The ongoing Southeast Asian Games in Vietnam provoked this reminiscence from a journalist who covered the event hosted by the Philippines in December 1981. — ED.  

SYDNEY, Australia—The flag patch on the left breast of the barong shirt confirmed it: This was the official uniform of Filipino athletes competing in the Southeast Asian Games (SEAG) in December 1981, the first time the Philippines hosted the biennial sports event.

Last year at home in Taytay, Rizal, my sister Maxie unearthed the uniform in the course of a lockdown-induced spring cleaning, along with the gown she wore as maid of honor to our sister Elise. I had worn the shirt to the SEAG opening ceremonies, not as an athlete or an official, but as a journalist on assignment: to march with the athletes and write a story from their perspective.

Maxie Vibered a photo of the barong, triggering a memory rush from four decades ago. 

The late Enrique “Iking” Gonzales, then sports editor of the now-defunct Times Journal, hatched the idea with a female staff member in mind. He broached it to managing editor Vergel O. Santos, who agreed straightaway, nodding in my direction. I was then a newbie deskwoman (copy editor) whom he had recruited from People, the Sunday magazine.

The SEAG organizers having been informed of the plan, Gonzales called a meeting of reporters and photographers who would cover the ceremony on Dec. 6. Vantage points along the athletes’ parade route were identified for the photographers, who were to keep an eye out for me. Talk about pressure.

Word of my assignment soon got around. From the Business desk, reporter Lito Gagni hollered, “Angge, I have a head for your article: ‘I walked with heroes on an athlete’s foot’” With that thought I held my nerve. 

My uniform was delivered to the office on the eve of the opening ceremony: shirt, navy blue knee-length A-line skirt, buntal hat and black pumps—in size 9. 

“Just stuff them with paper,” news editor Ricky Agcaoili said, chuckling, when I tried the shoes on. “Tear sheets—there are enough lying around!” I laughed.

Athletes’ village

The next morning, the office jeep transported me to the athletes’ village in the University of Life Track and Field Arena (Ultra) complex in Pasig. Gonzales arranged for me to be roomed with the Philippine women’s bowling team because I knew some members who used to compete in tournaments with my mother, Gloria G. Goloy. Among them were Arianne Cerdeña and the late Lita de la Rosa. 

We changed into the SEAG uniform there and were bused to the Rizal Memorial Stadium in Manila for the opening ceremony. We left all our belongings at Ultra; we were not allowed to bring anything. I managed to sneak a tiny notepad and ballpen underneath my tucked-in barong but didn’t use them.  

During the formation outside the stadium I was separated from the bowlers and put among the gymnasts, who were about my height. Most of the girls clearly knew one another. I kept to myself, only smiling back tentatively to acknowledge their friendly gestures. 

“Where are you from? … What event are you in?” a few casually asked, curious about this stranger in their midst. Initially, I pretended not to hear and simply looked away but after a while, I decided to tell the truth. “Ahh …” mumbled the asker, then turned to the girl beside her, probably to report. 

The last-minute rehearsal of the march-past saved me from further inquiry. We were instructed to doff our hats on cue as we passed the grandstand, keep them raised momentarily, then bring them to our chest over the heart. 

Finally, after we waited nearly two hours by the stadium gate on Adriatico Street, the parade commenced. 

‘Mabuhay!’

Cheers of “Mabuhay!” erupted from the stands as we marched into the stadium. Spectators searched the passing faces, hoping to spot someone they knew, their manner conveying faith and pride in the men and women who carried their hopes on their shoulders.

In the highly charged atmosphere, the athletes were already heroes in their countrymen’s eyes even before the competition began. This was their moment of glory. And I, standing among them, basked in it.  

Less than an hour later, it was back to reality for me. By some miracle, reporter Teddy Africa managed to find me in the now disorderly ranks of barong-clad figures and lead me to the company jeep. (I couldn’t return to the athletes’ village. Mrs. De la Rosa held on to my belongings till I could get them from her.) 

Reaching the newsroom close to deadline, I typed my report, still dressed in my SEAG uniform.  

All I recall about it was the headline drawn from the phrase “moment of glory,” a thought inspired by the homily at the previous Sunday’s Mass. The priest, Father Luke, had said: “Hardship and sorrow are but a prelude to the moment of glory.”

Over the next 10 days, the Philippine contingent would place third among seven competing delegations in the 11th SEAG. One athlete, in particular, would emerge a star on the very tracks we marched on: Lydia de Vega, Asia’s sprint queen. 

(She had one big fan in the Times Journal newsroom—the editor’s editor, Rustie Otico, who would pause from his blue-penciling, swivel his chair around to face the TV set propped high on a wall and watch De Vega run, then return to his work with a childlike grin.)  

Scrapbooks

As this year’s 31st SEAG in Vietnam approached, I asked Maxie to scour my scrapbooks of clippings and take pictures of my article. Despite the dull, grainy images, I managed to reread snippets. What struck me was the part showing the humanity of the men and women we hail as heroes. 

I noted that during the long wait in the heat of the sun, many became impatient, complaining about what they had to put up with just to be ogled. I wrote: “The men had begun taking off their barong, the women sat it out in the shade of the trees lining the street. Others were comparing calluses, scars or bumps they got during previous games.” 

And yet at the appointed moment they got to their aching feet, straightened up, and with sweaty faces prepared to acknowledge the applause of an expectant public. Everyone wanted the march-past to be perfect.

I wrote: “Left, right, left, right. One participant in each line of eight muttered to keep everyone in step. Closer to the right; watch the girl in front of you, someone would remind us once in a while…Despite all the distraction from the bleachers, the cacophony of names and foodstuff (snacks) being called out, we kept our eyes riveted on our right side, as we were told.” 

It was likely a rote experience for many athletes, but everyone behaved as though it were the first. And while only a fraction of every delegation gets to stand on the medalists’ podium, this reality does not diminish the nation’s hero-worship. 

In return, the athletes persist in fighting another day, their eyes on the prize. The scars, bruises, calluses are part and parcel of the long game they must play to keep their and their countrymen’s dream alive. 

Now, in the light of recent developments in our country, these thoughts resonated with a different kind of heroes and followers. 

“As one stands alongside the athletes,” I wrote in closing, “one realizes that it is not the land or the flag or the anthem that makes a nation but the people who are one in spirit.” (In memory of colleagues long gone:  Iking, Ricky, Teddy, Rustie)   

Angelina G. Goloy worked in the Philippine Daily Inquirer and in the Daily Globe and Times Journal (both since defunct). In 2020 the pandemic caught her on a visit to her daughter in Sydney, where she has been temporarily staying.