The Indefatigable Delfin Gonzalez
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Delfin Gonzalez smiles as he narrates his first meeting with the “girl of his dreams.”
On that same day, he distributed to relatives and friends his memoir, Reminiscences of a Centenarian. In his memoir, he writes about his childhood growing up in Baliwag, Bulacan, the battle for Luzon during WWII and how he and his family survived the Japanese occupation, his professional career and how he landed the cushy job at Benguet Consolidated where he stayed for 14 years, and, of course, meeting the girl of his dreams, Aurea (Auring) Carballo – the courtship, the marriage, the children and the travels.
At 107 years old, Delfin Gonzalez publishes his memoirs.
When boredom would set in during their married life, Auring would encourage Delfin to write his memoirs. In the conclusion of his book he says, “My regret is that Auring did not live long enough to read these Memoirs that she inspired me to write. I feel, however, that she has visited often enough to read every sentence of these Memoirs as they were written, and that I will only know what grade she gave me when we meet again.” You see, Auring was an accomplished author, with two books to her name, Catch Me a Firefly and Wings of Love, both of which are collections of her short stories. She had a total of 67 short stories published in Manila magazines, mostly in Mr. & Ms.
You may wonder how I became friends with Delfin Gonzalez considering our 37-year age difference. I met him in one of my father’s dinner parties. He was the corporate lawyer of Benguet Consolidated, Inc. and my father was a board member. From that first meeting, as customary in Filipino culture, Delfin Gonzalez became Tito Delfin, even if I hardly had much contact with him after the party.
Young lovers Aurea Carballo and Delfin Gonzalez.
Then in 2009, while I was awaiting the birth of my grandchild from my older son, Paolo, I decided to enroll in filmmaking classes with my sister-in-law, Marilou Diaz-Abaya. I had just sold Filipinas Magazine a few years before, and I missed telling stories about the Filipino experience. At the end of the course, like any requirement before graduation, I had to submit a film thesis. At the time, I was so distraught in seeing my father battle dementia that I was determined to do a short piece on “growing old.” I wanted to show that not everybody who grows old encounters dementia. I looked for seniors who were still very productive, despite being in their eighties and nineties and was surprised to find so many of them. For instance, I learned about the wife of a famous author who became a concert pianist after his death at the age of 88. While her husband was alive, he forbade her to play the piano. Then there’s Tito Delfin, who was finishing his master’s in Law at San Beda College at 90 years old. I chose Tito Delfin since he was the father-in-law of my cousin, Connie, and I had hoped that he remembered me. He was reluctant at first to be filmed, but when I visited him (to also scout for location and to check the interviewee’s articulateness and “friendliness” to the camera), I was able to convince him to help me out with my thesis. He was also going through an “unfinished thesis” (see movie). Tito Delfin was more than I had hoped for.
At the time, Tito Delfin was 95 years old. A week before the filming was scheduled, he called to say, he would have to postpone the shoot for another day as he had to go to court with his client. I said, “Tito Delfin, are you still practicing law at your age?” And he replied, “I am helping some friends out. I am doing this pro bono.”
On the day of the shoot, I met my crew at a restaurant nearby for breakfast since it would be a long day. We arrived at Tito Delfin’s house in Alabang, and he was ready for us. The crew took about an hour to set up the cameras, microphones and other paraphernalia needed for a good shoot. I rehearsed the questions I had written days before (and expounded by Marilou) all geared towards a discussion on how seniors can still be productive in your nineties.
Delfin and Auring Gonzalez celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary in this family photo.
Everything seemed to be going well in the first few questions as Tito Delfin narrated his childhood and his school days, but as we moved forward to talk about his wife and her eventual death only two years before, his mood changed and his eyes teared-up. He clearly had a difficult time talking about her. At one point, I was conflicted and didn’t know what to do. I wanted to stop the shoot and give my Tito Delfin a big hug; and yet something told me that as a filmmaker, this emotional moment may be good for my film. So, I let the shoot continue.
I also had to switch gears with my script of questions. As I watched how Tito Delfin really wanted to talk about Tita Auring, even if it was painful for him, I realized that this wasn’t going to be a film about productive seniors at all. It was going to be about true love. So, I tossed the questions aside and let my gut feeling guide me.
“As I watched how Tito Delfin really wanted to talk about Tita Auring, even if it was painful for him, I realized that this wasn’t going to be a film about productive seniors at all. It was going to be about true love.”
After the filming, I was able to give Tito Delfin the big hug he deserved. Then he walked me to his bedroom and showed me the altar he created in honor of his wife. “I miss her so much,” he whispered.
The result of this thesis is 66 Years, 2 Months, 21 days…and Still Counting. You can watch this film here, now that you know the back story of its making.
Since we filmed in 2009, I have visited Tito Delfin every year when I am in Manila, and he would regale me with more stories and update me on the status of his memoirs. His mind was still sharp and witty, bound by a deteriorating body. I cherished those visits because after my father died, Tito Delfin was my only link to that generation and there was still so much to learn from him. He wasn’t just my tito, he was now my friend. We talked about our families, the political situations in the U.S. and in the Philippines, books we have read, places we have traveled to, how things were done in the past, our next projects, and of course, the pain of loneliness and missing a loved one.
On his 100th birthday, there was a small dinner party in his honor and he had a wheelchair nearby. My last visit was before the pandemic hit. He could still take a few steps but with great difficulty due to arthritis. I was not able to attend the Zoom celebration this year and instead sent him a congratulatory email, reminding him that he said he would outlive his oldest brother who died at 107 years old. You did it, Tito Delfin!
