Remembering Ricardo


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Papa Ric proudly pointing to his lovely home after fruit picking in his yard.

 

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It was close to midnight in Manila. I was restless and feeling uneasy in my bed and could not get a wink. Something was not quite right. Then came the news. Forest fires in the mountains of Xylokastro, a town in Greece, the town where my Papa’s house is located. My heart just sank, and I started crying. I was engulfed with a feeling of dread and despair.

 

My parents have moved to their newly acquired home in the mountains of Xylokastro in 2022. They loved it there. Even with the very weak communications signal, leaving them without access to internet TV, a favorite pastime of theirs (truly, this was their only complaint), they relish their newfound life in this new place, which as we say is “all too Greek for them.” But the mountain air was fresh and clean which was good for their health. They wake up to the sound of the roosters from the neighbor’s lively farm and witness the dawning of each new day with the sun rising to the right side of the house and throughout the day crossing-over the length of the Corinthian gulf majestically blue in front of them, sunshine turning to a fading light at dusk, but not before my Papa would have walked around to revel at the fruit trees he has long dreamed to have in the yard of a grand stone-clad home he calls his own.

 

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Papa Ric and Mama Mila at the balcony of their home in Greece enjoying sunshine in winter.

 

It was his dream. I recall the first day we arrived. We were at the main balcony from the living room, standing side by side, our arms resting on the balcony rails, and without looking at each other as our gaze were directed at the beauty of the blue waters of the gulf and the mountains that frame the background of that poster-like vision that is right before us, we both let out a sigh, not much of relief but of contentment and satisfaction. We both could not believe the reality of the moment. His dream has taken form. A lovely home with the mountains to the back and the water to the front; a yard full of fruit trees: peaches, pomegranates, lemons, oranges, olives, pears, and more, in a peaceful, calm, and serene location. He loved this place. It was his home. 

 

But at close to midnight that Sunday in Manila on September 29, the only picture in my mind was of his blue gray fedora (hat) hanging by the coat rack behind the main door—a peaceful vision violently broken by the howls of strong winds fanning muted crackles of voracious yellow, red, and orange flames. It was then that I understood the source of my tears, the extent of the dread that I feel, and the depth of my despair. Understanding that by the morning when I wake, the unforgiving forest fire may have satiated its hunger taking from me the wonderful memories of what once was, my Papa in his beloved dream home. 

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Papa passed away last year on October 23, 2023. He was not able to return to Greece after suffering a stroke. The day before he suffered the stroke, we were on our rather regular family group call--me in Switzerland, my sister in the Netherlands, Papa and Mama with my brother in the Philippines. We were planning their return to Europe, with a trip to Vienna for their wedding anniversary in May, before returning to their Greek home in time for the summer. My Papa loved to travel. But he had travelled too far from us around this time last year. He has returned home to his father, leaving his favorite fedora. 

 

And so I say, the flickering tongues of those uncouth flames must not be permitted to even lick its brim!

 

Morning came and still I have not had a wink. Who could? Then came the news. It’s confirmed. The fire has had a feast at Papa’s outdoor barbecue area. But the house was spared. I can go home and once more stare at that blue water from the balcony where he and I used to silently appreciate each other. The house remains. His fedora hanging by door. His memories filling every room, but just his memories, for he has gone.

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I choose to let the memory of that fire continue to crackle in my heart to keep me on alert and protective of those memories I have of my Papa, as I fear for its loss as the years draw on and the mind of this aging woman slowly succumb to frailty. Harsh methods, but I choose to let the pain remain, if only to keep him and his thoughts alive and vivid, forever.

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Itchie Yap is global Filipino currently living and working in Geneva, Switzerland. She is turning a year older this first week of November, and she misses her Papa very much, more so on a day like this dedicated to the souls of our loving departed.