She taught me the power of words.

Every single Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons of my grade school days, I would find her in the veranda waiting for me. I would hurriedly alight from the school service bus and run to her. She would kiss me, ask how my day went, and prepare merienda [afternoon snack]. After finishing the champorado or pansit or sopas (just some of her specialties), we would immediately proceed to my (and I'm sure hers too) favorite activity--our special English lessons.

See, my grandma used to be an English teacher. Upon retiring, she busied herself with joining and heading church groups like WOPIC (Women's Organization of the Philippine Independent Church) and taking care of her children and grandchildren. But she missed the vocation. So she took me, her favorite apo [grand child], as her one and only thus by technicality number one student.

The sala was our classroom; my magic slate and its accompanying stick our blackboard and chalk. She taught me nouns, pronouns, verbs, subject, predicate, singular, plural, and all those other things. My school teachers would always remark that I have special communication skills as I am always ahead of my peers in grammar and spelling. Little did they know that the special thing I possess can only be partly attributed to intelligence. It was mostly my grandma's love and tutelage.

It was through my Lola Meng's use of easy to understand instructions, reward pastries (I frequently ask for merengue, brazo de mercedes, and leche flan), punishment in the form of endless tickling, and special contracts (She helped me sneak behind daddy's back to watch TV at past bedtime every time I got a line of 9 in our periodical test.) that I have learned and grown to love the English language and just language in general.

She was very proud of the product of her mentorship. Much to the jealousy of my cousins, she would always single me out and show me off. I gave the English translation of terms the amused crowd dished out to test me. Like a true bibang bata [smart kid], I recited my complete address when asked ''Where are you from?'' When I got to Grade 4, I was off declaiming one poem after another. Lola really helped me work on stressing, pauses, and even actions. Those were really fun and at the same time formative times. She was so happy of me, with me, and for me. I loved her. She loved me. We loved what we were doing.

But I wasn't always a little angel. I also had topak moments [tantrums, crazy moments]. There were times I exploited her desire to teach me. I asked for too many things--sweets, shoes, headbands, toys, extra playing hours--knowing she couldn't resist me. Sometimes I'd act irritated upon being asked the spelling drill for the nth time and misspell words on purpose to spite her. More than once I played awfully hard to get when she requested a public performance of my skills.

Despite that, she continued working on me and never gave up. She always taught me. She never stopped loving me. Her affection for me on days that I was a sweet perfect little grand daughter was the same as on days I played the brat part. My education, my growth, my well-being, my success, my happiness--those were her only concerns.

But there is always an end to everything. Like I graduated in grade school and in high school and will soon be doing in college, I graduated from her tutoring. We moved to a house of our own while she stayed with a different son and grand kids in the family house. School hours became longer that my visits started becoming irregular. I grew in knowledge and soon found myself the more advanced correcting her outdated English. (For instance, she pronounced soft drinks as 'sap drinks.' I tried reversing her wrong but she was just so used to it.) Things just weren't the same as before.

We had an awkward phase. I think that was when I started getting conscious about hanging around old folk too, my cousins' insecurities, and being the center of attention in family gatherings. She did notice my coldness towards her but she didn't back off like I hoped she would. In fact, she exerted more effort reaching out to me. I didn't reach back.

Thank goodness the silliness of adolescent years pass away (Well okay, I still act like I'm thirteen--even seven--sometimes BUT I have matured.) The awkwardness between us occurred for only about two or three years. I realized how special what we had is. Nostalgia and the case of lola's [grandma's] girl got to me. I missed her. I learned not to care about what others think. I understood the lesson she has taught me all those years--unconditional love.

As soon as I looked back at my true, my best, my most important, and my favorite alma mater, she welcomed me back. Without question. With open arms. With the same love she had for me when I successfully memorized prepositions. Now I know that I am not only my high school's valedictorian. I am her valedictorian. No competition.

It was another chapter of moments after that. I visited her as much as I could. Although getting weak day by day because of both old age and sickness, she showed me the same special cheerfulness, understanding, and excitement she graces me with. We hugged and kissed in public every time we wanted to paying no heed to whoever may be watching us. I told her about my heart's desires. She listened and desired for me all that I wanted. Being an empowered woman herself, she was particularly supportive of Mulieris. She was so proud that her favorite apo [grand child] co-founded a women's organization.

During my last conversation with her (about five days before she died, at the hospital just for some 'regular' checks which we at the time didn't know would lead to the discovery of hemorrhages and would end in a heart seizure and her demise), I asked for her presence in my college graduation. "Lola, may honor ako. Siguro cum laude. At least honorable mention. Kaya punta kayo, sabit ninyo nina mommy at daddy 'yung medal [Grandma, I'll be receiving honors at my graduation, probably cum laude. Honorable mention at the least. Please come. You, mom, and dad can don the medal on me],'' I had said. Mustering some strength as she already had difficulty in speaking, she replied: ''O sige. Tignan natin kung malakas na ako. [Okay. Let's see if I am already strong at that time.] Congrats in advance!'' She squeezed my hand and fell into a peaceful slumber a few moments after.

She wouldn't be there as I march on March. But I know that she is proud of me. Similar to the times she presented me to her relatives and friends, a smile would spread around her face and she would beam and say: ''Apo ko 'yan [Tha's my grand child].''

As I make it to another milestone in my life, she is one of the people I have to thank.

She taught me the power of words. In the process, she has taught me love. With all the power I have, I say these words: I LOVE YOU LOLA MENG! THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING!

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* In memory of Julia Natividad San Pedro. December 16, 2004.

Sorry if this came late. Back in December, I needed some serious and uninterrupted mourning time. But I want to have a fresh start for 2005 so this is my way of burying the demons of my past--all that hurt and negativity. I need to let go and live my life. I'm sure it is what my grandpa and my grandma want for me.

Signed (with deep love),

Rachelle

Forever in gratitude to those who have made me the person that I am today

P.S. Dear Lord, I don't want to write Eulogy #3 any time soon. Enough mass cards and funeral processions already.