Holy Ghost College, renamed to College of the Holy Spirit, was established in 1913 and run by the German nuns of the order of the Sisters of the Holy Spirit. (Photos from CHS Facebook, through the courtesy of Isidra Reyes, Manila Nostalgia)
My Chair Rocks
Something is not right. Actually, nothing has been since March.
But I look at my journal and I know something else is amiss.
Every year, at around this time, I am neck deep in plans for our school homecoming. Armed with a list of the “survivors” of Class 1949, I try to make contact with as many as I can. Most don’t do Internet. I call anyway.
Our grand reunions are normally on the first Sunday of February. And long before the year is up, preparations are underway. Celebrants are in rehearsals, ordering costumes, hiring choreographers, and telling old classmates to attend or face the consequences. Yes, we get serious about coming home, especially if we are celebrating some kind of a jubilee.
Last year we marked our 70th. Our class of ’49 or what the young ones call “the jurassics” took to the stage and proved once again that we still have a wiggle left in us. We were assigned Titanium, I suppose because they ran out of precious stones and metals. With canes, walkers and wheelchairs on stage, we “performed” and reaped a thunderous ovation from the crowd of the “still quite young”. Was that only last year?
Then came 2020.
And a month ago, the news came out. There had been rumors; all kinds of stories about the lack of funds and a need for fresh capital. At one point I heard that someone wanted to buy the school. We had quietly hoped that this investor would provide the lifeline we desperately needed, not only to keep us afloat and alive but also to make our school start moving toward what it used to be, once upon a long time ago.
But it didn’t happen. And now we face the inevitable end.
My heart remembers our old Alma Mater song. “Some day when far from you we roam; our thoughts will surely travel home. And mem’ries sweet will be to me, those dear old days in the HGC.” Sweet indeed. But today, there is a taste of bitter.
ONLY IN MY MIND
Very often in the past several decades, lost in a reverie of times gone by, I traveled back to savor once again the welcome, the safety and protection I felt as a little girl. Back then I was overwhelmed, in awe of the lofty ceilings and hushed hallways. I felt so tiny.
But I always found peace and quiet in the garden of the guardian angel. That was my favorite place. I felt safe there, like nothing could hurt me. Ever. And even all grown up, in my thoughts I have retreated there again to find tranquility.
I could see that tall white angel from the chapel when I was with my classmates, learning our prayers, sometimes being naughty and giggling under our veils.
And many years later, when my life was tempest-tossed, I recalled those moments of blissful innocence and quiet, and re-visited this fondly remembered sanctuary; and found peace.
In other daydreams, uncertain of what the future held for me, I mentally strolled the vast gardens of our school and picked up the same smooth shiny stones that had enticed me as a little girl. Growing up was wholesome. It was a carefree time. Life was good.
During the war, in moments of utter fear, I wished myself drinking cool water from the fountains under the mango trees. I could actually see me, in my tan uniform, which was quite unattractive by the way. I always wished it had been a tad more colorful.
But at the height of the liberation of Manila, I remember giving away my regular clothes, even party dresses, to the children who had lost everything in the fires across the Pasig, but hanging on to my uniforms. I still wonder about that.
Holy Ghost College, Manila was established in 1913 and was run by the order of Sisters of the Holy Spirit. I remember the strict German nuns. I started there in 1936 in kindergarten. And graduated in 1949. A lot happened in between. We even had a world war in 1941.
My mother was a student in their first schoolhouse on Calle Legarda.
I went to Mendiola.
We had two beautiful buildings. I loved walking in the sparkling long hallways and relished, even as a little girl, the atmosphere of solemn peace. There was a hush in the corridors. It felt like a quiet reverence. I can still see the “manangs” sweeping some kind of red sawdust on the floors to make them shine. Every single nook and crevice was scrubbed and polished. The grounds were impeccable. Manicured. Free of litter. Aromas from the refectory were of freshly baked German bread and chocolate fudge squares. My mouth waters to remember.
Some places in school were strictly taboo. You were not allowed to step behind the grotto. I later discovered there was a cemetery there. Also, there was a door that led to the cloisters. Oh, how we wanted to go beyond that point, just to see what the nuns had under their stiff veils.
In 1945, after the bloody battle for Manila, the school was taken over by the US Army and used as a hospital for the servicemen. Classes resumed under army tents in the expansive gardens of the Cardenas and Paterno families on Aviles.
I don’t remember when we went back to the Mendiola campus. By that time, I was a high school freshman. When we graduated in 1949, we inaugurated the auditorium. After that I went to university.
From then on, I looked forward to homecomings. It was a day of rejoicing with old classmates and teachers; of touching and tasting the “good old days” in school. We peeked into our old classrooms and felt giddy remembering.
BUT NOTHING REMAINS THE SAME
Every time I “came home” I ached with a longing for the school I remembered. We tried to fill in the spaces and fix whatever the years had left undone. Sometimes we succeeded. But I think we only imagined or remembered it all back into being.
In our hearts, we knew that our old school was pitifully and tragically falling apart. Time had not been kind. History had taken its toll.
Suddenly there was a need to struggle through barbed wire fences. It was disconcerting. Did this perhaps start the downtrend of enrolment? Did we look too much like a “stalag”?
I don’t know what caused its decline. But here we are today, facing the awful reality that our Alma Mater is no more. And sadly we await its imminent and final demise.
Since the news broke, I have felt pretty much like a homeless waif. For so many years, the prospect of coming home had filled me with joy.
Where do I go now?
Show me the way to where I can again find that warm feeling of welcome, and that incredible sense of belonging. It almost felt like coming home to my mother and settling safe and secure in her warm embrace.
How can I do that again?
I suppose that like in the past, I shall have to dig deep into my heart, close my eyes, and simply remember.
College of the Holy Spirit Alumnae Association
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