Meeting Ninotchka Rosca, or Notch, evoked a slice of teenage years. One day, she suddenly popped up among us English Majors, a rather “formidable” and exclusive group, in the eyes of Engineering, Law, and Fine Arts students at the University of the Philippines in Diliman. The girls, they claimed, looked unapproachable, “heavily guarded” by the EM boys. When the spirit moved the guys, they would sketch some of the gals.
Ninotchka had transferred from Silliman University to U.P., enticed by some at the Silliman Summer Writers Workshop to study at U.P.
It was the liberal decade of the Sixties, and us girls started our own fashion. Some wore sandals, others designed their own clothes like sando, still one or two went braless, and nobody wore makeup.
The handful of EM girls and boys began wearing unusual colors like rust, gold, fuchsia red, fuchsia pink, magenta, lavender, lilac, and chartreuse. We didn’t care what others thought or said, all we knew was we were artists and writers.
We gobbled up books and competed with each other as to who “discovered” Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jean Genet, Violette Leduc, Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud, Rainer Maria Rilke, Heinrich Heine, Thomas Mann, Hermann Hesse, Friedrich von Schiller, ad infinitum. They were not yet in the curriculum; the EMs learned more from the Main Library than from the classroom.
The EM girls hogged the literary pages of The Philippine Collegian, the official organ of U.P., when Franklin R. Cabaluna became its literary editor. We held poetry readings by candlelight, with a beret and matching scarf. We attended mini concerts at the U.P. College of Music (then Conservatory of Music), performance poetry in French by, say, Ishmael “Bernie” Bernal, etc. We also guested on Channel 13 to read poems.
On Fridays, the EM witches would wear black and white and chant:
Where shall we meet again
In thunder, lightning
or in rain?
When the hurlyburly’s done,
When the battle’s lost
and won…
This was the atmosphere of the ’60s at U.P. that Ninotchka chanced upon. The campus jeepneys were scarce, and we strolled the whole campus, rain or shine, especially at sunset when classes were over.
It seemed like Notch got the hang of walking and drinking with the boys who invited her to tag along. The boys had less time with us girls, but we didn’t mind. The close-knit but dappled group of EMs comprised of free spirits. Tess Daffon, Priscilla Navarro, Katalina Rosaldo, Jenny Romero, Linda Balingit, Beth Gonzales, Erwin E. Castillo, Franklin R. Cabaluna, Franklin Osorio, Wilfredo Pascua Sanchez, Dick Malay, Jose Nadal Carreon, Jun Lansang (when he was sane), Jorge Arago, and Jimmy Abad (when he wasn’t busy at the Student Catholic Action of U.P.).
We were the fair-haired dahlings of Nick Joaquin. As literary editor of pre-martial law Philippines Free Press, we drank beer with Nick, accompanied him singing his favorite songs with his slight tremolo. He would publish our fiction and poetry, together with the works of Ninotchka Rosca, Nick’s beloved Nina, and of Luis V. Teodoro.
Chato Garcellano, Ninotchka Rosca, Jose F. Lacaba, and Butch Perez. (Photo courtesy of Krip Yuson)
Nick used to bring Notch to my parents’ house in the ’60s when Greg Brillantes and family were there as well as Amado V. Hernandez and Luis Taruc. Nick would bring Brazo de Mercedes and lechon, and he would be served ice-cold beer. The guests would feast on my Mom’s cooking.
A lot had happened since then. The 21-year Vietnam War, the First Quarter Storm and the student movements across the globe, martial law and dictatorships, People Power Revolution that inspired other countries, and the rise of feminism.
Ninotchka and I bumped into each other during the United Nations NGO Forum on Women in Huairou, China, where Gabriela and some international women’s network sponsored her trip. That was in 1995, when Hilary Clinton spoke in an auditorium, and the Chinese soldiers rudely marched into the auditorium, stepping on the feet of women lined up outside in the rain and pushing them with all their might. Clearly a brutal display of macho arrogance.
The EMs dropped the artsy-fartsy bits. But the rebels in us continued in our organizations and in our writings.
When my husband was imprisoned and tortured, Ninotchka said she approached Adrian Cristobal to ask if he could work for my husband’s release. After years of no contact, Notch and I would meet again on November 14 at a dinner at Celina Cristobal’s residence, hosted by Celina, Krip Yuson, and Karina Bolasco, the one responsible for the publication of Notch’s novel, State of War, in the Philippines, which won the American Book Award in 1988, and Bitter Country and Other Stories, when Karina was still at the helm of Anvil Publishing.
The dinner was a moment for reminiscing and for catching up on the latest happenings. Everyone pitched in on Marites. Said dinner was also attended by Gou de Jesus, Butch Perez, and Chato Garcellano.
In the September issue of the literary monthly magazine, Philippines Graphic Reader, Ninotchka Rosca’s one-sentence short story, “The Visible Part of the Brain,” appeared.
At the November 14 gathering, Notch looked respectable in an attractive batik dress that reached her ankles, which was sewed in Kamuning. She was quiet and mild-mannered until she started talking about the current U.P. President, whom she met at a recent jazz gig of Gou de Jesus and Skarlet.
When the president heard Ninothcka’s name, he approached her and gushed that his favorite book is the Dogeaters. Ninotchka remained politely quiet. She wanted to say, that’s not my book. But Mr. President continued, trying to win pogi points, and read a passage from the book. Seething, she declared, “I never wrote such crap!” He went on reading, and she surmised he wasn’t listening to her because she was “only a woman.” That really sparked her ire. “You’re stupid!” she shouted and turned around and left him. Notch said those who heard her told her she was right. “Then, how come nobody tells that to his face?!” We laughed as we have heard other similar clown incidents from others.
daughters of writer Gregorio Brillantes
Notch, who had been here since October, was in Puerto Princesa, Palawan, for relaxation. The place, she reported, has become too commercial. She lived just a stone’s throw away from my place in Quezon City, and could easily find her way around to eateries nearby, fruit stalls, and grocery stores. She invited me to go swimming in the condo where she resided, and maybe exchange memories and news updates on friends and common acquaintances and literature. But since the beginning, she had been busy with lectures. She was invited to lecture in schools and other venues from Baguio to Sulu and, of course, U.P. She confided, however, that she was afraid to speak at U.P. because extremists might hurl tomatoes at her. You can never tell, she added.
At least in the condo, despite the noise of street vendors shouting their wares of veggies, tahô, repair sapatos, and couples exchanging invectives, Notch relished her gifts of mangosteen and sweet lanzones.
I remember, in our English class, I would bring bags of the sweetest lanzones which my paternal grandpa would haul in several from Marinduque to Manila. And in the back row of the classroom, unknown to our teacher, we would munch on our lanzones with gusto.
Here’s wishing Ninotchka Rosca more successful challenges in her creativity, triumph in reuniting with her children she so loves, victory in staving off the nagging dream of the ghost and the dearly departed. Sometimes she fantasizes about starting over with her one and only. Tenderness and a second chance, after all, are all we need.
May the year 2024 be kinder to everyone! Let’s meet again soon, Notch, in thunder, lightning or in rain. We’ve never had a biff, and if we did, it’s buried in the belly full of lanzones.
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Multi-awarded, trilingual poet and essayist Marra PL. Lanot is the Literary Editor of the Philippines Graphic Reader. In 2023, she won the Hispanic-Philippine Literature Award at the Premio Antonio M. Abad for her collection of poems, Soy (I am).
