Dying to see you one last time
By Lyn Resurreccion, Business Mirror Section Editor | 08/06/2009 11:10 AM
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A TV News advisory said the tail end of the long queue of people paying their last respects to former President Corazon Aquino at the Manila Cathedral had reached the Round Table restaurant on P. Burgos Street near the end of General Luna Street, on whose extreme end stood the cathedral.
With that advisory, and a bottled water in tow, I hied off to Manila Cathedral to bid Mrs. Aquino adieu on Monday before midnight.
But the advisory was wrong—or outdated. The end of the line was not at the Round Table. I had to walk for 45 minutes from that area to find the end of the queue, following what seemed like an endless winding line of people as they snaked through Intramuros’s streets—that led me to the other end of the historic Walled City, right at the corner of Magallanes Drive and Jones Bridge.
From Magallanes Drive, the kilometric queue turned left on Muralla Street where Colegio de San Juan de Letran stands, then turned right on narrow Anda Street, right on Solana Street, then left on the main street A. Soriano Avenue (formerly Aduana) that passes in front of the cathedral.
However, the people did not yet enter the cathedral from there. The long line of humanity still had to turn left on General Luna Street beside the cathedral, went straight to the other end of the street, turned in front of Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila and walked back toward the cathedral again before they could make their ultimate purpose—say goodbye to their beloved Tita Cory.
It took around four more hours before I was able to enter the cathedral—others said they “graduated” after five or six hours.
What “force” made these tens of thousands of people endure such long, grueling hours of falling in line just to be able to say goodbye to this democracy icon?
I myself am not a true-blue Coryista, having disagreed with some of her policies when she was President. But her having stood up against Marcos and becoming instrumental for the return of democracy in the country—despite being herself, a rich, landed “plain housewife”—and her steadfast defense of it until her last days, her humility and her decency, made me respect and admire her. And made me determined to bid her goodbye.
Still, I must admit that halfway through as I was looking for the end of the line where I had to stand, already tired of walking, I entertained the thought of quitting. But the sight of ordinary people—old men and women in their 70s, mothers carrying their children, and many others braving the midnight rains dripping wet, hungry, sleepy and tired—made me go on.
It was a humbling experience, indeed.
Many of the people there were already Cory supporters since the 1980s when she valiantly fought Marcos in a snap election. A family—a mother and her three adult daughters—said that to them Mrs. Aquino is their President.
Others, just like the two domestic helpers behind me in the queue, seemed just like ordinary Filipino usi or usisero (kibitzers).
Asked why they wanted to see the former President, they said, “Wala lang. Gusto lang namin makita si Ma’am Cory, ang nanay ni Kris [Nothing. We just want to see Ma’am Cory, the mother of Kris, the youngest daughter of Mrs. Aquino who is in showbusiness.]”
A family of four said they also braved long lines to see popular actor Fernando Poe Jr. in his wake a couple of years back.
Still, even if they were just plain usi, the difficulty they faced that night didn’t deter them from staying in line. They could have easily complained, grumbled and hastily left the long hours of queuing. They must have felt something for Tita Cory that made them endure all of these.
I heard no complaint. They just painstakingly waited for their turn, however long it was.
Even when it rained the people just shouted “Ay!” and opened their umbrellas. Even those who had nothing to protect themselves with just stood where they were.
A mother who had been carrying her sleeping four-year-old son for a couple of hours just smiled when asked if she needed help.
Nobody tried to jump the queue; nobody made a scene or jostle his way; nobody was noisy; everybody was disciplined. There was a sea of humanity, but the place was astoundingly orderly.
Their only complaint? Not being able to make it in front of the cathedral before 4 a.m., the cut-off time for the public viewing of the late former President.
Creative in fighting sleep
To while away their time, fight sleep and comfort themselves while waiting, the Filipinos proved as creative as ever.
A group of church workers sang church songs; another group prayed the rosary. Others traded jokes; or joked about people or things they saw. Or commented about animal welfare when they saw a dog tied tightly on a wooden post.
A mother and her grown-up daughter and niece played with the woman’s four-year-old boy, whom they called “Baby James” after the little son of Kris Aquino.
Some, many elderly, sat and rested their tired bodies on the steps of stores or buildings along the route of the human line. Others walked around; some munched on junk food.
Still others rummaged through souvenir items for sale—all in yellow reminiscent of the “Laban” days of the mid-1980s—such as T-shirts, umbrellas, baseball caps or sun visors, pins, key chains.
Business around the cathedral
Besides the traditional sari-sari (variety) or modern convenience stores, the tens of thousands of people making their “vigil” fro Mrs. Aquino also had the ambulant food peddlers, who made brisk business, from where to buy food.
There were boiled or adobo peanuts “para sa mga walang kausap [for those who had nobody to talk to],” or balut (duck embryo) “pampatigas ng mahinang tuhod [to energize tired knees].”
Warm taho (soy curd), a Chinese delicacy eaten in the morning, and pop corn were available.
On Anda Street, a rickety table seemed to be hastily prepared to sell instant coffee or hot chocolate drink “pampaalis ng antok [to keep from falling to sleep].”
For thirsty souls, there were water stations where free filtered or bottled water were distributed.
And since it was in the wee hours and many were already sleepy, with the newspapers already out from printing presses, newsboys were selling tabloids to, again, “keep the people from falling asleep.”
For those who felt the call of nature, some residents along Anda Street offered the use of their toilets for P5 for urinating; and P15 for “other purposes.”
But these were just small comforts for the Cory supporters. There was only one comfort and joy for them.
The sight of the cathedral when the throng reached A. Soriano Avenue, brought delight to everyone. “We’re near! We will make it!” they cried.
With the command “Faster! Faster! We’ll close at 4 a.m.!” from the security force, they did not mind running despite feeling dizzy from lack of sleep, never wanting to miss their chance to enter the cathedral.
When we finally did, I felt the only comfort and happiness the people had, especially when they filed past the coffin of their beloved former President and whispered to her, “Goodbye, thank you and may you rest in peace,” as I did.
Indeed, neither long queues, nor long hours of waiting and inconvenience could stop Filipinos—known for their patience and jolly disposition—from expressing their love and last goodbye to a dear departed President.
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