I was keeping in touch with my sister, Juaquina, in Taal, and Grandma Modesta, in Mindoro. They were happy to learn that I was attending school, even if it was night school.

     One afternoon, after I had finished my chores and studied my lessons, I was called upstairs to the family living quarters. There was a young man sitting there whose face looked familiar, but I did not recognize him. He was my brother, Agripino. How he had grown! We both wept before we could exchange greetings.

     Agripino was well dressed and did not appear to be the brother of a servant. He said he had learned of my whereabouts from my sister. He had gone to Makati first and become acquainted with my Makati family. When he learned of my current situation, he decided to help me out.

     Agripino had joined the Seventh Day Adventist Church and was a field representative of its book publication. He was teamed with another Seventh Day Adventist member who was living near the school I was attending. The man and his wife, who were in their forties, were childless. My brother thought they would be glad to take me in as a companion to the wife while her husband was away from home. I agreed happily with his suggestion, and he left. The following day, Agripino returned and I left the Cintia's household. Mrs. Cintia hugged me and said she loved me like a son. I believe she really meant it.

     I immediately liked my new home in San Lazaro, although it was not as big and spacious as the last one in Sampaloc. The couple treated me like a son and were very good to me. Why they did not offer to send me to the day school, I could not understand. They appeared to be a lot better off than my "family" in Macati, though they were not on the economic level of the Cintia's. They lived in a rented nipa house of two rooms.

     The wife had a chronic illness. I was a godsend to them, as she was alone much of the time. Before I came, she had to ask the neighbors to help her whenever she was in the depths of her illness.

     I was supplied with my needs without stint and I was much happier here even though I did most of the housework and cooking. The housekeeping was not as demanding as at the Cintia's and I was becoming a proficient cook. My schoolwork was going well and I completed fifth grade. I attended the Seventh Day Adventist's services with my new guardian regularly on Saturdays.

     Shortly after I left Nanang Aguida, who was a devout Catholic, my church attendance became infrequent. I found myself attending church only on such important occasions as Easter, Christmas, and the town Fiestas. I had stopped taking confessions and communions altogether, so my conversion to a new religion was not difficult. I joined the Seventh Day Adventist Church and thus converted to the Protestant faith.

     I was now in the sixth grade and living a normal life. Just before the end of the school year, there was a great fire in the district of San Lazaro and our house burned to the ground.

     In the Philippines in my day the cry of "sunog", or fire, was the most dreadful sound of alarm that one could hear. With the narrow streets and the close proximity of the flimsy nipa houses, a fire was always a calamity. The fire would spread fast, like on a prairie, consuming all in its wake.

     That night when the alarm of "sunog" was sounded, the fire was blocks away. We did not even stop to look and see where the fire was, but immediately bundled up whatever we could grab and ran to a safer place: the San Lazaro hospital. I think our house was already burning before we reached the hospital grounds. That fire consumed hundreds of houses and made thousands homeless.

     My current guardians had a sister living in Tondo, another section of Manila, and we moved in with her until we could find another place. The small nipa house already sheltered six adults. Now there were three more. After several days of trying to live in such crowded conditions, I decided to return to my home in Makati and transfer to the Paco school.

     While I was out of school for summer vacation, I worked in the brick factory for awhile and then in a match factory until two men working beside me were burned by an accidental explosion and sent to the hospital. I then took a job in a dairy which was owned by a Turkish family. The dairy was within sight of the Malacanang Palace and across from the San Miguel brewery. I worked in the dairy until I was gored by a newly acquired Brahma bull. The injury put me to bed for several days.

     The school year of 1922 opened and I entered the Paco night school once again. Many of my classmates were members of the Philippine Scouts, the section of the American Army in the Philippines. The president of our class, a big hunk of a man, was a sergeant major. He took a liking to me and when I mentioned that I wanted to go the United States, he told me that he knew an American family who would be leaving soon for the United States and that he would recommend me as their houseboy. He was too late. They had already hired one of my classmates. Another disappointment for me.

     The owner of the brick factory, a Spaniard who was married to a Filipino woman, asked me if I would work for them. They were the only two in the household; and they needed someone to help with the general cooking and cleaning and occasional laundry work. The wages were 2.50 pesos a week. Because their house was only several yards away from my Makati home, I grabbed the offer. I was able to give my Macati family some of the 2.50 pesos I earned each week and to save some for my own needs.

     I learned to speak a smattering of Spanish and I increased my knowledge of cooking. Without any trouble, I graduated from the intermediate school with high honors.

     When school closed, I decided to visit my sister Juaquina in Taal and Grandma Modesta in Mindoro where Salud and Fernando were living.