Bay Satur, my friend, when was it that Dagohoy by a whistle blow of his lips flew your dream like a kite in the sky?
Wait, you did awake at the flowering season of the word sown by the great Carlos P Garcia, right?
And soon your eyes tried to follow the reaches of your dream as you opened a window of your awakening beneath an awning of your history.
Bay Satur, while your dream was budding leaves abundant you came down to history’s yard and began your trek on a seldom-traveled road.
Long was this journey you took, but you were blessed with more than enough victuals to sustain you in your trek in history.
Your nature was a wellspring of boundless resource: a compassionate heart, a mind adequately equipped with know-how and wisdom, an outlook fueled by humane and patriotic ideals. You loved your native tongue
as much as your native land and the treasures of the Filipino soul.
Indeed, you were a bounteous resource of human insights—all of these, and more, as you traveled on.
On every stretch of the road you trod you gathered so many scenic sights, images of people and events by the wayside and from the unseemly spaces of society.
From these branching realities in the world are overhanging fruits of experiences you collected and stored in your creative mind
until they ripened into countless stories, poems, and essays—treasures
you faithfully shared with the reading public.
Bay Satur, in your voyage from the little island of your birth to this great
island of your love and desires, the gentle slaps of the seawaves on
your banca and the wind’s whisper on your boat’s sail carried your dream to a new setting — Mindanao.
You spread the entire breadth of your dream on the varied narratives
about people’s lives and images of reality.
Your name opened to full bloom, your voice resounded in the pages
of Bisaya magazine.
Your star as a fictionist shone bright. You proved to be a true son of the brown race, Bay Satur! In your fingers you held a sharp quill of Bisayan letters!
And now, one early morning in your life, you came down from your bed
and our hearts were wrapped in anxiety—confused amidst sorrow and
For you did not leave behind footprints, neither on dry ground nor on sandy
shore, but only questions from perplexed minds and distressed hearts.
Did you sneak out into the dawn hours to greet the monarch Sun or perhaps to behold the joyful countenance of a new morning?
Or were you gripped with a desire to dip yourself into the mystery of a unique adventure—an adventure the fictional elements of which can never be retold? For of all who have taken this mysterious journey, not a single one has returned to show to all and sundry the shapes and colors of the landscapes passed by.
You did come from your history’s bedroom and walked away . . . away.
But we shall no longer ask you about the unseen prints and traces on the
lonely road you traveled on.
Nor shall we ask if you swam deep into the waters of Davao Gulf perchance to view its underwater wonders or to play with the beautiful creatures beneath the sea.
No. No, dear friend. The mystery of your final journey is a sequel to your life story—the life story of a writer who shaped the varicolored images of life and truths of human existence.
Nay, allow us to embrace the mysterious meaning of your death and glean whatever grains of meaning on the shores of our own literary imaginings.
You traveled and left the Visayan shore because you were lured by the shores of Mindanao. . .
And now, you wander into a far away shore of this great island that you had
embraced as a precious piece of your life.
But you are not at the end of your journey, Bay Satur. . . your soul has yet to
embark on a journey to the welcoming shores of the Almighty.
Farewell, dear friend! Farewell, good and gentle friend!
Walk on. . .onward to the house of our Spiritual Father!