Back in grade school, I often found myself wishing for a more typical Pinoy name – something like Genaro, Domingo, Pedrito – names of my classmates I could still remember. Instead, I had Raymond - a name that stuck out just enough to raise eyebrows and inspire playful teasing.
It didn’t help that classmates and neighbors later rebranded me, Raymundo to fit the familiar rhythm of local names better. My parents told me I was named after Father Raymond, the English-speaking Catholic priest who baptized me. Somehow, learning that made the name feel a little less foreign – but barely so.
Sitsiritsit: Spelling Nightmare
Then there was my last name: Seneriches. It was a spelling nightmare for anyone hearing it for the first time. Some, trying to dodge the spelling blunders, would break into the folk tune Sitsiritsit, alibangbang… – a light jab that left me smiling awkwardly while quietly wishing the ground would swallow me up.
As I grew older, I learned there was more to my surname story. Our original family name was Cereneche. But during the Japanese occupation, a relative of ours became a fugitive. In the name of safety, my parents and other relatives changed their surnames, giving birth to Seneriches - a name born out of necessity – a new identity crafted in uncertain times.
My friend Nards had his brand of wit, playfully calling me Senepobres. A spot-on wordplay. My dream of graduating from UP fizzled – not from lack of talent, but because of my pobre family’s financial standing. It’s a sob story I detailed in a previous ATABAY article titled My Life-Changing Year In UP.
Years later, while navigating my corporate life, a colleague named Wing reminded me of just how foreign my name seemed. She recalled our first day at work after college graduation searching a list of new recruits at a now-defunct steel manufacturing company. Among all the names, Raymond Seneriches stood out. She expected to meet someone foreign-looking, only to be greeted by a guy as unmistakably Ilonggo as uga kag laswa. We both laughed at the memory.
Now let’s get back to the title of this post - What’s In A Name? It’s a nod to the very first article I wrote when I launched this blog ATABAY, on August 21, 2021. Inspired by Shakespeare’s immortal line from Romeo and Juliet - A rose by any other name would smell as sweet - that article was my way of searching for the right name for this personal space. I eventually chose ATABAY, a term that means well in Binisaya. A source of water, of depth, of meaning. It just felt right.
Sara's Shield Bearer
But today’s title has a second part: Escudero Means ‘Shield Bearer’. That phrase came from a striking comment made by my college schoolmate and ATABAY reader, Dave. In response to my article Freeze The Ball: The Game Plan In Impeachment Delay, he shared the following intriguing insight (edited lightly for brevity) rooted in the etymology of names:
“One explanation for the Senate President delaying the impeachment process against lying, free-spending VP lies in his name. Escudero means shield bearer, and that is exactly what he is doing - shielding Sara Duterte from being held accountable for her extravagant use of public funds.”
Dave even added a cheeky observation about the Senate President’s first name: “In Brit slang, Chiz means deception.”
To which I responded:
“Thank you for your stimulating and unconventional insight. It immediately brought to mind Shakespeare’s timeless words: ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’
“Indeed, a name does not alter the essence of what – or who – it represents. As you pointed out, the name Chiz Escudero could signify a “deceptive shield bearer” in the context of VP Sara’s impeachment trial.
“Shakespeare’s wisdom holds even in reverse: a distinguished title such as Senate President does not necessarily transform the nature of the person who bears it. In Escudero’s case, the symbolism of his name remains unchanged despite the prestige of his position.”
Name That Resolution!
Speaking of Sara Duterte’s impeachment, here’s the latest buzz. Several senators are juggling different versions of resolutions aimed at dismissing the impeachment articles.
In the spirit of this name-centric piece, let’s play a naming game by naming each version of the resolution with a fitting moniker:
Jinggoy Estrada’s version: Asked to read, but not sign it yet.
Name: Read-Only Resolution.
Ping Lacson’s version: It is being passed around.
Name: Viral Resolution
Imee Marcos’ version: “Walang butas.”
Name: Leak-Proof Resolution.
Joel Villanueva’s version: Saw it in a group chat.
Name: Discussion Topic Resolution
Bong Go’s version: Mum’s the word.
Name: Silent Resolution
Koko Pimentel's version: Not authentic.
Name: Fake Resolution
Chiz Escudero’s version: Claims no measure filed.
Name: Scrap-of-Paper Resolution
Other senators' version: Not seen it.
Name: Invisible Resolution
And then there’s Senator Bato dela Rosa. At first, he said, “Meron ba?” about the resolution. Later admitted, “Galing sa office ko.”
Name: Sleight-of-Hand Resolution
Looking at all these shenanigans, it’s hard not to feel like we’re watching a drama unfold in the House of Cards – and true to the metaphor, it may be one gust of truth away from collapse.
The Stones Will Cry Out
Let me end on a more somber and symbolic note. Last year, while scrolling on Facebook, I stumbled upon a photo shared by my friend Jingjing. It showed a pile of bato – stones – with a cryptic caption: Can you figure out what it says?
The answers were varied, some even humorous. One said, “Jing, it gives me a headache.” But hidden in the optical illusion was a chilling message: The stones will cry out.
It struck a chord. Bato, of course, is the senator’s nickname. In the biblical context, the phrase comes from Luke 19:40: “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out.”
If truth is silenced - whether in The Hague or the Senate – sooner or later, the truth will find its voice. The stones themselves will speak.
A Final Jest
And now, to lighten the mood, a throwback to a college joke I found in Jingle Magazine - a perfect sign-off for this name-obsessed post:
Boy 1: “I changed my Pedro Estut name.”
Boy 2: “What’s your new name?”
Boy 1: “Engelbert Estut.”
And just like that, Engelbert Humperdinck croons The Last Waltz in the background…
I wonder should I go or should I stay?
The band had only one more song to play…
Content & editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT
Head collage photos courtesy of Wikipedia, Philippine News Agency, Wallpapers.com, Freepik & Canva
Still photos courtesy of Senate Public Relations and Information Bureau, Philippine News Agency, Facebook, Gallery, & family album.
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