Celebrating the First Centenary of Eugen Avila
Eugenio M. Avila, Jr., born March 27th 1921, was the third son and fourth child of Eugenio Sabalza Avila, Sr. and Mercedes Quimbo Magno – both of Tanauan, Leyte in the eastern Visayan shores of the Philippine islands.
“Eugen,” (pronounced “U-hen,” accent on last) as friends and family called him, belonged to a big family of 5 brothers and 3 sisters all of whom, in turn, founded large families that magnified the Avila clan of Tanauan, Leyte. He married Elinor P. Roberts who bore him 3 sons and 4 daughters: Marie Olga, who died in infancy during the bombings of WWII; Carolyn Kordich, who died in 1993 at the age of 50; Charlie; Nora Gerbacio; Eugenio III who died in 1970 at barely 21; Richie; and, youngest of all, Geline Borgeson.
That Eugen was a proud family man, even clannish, and intensely oriented to the town of his birth, was a fact beyond question. Equally indubitable, however, was that he also developed the habit of seeing his neighbor – all people, whoever they were, of whatever racial origin or educational background, as his own brothers and sisters.
Far from being exclusivist, Eugen’s concept of family became inclusive of all God’s children. He cared and acted out that care and concern in quiet dignity. Which is why – from Leyte to California and down the decades – stories abound about his helpfulness, the big and little favors he extended, the habitual going out on a limb for the other.
But the heart that cared and gave so generously with time and strength was also one that was so utterly sensitive and allergic to injustice and oppression. There are many who cannot forget one panful lesson or another that they learned at the physical hands of the young Eugen – hands that could be as righteously angry as they were skilled in delivering the message to unlucky recipients.
Eugen’s big heart was only matched by a brilliant mind – a capacity to learn and to teach and never to stop learning. Always creative in a given situation, Eugen’s mind sifted through nuances that others might normally overlook. It evidenced a deep personality with a humble and no-nonsense façade.
Son of a long-time Mayor and, later, father of another Mayor of his town – Eugen, to both his father and his son, was quite often the indispensable counselor. His wisdom was easily taken for granted by family and friends – people who comfortably consulted with him, asked his advice, and marveled at the depth and breadth of his erudition on diverse and myriad questions. The doctors at St. Mary’s Medical wondered at Eugen’s up-to-date knowledge of the most modern discoveries and developments in their discipline.
Wiser, however, than Eugen’s worldly wisdom was his deep faith. It was a faith that gave him true grit, the realization of hope and the evidence of things unseen; a faith that gave him strength to struggle both in the work-a-day world and a world he only dreamt of; a faith that strengthened in him the habit of regal deportment which inspired friends and family, peers and seniors alike, to regard him with deep respect.
When his eldest son quit the seminary causing him and Elinor great disappointment, instead of writing a justifiably angry letter, Eugen sent Kahlil Gibran’s immortal lines:
“Your children are not your children,” he quoted to his son.
“They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you, they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts…
And they live in the House of Tomorrow which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams…”
To Eugen and Elinor, family love was letting go and allowing their loved ones to seek their own truth – knowing that Truth is one and that Love conquers all: all complexity, contradictions, shortcomings and frailties. By letting go, Eugen brought his loved ones closer to him. By not imposing his thoughts, he stimulated livelier discussion and stronger unanimity.
When the scattered folk, moved by Mystery Present, gathered together from all over to shore up the fast-waning physical strength of Eugen, it was not clear at first that the occasion would be an “ultimo adios,” a last farewell. Eugen’s legendary will power that could make his extremely weak body obey was still at it. His lucid mind was sharper than ever and his sense of humor hardly diminished. But the time had come. Elinor sensed the familiar scents of Carolyn and Eugenio III who had passed away much earlier. They were present now, it seemed, to help Eugen get ready for the final journey.
On November 11th 1996 (12th November Philippine time), peacefully, consciously, bravely and happily, following long hours of conversation with Elinor and their kids, and after receiving the final rites of his Faith, Eugen looked up with the bright ecstatic eyes of one who could now see the Light of the World – one who could now rest from so much suffering – one who would leave the final, continuing lesson to family and friends, namely the faith of a life spanning three quarters of a century which he had lived out with such elan, with such courage and such wisdom.
In Eugen’s departure one could read the final lines of Rizal, now etched in bronze at the Tanauan town plaza, translated by Mayor Charlie from Spanish to Binisaya:
“Amo ngani, waray sapayan gud, kun ako im’ hingalimtan,
An imo espasyo luluparon ko, mga hagna, kahanginan,
Ako in’ mahihimo nga nota nga malinaw ha imo dungganan,
Maguiguin hamot, ug kapawa, araba ngan kansyon,
Pagkinantahon han akon pagtu-o, pabalik-balik han akon panuyo.”
“That is why it really matters not e’en though you’d place me in oblivion,
For I shall fly across your vast expanse, your open space, your fields, your breeze;
A musical note I shall be to you, soft and clear, close to your ear;
I shall become scent and light, sigh and song,
Constantly repeating the essence of my faith.”
March 27th marks Eugen’s first hundred years.