She was by nature a probinsiyana with a passion for life. He was a Manila-boy with nary a care in the world. They went to a party. All the men lined up to dance with her. All the women's eyes were on him. She saw a handsome stranger. He beheld a goddess.

In a fairy tale, they would have met, danced, fallen in love, and lived happily every after. It didn't happen that way in real life. He did dance with her that night, though. Just once. And that was that. At least for some time.

She had ambition, an overwhelming drive to succeed. She liked to play the field, dating whomever she chose; not wanting to be tied down with the same partner at dances. She was the second child of ten, from a modest family in Cagayan de Oro.

He, on the other hand, had no desire to accomplish anything. He flirted with several women and ran away from any serious commitment. He drove around in a black Lincoln Continental wishing he could travel in it around the world. He was, after all, the eldest and favored among the four boys of a wealthy family.

She wanted to become a doctor of law and vowed to wed a man of the same field, believing that only a lawyer could understand the profession she had chosen and put up with the rigors that would come along with it.

He was already a student of law; ahead of her for a couple of years, but delayed due to numerous absences and failures. He wanted to become a doctor of medicine, but his mother insisted otherwise.

She was chosen muse of the Ateneo college of law and he to be her consort. She put up a fight, transferring her anger - on the country's first woman judge for insulting her out of envy - to her darling son. She was crowned, just the same, with him at her side.

He desired her, that he knew. So much so that he swore to finish his studies so he could win her heart. Unlike other women, though, she did not drop on his lap and he had to woo her. Alas, he did not know how.

So his mother, as always, came to the rescue. Courted the woman in his aid, whom she realized was the best among females that abound her son.

In his own way, he pursued her. He shaved his head of hair (to his regret years later when none would anymore grow), shunned his friends, studied for the bar examination, passed, and became a full-fledged attorney-at-law.

And after a total of seven years of courtship, she finally said yes. On 6 January 1960, they had a simple wedding ceremony celebrated by her younger brother who had become a priest. Their honeymoon was one of the longest in record, which lasted until she gave birth to a daughter one September morn eight years later.

She gave up practicing law when they wed to devote her time to the family and to give way to her husband, who's ego she believed she would have bruised if she had not. He doted on her and on their children, giving in to all their wishes and whims. Terry and Boy's marriage was not, however, a fairy tale.

He cheated. Once too many. She nagged. Often and bitterly. He forgot a lot of things. Both trivial and important. She never forgot anything. Be it petty or grave. She complained but followed. He kept silent but ruled. She threatened to leave. Some of the time. He begged her not to. All the time.

When she had a stroke, he cried to me, their eldest child. When he had an operation, she fret and I prayed for them both.

As parents, my brothers and I couldn't have asked for anything more. Except maybe that we were born eight years earlier or that they were eight years younger so that we could spend time with them a little bit more.

Forty-two years ago, people were fascinated by the promise of Shangri-La and eternal love when they saw the movie "Love is a Many Splendored Thing". Just as my parents were back then.

Today, my dad is 67 years old and my mom, 65. For 38 years they have lived a fruitful life together, bearing and rearing three children, and caring for their grandchildren (my brother's children).