A Decade After His Death

Ten years ago today, my friend and fellow playwright Carlos "Charley" dela Paz Jr. died.

I first met him at the PETA Summer Workshop in 1990. He co-facilitated the Teen Theater program; I was one of the participants. He first struck me as someone like a Buddhist monk: calm and composed, humble and patient, so approachable, so unassuming. That summer was particularly memorable, for a maternal cousin and uncle had died within a month of each other. Their deaths affected me in a way, to the point I had foolishly considered dropping out of the program. But my facilitators, particularly Charley, advised me against it. I eventually reconsidered. Thank God I did. To this day I really can’t imagine what would happen to me as a creative writer had I pushed through with my original plan.

I had already started writing short stories by that time. Really short, really badly written ones. I remember bringing some of them to the workshop one day, not to show off but to share. As a result, when the time came to plan our culminating activity—a theatrical showcase, naturally—Charley appointed me as one of its co-scriptwriters. That was my very first playwriting experience. And what did we present? From what I can recall, it’s a musical drama focusing on a poor young man who loses consciousness during a slum demolition (social relevance is a must in a PETA workshop showcase). While unconscious, he realizes he's in the future, meeting up with, among others, his girlfriend (who became a prostitute) and his future son (who turns out to be a rebel leader in a repressive regime). When he regains consciousness at the end, he decides to become an activist amid the ruins of the demolition. True, the material is trite, but I fondly remember the songs Vince de Jesus, who later became a friend, composed for us. Most importantly, I had fun co-writing and performing in it. The entire experience permanently sealed my interest in theater.

I never saw Charley again after the workshop until 1994, when I started attending Writers Bloc sessions, which he headed at the time as PETA’s Playwrights Development Program coordinator. In these meetings, he had maintained that cool-and-collected aura. He never bitched, even if some of the attendees did, albeit entertainingly. His dedication impressed me: he would call or mail letters bi-monthly, reminding me about the next Bloc session or the next Bloc activity. His tact also impressed me: when I had him read one of my earliest plays, a Batch ’81 rip-off, he told me, very gently and without any condescension, that only the first scene is all right.

Charley’s death stunned everybody in the Bloc. The September of that year, he earned 2nd prize in the Full-Length Play in Filipino category for his musical 1896. Two months later, 1896 premiered to (mostly) positive reviews at the UP Theater. To digress, 1896 is essentially about the Philippine Revolution: how it was formed, how it began to unravel. His decision to make the young Emilio Jacinto, the brains of the Katipunan, to be the protagonist proved to be a flaw: he’s such a passive, reactionary character compared to Bonifacio and Aguinaldo. Why mention this? Charley died on Jacinto’s birthday. He died from a bangunot. He was only 30.

I only learned of his death the next day. That night, I went to his wake at St. Peter’s Funeral Home along Quezon Avenue. Inside the rented viewing room, PETA artists outnumbered Charley’s bereaved relatives. He was not wearing a barong when I peered into his coffin. Instead, he had on some kind of uniform, something that a Philippine Revolutionary soldier would wear. Weird. He looked quite peaceful, which didn’t surprise me at all.

A Mass was celebrated that night. I remember that very well for two things. First, Rene Villanueva, Charley’s mentor, gave a mood-breaking but welcome eulogy. With his trademark sardonic wit, he recommended the playwrights present to leave drafts of their plays with Charley. If he didn’t like them, they will remain buried with him. Everyone laughed. Second, the PETA members present sang two special songs. One was the company song; the other, from one of the songs in 1896, titled “Ang Kapatiran.” Below is the chorus:

At tayo’y lilikha
Ng isang bayang dakila
May pag-ibig sa kapwa
At paggalang sa dukha
May tahanang puspos
Ng tunay na kalinga
At sa bawat mukha
Ay may sinag ng tuwa

Ang sulo ng kapatiran
Ang tanglaw ng bayan.

Heartrending, just heartrending.

After Charley died, the Writers Bloc regulars, myself included, decided to continue the sessions, to continue what he had started. We felt we owe it to him. And we never regretted it. Even now, we continue to reap the fruits of that decision. We have evolved into better playwrights, into better people. I’m sure Charley never expected the Bloc to become totally independent from PETA. But I won’t be surprised if he approves. After all, it’s for the group’s benefit.

I will always credit Charley for introducing me to playwriting: its pains and its pleasures, as well as the magic it holds. Now, I can’t imagine myself not being a playwright.

Maraming salamat, Charley.