Of Scholarship and Steadying Hands
When Franz Josef Strauss, Minister-President of Bavaria, visited Intramuros in 1982, he gave two scholarships to employees who needed further studies in their area of expertise. The late Architect Rene Luis (Jojo) Mata received his for Restoration Architecture, and I received mine for Museology as I was then Curator of Casa Manila and Restoration Officer of the Intramuros Administration.
That opportunity led me to Germany, where I stayed for almost two years based at the second-largest ethnological museum in the country, the Staatliches Museum für Völkerkunde München. I arrived at a time when the museum was preparing for a Philippine exhibition, and I was asked to serve as a Guest Curator assisting the Curator for the Asian Collection in selecting and loaning specimens from the Philippines and private collections in Germany. The exhibition opened in Munich in June 1985 and subsequently traveled to Mainz and Rotterdam.
Living, studying, and working together in a strange land for one to two years, supported by exciting travels, interesting activities, and interacting with fellow scholars from countries like Egypt, China, and Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo), forged a lasting spirit of collegiality and camaraderie fostered by our Hanns-Seidel Foundation scholarship. The highlight of every international gathering was the cultural night, where each country's delegation presented a performance. As the only "culture person" in our group, it fell on me to produce our song and dance numbers—from sewing the costumes to gathering everyone for rehearsals. It was not easy, but we took immense pride and joy in our little performance.
Unofficially, we were also allowed to organize our own side trips. The most memorable for me was a day trip to Salzburg, where we visited Mozart’s house, the Mirabell Palace gardens and trellis, the Nonnberg Abbey, and the Residenz Square—places I recognized as sets from The Sound of Music. I remember feasting my eyes on the spectacular vistas and picturesque villages throughout the bus ride. It was a soul-stirring experience for a young Filipino on her first trip to Europe, full of energy, movement, and quiet wonder.
Twenty-three years later, we were invited back to Germany to join over 130 old-timers and newbies for a ten-day conference featuring guided tours across Munich, Berlin, and Potsdam. In my advancing years, however, I had not reckoned the toll the trip would take on me physically. Already nursing a pair of bum knees, the cold German weather, our group's love for walking, the efficient yet demanding commuting system of S-Bahns and U-Bahns, and the uneven cobblestone walkways aggravated my condition with each passing day.
The stabbing pain soon became almost unbearable, but worse than the physical pain was the overwhelming shame of feeling like a drag on the group. I felt defeated, even considering returning home early and mentally calculating what I would need to pay back for the cost of being there.
But my group would have none of that.
Where I felt shame, they offered steadying grace. They pushed my wheelchair at every venue we visited, carried my suitcase through train stations and hotels, and proactively proffered their hands to balance me. The crook of the men's arms was always there for me to latch onto whenever we walked. When we had to navigate stairs, two of them would walk one step in front to catch me without a moment’s hesitation in case I slip or fall.
In my youth, my contribution to our community had been creative energy—crafting culture and arts policies, educating through exhibits, organizing performances, and showcasing Phillipine culture to international audiences. Decades later, as time brought physical vulnerability, I discovered the other half of that same bond: the humbling, beautiful experience of allowing the community we built together to hold me up.
True camaraderie, I realized, isn't just about sharing the vitality of our youth. It is about the quiet, enduring grace of carrying one another when we grow weary.
