One December Night with Tito Dok

By Noel Galon de Leon

I should have already been on vacation, resting and enjoying the quiet moments of December, yet one last commitment called to me—a national writing competition in Makati where I had agreed to serve as a judge. I joined alongside close friends, a group of kindred spirits who share the same love for storytelling and literature. I couldn’t yet reveal the details of the competition, and in truth, I should have been home opening the books I bought throughout the year, the ones that still sit unread on my shelf. But something about this opportunity felt different, almost like a small miracle, because it would lead me to reconnect with one of the people I have long admired—Luis Gatmaitan, whom we fondly call Tito Dok.

There is a unique kind of blessing in encountering someone who has shaped your path without expecting anything in return. Tito Dok is one of those people in my life. Over thirteen years ago, when our Hubon Manunulat group in Iloilo was just starting to organize literary events and publish books, he gave his time and wisdom freely. He joined our workshops and conferences as a speaker, guiding us through the delicate craft of writing for children. One of the events that remains etched in my memory was Magsugilanonay Kita: West Visayan Mother Tongue Children’s Book Summit, where we shared the stage with some of the most talented Filipino writers for children. Tito Dok’s generosity and dedication made those moments unforgettable.

After dinner at the hotel, Dulce, president of our Hubon Manunulat group, and I were invited by Tito Dok to take a stroll around Rockwell. He wanted to show us the Christmas decorations and to reconnect, to catch up on the years that had passed since our paths first crossed. For me, this simple invitation felt like a gift. Tito Dok has a way of making ordinary moments extraordinary, and the thought of walking beside him, hearing his stories while surrounded by festive lights, already filled me with anticipation.

We rode to Rockwell in his car, and the journey felt like stepping into a world of shared memories and quiet joy. Tito Dok spoke with calmness and clarity, every word deliberate yet warm. He recalled his visits to Iloilo, remembering the taste of batchoy and molo soup, the majestic Jaro Cathedral, and the quiet beauty of the belfry in front of it. Listening to him, I felt like I was glimpsing into the heart of a man who carries his love for his roots wherever he goes. His stories were not just recollections; they were lessons, small treasures of culture and memory that he shared with gentle pride.

Tito Dok pointed out different parts of Makati as we passed through, and I found myself mesmerized by the city’s lights. Unlike the malls in Iloilo, which often recycle the same decorations year after year, Rockwell’s Christmas displays seemed designed to awaken a sense of wonder. Every street, every building, glimmered with creativity and care. I realized then that beauty and thoughtfulness have a way of lifting the spirit, making even the simplest moments—like a walk through a mall—feel magical.

When we stepped into the mall, I was struck by the elegance and grandeur of the decorations. Golds, silvers, and deep hues reflected the lights in ways I had rarely seen. The Christmas lights seemed alive, shimmering with a quality that made ordinary scenes feel enchanted. It was as if every detail, every bulb, had been placed with the intention of creating joy. I felt a sense of gratitude for being there, for witnessing something so meticulously beautiful, and for sharing it with two people I deeply respect.

As we walked toward a coffee shop to rest, Dulce commented on the peacefulness of the mall. People moved calmly, smiling as they admired the lights, as if the festive atmosphere had lifted them above the usual rush of daily life. I laughed quietly, realizing how true this was. There was an unspoken blessing in the way the world seemed momentarily perfect, and I felt grateful that I could experience it alongside friends who understood the magic of such moments.

By the time we reached the coffee shop, it was around nine in the evening. We settled into a quiet corner, steaming cups of tea and coffee before us, and shared slices of cake. Conversation flowed effortlessly, centered on Tito Dok’s latest projects. He spoke of his new book about Rizal, and how he researches and adapts history to make it accessible and inspiring for children today. Listening to him, I felt as if I were attending a masterclass in storytelling, absorbing lessons not only about writing but about the patience, care, and love that go into every story created for young readers.

As Tito Dok spoke, I realized that these moments of connection are just as important as the stories we write. Beyond the pages and the words, the real impact lies in the friendships, the mentorships, and the human bonds that nurture our craft. Sitting there, hearing his reflections and insights, I felt a profound sense of blessing. It was a reminder that writing is never just about the finished product—it is about the lives we touch, the experiences we share, and the legacies we build together.

The night felt timeless, a brief story unfolding in real life. Dulce and I were witnessing the kindness of a man who has devoted his life to children’s literature. His humility and generosity were evident in every word, every smile, every shared anecdote. It struck me that his dedication was not only to the craft but to the people he encounters along the way, ensuring that knowledge, joy, and inspiration are passed forward.

After we posed for photos and decided it was time to return, I felt a quiet wish in my heart. I hoped that more writers could embody Tito Dok’s example of generosity and love for literature. I wished that he would continue to create stories for children, that more opportunities would come to gather with fellow writers, to share, to learn, and to grow together. These are the moments that nourish the soul of a writer, moments that remind us why we dedicate ourselves to the craft.

Before leaving the coffee shop, Tito Dok surprised us by handing Dulce and me copies of his newest children’s novel, Ang Sikretong Alyas ni Lola Nene, illustrated by Dani Go and published by Adarna House. The gift was simple, yet profoundly touching. It represented not only his work but his thoughtfulness, his care for those who, like us, come from the provinces and rarely have the chance to meet such mentors in person. It was a gesture that made the evening feel sacred, a moment to be treasured for a lifetime.

As we drove back late that night, I felt an overwhelming sense of thankfulness. For the city lights, for the gentle laughter, for the warmth of friendship, and for the wisdom shared so freely. I realized that the true gift of literature is not just the stories themselves but the connections and hearts it touches along the way. That December evening will remain etched in my heart as a quiet miracle, a night when the world felt bright, kind, and full of possibility.

As I reflect on that night, I hold onto the hope that there will be many more such evenings, many more opportunities to meet writers who inspire, to walk among beautiful lights, to laugh, to learn, and to feel blessed simply to be part of the story. Tito Dok’s generosity, wisdom, and love for children’s literature have left an indelible mark on me. That night in December was more than an evening out; it was a reminder that the work we do as writers is inseparable from the relationships we nurture, and that the true magic of writing is in the hearts it touches, the lives it blesses, and the joy it spreads.

Write to Noel Galon de Leon