SARAH'S MISSING CHAPTERS

Note: Perhaps, you are wondering where we got this "missing chapters" when Sarah's memoirs was published back in 2002 Upon checking old files and before we decided to move from Daly City to Sacramento in 2008 we found a set of rough drafts of text and it turned out to be those of the missing chapters in Sarah's OF LAUGHTER AND TEARS.  Here in my blogsite is that lengthy essay detailing on Sarah's activities when she lived in Virginia from 1976 to her death in January of 2002.

       When Fred de La Rosa, married to Josefina, Sarah's youngest daughter, was appointed by Secretary of Labor Blas Ople as Labor Attache t the Philippine Embassy in Washington, D.C., he invited Sarah to join

them, thinking that the change would be good for her.  By then, all of Sarah’s children had married and carried on with their lives and activities with the exception of Joey, her adopted son.  Sarah was thus petty much alone.

      Fred and Josefina also felt having Sarah with the family would be a godsend.  They were moving to Washington with three young boys, Dino, Freddie and Luigi, who at that time was only four years old, and having their grandmother who could show them around Washington, D.C.  would be a decided advantage, especially during the period when they were trying to settle down.  Sarah would also be there for her daughter who would need all the help she could get to settle the family in a new place and a new way of life.

      Sarah felt two ways about the offer.  It would not be easy for her to leave Manila where she had lived her entire life except for the time she had spent in Washington, D. C. as a graduate student.  Her career began and blossomed in the Philippines.  It was she who had put theater on Manila's cultural map.  While she had already retired from her teaching duties, she still continued to be very much in demand as an actress, a director, and as a fundraiser.  There was a host of other things that had to do with theater that she was often called to do.  Was

she willing to leave all that and start a new life. . .and at her age? By that time, she was already well into her 70s.

      She would be leaving behind the name she had made for herself, her friends, her home, and most of all. . .her memories.  Was she prepared for that?  At the same time, Sarah was never known to be one who would

back away from anything new and challenging and she could not help but feel that Washington was worth a second try.   After all, she regarded it as her second home.  She had good memories there too.  This time,

however, the move would be more or less permanent.  It would not be the temporary stay of a student  learning new things connected to her craft, but she would be going as Sarah Joaquin, mother and grandmother.

      In the end, her decision to go had nothing to do with memories, but more to do with her concern over her youngest daughter, affectionately called Jojo.  Jojo would be going to Washington as an Embassy wife and as such would be caught up in all the necessary official duties and activities demanded of the diplomatic corps and their families. Sarah had been brought up in the gracious ways of social customs and communications from childhood at the /Centro Escolar de Senoritas and would be completely at home in such company.  It would be easy for her to help Jojo get over the problems she would face with the move and the new way of life.

       Sarah also looked forward to doing things with her three  grandchildren.   Having spent time in Washington as a Fulbright Scholar, she was at home in the Capital.  She knew how to get around and what

places to visit, and she did just that with much enthusiasm.   She brought the children to the Smithsonian, to various art galleries and to see and touch the cherry blossoms, knowing that the best times to go would be before the tourists overran the place.  It might be said that she could, at times, be as passionate about Washington, D.C. as she was about the theater.  She was the perfect guide, knowing small details, about places, people and things, gleaned from her stay there years before.  She brought them to see Broadway productions shown at the Kennedy Theater and in that way instilled in them a love for theater. She would often tell them " eat, sleep and live theater," and while they may not have had the same kind of love for it as she had, they could not help but be touched by it.  As Dino says, "I became a theater buff because of Lola's influence.  Even today, I am in New York twice a year to catch the shows on Broadway and can never get enough of them."

      It was Sarah who accompanied her daughter to embassy wives' functions and dinners.  Ambassador Eduardo Romualdez was a close friend from their UP days and Sarah began receiving her own invitations to

Embassy affairs.  The embassy wives were enthralled to have Sarah in their midst and she quickly became teacher, confidante, and surrogate mom. She was with them so often that they made her an honorary member of the Embassy Wives Club.  Sarah gave them lessons in decorum and propriety when needed, and her inimitable sense of humor and her vast knowledge of even the most trivial things about Washington made her

company something that the wives sought.  When they needed fabrics, Sarah knew the best places  to find them.  When they needed the quiet of a chapel, she knew where to take them for some meditation.  She was

their best interpreter of American-Filipino cultural relations. At that time, the Embassy wives were also very much in to mahjong, an activity that Sarah was a master of with all the experience she had

during the war years.  Because she was at the same time friend, advisor, and mother to many, she began to be called Mama Sarah, a name that practically everyone in the Filipino-American community in Washington

used with great affection. 

