I would not be the man I am today without the women in my life.
We had algebra that day. It was the last period and I remember our teacher, Ms. Eujane Daep, rhythmically calling on my classmates who seemed to have also gotten the groove of the lesson. I nodded along, in hopes of going under the radar so as to not hold back the rest of the class’s pace.
Everything around me was muffled until Ms. Eujane called my attention as everyone packed their things to go home. She told me to stay after class. Like a gentle parent, she asked me which part of the lesson I found confusing. She didn’t have to ask nor did I feel the need to feign ignorance as a 12-year-old first-year high school student.
“Di tayo aalis dito hangga’t di mo naiintindihan,” she said firmly but with a smile. At the time, I was so confused why she would waste time on me, as I self-identified as bano or mahina (weakling) sa math. After a few minutes, I finally understood it.
Over the years, that brief lesson turned into appreciation for someone who genuinely helped me even if I thought she didn’t have to. She was the first person I messaged, after my college graduation. I introduced myself, unsure if she still remembers who I was—and thanked her for not giving up on me all those years ago. I wanted to repay her somehow, and albeit conceited, I showed her a picture of my sablay (an indigenous loose garment used on formal occasions) and the only academic medal I’d ever gotten as a student.
She replied almost immediately and playfully used my words against me. “Kagaya ng sinabi ko sa iyo noon at sasabihin ko ngayon—walang mahinang estudyante. Congrats, anak, malayo pa ang mararating mo.” She is one of three people who have called me anak and I inevitably felt the warmth and compassion that word possesses.
The second is my grandmother, Felissa Silva. I am what they call a laking lola. I grew up with my lola, a homemaker all her life, but a stern disciplinarian with a soft spot for her grandkids.
Her role as a stay-at-home mom went far beyond the title. She was the de facto manager of a household with her husband, who was a judge, whom we affectionately called Lolo Judge, while juggling finances, overseeing resources, and serving as an all-around mother not just to her children, but, by extension, to us her apo as well.
I’ve seen these as well from my mother, Pro Franco, whose work ethic shaped mine as I witnessed her relentless pursuit through the ranks becoming a seasoned banker until her retirement a couple of years ago. To this day, she remains a paragon of how hard work outlasts natural talent. Her ferocity to ensure a better future for her family remains unmatched in my books.
The story of her experience when she fought off a pickpocket stealing her bag is something I will never forget. For one thing, she was pregnant with me at the time, and she held in her bag the earnings of her small business selling frozen foods for the day. She was with her older brother that day who, to this day, remains in awe of my mother who had the audacity to play tug-of-war for her bag against her attacker on a crowded sidewalk, leaving one bystander saying, “Tapang ng buntis, oh,” they recalled.
Lastly, my former high school seatmate, whom I just married earlier this year. Sandy is the smartest, kindest, and most passionate spirit I’ve ever known. She inspires me every day to become a better man. Her passion as an artist radiates throughout her beauty, dreams, and her principles.
We’ve been together for 11 years. I never considered myself a lucky person, but having the privilege to be called her husband is all the proof I need that I lucked out in life.
There are days when I come home feeling defeated and beaten down, but she has always believed in me—even when I didn’t believe in myself. All of my future achievements are dedicated to her because they are as much hers as they are mine. I wouldn’t be here without her.
