In Ancient Rome, there is this immortal saying about death:
Respice post te. Hominem te memento.
That saying says: Look after you to the time after your
death and remember you're only a man.
Remember, remember: You are only a man. Or a woman. Or a
human being.
In the finitude of life, in this mortality that we have got,
we think of the existentialist philosopher and we echo the same thing: The
moment we are born, we are poised to die.
That is a good warning. We go back to the earth, to the
soil, to dust.
True, indeed, but today, while we go the route of the sad,
sad claim to the realistic, we want to defy death and say that in the minds of
women and men and students who have known the work of our colleague, Dr Julius
B. Soria, death is but a transition to another life, another dimension, another
segment of that eternal time we know exists in our hearts and souls.
For the Ilokano mind, we know this is true.
For death for the Ilokano, like our dear Dr Julius’ death,
is a crossing over, that crossing over to the other side of the river of life,
and in that other side of the river, there is another life, a life after life.
There is a term for the Ilokano for this one indigenous
philosophy: sabali a biag. It is life, but it is another life. But it is life
still.
Sabali a biag.
I am not supposed to be speaking today.
It should have been Dr Julius standing before you.
For in the Spring of 2017, I have asked permission from then
chair, Dr John Mayer, that I would give up being coordinator of the Ilokano
Program, and that Dr Julius had agreed to take over.
We have made the arrangements, all the arrangements
necessary for the change of leadership of the Ilokano Program, and by August 1,
he should have assumed that post, and that I would follow his lead.
In May, at the 11th Nakem Conference, we went to the
Philippines together and helped organize and convene that conference. I asked
him to come because I wanted him to fully understand what it would take him to
be the overall chair of the 12th Nakem Conference we are holding in November
2017.
In the evening of that first day of the conference, about 12
of us stayed put at the conference hall and sang for hours all the songs that
we remember, the songs of our youth, the songs of our people, the songs of our
dreams.
From my own end, I have planned on how to have that graceful
exit from being Program Coordinator, and dreamt of freedom after 10 years of
tasting a different form of freedom. I dreamt of songs to sing, of poems to
write, of novels to complete.
Dr Julius, my younger brother, knew what I wanted to do, and
why I wanted him to be the coordinator. He understood me full well. He was even
excited to become my leader.
But on August 2, he died on me.
And he died on us at the Ilokano Program, at the IPLL, and
at the LLL.
But his death is the reason of our gathering today—the
reason why we must remember the finitude of his life as well as our own.
But more importantly, we are gathered here to honor him, to
honor his work, and to honor his life.
I am sure of one thing today: He is here with us; he is here
among us. And he is smiling, telling us, keep going because from where I am, I
will be interceding for you from hereon.
There is this vacuity caused by his physical absence, but
that vacuity is only temporal.
We know deep in our hearts that by his action, he has filled
our hearts, our souls, and our spirits. We know deep in our souls that he has
left behind a legacy of good deeds.
On this note, therefore, I welcome you to this gathering to
celebrate the life of our brother, colleague, friend, and scholar of the
Ilokano people.
**17 Oct 2016, at the Panglagip for Dr Julius B. Soria, Art Auditorium, UH Manoa, Hon, HI.
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