        Mama Sarah was an excellent cook, something she learned from her own mother as well as her mother-in-law.  When Embassy potluck affairs took place, Mama Sarah would occasionally contribute dishes for which she became well known, like her meat with green olives and her /lengua estofada.   /Eventually, she passed on her recipes to Lily, the de la Rosa housekeeper.  She also sewed, knitted and crocheted articles that

she gave away as birthday and Christmas gifts, but these activities were not enough for her and so did not last too long.  

      Never one to spend her days in retirement quietly, Sarah started to get restless and began to look for things she could do which would also earn her some money.  She broached the subject to Fred and Jojo and thought that babysitting might be just right for her.  At first, they were hesitant.  Even friends asked whether she would not find that kind of work demeaning, after all the things she had done at home.  Mama Sarah, in her usual straightforward way, declared,  "Anything that is not bad is good, and what would be better than the opportunity to take care of and be with little ones".  And so she started.  Her first charge was Dennis Ocampo's daughter, Patricia.  Dennis writes:  Sarah Joaquin whom we affectionately called "Lola Sarah"  became the babysitter of my daughter, Patricia, in 1979.  She was eminently qualified, fully credentialed and came with the highest of  recommendations. . .which came from my father, the late Galo B. Ocampo.  Both were colleagues at the Far Eastern University (FEU) in Manila for many years until they retired, and, coincidentally settled in Northern Virginia where they joined their respective children's families.

.         Patricia enjoyed being with Lola Sarah who taught her Filipino and American children's songs, no doubt, preceding each singing  session with a brief enlightenment on the lyrics . . .ha, ha, ha.

    
          Patricia thrived under the care of Lola Sarah who treated her like one of her own youngest of the grandsons of Lola Sarah in their Arlington home. In a year or two it was time for Patricia to enter nursery school but we saw Lola Sarah in the Filipino community events around Washington, D. C.  Through the local Filipino newspapers, we read  her column and followed her active involvement in the cultural scene of the Filipino community.

            Lola Sarah never slowed down and until the end was always  involved with local community activities, and always speaking out her mind.  We miss her wit, her ever positive demeanor and her joie de vivre!"

         Sarah continued her babysitting with the prominent Halpern family in Georgetown.  Even much later, after she had started to do other things, she would often say that she loved taking care of Hilary.  Jim and Nancy Halpern were on the lookout for someone who would take care of their firstborn.   Jim, a Taxation Court Judge and his wife, Nancy, a high-profile lawyer, needed a nanny for their soon-to-be-born child. Sarah came highly recommended.  The Halperns were impressed with Sarah's academic and theatrical background and hired her immediately.  She lived in five days a week, returning home only on weekends and stayed with the Halperns for three years.  Sarah felt very much at home with the Halperns where she was treated as a member of the family.  As the years went by, Sarah and Hilary formed a special bond.  Sarah read Hilary children's stories taken from the children's workshops that she had taught at one time, often acting them out, much to Hilary's delight.  On occasion, she would even prepare meals for the Halperns, Filipino and Spanish recipes which the Halperns came to enjoy.  Jim Halpern, remembering that time, writes:

     "Mama Sarah came to us shortly before the birth of our daughter, Hilary.  We thought that we were interviewing her for a position as nanny for our soon-to-be-born daughter, but, in reality, she was interviewing us.  Fortunately for Hilary and us, we survived the interview.  Immediately, Sarah became a member of our family. She obviously loved Hilary, and Hilary responded in kind to Sarah. Sarah insisted not only on taking care of Hilary but also cooking for us.  Until then, I did not realize that I must, at least

in spirit, be part Filipino.  We were fascinated by Sarah's stories of growing up and living in the Philippines.  When President Cory Aquino came to visit the United States, we had to find a beautiful shawl for Sarah to wear for her visit with Cory.  We were also adopted into Sarah's large family.  We came to know many members of that family, including her niece, Sylvia (Vinna) Flores, who came to take care of Hilary when she was three years old.  Sarah finally decided to retire, for the last time.

