Tribute to Yolando Siao
Sun, 03 May 1998 09:18:40 -0700

It's always nice to hear true stories from the past, specially about alumni who were full of energy, vigor and idealism.  I didn't know Yolando Siao personally so I asked my mom, from whom I learned that Lando was a close friend of my uncle, the late Hym Hym Dy.  The fate of Lando made me think how life can be so fragile and unpredictable indeed.

Alfredo Lai II (Batch '89), Iligan, Philippines
lai@iligan.com
 

Dateline Buffalo

By Ernesto L. Yu, M.D., Batch 1965 Ernstyu49@aol.com

True enough, it can readily be brushed off as a polished example of beginner's luck at its intoxicating best; or a marginally worthless, yet exhilarating, small token for pinning an indurated faith on the local newspaper's horoscope section.

But May 8 planted another candle to my ever sagging birthday cake and my planetary charm (Taurus) twinkled  "a new avenue will open that will lead to enriching miracles if you make a move soon". Thus, the $1 investment in Instant Lottery that stroked my pocket with a $5 winning; unquestionably insufficient to even map a micro track out of a parcel of dirt road (where's the beef, lucky star?).  In a way, I made a momentous dent on the very same day our family doctor cheered my bare posterior with a modified child-abuse-spanking some forty nine years ago. Another bonanza of thrills and a fruitful milestone for a winsome Neanderthal who has enshrined all the outmoded remnants of the Stone Ages!

What's the big deal with my beggar's fortune when I lost more surface qualities and sickly strands of silvery streaks around my scalp line, and wilted under the strain of evaporating another ounces of brain extract in my memory gyrus?  No major splash, dean of dimwits; just an airy proclamation that I still commemorate natal days come what may and never compromise my established bond with Chinese fortune-cookie sentiments. In fact, at the risk of falling under the category of stunted dorks, I already highlighted next year's 8th of May in case no little slice of heaven will snap my foggy forgetfulness and nobody will flame the logs in my sluggishly chugging data bank.  Age fifty, as stressed by Dr. Do Little, is the minimum requisite to roam leisurely in geriatric pace around Alzheimer's ecosystem.

Another year, another dollar. Another birthday, another gray.  Life is really a mesmerizing cycle.  If you are blessed with a sound and unfailing mental faculties, old fart.

How vain can I be to scribble a mile-long narrative prose about the fast track of my turning into a toothless dinosaur on the brink of extinction when the presidential candidates-clowns in the Philippines are racing all over towns to barter with  the flying voters' thumb prints and the innocents’ unstable conscience? Simple: birthdays are annual markers of the very millisecond you first opened your mind while national elections are long running circus acts to mine the open!

Unleash your most potent power to bless the best poker face who can ably oil the islands' machinery. Visit your precinct and vote ... while I snack on the litters of my birthday cake, growing older and wiser over the fiery rhetoric and flight of vacuous pledges of the future prime movers of your nation.
 

The great Filipino statesman, President Manuel L. Quezon, once said that he would prefer a government run like hell by Filipinos than one run like heaven by Americans. That statement is quite prophetic.  Ever since the United States of America granted the Philippines its independence on July 4, 1946, we have had government after government that was ran like whatever you like except heaven.

The Philippines is said to be the first country in Asia to be proclaimed as a republic. It was a century ago on June 12, 1898 in Kawit, Cavite, when Gen. Emilio Aguinaldo first unfurled the Filipino flag at the balcony of his house.  We were told that we should be proud of this distinction.  But are we?  After 100 years, what kind of a democratic society do we have back home?  A republic that is unique for the Filipino nation.  A government of Filipino people, by the elite politicians, for some privileged members of the community?  If one is not well connected with those in power, sorry na lang!?  This is indeed very sad.

And it is said that once in a while, during election time, the common man has his say in the ballot box.  How credible is the ballot box?  Does it reflect the true will of the people?  How many times were the people cheated?  If we already experience hell in the first most important step of the democratic process of our republic, we just can not expect heaven as the end product.

What can we do? Is there hope for the Philippines to have a government run like heaven by the Filipinos? I really don't know the answer.  On this eve of national election, I could do nothing except to pray and hope for a better Philippines.

"It is heaven - when the English are the policemen, the Germans are the mechanics, the French are the cooks, the Italians are the lovers and the Swiss are the organizers.

It is hell - when the Germans are the policemen, the French are the mechanics, the English are the cooks, the Swiss are the lovers and the Italians are the organizers."
 

