ONE Sunday night in the middle of the Zamboanga siege, I got a call from PNoy’s aide, telling me to expect a phone call at my home landline. Dutifully I waited; I worked for the President of the Philippines, after all, and was no stranger to phone calls at odd hours, especially during difficult periods.
I sat by the phone, mentally preparing to get up and go as soon as I received my instructions. Soon enough, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver, but the voice on the other end was unfamiliar. A female said: “Hello, will you accept a collect call from Noynoy?”
For a brief moment I thought it was a wrong number, until I heard that wheezing laugh I’d recognize anywhere. “Abigail,” he said. “Akala ko di mo tatanggapin, eh.”
If I found it odd that the President called me collect, I had no time to say so. After a brief moment of levity, he went straight into laying out his instructions. He had a habit of explaining context to me whenever we were discussing his position on issues, ensuring that I always understood firmly why he was for or against something. And oftentimes, the deep blue sea between a simple “yes” or “no.”
When he stepped down in 2016, I was happy to see that he finally had the time to spend with his nephews and nieces, watch Netflix, and listen to his favorite music on that home system that he set up himself. Back when he was at the helm of the country, his short down time during work days (usually around late afternoon) would be marked by the music coming from his office. Poke your head through the doorway and he’d gesture you to come in, but he wouldn’t talk about work first, and made you listen with him.
Once, he made me sit on a chair near his sound set-up. He found joy in educating me about music, frowning slightly when I said I didn’t recognize a song, and would proceed to walk me through what he liked about it. “Ganun ka ba kabata?” when I didn’t recognize one particular Bee Gees song. He switched to something else, and said: “Oh Lighthouse Family na to ha. Alam mo na dapat ‘yan.”
People perhaps will never fully understand what made him tick, and that’s okay. He was a reluctant candidate and a reluctant President, one who knew that the task forward would require his full and wholehearted self. It was this reluctance that immunized him from the trappings of power, and he looked forward to his last day in Malacañang, counting down the days with his tear-away calendar with the rest of his staff.
Thank you, Boss. As we speak, all of your staff, past and present, are here with you and your family. We are trying to hold each other up through our collective grief, sliding into our old roles to help however we can. We will be here, Mr. President, even for this one last time.
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(Ms. Valte was Aquino’s deputy presidential spokeswoman and is now columnist of Malaya Business Insight.)
