IT was during one of those Suroy-Suroy Sugbo, a program that was initiated by then governor Gwen Garcia, that I found myself in the midwestern town of Pinamungajan more than a decade ago.
We were inside the Sta. Monica Parish Church, a beautiful century-old coral stone structure that was built during the Spanish era.
If my memory serves me right, the church is located a few hundred steps from the town plaza. I should remember the walk. For someone who was then 100 pounds overweight, the experience is forever etched on my mind.
The parish priest had cornered Governor Gwen.
It always annoyed me when they did that. I’m sure she had more pressing concerns than to listen to someone rattle on about a renovation project or whatnot.
Some members of the clergy love to do that. Hobnob with political bigwigs, that is. They probably think that if they’re seen with VIPs, the distinction will also rub off on them.
Again, I said “some.” Not all.
Or maybe I’m being too harsh.
I do have a lot friends who are of the cloth. Relatives, too. They make great drinking buddies. Conversations are always bound to be interesting, to say the least, since majority of them are super intelligent.
Again, not all.
So I should be on my best behavior.
It is a Sunday, after all. And the 6/58 lotto draw is later tonight. And it hasn’t been won yet. And the jackpot is over a billion pesos. And I only know a handful of saints to call when I say my prayers of intercession.
In other words, I need all the help I can get...
But I digress.
So there we were. Inside the Sta. Monica Parish Church.
I wandered off. Alone. The governor had her hands full with the priest.
I found myself near the entrance, where I spotted a group of schoolchildren with their teacher. Outside. Where it was very hot. And they didn’t have any umbrella.
I approached them.
“What are you doing out here?” I remember asking them.
The teacher said they wanted to personally thank the governor for their new classroom.
I told them to wait.
I hurried back inside. I can’t recall if I interrupted the governor’s conversation with the priest, but I remember getting her attention, and telling her that there was a group waiting for her outside.
She asked me how long had they been standing there. I said for a long time. She quickly excused herself, and followed me. Her lady security in tow.
When she emerged, the first thing she did was to ask them if they were okay. It didn’t matter. The children looked happy to see her. They all clamored to grab her hand for a “blessing.”
Governor Gwen chatted with them. I don’t remember for how long, but long enough to see small beads of sweat slowly trickle down her face.
The governor then beckoned to her security who was holding her bag. She took some money out and gave it to the teacher.
“Pagsnacks sa mo,” she told them.
The look on the children’s faces was priceless. Their teacher’s, too. They probably never thought that the governor would actually stop and talk to them. Let alone give them snack money.
But Governor Gwen, on many similar occasions during the almost two years that I served her as a consultant, always found time in her hectic schedule to stop and talk to the people.