Years of Red over Blue

“Shocking! Controversial Japanese Collaborator, Liway Buencamino, one of the nominees for the National Artist of the Philippines for 2006!”

“Liway Buencamino dropped anew from the 2009 National Artist List!”

“Third time’s a charm! Buencamino finally receives the elusive National Artist Award at the age of 91!”

The newscasting crews lined up their expensive broadcasting cameras on the sidewalk of Jose Laurel Street. Here, Field reporters were constantly revising their flash news script, and some in the crew were seizing their free time to pad their empty stomachs with a shot of caffeine.

When a black van, which their insiders identified as Miss Buencamino’s van, stopped at the frontways, the well-informed hurried and followed the others, resulting in a mob.

After the long wait, the van’s door finally slid open, and an old man greeted the eyes of the public. His small but dignified frame barely covered the old lady everyone had been waiting for.

“Everyone, please move and give way!” Two lines of men in black suits appeared and adeptly barricaded the enthusiastic media away from the car’s doorway. “Please give way!”

The old lady had not exited the heavily tinted van yet; another swarm of reporters and media circled the vehicle up to the palace hall’s entrance.

“Miss Buencamino!”

“Liway Buencamino! Look here!”

A reporter from one of the prominent broadcasting stations successfully saved himself a spot in the barricade. He searched for the elderly Buencamino and hurriedly asked his questions, “Miss Buencamino! Here! What can you say to the critics who opposed you as national artist for music?” He outstretched his hand that was holding the microphone to the old lady. “What about your supporters? Do you want to say something to them?” he added. He was well aware of the media and public’s interest in the controversies surrounding this year’s national artist order. It also heightened the excitement for today’s ceremony. He wanted to make sure he wouldn’t miss the elder’s statement.

“Did you regret performing for the Japanese authorities during the occupation?” A news vlogger swatted the reporter’s hand in favor of his own equipment. This news vlogger had a reputation for manipulating people’s statements and throwing trap-like questions. Whether Buencamino answered yes or no, her downfall was inevitable. His intention was crude and simple: to make his next viral-worthy content. “Are you guilty?”

“Miss Liway Buencamino, say something to your supporters,” a female field reporter asked, her eyes full of admiration for the old lady. She belonged to the faction of the avid supporters of the Elderly Buencamino who passionately campaigned and defended Buencamino against malicious slander of the conservatives. She also worked with the faction of lawmakers who supported and pushed Buencamino as a national artist. “Miss Buencamino, please say a few words.”

The journalists became more enthused and posed more challenging questions. They were all babbling and cutting each other’s remarks like fish vendors in a wet market, hoping to entice their only consumer, Liway Buencamino. They were the unlucky ones who couldn’t get a pass to cover the official ceremony. But that didn’t deter them; they were all standing by outside to ambush the protagonist of this national debate’s entrance.

They had been waiting near Malacañang Palace since early dawn for a scoop that would improve their article’s click rate. Whether it was a social media influencer’s page or an official news page, they all had high daily engagement. Every comment section was filled with varied public opinions, everyone claiming that theirs were right and everyone else’s were wrong.

“What can you say about the allegations that you and your family previously collaborated with the Japanese?” another said, obstructing the other reporters.

“Do you deny your connections with the Japanese during the occupation?” The news vlogger asked again.

Buencamino looked at these people, but she remained silent.

All she knew was that she did everything that she could to protect her family and everyone that was dear to her during the occupation. Her choices might be controversial now, but that was all she knew way back then. She had no regrets. She was also aware that whether she chose to clear her name or keep quiet, these people would all mercilessly judge her past actions and never care to know what led her to those decisions.

“We will not answer any questions.” Standing at the right side of the beautifully aged lady, the white-haired gentleman exuded a protective stance facing the nosy crowd. “Please just wait for the official press release after this ceremony. Thank you.”

One of the men in black suits brought Buencamino’s wheelchair and handed it to the old man. He carefully placed Liway into the wheelchair and squeezed her warm, wrinkled hand. After that, he straightened her Filipiniana gown, circled to her back, grabbed the handle, and pushed her forward.

The old man leaned closer, his voice a soft whisper: “Hay, I’m getting old. I failed to anticipate the enthusiasm of the mass.” He sighed, “I’m so sorry you had to go through this hassle, my love.”

