We had a splendid Christmas lunch at the Sotelos, and an equally nice merienda in the afternoon. We walked there, of course, as did all others keeping up with Christmas obligations. Near or far, coming and going, everyone walked.

Meanwhile, the Japanese were busy grabbing all means of transportation with the over-active cooperation of special agents of the local police, who no doubt took a few things for themselves when they could get away with it. Bicycles, tricycles, pushcarts, carretons, dokars, and carretelas were all up for grabs. Nobody wants to give them away, of course, which explained why the Japanese rushed to "mark" them immediately after Guinto gave the order.

Ma inadvertently took the second key with her when we left for the Sotelos, and while we were away, three Japanese banged on the gate to see about our cars. They knew everything about the residents of Manga Avenue and their cars. They threatened to break open our gate when Irene explained that she had no key. Go ahead, said Irene, standing her ground, but the Japanese came over the side fence to explain that they only wanted to inspect the cars. They marked my 1940 Mercury, Mike's Chrysler Coupe and the Chevrolet of Campos. "We are going to pay," said one naively to Irene, who knows what their money is worth. "We'll be here tomorrow to get the cars. Please tell the owner to PREPARE them"!

When this war began, I took a solemn oath with myself. My lot was not to be a soldier, but I would never betray those at the front. I'd play square in every manner and try to do good by any possible means. It's only two years of my life — so be it. I've stuck to my goal all the way though the road has not been without some bitterness. In the last six hours, I withstood the criticism from not less than 11 persons — from straight insults to hints of stupidity. "What a fool," they said, "you should have sold your car a long time ago." One in particular who offered to sell my car ten times in the past was on me like a lion today, gnawing at my bones. Even some members of my family are gritting their teeth in restraint.

What galls me is that by taking a materialistic view of the matter they fail to understand my feelings. I refused to sell because the Japanese were the end buyers in almost all of the cases, and I just didn't want to sell it to them. Oh, they were paying fantastic prices some times and I could have sold a gadget or knickknack and made a few thousand here and there, but I never even considered it. I may be exercising my ego in writing this but two years have become three now and my resolve hasn't changed.

continues...