This story recalls the very day I came into this world and traces henceforth to early childhood, living in a century old home, the tender family moments, playful adventures, innocent mischief, and haunting dreams.
It is a heartfelt journey through memories of love, laughter, lessons, and foreshadowings of faith.
The Day I Came into the World
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In the meanwhile, at the Cebu Maternity House, the medical staff took care of my mother as she prepared to give birth. At exactly 1:40 PM, a 7-pound baby boy let out his first cry, echoing through the delivery room. That baby was named Ulysses, which means "the angry one" in the dictionary of names, but also symbolizes greatness in Greek mythology. I was the fourth child, following May, Glenn, and Artemio Jr.
Our Type of Home
Once Mama regained her strength, we returned to our home at 40-D F. Jaca Street, Kabulihan, Pardo, Cebu City. We rented an old house, more or less about a century old, which was divided into three sections, each fit for a family.
The upper floor was occupied by Mana Awang and her relatives, while the ground floor was split into two units. Ours had five rooms, including a kitchen, living room, dining area, and three bedrooms. It was a place full of character and history. Mana Awang owned the house.
Early Memories on the Outside World
As I began to learn how to walk, my father often carried me in his arms and brought me outside. I vaguely remember those moments, his arms strong and sure, the lush greenery of coconut trees and banana plants around us, the fresh air, and the golden glow of morning and afternoon sun. For a small, innocent child, those moments were like seeing the world in its purest form.
As we walked along footpaths, I would ask the most innocent of questions, questions my father often answered playfully, only for me to realize years later that most of them were made up.
A Neighborhood's Affection
People in the neighborhood adored me, as people often do with babies. They would pinch my chubby cheeks, and my mother would gently scold them: "Ayaw pag pislita og kusog ang aping, mudako ang nawong sa bata!" (“Don’t press his cheeks too hard, or his face will get bigger!”)
One of the most memorable people from my early childhood was a teenage girl named Mery. She was pretty, warm, and very fond of me. She would visit our home just to hug and kiss me, playing with me and encouraging my first words. She was like a big sister and dear friend as I grew.
One evening, there was a bayle, a barrio dance, something like the modern-day disco. The area was enclosed with bamboo fencing, lit up, and filled with music. The single ladies sat in rows, waiting for their partners to invite them to the dance floor. Each man would pay a small fee to dance with the lady of his choice for a song or two.
My guardian-aunt, Mama Presing, brought me along. As I peered through the bamboo slats, curious but too shy to go in, Mery spotted me. She pulled me from the crowd and led me to the dance floor. I didn’t dance. I was far too shy, but I still remember the warmth of that moment and the joy on her face.
My friend - Florecin
I grew up in a rural environment, so I was constantly in direct contact with nature. I loved playing in the bushes. One day, while walking along a path, I found a bug clinging to a wild shrub. I was fascinated by it.I gently picked it up and placed it in a small hole in the cemented floor, where I thought it would be safe. I covered it with leaves to protect it. Every day, I would visit and talk to it for a week, calling it by name until it was gone. I named it “Florecin.”
Innocence and Laughter in the Shanty
One day, while playing in our front yard, I heard a group of older kids calling my name. I was around six years old at the time. They were gathered inside a small, abandoned shanty just a few meters across from our house. They also called over my neighbor and playmate and asked her to come with me.
Curious and unaware, we both went. Inside one of the tiny rooms, the kids burst into laughter.
Then they told us to cling to each other while climbing onto a wooden bar. As we hung there, they told us to hug and even kiss each other. And so we did, without the slightest idea of what it all meant. I just laughed along with them, not understanding what I was doing. To me, it was just another silly game.
The day my feet took me too far
When I was around five years old, I convinced my cousin who was about seven, to go hunting for spiders with me along the highway. We carried a long stick to reach the spiders on electric wires and tree branches. We wandered through the side streets, not realizing how far we had gone. Hours later, we found ourselves near Cebu City Medical Center, almost 10 kilometers away from home.
My cousin started getting nervous and kept telling me we should head back. But I ignored him, too caught up in the excitement of the adventure. When we finally returned home, my aunt, Tiya Erling, had been frantically looking for him. I ended up getting a good scolding for dragging him off without permission.
Another similar incident happened when I was about six. It was fiesta day in Inayawan, Pardo. I overheard Mama and Papa talking about going to a relative’s house to celebrate. Unfortunately, I fell asleep and was left behind. When I woke up and realized they had already gone, I didn’t hesitate. I left the house on my own and started walking along F. Jaca Street, not even knowing exactly which house they went to.
I passed jeepneys, cars, tartanillas (horse-drawn carriages), and a stream of people all headed toward Inayawan. After walking for over an hour, I reached a chapel crowded with people and vendors. I figured I had arrived, but I still didn’t know where my family was. As it started to get dark, fear crept in. I turned back and retraced my steps.
When I got to I. Tabura Street, I decided to head toward the public market, hoping someone familiar would be there. That’s where I saw Mama Tancing, my father’s sister. She looked surprised and asked what I was doing there alone as dusk settled in. She gently told me to go home right away.
Haunted by Dreams: A Child Early Nightmares
As a young, innocent boy, I was often mystified and sometimes terrified by my early dreams. I dreamed a lot, and many of those dreams were strange, even nightmarish.
One that stuck with me happened in what seemed like early morning. In the dream, Papa was carrying me in his arms inside a small hut that looked like a toilet. Suddenly, I saw a rat. Then, in a terrifying turn, the rat transformed into a monkey, and eventually into a huge ape. Its sharp, piercing eyes and hairy face sent chills down my spine. I remember waking up frightened, wondering how I could imagine something I had never even seen before.
At our church in Pardo, there was a large statue of Sto. Tomas de Villanueva, standing prominently in front of the altar. I once dreamed that the saint had come alive. I saw his image walking toward me through the coconut tree, lined pathway in front of our house. At first, he appeared only as a human silhouette, but then, to my horror, he began chasing me into the house. That dream repeated a few times, once with the image of Sto. Niño in place of Sto. Tomas.Signs and Symbolisms
At that age, I couldn’t understand why I was dreaming about such odd and sometimes frightening things, saints, witches, animals transforming into monsters.
But later in life, during my time in the San Agustin Seminary, I came to realize something. Sto. Tomas de Villanueva is, in fact, a saint of the Order of St. Augustine, and the image of Sto. Niño is also deeply tied to the Augustinian Fathers, like the one enshrined in the Basilica Minore del Sto. Nino in Cebu City. Maybe those dreams were a kind of foreshadowing, hints that one day I would find myself in the Order of St. Augustine, even if only for a time. But as life would have it, things changed.Today, I live a simple, secular life, just an ordinary man in the everyday world.
Another dream left an even deeper impression on me. I was still a small child when I dreamt of the crucified Christ. We had a cross displayed on our home altar, but in my dream, the cross was enormous, mounted on a wall, towering above me. What struck me the most was the gaze of Jesus, powerful, commanding, yet solemn. It was as if He was looking straight into my soul. That dream filled me with awe and fear.
The Child and the Shadow Within
As I got older, I began to question myself. Was there something dark or bad inside me? I sometimes did things I knew were wrong, yet I took pleasure in them. I had a false sense of superiority, even believing at times that we were better off than others. One example still makes me feel ashamed. There was this poor boy named Gaudioso who passed by our house on his way to school. I would mock him and throw stones at him just because he looked poor with plenty of skin sores. I acted arrogantly, feeling untouchable. But the moment Gaudioso showed even a hint of standing up for himself, I would panic and run back inside our house, terrified. I was bold only until I was confronted and then, I became a coward.