MANILA, Philippines—When Odette Alcantara walked this earth, her eldest son Albert got this yearly reminder from her: “Promise me, when it’s my turn to leave and I have to be hospitalized, make sure my friends don’t see me that way. Don’t prolong the process. Have me cremated immediately. If you don’t do this, mumultuhin kita (I will appear as a ghost to you)!”

She collapsed on Sept. 21 after a luncheon with her sons and grandchildren Ara, Ika, Miguelito, Tish-tish, Nicolie, Super-love, Bambino, Bola, Tam-tam, Gio, Gia, Ryan, Ashton and Brianna (all pet names given by their lola) at the Heritage Art Center on Main Avenue in Cubao.

The irony was, the reunion was called because her children’s father, Mario, had been diagnosed with liver cancer. Albert said his mother felt compelled to “do a dry run, explain to us the roots of the center, the trials, the legacy our Dad would leave behind. She told the grandkids, ‘Your lolo can go anytime, I can go anytime. Your parents are getting old, too, so I’m passing on the torch to you.’”

Odette led them in cleaning and scrubbing the place to show as an example to employees. Albert said, “Hanggang sa huli, nagmamando siya (Up to the end, she was issuing orders).”

She sat before the computer, asked help to log on to her e-mail and found she had to answer six messages. She knew how to type but did not know how to send. Her overall mood was happy.

Then she called granddaughter Sara to say she was dizzy and asked if she could bring her a glass of cold water. Odette poured the contents of the glass on her head and passed out.

At St. Luke’s Hospital, Albert learned from two brain scans that his mom’s brain was flooded with blood. Following her earlier instruction that she be given dignity in death, he signed a waiver that ensured she would not be revived from her comatose state.

He was in panic. He did not want word to leak to her friends. One word and they would practically stampede to the hospital.

He said, “The height of her kapilyuhan (naughtiness) was her instruction that after her immediate cremation, we should scatter her ashes in our farm in Tanay, throw a big party, invite all her friends, and after they’re gathered, announce to them, ‘By the way, my mommy is dead.’”

Although he delayed announcing anything, word slipped out. The lives Odette connected with north and south of the archipelago learned through instant text messaging that she had indeed died.

Shock

After the initial shock, the tributes came quick, each showing a facet of her as friend, art patron, chess player, activist and environmentalist.

Albert said, “When my parents separated, it must’ve been the best thing that happened to her. She evolved. Her friends saved her. She thought she had failed as a mother. But I told her, ‘You had to save yourself first.’ Our family realized that she was public property. We knew we had to share her.”

Freelance writer Amadis Ma. Guerrero, whom Odette called “Mozart” after the composer, said, “When you were introduced to her, she screamed, gave you a hug, and you had an instant friend. For life, at that. She was spiritual but not a church-going Catholic. She quipped that her four sons were begotten by virgin birth. When it was the Blessed Virgin’s 2,000th birth anniversary, she told me, ‘Mochichart (little Mozart), don’t tell people I am two thousand years old. Nakakahiya naman.’”

Her “name-calling” was constant and so infectious that Pablo Tariman, freelance writer and erstwhile impresario, rode along.

He said, “She referred to me as her love child by Pablo Casals or Picasso. When friends were around, I played the part of her youngest son. When she hosted one soiree after another, my lines were: ‘But, Mama, at the rate you are hosting lunch and dinners, we might run out of rice. How can we face high society?’ All our friends laughed.

“She called Chino and Coke Bolipata her sons by famous composers. When they were around, I complained loudly for everyone to hear, ‘But, Mama, how come you sent your other children to Juilliard, and you only sent me to Binangonan School of Applied Arts?’”

He continued, “I thought all great artists should meet her. I brought to her place Cecile Licad, Otoniel Gonzaga, Romanian violinist Alexandru Tomescu, Russian pianist Ilya Rashkovsky, baritone Noel Azcona, Makie Misawa, Oliver Salonga, cellist Willie Pasamba and others. I had a hidden agenda. Before a big concert, I’d try out a program at Odette’s to see how her highly discerning friends would react. Cecile played Schumann’s Widmung on Odette’s upright piano.”