Sentimental Journey

By Henry L. Yu, M.D., Batch 1969

What was it like in the '50s and '60s?  I mean this thing called ELECTION?  Such era when we were non-voters, underage, in short pants, licking Goya lollipop, blowing Texas bubble gum, savoring the tricolor ice cream being peddled in a mobile cart by our favorite sorbetero, nonchalantly eating pink cotton candy, tira-tira, etc.  We were in our pre-teens then, when ELECTION was but a byword in our very limited vocabulary, when we were in grade school at LCHS, innocent as we were of what was going in the world of politics..

Elections during the '50s and '60s were held regularly on November 11.  Such names as Cabili, Celdran, Badelles, Dimaporo, Alcuizar, Quibranza, Magsaysay, Macapagal, Pelaez, Marcos, etc. were among the many candidates jockeying for political positions.  Such words like miting de avance, partido, precinto, plata porma, etc. reverberated in the air.  There were only two political parties then: Nacionalista and Liberal Party.  Flyers would be distributed all over.  Cars decorated with stickers and other paraphernalia, loud microphone sound system, etc. would abound.  And radio stations redundantly announcing the names of candidates and their paid ads from morning till night so much so that we could memorize some of them by heart.

While the older folks were talking about the good sides of a certain candidate, others would come up with some atrocious expose about other candidates who aimed for this and that position.  But definitely, election in our time when we were kids was simpler and more peaceful.  Showbiz folks were just contented with their roles as movie stars who would entertain us no end on the silver screen and not running for any government posts.  As children of that era, we, on our part, would just settle quietly to our books and notebooks for the day's assignments.  In school, there were less hullabaloos with regards to politics and elections.  What mattered more to us then were the school activities and the numerous projects, and anything that spelled school: Pambansang Awit, Panatang Makabayan, Aguinaldo, Bonifacio, Katipunan, Balagtas, Florante at Laura, Kuwento ng mga Duwende, Dr. Jose Rizal, Pepe and Pilar, ba-wo-wow, etc.

And just how we found pleasure collecting those flyers and sample ballots being scattered all over with us either making use of them as scratch papers or converting them into toy planes, boats, fans, or whatnots.  For us children, we didn't dig much about those political flavors.  It was enough that we stayed home and listened to the counting of ballots aired over radio stations DXIC, DXRI, and DXMI from the time the voting centers closed to the wee hours of dawn till the following morning.  We would stay in our house tallying the votes that were cast for this and that candidate.  TV monitors were unheard of then.

The morning after election would see the city streets strewn with a sea of wasted flyers and sample ballots of varying colors.  The mendicants would collect those streamers and creatively used them as curtains for their shanties, or made them into short pants that they could use for the days ahead, wash 'n' wear.

May 11, 1998.  Some three or four decades later.  Another election is here.  Halalan '98.  Presidential Debates.  Philippine Centennial.  Prayer Rallies.  Not just two but more political parties and more presidentiables (read: presidential candidates).  All these happening today.  Showbiz folks joining the political arena.  Everybody seems obssessed to run for a government seat.  But why?  Our children of the new millennium would ask.  And as their parents, we can only smile and say, "We had our time."
 

A hello and a smile to everybody!  This is Aurora (Siokhian) signing in.  I feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to write this column after having been away from LCHS for 40 years.  This column will be a mixed bag of special memories and topics medical or otherwise that hopefully will interest most of us.

Please no questions about Viagra ... (just kidding).

Bunn Hill is where I live, not quite at the top, but almost.  This is my home.  Although born in Initao, Misamis Oriental, Philippines, the U.S.A. and the beautiful hills of south central New York state have won my heart.  Iligan City was where my maternal grandfather owned a store prior to World War II and where my mother lived until she was married.  It is also where I went to Chinese school.  Despite all these ties, Initao was my home for the longest time and still occupies a very special warm place in my heart.

As children and grandchildren of immigrants, and as immigrants ourselves, sometimes we have to take more time to answer the question about where home is.  Some of our parents may have confused us about which place to call home, their birthplace or ours.  We may have done the same to our children.  My beloved, hardworking and handsome father lived most of his adult life in Initao.  He raised a family, established a business and earned the love and respect of family and friends but talked longingly of returning to Kinmen (Quemoy) someday.  On the contrary, my  mother, ahead of her time in many ways, was also from Kinmen but adopted Iligan then Initao as her home and never looked back.

Loyalty to the ancestral home is honorable and admirable, but the longing to return may prevent some people from planting deeper roots in the present, sometimes to the detriment of the next generation.

So ... Hai San, where is home? Loloy Tan, where is home? Ernie Yu, where is home?

Till next time.
 

