“IN OUR HEARTS, YOU WILL ALWAYS STAY, LOVED AND REMEMBERED EVERYDAY” Ranell Loria (the son)

By J. Irving

Who can say that big men own hearts that are small? Well, there may be exceptions, and this guy is one of those rare figures. He is Mon, a frank, understanding young man with a big heart to accommodate gripes of the lonely ones. Not more than a common man, his hard-to get smiles transcends through anxious emotions of friends.

Concerned with everyone, there is nothing to beat his helping hands to suffice everybody’s needs. Robust but jolly; simple but open. You never can benefit of his traits unless you dig him.

“Every day live, every moment blink, but of the times I breathe I would always think: We have only one life to spare, so righteousness we must dare, all hardships all to bear, all merriment to humanity share. Think as I do, and we’ll share happiness together.” Gilde Lance

You can find these same words that I just said inside the pages of “The Sword”, the Mapitagan Class ‘80 Graduation book.

I was stunned when Nelia, Mon’s wife, informed the class that Mon had passed away at 3:50 a.m. on June 4 at the Saint Louis University Medical Intensive Care Unit after his battle with cancer. With his passing, he became the fourth Bicolano from the 12 mistahs from Bicol to march ahead into eternity. Mon is from Daraga, Albay where I spent the last three years of my elementary school.

A deep regret lingers in my heart. Before leaving Manila on February 15, I had planned to bring Fr. Gerard with me to Baguio, so we could visit Mon. Unfortunately, a complicated schedule and pressing commitments got in the way. Today, that missed opportunity has become a painful lesson. At our age, life has become increasingly fragile. We should no longer postpone visits, reunions, celebrations, or simple moments with friends. We must show up when we can—especially during birthdays and gatherings—because the next time we look for someone, they may no longer be there.

The last time I saw Mon was in Baguio last year, a few days before our Emerald Jubilee alumni parade. Ces Ordoyo had called for an emergency meeting of class officers, and I happened to be there as a “saling-pusa” representing the expatriates. True to his generous nature, Mon volunteered to take charge of everything for our picnic—packed lunches, drinks, tables, and chairs. Knowing the enormous effort such a task required, I suggested that we instead accept the offer of an underclassman assigned at PMA Headquarters Service to cater the event. I wanted Mon to do what he deserved most that day—not work, but enjoy the fellowship and laughter of his mistahs. I still remember saying, “Let Mon spend the day fraternizing with us.”

To me, Mon was a man of remarkable presence. He had a magnetic personality, a creative mind, and a flair for the dramatic. Gentle and patient on the surface, he was also determined and strong-willed beneath it. Once he believed in a cause or committed himself to a task, he poured his whole heart and soul into it. He was perceptive, intuitive, and deeply curious about people and life itself. His imagination was rich and vibrant, sometimes carrying him beyond the ordinary and into possibilities others could not see.

As Dean of the Corps of Professors at the Philippine Military Academy, Mon became a guardian of many Mapitagan sons and daughter within the Academy. He watched over them with genuine concern, determined that they would cross the finish line and graduate.

I will always be grateful for what he did for my own son. During his yearling year, my son faced separation because of a serious violation of regulations. Mon monitored the situation closely and, like a protective father, did everything he could within reason to guide him through. I also remember his recommendation to the Superintendent to depart from the traditional graduation practice of highlighting the order of merit. So in that particular year, only the top-ten performers were called ahead and without publicly identifying the class standing of the rest and particularly the “goat” of the class – they were formed in alphabetical order. He helped preserve the dignity of every graduate, particularly a Mapitagan descendant. That act reflected the compassion and humanity that defined him.

I will miss Mon in many ways, but perhaps most of all in the simple conversations we shared in Bicol. There are thoughts and emotions that can only be expressed in our native tongue. Words like “oragon”lose something precious when translated into English or Tagalog. Even the academy’s version of the “why and why” replaced by the uniquely Bicolano expression, “Nata man?” carries a meaning and warmth that no other language can fully capture. Those conversations were pieces of home, and now they have become treasured memories.

Our families also shared a special bond. Mon and Nelia’s only child, Ranell, is the same age as my bunso, Goldie. During the 1992 Homecoming, my family of four and my mother stayed at their residence inside Navy Base. Blue and Nelia were both pregnant at that time, and those days remain among the fond memories our families shared together.

Today, the second of our Baguio-based mistahs have gone ahead of us. We still have two, Sammy and Romy, remaining to lead the way toward our Golden Jubilee in 2030, now less than four years away. Yet as we continue the journey, there will be an empty space among us—a task that belonged to Monching.

We will gather again, laugh again, and remember again. But it will never be quite the same.

Farewell, Monching.

Thank you for your friendship, your generosity, your guidance, and your unwavering care for others. You have gone ahead of us, but the memories you leave behind will continue to walk beside us …