Pablo shared this dialogue between Cecile and Odette.

Cecile (pointing to the upright, battered piano): “I am playing on that?”

Odette: “Yes, on that.”

After that, Pablo said, “Odette moved heaven and earth to acquire a baby grand. The second time Cecile came, the baby grand was ready. In the middle of her performance, there was heavy thunderstorm, then a brownout. She didn’t stop. Among the guests was Conrado de Quiros who wrote that her playing at Odette’s place in the dark gave him a ‘glimpse of heaven.’”

Pablo said he’d miss the way Odette “genuinely loved artists. She raved over them, cooked for them, hosted lunch and dinners for them. She welcomed musicians with bouts of depression, impresarios recovering from traumatic deficits, promising artists in need of moral support. Now that she’s gone, I cannot imagine another soiree in Blue Ridge without her signature love and laughter.”

Inquirer art director Lynett Villariba received a title: “How could I not miss Ms O. who coined the title National Artist for Layout with such consistency that I began to believe it? It’s a compliment I’ll treasure the rest of my life.”

Former Sen. Nikki Coseteng acknowledged a debt to Odette. “When I put up Galerie Dominique in Wack Wack, Mandaluyong in the mid-70s, she introduced me to artists who had exhibited in her gallery. As I was exposed to art because my mother Alice collected paintings, sculpture, antique religious art and furniture, it was fascinating to meet the artists personally.”

Like many women from her class, Odette was outraged by the assassination of former Sen. Benigno Aquino Jr. and was a prominent front-liner in the parliament of the streets. But before she helped found the Women for the Ouster of Marcos and Boycott (Womb), she helped the anti-dictatorship movement in her own fashion.

Loudest laugh

Writer Carolina “Bobbie” Malay, former National Democratic Front figure, recalled, “I knew her as Lourdes Benito at UP Diliman. Her atchi (elder sister) was our English professor Nieves Benito who upped and married S.V. Epistola one fine day. Lourdes and I didn’t interact much. I fancied myself to be free-spirited and she seemed to be a manang (old lady) who belonged to the UP Student Catholic Action crowd.”

Bobbie narrated how they met again during the martial-law years while she was underground: “She became a dear friend of my mother Paula and other activist women, including the most free-spirited of all, Adul de Leon the actress. Adul took me to Odette’s in Blue Ridge to watch a bootleg video about the political detainees in Bicutan. After seven years, it was the first time I saw how Satur looked. How strangely our lives had finally met and become part of a newly emerging community.”

Satur Ocampo, ex-political prisoner and now party-list representative, said, “Odette visited me when I was a detainee at the Bicutan Rehabilitation Center. It was my birthday. The Women Writers in Media, of which Odette was one, came to cheer me up. She handed me a nicely wrapped gift, hugged and gave me a sweet beso (kiss) and announced that the gift came from my wife Bobbie. She coaxed me to open the gift in front of everyone. After I opened the box, she lifted the content—a maroon brief!—and waved it in the air for all to see. Everyone had a laugh. Hers was the loudest.”

Wisecracks and more weirdness marked the Womb years. Journalist Olive H. Tripon said, “She and Gilda Cordero-Fernando came up with the queerest get-up during demos. They came in jeans and baro, real sinamay with embroidery and sequins. On second thought, It was a statement for Inang Bayan. Because we had former beauty queens Nelia Sancho and Maita Gomez as members, Odette became Ka World and Gilda, Ka Universe, ‘ka’ being short for kasama (comrade).”

Once, Odette and Olive were in a car and were stopped at a checkpoint. Odette imitated the soldier’s Visayan accent. This was how the exchange went:

Soldier: “Chick po-ent lang, Mam.”