When the sky is gray
and the future is bleak,
My mother is the rainbow after the rain
and the sunshine after the storm.
She is my hope, my inspiration
She is, by far, the most influential person in my life
I know that she is there when I need her most
and that I can always turn to her
and count on her support.
She is my friend, my mentor,
and my ever guiding light.
I sometimes wonder
why God gave such a wonderful mother
to an undeserving daughter like me
And I am deeply grateful that He did.

How could I ever thank Him enough
for such a marvelous gift,
a gift that could never be bought
with money, fame nor power.

My mother is a blessing from above
a very special gift God has sent me from the day I was born.
And today, on Mother's day
I want to let my mother and the whole world know
how very dear she is to me
and how very close she is to my heart.
She will always be
Someone I respect and love
for the rest of my life
and once again,
I thank God
for entrusting me
into her tender loving care.

Prior to leaving the United States for the Philippines, a Filipino exchange student told me something that I would remember for the whole of my stay in Iligan City.  She said, "While you are in the Philippines, you will experience things that you have never experienced before, and will never experience again."  How right she was!

I encountered countless things in the Philippines that my 16 years in the United States had never shown me.  These ranged from the hopeless poverty that pervades the country, to the delicious taste of fried banana expertly prepared by a toothless old woman.  I was troubled by the poverty and disturbed by the corruption that dwells alongside a people so full of genuine happiness and love.  Although it exists in the United States, I had never been exposed to such abject squalor.  On the other hand, I had never been treated with such absolute kindness.  It permeated every barrio, every school, every business, and every family that I visited.

Of course, being so kind, the people that I met wanted to share with me all aspects of life in the Philippines.  A certain young Pinoy was so kind as to share the delicacy of balut with me.  Another group of generous Filipinos cooked me a dinner in which we dined on "ero."  Of course, I was grateful for these acts of kindness that were shown to me!

Throughout most of my stay, I lived with Chinese families.  This exposed me to another side of life in the Philippines.  I was enrolled at LCHS, where I spent a fascinating year among the third year students (Class of 1994).  Unfortunately, I had not been exposed to the Chinese language in the United States, so when it came time for me to learn the language, I found myself in a classroom with the young children.  Despite these bright youngsters, I floundered.  To this day, I know only two Chinese phrases: "Good morning, teacher" and "Good afternoon, teacher."  While I failed to learn Chinese, I succeeded in learning about the culture that is at once Filipino and Chinese.  I ate moon cakes on Chinese New Year, burned incense in honor of the dead, and learned how to write my Chinese name, Kio Sio San.

Perhaps my greatest joy came from the little children.  In the United States, students are segregated by age.  High schoolers never encounter elementary students in the halls, on the playground, or in the cafeteria.  However, at LCHS, I came to know several little children.  I was never happier than when they wrapped their chubby little arms around me and called me Achi Susan.

Only secondary to the beauty of the people I met were the sites I saw.  Never have I beheld beaches so gloriously white, waterfalls so magically majestic, or city streets so impossibly crowded with activity.  Iligan City still shimmers with her unique beauty in my dreams.

In my short stay, I truly did experience things I had never experienced before, and things I have never experienced since.  So many times since my return I have craved for sweet mango, fried banana, a conversation with my LCHS classmates, and the warmth of little arms wrapped around my neck.  Although I will always be an Americana, I'll never forget the year that Iliganons welcomed me as one of their own, and helped me experience pleasures I had never known.

EDITORS' NOTES

Alumna's Daughter: This issue comes jampacked with eloquent retorts from our alumnae brigade.  "A Tribute to My Wonderful Mom..." comes from Ellen Sy Limtin, daughter of LCHS alumna, Jane Sy Limtin (Batch '70).  Ellen, 20 years old, graduated cum laude in B.S. Accountancy at the University of San Carlos last March.  She is currently reviewing for the CPA board exams.

Raising a Valid Issue:  Our new columnist, Dr. Aurora Tansiokhian, of Batch 1958 (not 1960 as earlier reported), raises a valid question on which place we can truly call our nest.  The continuing diaspora of our race since the time of our forefathers to the present generation seems to have blurred one's affinity to one's ancestral home.  Before she moved to the U.S.A. to pursue her medical career, Aurora was Cebu's first hematologist.  Expect more of such engaging inputs in her column in our subsequent issues.

American Alumna: The author of "My Memories of LCHS" is Susan Kennedy Jensen, Batch 1994, of Provo, Utah, U.S.A.  Susan spent a year as exchange student in LCHS in 1994, and stayed with the family of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Siao.  "If you have further topics you wish me to write about,"  says our American alumna, "I would be glad to contribute to the newsletter."  Now, who says there's a dearth of writers from our female brigade?