She crossed her right arm to her left shoulder and patted the wrinkled hand of the old man, “I’m fine.”

Her innate grace and elegance, honed by the passage of time, were not overshadowed by the lines of years in the old lady’s serene face. Her gaze was devoid of the impatience of her younger self and now replaced by wisdom.

The flood of flickering flashes overwhelmed her old eyes, just like how vintage camera flashes captured her youth’s most glorious days.

The days when everyone celebrated the one and only Liway Buencamino.

1938.

Murmurs buzzed within the dimly lit auditorium.

The elites from different places—adorned with their intricate dresses and suits—gathered and were full of expectations for the talk of the town, the little brown musical prodigy from the Southeast. Journalists and critics, equipped with flashy cameras and pens, didn’t miss the fun either. Everyone was busy having small courtesy with the people on their left and right as they waited for the night’s main show.

In the sea of white people, the family with different skin colors in the front row was genuinely eye-catching.

The four members of this family were beaming with sunshine-like smiles. If you look further, you will find traces of pride and awe in their seemingly humble posture.

The oldest man and woman have sparse grey hair on their black heads, but besides that, no signs of time could be seen in their youthful bearing. The other two—a young lady and a gentleman—had unique beauty and elegance.

These are the Buencaminos.

Eduardo, the loving father of this small family, could not help but tear up.

Who would have thought that the kid with developmental problems would conquer the West, and maybe the whole world, on the tip of her fingers?

He should thank his comrade who desperately sales-talked him into buying his worn-down grand piano. If he was not insistent on playing the piano to ensure its good condition, he could not imagine what his precious daughter would be today.

He clearly remembered how the non-responsive young Liway ran with her radish-like feet towards the source of that unimpressive sound, clung to one of the grand piano’s feet, and refused to part with it.

Eduardo was left with no choice but to purchase the item and let the little girl play until she lost interest.

The girl they thought was deaf-mute started her obsession with music. Like a madman, she played the instrument with barely half an adult-size, untrained hand until her mother invited an instructor for her.

Eventually, music became her first language for communicating with the outside world. The voice that allowed her to express herself while discovering her unique voice.

She played when she was upset because her favorite blanket was washed without her permission, when she was ecstatic because her Manong secretly gave her a jar of candies, and even when she was scared because her cousins told her she would lose all her teeth if she ate more candies. She played until she became the master that she is now. A master who just stirred the hearts of tonight’s audience as the final note lingered in the air.

Eduardo never imagined that this string of events was the catalyst for Liway’s metamorphosis.

The very key to the little girl’s new world.

Old Father wiped the tears on his cheek and clapped his hand with all his might.

His heart was swelling with so much pride and joy as he watched the young lady curtsying in the center of the stage.

The whole auditorium was shaking from the intense applause from the audience and critics who had just watched the show.

“Ms. Buencamino, look on your left!”

“Miss, here! Here! Look over here!”

“Show us your smile! This will be the front page of newspapers tomorrow!”

The events hall was buzzing and dazzling with shutters and flashes until the curtains completely covered the protagonist of today’s concerto.

Ushers were extra busy controlling the crowd, encouraging the reluctant ones to exit the auditorium.

Having the privilege of a relative, Eduardo led his small family to the exclusive hallway backstage and met their lovely little pianist.

“Papa! Mama! Manong! Manang! You all came!” Liway exclaimed.

Roberto, her older brother, hauled her into his embrace while flashing his white teeth. “Of course! We will not miss our little monkey’s show!”

“Who’s your little monkey?!” Liway retorted, smacking Roberto’s shoulder. “Pa! Did you hear that? Manong is bullying me again! So hateful!” she added with a pout.

Eduardo just let his children kid each other and decided not to intervene in their antics.

“Tsk. Tsk. Look how energetic our Manong is; you’ll never guess that he just bawled his eyes out while watching our dearest Liway play,” Yumi teased.

“Is what Manang said true? You cried? Haha! I knew it!” Liway hollered with delight as she smacked her Manong’s shoulder once again. “Manang, tell me more about it!”

Yumi, Liway’s eldest sister, was happy to comply with her.

The trio bickered until a staff member called Liway for a short meet and greet with some fans and a media appearance at the lounge.

Glory and fame. These were the years before red over blue.