Odette: “Pur what purpus? Eh kung kami ang mag-chi-chik sa iyo?

Olive said, “She turned a scary moment into a funny one.”

The dynamic Odette-Gilda duo was hard to beat. Editor Lorna Kalaw Tirol said, “It was as ‘Lola O’ that I saw her softest side. When I was with
Sunday Inquirer Magazine, she and Gilda suggested a cover idea for an Independence Day issue—little girls dressed in authentic Filipino costumes from Gilda’s baul and posing at Paco Park. Who were the little girls? Their own beautiful granddaughters. The shoot went smoothly, and SIM had a terrific cover. The two extraordinary women that afternoon were simply two ‘lolas’ going gaga over their lovely apo.”

Joji Ravina-Lourence, who got her training as an events organizer from Womb, recalled a spoof Odette, Nikki, CB Garrucho and she were a part of.

“Odette was Inang Bayan. Nikki was a crony. CB was Imelda Marcos. I stood for the repressive military. It was our contribution to International Women’s Day. We paraded around Intramuros and stood for hours on a flatbed truck in front of the US Embassy gate. Odette joked all throughout. She, Gilda and Fe Arriola were the thinktank behind Womb’s hilarious gimmicks against the Marcos regime.”

Loving chess

Journalist Alex Dacanay explained why Odette loved a chess game: “She didn’t see it as symbolic aggression, which it is, and which is why men are attracted to it. She saw it as a metaphor for planning and doing. She had no problem holding up her game against fairly strong players. We called her Odettesky in mock Russian. She would challenge even [Florencio] Campomanes, the grand daddy of Philippine chess, with this line: ‘Defend yourself against the conqueror, men.’ Everyone took this in good humor and [they] were ritualistically slain.”

“Later, this became applied chess. It was how to checkmate garbage in three moves: One, segregate; two, compost; and three, recycle. Basura (garbage) resigns.”

Odette devoted her energies to the environmental cause in the last two decades of her life. Art director Dario B. Noche said, “Last [time] we interviewed her, it was about waste management. She laughed when I told her she should call her group ‘no-waste gang.’ The younger people did not get the joke. She gave me a key chain with a small globe attached. A reminder, she said. Now it reminds me of Odette, of the long, black, waterfall hair.”

Architect Rosario Encarnacio Tan and her husband Juju got a similar key chain from Odette one Christmas. It was a tin globe, one inch in diameter. Odette pointed at the small Philippines image and told them, “You’re just a dot, but don’t worry, you’re there!”

Public relations consultant Joan Orendain recalled, “In the do-or-die campaign versus FF Cruz’s attempt to reclaim Manila Bay, Doris Magsaysay Ho, Bambi Harper, other people and I campaigned to save Manila Bay.

I called Odette to join our demo and told her I’d bring my grandson Gabriel in a stroller with a sign on it that said: ‘Manila Bay Belongs to Me.’ She came with a rocking chair and sat on it beside Gabriel so that ‘lolas’ would be part of the campaign. She thought up audacious ideas.”

Gustatory savvy

Another friend, Mac Orendain, remembers Odette for “her cooking and gustatory savvy. While waiting for others to arrive at her animated meetings, she hummed soothing ‘kundimans’ or exposed her ferocity at chess. She’d lay out a diatribe against earth’s despoliation, fence with a Modigliani or a Bencab or build a paradigm on how not to run the government. To call her amazing is to eviscerate her.”

Writer-painter Baboo Mondoñedo recalled, “We brought 50 students and teachers from the Polytechnic University of the Philippines for a waste management workshop. Not only did she show them how to do it, she also prepared a substantial meal. It is rare to find one who will open up her home and welcome different people to push her advocacy. She nourished souls in different ways. It is said cooking for and feeding people bring good karma. Her tenet was ‘What is personal is political,’ and she showed how.”