      I am not sure when we finally learned how old Sarah was when she came to work for us, because she never seemed old.  In retirement, she seemed as active as before she retired.  We were delighted to find out that she had mastered the computer and was keeping in touch with her friends by e-mail. We loved Mama Sarah and miss her."Sarah also had another activity that brought her in touch with people and helped her pass the time.  Many had heard of Sarah's ability to read cards and so they would come and visit her to have their

fortunes told.  Sarah claims that when she  was a young girl, she learned how to read cards from her mother.  Her mother told her that she could make small predictions by looking at the combinations of cards that were

laid out.  Sarah, however, never took these things seriously.  She would make predictions but then forget them.  But when she was a Fulbright Scholar, a classmate from India taught her how to deepen her ability at

interpreting the cards and while Sarah was intrigued, once again, she didn't think much of it until . . . she discovered that she actually had the hang of reading cards well enough to make predictions.  When she

returned to the Philippines after her scholarship, her friends found out that she could actually foretell  some things for them.

         Sarah realized she had an uncanny sixth sense.  It could have been her association with drama, her love for theater, her sensitivity to character, her ability to read faces and insinuations from voice and body language, honed through years of coaching budding actors and actresses to interpret their roles.  It could have been all these that helped her to understand the vagaries of human character, the hopes and aspirations so openly expressed in the way people looked, their intonations when they spoke that made Sarah's ability to make

predictions more intense and precise.  This was not drama but real life that she was interpreting for them.

         While she did manage to make predictions, which in some cases turned out to be true, Sarah always told those who came for readings not to take them seriously.  "I try to predict and there is a science in doing so which I have not completely mastered," she would say.  "So I could be just as right as I am wrong."  Often times, the wishes of those who sought her assistance and Sarah's own good sense would dictate what she told them but she never once made up things that she knew they wanted to hear.  It was like sizing up the character of the person, and giving them a bit of wisdom in facing those problems which they felt were confronting them.   One thing she never did. . .and she was very adamant about this. . . was to provide them with false hopes just for the sake of making them go away happy..

         One person, Eva Kalaw, one of Sarah's closest friends, is willing to testify to Sarah's keen ability to read the cards, and she writes:

         "Sarah and I gossiped a lot.  The point is that we hardly gossiped about others at all.  What we talked about was mostly drama, or the arts, and mutual friends.

           One day, when I came in, I saw Sarah playing with game cards.I thought she was playing solitaire, but no, she said she was making a prediction.  So I asked her.  "Are you a manghuhula?"  She laughed aloud and said,  "Mama taught me how to read cards, by trying to make predictions from the combination of cards that one laid out together.  But while I play with cards and try to predict something, I don't take the results seriously.  At least I pass my time with a little bit more excitement than just playing solitaire."

            "So, I said, tell me about my luck.  Ask the cards what there is in store for me.?"

           "Don't take me seriously though," she said, "and don't you ever, ever tell others that I am a fortune teller because I'm not. The game I play is more exciting than a game of solitaire, and that's why I do it."  I promised and hurriedly told her to lay the cards out for me.

          "Well,"she started.  "I see your pictures scattered all over Manila, perhaps all over the Philippines."  I thought she was teasing. "Okay," I said.  "l note that down."  But then suddenly,  her face turned solemn.

            "I don't believe this," she said.  "Remember, these are only cards.  But I see that one of your sons will have an accident."Then, slowly, as she turned the cards, she faltered, hesitated. . . then looked at me and said softly, "a fatal one."  With that she mixed up the cards and said it was over.  Once more, she reminded me that these were just cards.  I shrugged my shoulders and we got back to our gossip.

              Many years later, I became a senator and my mind flashed back to the cards and Sarah telling me that my pictures would be all over the Philippines.  Indeed, I did post my pictures all over the country during the campaign.Then the fatal accident happened.  My son, Teodoro Kalaw III died when his motorcycle went into a skid.  He fell and hit his head.  We rushed him to the hospital but even with the best care the doctors gave him, and all the prayers that were said, he did not survive.

