usan Roces's and the late Fernando Poe Jr.'s lives were enviably ideal till “Da King,” decided it was payback time. He would serve the people who had put him on his throne. It is a month to her husband's first death anniversary and Susan, still lovely and serene at 64, is lonely. We are on the front lawn of the Spanish-style stucco home in Greenhills that she had shared with Ronnie for over 36 years and she point out some changes that she has made since his death. She had the front walls stripped of the ivy leaves that had clung to it for decades. Someone had told her it didn't bring good fortune. She also had one of the perimeter walls painted a cheerful yellow. She is trying to cope.

“You should have been here,” she says wistfully as she points to a small tree, “when that rambutan tree was laden with fruit.”

Ah, the past is sweet, and lade, too, with happy memories. But though melancholy at times, The life of Susan Roces (Jesusa Sonora Poe in real life) is not shrouded by regret. It is liberated by purpose.

Ronnie's giving up his comfortable world for the unfamiliar realm of politics is something Susan does not mourn. He fought the good fight. When she mourns for is that the truth may have been buried with her beloved.

“Ronnie had made up his mind to run for president when he couldn't stand to see the poverty of the masses. Remember, the people you call the masses are those who bought the tickets that made hits out of our movies. We owed our success to them.

“For example,” adds Susan, who has been in the movies since she was 14 years old, “if people don't buy your magazine, will the advertisers support it? You, too, owe your readers, so you feel a responsibility towards them.”

From the lawn, we proceed to the main living room for the photo shoot. An Amorsolo of Susan commissioned by Ronnie for one of their first movies together hangs on the wall behind the grand piano. There is a Manansala, a Baldemor, a Joya, a Botong, among other masterpieces, on the other walls. “My husband also painted, did you know?” she says proudly, explaining their prized collection. Ronnie, whom she referred to many times as “Mr. Poe” in our conversations, started his collection by buying one painting from an Angono artist. He became an avid collector thereafter. His mother, the late Bessie Kelley Poe of the UP College of Fine Arts , also painted. Susan also plans to take up the brush, perhaps inspired by former President Cory Aquino, whom she has formed a recent friendship with. From the living room we proceed to a tiny guesthouse whose living room is adorned by Susan's collection of mask. Here, we settle for the interview.

Susan remembers that day Ronnie “told” her that he had decided to run for president. “We don't ask each other's permission, but we share our decisions with each other,” she explains.) They were having their early-morning cup of brewed coffee, as was their wont in the mornings.

Her reaction?

“I feel guilty,” she recalls, “that I myself had not done as much for the poor.” When she appeared by Ronnie's side as he announced his bid for the presidency at the Champagne Room of the Manila Hotel on Nov. 26, 2003, she shed some tears. She knew life was not going to be the same again, but she was with him all the way.

The elections were not fair, she recalls. She scoffs now at people who belittled her husband's alleged lack of a clear platform. “Tell me, aren't the platforms of all well-meaning presidential candidates one and the same? Di ba? (Isn't it so?) They all want to lift the people from poverty! That is everybody's platform. You may have the best plans, but that's it, they are all just plans. You prove yourself after you've made your plans concrete. Ronnie wasn't just a planner. He was a doer.”

And she believes with all her heart that when the final votes were tallied, Ronnie should have been president.

But instead of pursuing their claim of victory with the tenacity of Da King's fight scenes in his movies, the Poes “chose to do it the legal way.” They exhausted all legal means before and after his death to claim what Susan firmly believes was Ronnie's presidency.

She knows how surprised (some approved, other were revolted) people were when they saw a steaming Susan on national TV, accusing President Arroyo of stealing the presidency, “not once but twice!”

“I am not a quarrelsome woman. But the one thing I detest most is a lie,” she now explains her emotional outburst, with no tinge of regret. (Incidentally, Susan's very first movie was entitled Boksingera, meaning “female boxer.”) She says her outburst was triggered by Mrs. Arroyo's “I am sorry” spiel on TV because she believes it was not sincere. “First of all, what was she sorry for? I believe that when a person apologizes she must say what she is sorry for.”

Susan's anger has simmered down, but not her quest for the truth. She will not seek the presidency or any other elective post, but she will be behind the opposition and other groups that will carry on the fight for electoral reforms. She is anxious that a provision in the Charter should be amended to make it clear than an “incumbent” cannot seek the presidency.

Another advocacy is the empowerment of the youth. “Our hope is really with them.” She is also busy finalizing the exhibits of Ronnie's memorabilia in the FPJ Museum , to be temporarily housed at the Mowelfund's office in San Juan . She also plans to start writing her autobiography soon.

“Mr. Poe would have been a great president,” she says proudly as our interview draws to a quiet close and tears begin to well in her eyes. “Actors can be great leaders because they draw their skill from their understanding of the human experience. You can only fake emotions to a certain extent. Good actors aren't acting at all.”

Susan Roces has buried her husband, but not his legacy. She will carry on. Fernando Poe Jr., will never be president now, but to his widow, he has won for himself a far better title. “He was a good man, the kindest man I have ever known,” she says.

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