BY all reckoning, Ric Reyes is not a shy man. He was a former cadre of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP), after all, who knew both the rugged terrain of the Sierra Madre and the dank confines of a maximum security prison. He is also known as an intrepid speaker ? one of his most effective tools as a passionate human rights and good governance advocate.

But it seemed like it was a young boy with a shy, wistful smile and fumbling words who told the love story that began 41 years ago at The Manila Times office in 1969, against the backdrop of a country in discontent and a strongman flexing his political muscle. She was a young, curly-haired journalist working on an article at the time. He had come to deliver a press statement from CPP leader Jose Maria Sison.

?She made quite an impression on me,? Ric recalled in Filipino. He learned her name: Roz Galang, who had just graduated magna cum laude from the University of Santo Tomas, where she had also been literary editor of the school paper, The Varsitarian.

But there was work to do and a revolution to wage. The curly-haired writer and the brave cadre did not cross paths again until many years later when Ric was to be fetched at a bookstore by a comrade. True to the tradition of underground work, he was not informed who would come for him. ?You?d know her,? was all he was told. Amid dusty shelves and time-worn books, she reappeared. ?Roz,? she introduced herself to the man who already knew her name and who for years had not forgotten her face.

Ric maintained a careful and respectful distance, because he was in a long-term relationship at the time. Roz was an engaging, opinionated conversationalist, with no qualms about cutting the macho cadre down to size ?as needed,? but was also kind and gentle, with a disarming smile. Like him, she was an activist, but also an inveterate food lover who would take midnight trips to a hole-in-the-wall carinderia in Parañaque for tapang usa (dried venison).

In 1977, Ric lost his then-partner, ?salvaged? (in the parlance of the time), by the military ? a loss that left him grief-stricken and angry. He led search operations to find her, but finally had to accept that she had passed on. Ric immersed himself in work and found comfort in his comrades, including Roz.

The two found themselves working alongside each other, often collaborating on many assignments. Hers was a comforting, constant presence. ?Work-related? meetings led to long conversations about everything, and Ric soon found himself provoked, entranced and moved by this young woman whose curls bounced when she laughed. Emboldened by her eyes that lit up when he was there, he invited her to Luneta, where he promised to love her for a lifetime.

In 1978, Ric and Roz decided to get married. She was heavy with child at the time ? an anomaly that did not sit well both with the conservative strictures of the ?70s and the iron-clad rules of the Communist Party. They dutifully accepted the disciplinary sanction of the Party and faced both their families. They soon had a church wedding in Sienna College, a difficult feat to pull off, considering their underground work at the time.

?Her father, a former colonel, was furious because we didn?t tell him the venue until the last minute,? Ric recounted in Filipino, remembering with not a little relish the situation of a military man attending the wedding of two Communist cadres, one of whom happened to be his daughter.

Theirs was not an easy life, especially since they now had a son. Because they were often mobile, they found it difficult to establish a normal household. ?Wherever we were, we made it a home. I went to market, and she would cook up a feast. She made the best paksiw na isda [fish stewed in vinegar],? Ric said. ?And because we were in hiding and could not go out and date, we stayed in our safe house, put on some music, and slow danced.?

The year 1992 was particularly challenging for the couple. He was arrested (on charges that were later dismissed) and they found themselves summarily kicked out of the Party for questioning certain policies and demanding deeper accountability and self-inquiry. Upon his release, they decided to settle in Pasig, where Ric traces his roots. Roz became active in the human rights community and Ric in agrarian reform and governance.

?Pasig gave us a quiet home, a normal family life,? Ric mused.

In 1993, while Ric was hounded by death threats from his former comrades and the family was saddled with financial problems, the couple reeled from another blow. Roz was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ric was crushed, but Roz faced it with the steely calm that her husband had grown accustomed to and always derived strength from.

The next five years were spent being happy. ?We traveled, cooked together, slow danced,? Ric said softly. ?But I knew I was losing my soul mate.?

It was a five-year battle that ended in 1998, when one night, Roz quietly asked to be brought to the hospital. She passed away quietly, asking Ric to take care of their son and of himself.

It has been over a decade since then, but Ric has not been able to fall in love again. ?When you find the love of your life, that perfect complement, kahit anong ibigay sa inyo ng buhay ? kulong, pagtatakwil, kanser (no matter what life gives you ? jail, expulsion, cancer), you know you can make it because you?re a team. And that?s not easy to replace.? He paused. ?So when you find someone like that, don?t let go.?

With his son in Singapore, Ric now lives alone in Pasig, in the home he shared with Roz, committed to give back to the city that has given him and Roz the best years of their married life. ?I am not going anywhere,? said this cadre, advocate and husband who is also running for mayor in May. ?