A Personal Tribute to Frankie Sionil Jose
/With his passing, there will be many well-deserved tributes written about him, certainly by people more important than I am. Nevertheless, I would like to share a few personal memories of a mentor and friend who enabled me to become a writer.
In the afternoon of 6 January, from his hospital room, Frankie posted a message to his heart on his Facebook page.
“Thank you brave heart. There are times when as an agnostic I doubt the presence of an almighty and loving God. But dear brave heart you are here to disprove this illusion, to do away with the conclusion that if you doubt Him, you kill Him. I cannot kill you dear heart; you have to do that yourself. For 97 years you have been constantly working patiently pumping much more efficiently and longer than most machines. Of course, I know that a book lasts long too, as the libraries have shown, books that have lived more than 300 years. Now, that I am here in waiting for an angioplasty, I hope that you will survive it and I with it, so that I will be able to continue what I have been doing with so much energy that only you have been able to give. Thank you dear brave heart and dear Lord for this most precious gift.”
That evening, at 11:28 p.m., I shared his message with a very close mutual friend; Gaston, a French Canadian Dominican priest/artist, who lives in Tokyo. Frankie and his wife Tessie often came to Tokyo to escape the bustle of Manila so that he could write in peace. Frequently, they would stay at Gaston’s large and comfortable atelier/ residence, located on the church grounds of St. Dominic’s Catholic Church in Nampeidai, Shibuya, which Frankie referred to as his “Tokyo Hilton.”
Frankie and this writer at Gaston’s Tokyo Hilton.
Dear Gaston,
I saw something you should see on Frankie's FaceBook page.
(There, I attached the above “Heart Sonnet.”)
Amadio
The next morning on 7 January, 7:49 am, Gaston sent a reply.
Dear Amadio,
Thank you very much for Frankie’s deep thoughts. Let’s replace books (Frankie’s specialty) with art (my specialty) and I will acknowledge that I am also an agnostic!
News. I have been silent because I am lying on a hospital bed since December 20. Eagerly looking forward at a signal light in front of Shibuya Station, my left foot hit an object and I fell breaking the patella of my right knee.
Surgery two days later and rehabilitation since. And again for a number of weeks in a specialized hospital in Harajuku.
Many more news for later.
All the best to you and your wife.
Gaston
No visit allowed in hospital.
Later that morning at 10:39 a.m., I sent Frankie a message of encouragement and also shared Gaston’s message, thinking he would be amused not only by a priest admitting to agnosticism, but that he too was in the hospital at the same time.
Dear Frankie,
First, greetings for the season. Second, I trust that your operation is just another of those little annoyances that periodically interfere with your work and, in your own unique fashion, you'll be up and around soon.
Last night, I sent your sonnet to your heart to Gaston (we have not met for two years because of Corona restrictions) to let him know how you are doing. Lo and behold, I got the message shown below from him with that surprise ending in the first paragraph. Your influence runneth over.
Stay well.
Amadio
At the time, I had not yet seen the Facebook announcement by Frankie’s family that he had passed away in the night. After I saw it, shocked and numb, at 10:53, I sent a message of condolence to the family.
Dear Tessie and family,
I just sent a message encouraging Frankie. Then, a few minutes later I saw the Facebook announcement about his passing.
Please accept my sincerest condolences for your great loss. This is a great loss for me also because he has been such a good friend and mentor. But, more, his departure is a great loss for the Philippines and the world.
We are fortunate that he was a teller of stories because through them he lives on, not only in our consciousness, but, in our hearts.
Sincerely,
Amadio Arboleda
Tokyo
All of this happened within the space of twenty-four hours. In that time, the person who played a very important role in my life was suddenly gone.
Frankie and Tessie Jose at Gaston’s Tokyo Hilton.
I first met Francisco Sionil Jose 50 years ago this month, in January 1972. My family and I were in the Philippines for the Christmas and New Year holidays. It was a nostalgic trip for me because it was the first time since I left in 1956 after completing college. For my wife and sons who had never been there, it was a highly anticipated adventure.
It was during that return that I met Frankie at his Solidaridad Bookstore in Ermita. A friend and former schoolmate in college, Antonio Abaya, whom I had met a few days before and who ran Erehwon Bookstore, had told me about the bookstore and its very gregarious owner who was also a very good writer and once worked as a journalist.
While I was at the bookstore, Frankie talked about the journal he published and edited called Solidarity that focused on current affairs, ideas, and the arts. I knew the journal well and was contemplating getting a subscription. Then, he said he was planning a future issue focusing on Japan after the end of the Second World War and, as I lived and worked in Japan, asked if I would be interested in writing an essay for it. This was a big surprise.
Cover of the 1976 July - August issue of Solidarity journal.
I had thought about becoming a writer since I was in high school and had written a little in college. I had even garnered a first prize in essay writing in a college-sponsored contest. There was also the negligible achievement of having published a small note in The New Yorker in 1967 for which I was paid the handsome sum of $50. In addition, I had already published one academic tome that to me did not come under the rubric of writing. In short, I did not consider myself a writer.
After I returned to Tokyo, Frankie sent me several letters over the next couple of years encouraging me to write something about my experience in Japan as a Filipino, albeit half-Filipino and half-American, to use in the issue. Finally, in the spring of 1976, I completed a long essay titled “Tokyo Viewpoint” and sent it off. Frankie sent me a thank you letter, but did not offer any comment on how I had done in the essay or what he thought of it. I would gradually learn that this was his unique way of judging a potential journal contributor based on what he knew of the person.
A few months later, I received in the mail a couple of copies of the July – August issue of Solidarity. There on the cover was my name Amadeo Arboleda (misspelled) following after TOKYO VIEWPOINT in capital letters. I also found myself in an exalted company of contributors. Adorning the cover were names such as well-known historian and writer Teodoro A. Agoncillo, Thai writer and activist Sulak Sivaraksa, political scientist and writer Remigio E. Agpalo, Fr. Miguel A, Bernad, S.J., educator and writer, who had been my writing mentor at the Ateneo de Manila College, and well-known Japanese writer Shusaku Endo.
All I could think of was, I had been published! I, at last, had entered the world of creative writing. After that, I could not stop writing and I am still writing today at the age of 87, going on 88. In the many ensuing years, Frankie always found time to offer encouragement and suggestions. Always the mentor.
Without qualification, I owe my status as a writer to Frankie Sionil Jose, who was my friend, but, most of all, my mentor. Whenever he came to Tokyo, we spent many an evening discussing numerous topics, but, inevitably, we would touch on the nuances of change in Japanese society and Philippine society. Whenever I went to Manila for work he would inevitably show me inimitable Filipino hospitality. Once, while I was in Manila on business and a very tight schedule, he suggested I use the second floor bedroom of the Solidaridad bookstore, which was downtown and near to the places I had to get to quickly, instead of staying in an expensive hotel.
I will miss you Frankie. I will miss discussing (and even arguing) with you. I will miss reminiscing about old Manila in the 1950s. I will miss trying to ameliorate your warranted attacks on Japan while trying to understand your conflicting love of the country which I now call home. I will miss your Filipino largesse. I will miss you being my eternal mentor.
Rest well, dear friend.
Amadio Arboleda is a writer based in Tokyo.
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