Mother Earth colleague Lita Salvador saw Odette laugh heartily each time she sat on a chair that collapsed on two different occasions in Baguio: One at Camp John Hay and the next across from where the city mayor was seated. She said an angel protected her butt from harm, attributing the protection to the angel figurines she surrounded herself with.

Painter Ivi Avellano Cosio recalled how Odette marshaled a group to protest the cutting down of ancient acacias on Katipunan Avenue outside UP.

“We tied lavender strips of cloth around the trees. Odette saw a pile of burning rubbish in an empty lot fronting the Local Water Utilities Administration. She pulled me aside, saying, ‘Samahan mo ako, Bibi (Come with me).’ To her, I was Bibi. My husband Allan was Babes. I learned early on that no one says ‘no’ to Odette. There we were, the two of us, crossing the muddy field to LWUA. When we got there, Odette stopped in front of a man standing on the front steps and demanded, ‘Bakit kayo nagsusunog ng basura? Hindi niyo ba alam na masama iyan? (Why are you burning trash? Don’t you know that’s bad?)’

“The man stared. Odette’s voice brought out other men to whom she addressed the same questions, only louder, adding for good measure, ‘Nasaan ba ang manager niyo? (Where’s your manager?)’ More men gathered in the lobby and on the steps, including one who was obviously the supervisor. Behind him was a security guard with a rifle. ‘Ano ba ang problema niyo (What’s your problem?)’ Mr. Supervisor sneered at Odette. ‘Hindi namin alam kung kaninong basura iyan. Ni hindi namin lupa iyan. Hindi na namin responsibilidad iyan!’

“Ay, wrong answer! With arms akimbo, Odette let out a crisp, ‘P_____ ina! Wala kayong alam at wala kayong pakialam! Pare-pareho kayong mga taga-gobyerno! Kaya nagkakalintiklintik itong bayan natin!’ Then she whirled around and stomped off, spluttering and gesticulating. I followed meekly and weak-kneed.”

Ivi continued, “I could hear Mr. Supervisor yelling, ‘P______ina mo rin! Akala mo kung sino ka!’ followed by a chorus of male voices agreeing. Oh great, I thought. Mr. Supervisor had back-up, including the armed guard. We had no back-up because our companions were at the other end of Katipunan, blithely tying purple ribbons on trees, totally unaware of this. I could see the tabloid headlines: ‘Binaril dahil sa basura!’ That was the longest walk I had ever taken.”

Forest diwata

Writer Chit Roces saw Odette for the last time on Earth Day in April at Arroceros Forest Park. “She stood with us in the fight for its survival,” she said. “I don’t recall any park activity she missed. Looking like a diwata of the forest, she stood out that day in her loose blouse and white cotton pants, her unpowdered kayumanggi face framed by long straight black hair. Before she saw me, I already heard her heaping praise for an essay I had written. The compliments extended to my roots; she thought highly of my elders. I loved her despite her conditional feelings for me: At every chance, she made it clear she loved my husband, Vergel, more.”

Chit continued: “Vergel was close to painter Onib Olmedo, whose early death left Odette and others in a circle of grand ladies feeling widowed. They called themselves “las viudas de Onib” and consoled themselves by re-channeling their affection to Vergel. She was the first viuda to go and join Onib, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she is now the object of her circle’s jealousy.”

To journalist-gardener Ester Dipasupil, Odette is now a tree: “I have her in my yard. Since I name flowers, plants and tree saplings after those who gave them to me (and also because it’s easier to remember names rather than species), my golden shower tree that blooms profusely with brilliant yellow flowers in the summer is now my Odette tree. She gave hundreds of these saplings years ago during a party she hosted to mark Daisy and Bert Avellana’s golden wedding anniversary. When my sister Sonia died 11 years ago, Odette planted two fire trees in remembrance of her in the mini park she maintained near her Blue Ridge house. I suppose Odette, like the golden shower and the fire trees, will always be there—green, yellow and red, forever blooming, forever remembered.”