Loving Tito Mon

IgIgIsa mo ng matagal yung mga kamatis, sis, para kumatas sya ng husto” was tito mon’s reminder to me as i tried my hand in cooking pork binagoongan. He insisted this was his secret to his famous dish, which we, his friends and alaga among the reporters who hung out at the Bangko sentral ng Pilipinas (BsP) media office, were lucky to have enjoyed at various occasions. But try as might, i just couldn’t get the dish right, prompting me to remark that it was his sweat, as he slaved over the stove, that was the real katas or secret ingredient to his flavorful dish. to which he retorted, in his trademark half-taray, half-joking squeal, “syempre!”

two years ago, as he finally retired from the BsP after serving for 37 years and seven central bank governors, tito mon, or ramon lozano, was honored with a retirement party thrown by us, some 60 current and former banking reporters. many of them read like a veritable who’s who in the challenging world of business journalism. it was also graced by his friends from the banking and public-relations professions, as well as by then-BsP Governor say tetangco, who was incredulous that we were celebrating, when we should be despondent over tito mon’s retirement. (see, “a retirement party like no other” in BusinessMirror, February 18, 2016.)

since his retirement, however, we had only been treated to tito mon’s delicious dish twice, busy as he was with traveling, gardening and putting up his small convenience store near the corner of the village where he lived.

it took quite some time for him to host us again for a binagoongan lunch, which took place a few weeks after his birthday in september, because the price of tomatoes was at an all-time high. (thank you, runaway inflation.) our friend Fil was only able to convince him to host us again as she informed him that the price of tomatoes had finally dropped. “ganorn?!” is what i imagine tito mon had retorted.

(to be fair, tito mon was just too busy to see us during his birthday month as he was entertaining his relatives from abroad. He loved his nephews and nieces dearly, and during our long drives from the BsP going home—i usually hitched a ride because we both lived in Quezon City—he always spoke proudly of their accomplishments.)

it was a traffic-less sunday in october, with the sun bearing down hard and hot on the roads leading to tito mon’s house. And despite my proximity to his home, i was late and missed other friends who had briefly dropped by just for lunch. it was another rousing time for gossip and mayhem, with generally laughter going all around his living room and dining area, as we parried with each other in jest. And tito mon, of course, had fresh bananas on the side, just for me, as he knew i always ate a few with my meal. He was always thoughtful.

With the last bits and crumbs scraped from the chafing dish, each of us eagerly took home his binagoongan, which i consumed in small portions days after, in an effort to make it last a week or two. i now wish i didn’t eat any of it and just stuck it in the freezer, to be microwaved only for the times when i need to be comforted and hugged by tito mon.

You see, that lunch was our last with tito mon. in the early hours of December 16, he passed away after a bout with acute pneumonia. i had been able to visit him at the hospital where he was confined at the iCu. Fortunately, i was allowed to enter his room. i squeezed his hand and when i softly called out his name, he woke up and looked at me in recognition. But he fell right back to sleep, embraced by the powerful sedative coursing through his system.

“Please fight, tito mon,” i repeatedly told him. “lapit na Christmas. You have to cook pa your binagoongan for your relatives,” i said in jest. i also told him how much we all loved him, and that he should be up and about for our next get-together. there was no response of course as he continued to sleep. i spoke to the attending fellows outside his room, and found out that he had awakened a few times. this gave me some measure of hope that he was going to survive this illness. in fact, i even wrapped his gift, along with many others, until 6 am on sunday. so i was quite shocked when i read the Viber messages from our group that tito mon had passed away that morning.

understandably, all of us are grief stricken. tito mon was more than just a friend, he was family. He was there whenever we needed him. He was our confidant, support group and therapist rolled into one. the gang used to joke that we would all set up our homes in a compound and tito mon would stay in the main house, running the kitchen where we would all have our meals together. We even went so far as to check out a property in tagaytay for this purpose.

i’m despondent that we never pushed this plan far enough, because i know, if we all lived together, we would have taken care of each other, and maybe tito mon wouldn’t have fallen ill the way that he did. someone, nay, all of us, would have certainly nagged him to see a doctor, or dragged him ourselves to the hospital to get better treatment for his constant coughs. if only...if only ....

i write this on the day we will be seeing you for the first time in the memorial chapel where your remains lie, tito mon. i told erik i didn’t want to look at you lying in your coffin, because i don’t want that to be my last memory of you. i want to keep remembering you for the vibrant, jolly and heart-warming soul you have always been. i want my brain to imprint your wide smile and laughing eyes, or your irap with your matching, “ganorn?!” retorts when pretending to be bitching at me.

i won’t ever forget you, tito mon. through thick and thin, like those bloody tomatoes sweating it out in the frying pan to make your wonderful binagoongan, you stuck it out with me, with many of us. stewing, mixing, and blending your personality with our often-prickly characters to cook up indelible and marvelous friendships. You are the secret ingredient, that special katas in our lives. We are all better people because of you.