My Romance with Radio

I practically grew up with a transistor radio glued to my ears. As early as elementary school, I was already tuning in to various radio stations from Bicol and parts of the Visayas, including Bacolod, Roxas, and Iloilo. I enjoyed listening to news, music, and radio soap operas.

Doing the laundry in the streams, which was common in our community then, was always accompanied by the sound of transistor radios broadcasting drama serials. It was a familiar sight to see women washing clothes while following the latest episode of their favorite radio dramas. I knew this firsthand because my mother would often bring me with her to the stream to help carry the laundry in a palanggana balanced on my head.

There was no television in our community during the 1980s, so radio was the primary source of news and entertainment for most families. Batteries for transistor radios were common household items. As the batteries gradually lost their power, the radio's volume would slowly fade until the sound became almost a whisper. At that point, people would leave the batteries under the scorching heat of the sun, hoping they would regain enough power to keep the radio playing, even if only for a short while. Once they were completely drained, it was time to buy a new set. There was always a sense of excitement when fresh batteries made the radio come alive at full volume. Equally memorable was the struggle of trying to catch every word as the batteries weakened and the sound slowly faded away.

In 1991, a powerful typhoon struck our town. Because our house was made only of nipa, bamboo, and wood, we evacuated to the concrete house of a relative nearby. While the fierce winds howled outside, my uncle kept his transistor radio on. I remember hearing a radio announcer effortlessly answering a caller's question. My uncle told me it was Ernie Baron, who was known as the "Walking Encyclopedia" because he could answer almost any trivia question in the blink of an eye. I instantly admired him.

I searched for the radio's tuner and committed the station's frequency to memory. I later learned it was DZMM, with its memorable tagline, "Ang himpilan ng malayang mamamayan." From that moment on, the twelve-year-old boy in me was never the same.

The following evening, I tuned our transistor radio to DZMM. The signal was usually weak during the early evening but became much clearer as the night grew deeper. From 6:30 to 8:00 p.m., I listened to the melodious voice of Gel Santos-Relos on her programs Punto por Punto and Relos Reports. It was my first time hearing a female broadcast journalist deliver the news in Filipino with such grace and authority. I still remember the goosebumps I felt. Her voice was gentle yet commanding. From then on, I became one of her loyal listeners.

Every night, I would fall asleep with the transistor radio beside my pillow. When I woke up before dawn, I would hear the familiar voices of Gani Oro and the Radyo Patrol reporters on Gising Pilipinas, the morning news program, until the signal gradually faded as the sun rose.

In 1994, the Manila Broadcasting Company launched its One Nation, One Station campaign, making DZRH's signal accessible throughout the country, twenty-four hours a day. Through DZRH, I discovered veteran journalists such as Joe Taruc and Deo Macalma. I also became captivated by its drama programs, especially Matud Nila and Tiya Dely, among many others. I divided my listening time between DZMM and DZRH, enjoying the best that both stations had to offer.

Looking back, I can confidently say that listening to these seasoned and credible broadcasters profoundly influenced the person I have become. It was through them that I developed my communication skills, which later helped me become a campus journalist in both high school and college. Those years of listening also prepared me to become a host and master of ceremonies at countless community events in the years that followed.

More importantly, radio taught me lessons that went beyond communication. It nurtured in me a deep respect for truth, a commitment to public service, and the belief that words, when spoken with integrity, competence, and compassion, have the power to inform, inspire, and transform lives.