by Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
When I was seventeen, I thought I was just another student
trying to find my place in college. But looking back now, I realize I was
already carrying something much heavier than books and notebooks—I was carrying
the fire of a young activist. I didn’t belong to the usual groups aligned with
the CPP/NPA/NDF. In fact, we were their rivals, always clashing during student
council elections. I was part of NASCOP, the National Association of Student
Councils of the Philippines, the mortal enemy of the National Union of the Students of the Philippines (NUSP) and at such a young age, I became its National
Secretary-General (Till now all my positions are Secretary-General maybe that is my line or positive curse). At the University of the East, where I studied, I was
elected as Speaker of the Legislative Department even though I was just a
first-year pre-dentistry student wherein I did not pursue. Imagine that—a
seventeen-year-old boy standing before older, more experienced students, trying
to lead. It was overwhelming, yes, but it also fueled my growing love for the
nation.
In those restless years, I discovered that my strength was
not just in organizing rallies or delivering speeches. It was in writing.
Whenever my mind raced with ideas or my heart swelled with emotions about our
country, I turned to pen and paper. Reflections, Essay and Poem became my way
of shouting into the world. One of them was titled “Awiting sa Puso Mo
Maririnig.”
You see, I had listened to so many nationalistic songs back
then. I am a solid fan of Joey Ayala until now, and I admire Heber Bartolome, Mike Hanopol, Coritha,
Lolita Carbon, Chikoy Pura, Inang Laya and Florante. They were fiery,
passionate, filled with words about change and freedom. They could rouse a
crowd, yes, but once the singing stopped, the feeling faded too quickly. I
wanted to write something different. I wanted a song that would not just echo
in the ears but would remain in the heart.
The problem was, I wasn’t a musician. I barely knew how to
strum a guitar. But life has a way of giving us the right companions at the
right time. In our group was Archie, a “guitar freak” from TIP. He had magic in
his fingers. I showed him my poem, and he gave it a melody. Suddenly, my words
had a heartbeat. They were no longer just verses on paper—they became music.
Until now, I don’t know where Archie is, but I will always be grateful to him.
Without him, my poem would have remained silent.
The song asked questions that haunted me as a young man:
What song could awaken those asleep? What melody could lift the bowed down to
stand tall again? I never claimed to have the answer, but deep in my heart, I
believed that the truest song of freedom could not be written by anyone—it had
to be felt and heard in one’s own heart.
Then time passed. Life carried me forward. The song was
pushed to the back of my memory, almost forgotten like an old notebook
gathering dust. I moved on to other battles, other responsibilities. For years,
I didn’t think about it—until one day in 2024, out of nowhere, a message popped
up on my Facebook. It was from Usec. Alain Del Pascua, the founder of NASCOP and a great mentor and role model for leadership and integrity.
He asked me if I still had a tape of my song. I was stunned. After all those
years, someone still remembered. I told him that Archie had it, but the mere
question lit a spark inside me again.
Suddenly, I was seventeen once more. I could see myself
scribbling verses in notebooks, humming half-forgotten tunes, dreaming of a
Philippines united not by hate or division but by love and solidarity. That
fire returned. I picked up a guitar, tried to recall the melody, and with the
help of modern tools like AI, I created a new arrangement for the song. It was
no longer just a relic of my youth—it was alive again.
Reviving “Awiting sa Puso Mo Maririnig” is more than just
nostalgia. It is a reminder to myself, and hopefully to everyone who hears it,
that we don’t need to fight one another to prove our love for this country.
What we need is to remember that unity is our greatest strength. Politicians
and those in power may try to divide us, but in the heart of every Filipino
lies the true melody of freedom.
And that’s what I want my philosophical and critical thinker
daughter Juliana Rizalhea as well as my favorite nephew veterinary Dr. Lenon
Teope Del Rosario, and someday my grandchildren, to understand. The real song
that can change a nation doesn’t come from a stage, or a rally, or even from a
guitar. It comes from the heart. And once you hear it there, it can never be
silenced.
