Rina Jimenez David, journalist, women’s rights champion, January 11, 1955-November 12, 2023

I was looking through my Facebook Memories when I saw photos from Pie Pie and Tesh’s wedding (right). I had written, “It is always fun to be with extended family, in particular, Mommy’s Sisterhood. These women are like mothers to me.”

It was from my mother that I first heard, it takes a village to raise a child. As I forge my own path through motherhood, I often tell people about the village that raised me, this beautiful sisterhood, whose wit and humor are a large part of who I am today.

Three minutes are not enough to tell you how much of these women led to the woman, the writer, the advocate I am today. And I think that’s something I took for granted as well. But as I read Tita Pennie‘s tribute on Facebook, I remembered how fortunate we were to have had Tita Rina in our lives.

I know it was her family’s home address on my birth certificate, because my mother and I stayed with them soon after I was born. I know that while I was growing up, seeing Tita Rina and the rest of the Sisterhood was a highlight of the summers when we came home to Manila from Riyadh. For me she always had a kind word, a lovely gift, a thoughtful message.

I remember it was thanks to Tita Rina that my mom and I got to see RENT for the first time. We were crying through the whole show, and probably on the way home too. I remember Tita Rina and Miya coming to the sci-fi conventions that my husband and I organized, and how, while Miya was hanging out with the Buffy fans, Tita Rina laughed with my mom over the dancing stormtroopers. I remember how thrilled she was when we asked her to be ninang at at our wedding, and how excited she was to planned her costume. As an aside, I remember Tito Pie coming to our wedding with Darth Maul face paint, and I thought, who is that teenaged boy?? (below)

I did not expect to work in women’s rights and sexual and reproductive health advocacy, but I found myself in these circles. I was grateful for Tita Rina’s support, and that she gave her time and lent her voice to the events and programs I worked on (below). I was so proud, and felt so honored, to be fighting for the same causes. I was so thrilled when I ran into her at forums and conferences, because I wasn’t just her friend’s daughter, and she wasn’t just my mom’s barkada. We were allies, women-at-arms.

Above: Tita Rina was part of the panel at a media fellowship on persons with disabilities in 2016, organized by Unilab Foundation, where I was working at the time.

Perhaps the greatest honor was when she told me she wanted to nominate me for something. “Alam mo naman, I’m your biggest fan!” I didn’t get the award, but that didn’t matter, because what she told me was recognition enough.

Tita Rina showed me the value of voicing my fears and broadcasting my joys, as a woman, as a mother. Ruminations over pregnancy, laments over the country in which my son was born, even my adventures in a galaxy far far away ended up in her column. I found the comparisons between her experiences and mine insightful, thought-provoking, and I always learned something new through her lens.

I recalled all these as I read Tita Pennie’s tribute, and sobbed. I told my husband, I feel as if one of my mothers died. But I think we can honor her, by continuing to work, and fight, and write, and do all the things she said she was proud of.