The Sound of Silence

My senior high school teacher, Atty. Milagros Ramin Francia, was buried today in the hallowed grounds of Eternal Gardens in Naga City. She was 80 years old. When I saw her last during the CSNHS Batch 1973 Golden Jubilee Gala Night, she showed signs of the natural aging process, but she still had that ebullient smile and wit as she did back when she was 28 years old teaching World History.

It was a brief encounter in the context of 50 years having passed since exiting the gates of our Alma Mater in 1973. Unreal was perhaps the right word, in an unbelievably ecstatic, high energy, and emotional evening considering the several mentors from high school that were in attendance and not to mention batch mates I have not seen in ages.

I regretted deeply that I did not have a sit-down conversation with her that evening and the days after because it was a whirlwind visit. I had so many things in mind that I wanted to share with her, questions to ask other than those I asked as the emcee of the evening. The mentors did engage us in a public conversation regarding two significant events that happened during our senior year: The Colgante Bridge collapse and the declaration of martial Law a week later.

Beloved Ma’am Mila Francia remembered me well and she even alluded to my association with her brother Fred in the United States. One of the questions that I wanted to ask her was whether she could still remember an afternoon when the tricycle she was in stopped along Peñafrancia Avenue, not too far from the CSNHS compound. She saw me walking home during a pouring rain and offered me a ride. A small act of kindness that spoke well of her person, one that never leaves a reserved spot in my mind.

Her passing touched something inside me. Perhaps a hurt, an ache for the lost years of not having been in touch. Graduation from high school is perhaps one of those things that people leave behind moving forward and never looking back in the up-tempo of a crazy world. How do you get off from it? The alumni reunion in 2023 was my first attempt and I was looking forward to another one in a continuing process of reuniting with the past.

BackStreet Boys has a hit song, “Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely,” that could enliven the day. The melancholy of Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” can also be the balm to reunite with “hello darkness, my old friend.” The Beatles’ “Hey Jude” has a line that offers a way forward. “Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.”

Paul and John’s line is apt, and I like it better as the first step of acceptance. Taking the negative impact of the loss to a positive outlook. Perhaps I can find the answers to the questions I wanted to ask her, if I search myself for meanings. Solitude, as a healthy personal disciple for self-reflection, is perhaps the best way to access that inner chamber of empty, untrammeled space accessible only to the soul.

The question is, how do you access that empty space and fill it with longing that can fertilize the mind? Yet, it should be a longing that doesn’t vacuum the vitality of the spirit. It should be one that adds lucidity to the paradox of the soul and the elasticity of time. Like the blooms of epiphyllum that fade with amazing punctuality, yet its beauty leaves an indelible shape that inhabits the artsy corner of the mind.

In my life, I’ve seen the grandeur and experienced the splendor of many aspects of world history that ma’am Mila Francia eloquently talked about during her stint as CamHi. The words she used inspired young minds like mine to develop an exploring mind where one can inhabit it with great anticipation. The ruins of Rome were an abstraction at that time whose role during the reign of the Roman Empire told of a once mighty army that conquered Europe with speed and for eternity. Yet, its precipitous fall was just as thunderous.

I thought of her when I visited the Colosseum, the Flavian Amphitheatre where the gladiators of Rome fought for supremacy and for life. I thank my world history teacher for planting the desire to feel the roaring crowd when a gladiator falls. Fallen gladiators are dragged to a dark area under the archeological heart of Rome. The Spoliarium that the famous Filipino painter Juan Luna gave realism on canvas was inspired by these fallen gladiators of Rome.

Just imagine a moment that I could have spent with her over a cup of coffee, talking about these things that she probably didn’t anticipate could be a topic of conversation between a world history teacher and her star pupil. The Outstanding in World History accolade I’ve gotten in high school would have been something that brings honor to her and her chosen profession.

The Eiffel Tower of Paris was an iconic topic in world history. There were no PowerPoints then, thus the limits on visual aids. The picture featured in the textbook was truly inadequate to bring life to it. I wanted to share with her my experience with my family ascending to the midsection of the Eiffel where the vista point for the city’s sprawling villages of historical structures was located. With my own eyes, the tower that loomed large in my imagination for years, was before me and more.

The pious peasant girl who rose from obscurity and became a legend and history giant, Joan of Arc, was a heroine in France for leading an army to a stunning victory during the Hundred Years’ War in Europe. One thing I remembered from her lecture was the religious underpinnings of her life and death. During my tour of the Vatican, I saw St. Joan of Arc’s painting wearing a white armor on a white horse. Her capture and eventual death burned at the stake for heresy, made me curious about the role of religion and the church in wars.

The ruins of Rome led me to study and research further, Saint Augustine’s treatise anchored on the City of God with inquiries regarding the angels. Such a journey led me deeper into the bowels of the Vatican archives and found the Mother Lode on the Council of Trent and the centuries following. Ma’am Francia lit a fire in my consciousness on the importance of history and how it shaped religions, cultures, politics and government.

Today, I’m very thankful for her role in my life and for the inspiration that unlocked my critical thinking mind and creativity. I’m sorry that we were never given the opportunity to reminisce deeper about our times in high school, and how her teaching philosophy let loose of my potential. I’m forever grateful for the terrific opportunity to learn from her and what I’ve become.