sold tahong, aninikad, guso, latô, balihasa, litob, and bungkawil. I vividly remember three layout versions of their stalls which happened when the wet market was gutted by fire or when they were forced to move to another location for reasons I cannot seem to remember now.
My grandparents woke up as early as 3 a.m. so they can buy seafood at Pasil Market or at the Carbon Market. I know this because I was Lola’s girl and I would often times sleep in their house. They come home as late as 10 p.m.
My Lolo had a black pail and in it were what we called “gasa” (gifts). Inside the pail are plastic bags of fish, pork and fruits all carefully packed and arranged so one does not affect the other’s freshness and smell. I do not know how my Lolo did that. He was the Master of the Defense-Against-The-Dark-Smell of the wet market. This careful arrangement is often topped with an empty sack of rice folded to perfection and then finished off with a copy of SuperBalita.
Our body clocks knew that Lolo and Lola were home at 10 p.m. when we hear a tricycle stop at the exact spot in Zone Litob of Barangay Kalawisan’s road. We would literally run from my Auntie Lalang’s house, located only 100 meters from the road, to meet our grandparents and go on a race called “who-gets-the-newspaper-first.”
My grandparents did not finish their elementary education because they had to work to help their respective families. They could barely read in English so reading a newspaper in the local language was their comfort zone. But I have not known anyone in their generation who were as voracious readers as my Lolo and Lola.
The corners of their home was filled with newspapers and magazines. When my first article came out in SuperBalita in 2003, my Lolo bought five copies. My Lola was nervous. She was afraid I might die because of an opinion article I wrote about the state of classrooms in Babag National High School. When more articles came out in Sun.Star Cebu and The Freeman, where I mostly contributed stories during my college years, Lolo and Lola kept all of them; showing them off to their fellow market vendors. “Apo ni namo. Kinamaguwangan nga anak ni Inday Waling,” they said.
Lola Patring passed away the summer before I was to have my print internship in Cebu Daily News. Lolo Dado lived on until December 2007 and witnessed how I struggled on my first few months as a professional journalist trying to make ends meet. I told him the pay was low. He asked me why I chose the profession when I could be anything I want to be with my UP education, my honors degree and my long list of achievements. I said I believe it is my calling.
I remember him smiling and said in Visayan: “I wanted to be a seafarer but was never given a chance to be one. So I found the nearest job that I could find that will bring me closer to a seafarer. I became a kargador. You are lucky. You are equipped with the skills and knowledge to be a reporter. Use it or you will regret it.”
Every single time I get an award after my grandparents passed away, my heart wishes that they are still here so I can tell them how much of their actions and words led me to the path of journalism and inspired me to stay on and continue writing.
These days, when I am reminded that interest in the print media industry is dwindling, I pull out wonderful memories from my mind’s black pail; memories of my grandparents discussing gory crime stories and the homilies of the late Cardinal Vidal; memories of them asking my brother Hendrix to read “Tambagi Ko Noy Kulas” which often set everyone in the room in fits of laughter.
I have been writing for Cebu’s print media industry for 15 years now. It has been that long since my Lola bought a copy of the newspaper and told her friends, “Reporter akong apo.”
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