 .         When Sarah left for the United States, I remained in the Philippines but we often talked over the phone. Every time that I would get excited about something, I would ask her to lay the cards out for me, and tell me by phone what her findings were.  She always reminded me that I was being foolish.

            Sarah and I were close friends, the kind of friends who never take their friendship for granted.    

           When Joey, her youngest, finally joined her in 1980, Sarah's joy was complete.  When she met him, she found him too thin by her standards, and like any doting Mom, fed him with all his favorite dishes for a whole week, cooking for him herself or bringing him to her favorite restaurants in an attempt to make him look like a well-fed young man. She watched over him like a hawk making sure that he never wanted for anything.

            By that time, all her children were in the U. S., Joey and Jojo in Washington D.C. with her, Nenita close by, and Tony in San Francisco.She had always said that her children mattered most to her and with them

all together in the U.S., she felt that her life was complete.  In 1984, she applied for American citizenship and got it but in her heart she remained a Filipino.

               During her stay in Washington, amidst all her activities, Sarah also wrote a bi-weekly column for the popular Filipino newspaper *The Manila Mail*. Filipinos, always ready to read what the Grand Dame of art

and culture had to say followed her columns avidly. Her articles covered a wide range of topics, from games children played in the Philippines during the time she was growing up, to trends that were a delight to

Manila society in the 90s, and other topics of motley concerns.  Sarah had always been observant, quickly spotting issues that she felt would be of interest to her readers.  Most of the time, however, she wrote

about well-known people some of whom were residents of the U.S. by then, but also people who were still in the Philippines, possible role models who did what they could do to make the place they had made for

themselves a little better.  She also mourned people who had touched her and passed on, thus sharing a bit of herself in the process.   She had a faithful following who would give her suggestions on the things they

wanted to learn more about, thus supplying her with an endless variety of subjects she could write about.   The following are only a few of those articles she wrote.  

            In cautioning adults to be careful with their language when they were with children, Sarah wrote the following: *Out of the Mouth of Babes* 

             Nothing is more fascinatingly challenging than caring for a baby in its various stages of growth, from a helpless infant to an exasperatingly smart and questioning toddler.  The enjoyment reaches

I was babysitting a bright four-year-old whose parents are busy, successful career people.  She was trying to undress a little doll which she had just received for her birthday.  I was preparing her lunch when suddenly I heard her say, “Oh, shit!” and she threw the doll away.

              “What?” I was completely taken aback, hearing this from a  four-year-old. It was more a statement of surprise than a question.  I immediately dropped what I was doing, not believing what I had  just heard.  “Now where did you hear that?” I asked.  I thought in a  flash that she might have heard it in the park where I usually took  her for a stroll.

      “Daddy says that,” she said calmly.  “He says that when he   cannot do what he wants to do with something.”  “Come here, darling,” I said as I took her to a chair nearby. “Your dad is a bigger and older person than you are.  Children,    especially nice little ladies, do not say that word.”

           “Mommy says that too, sometimes,” she said.

           “She is also a very much older person.  Remember, you are not

   to say that if you want to grow up to be a nice young girl.  Promise?”

  “Okay,” she said quietly.  Then I helped her undress her doll.

             I knew it was not the best explanation I could give her, but   under the circumstances, I had to let her know she shouldn’t be   using such words.  I was a bit shocked and disappointed at hearing   her say the word.  I knew she was very bright.  After all, hadn’t I   succeeded in getting her to learn her numbers diligently when she   was only eighteen months old, and to master the alphabet before she   was two? I realized then how intelligent children are in using the  words they hear about them.  I suppose this is all a part of the way

  they learn language. So from then on, I also started to be more   careful about my own speech whenever she was around.  I talked with her parents and they promised to watch their   language when they were with her.  Much later, they told me that she   had asked them how old she could be to use the word.

        The incident also reminded me of a similar occasion, a long  time ago, when my youngest daughter was also four years old.  We  were at my parents’ home when a gentleman, wanting to see my father,   came to visit.  In the presence of my daughter who was in the garden  with her, my mother said that my father was out playing golf, but if  he wanted to return in the afternoon, she would surely be able to   see him.  When my father arrived for lunch, my mother told him about  the visitor.

               “Who was he,” my father asked.

                 “He’s that man who was in prison for two years because he had  abused his wife or something.”

                  “Oh, yes, I remember,” my father said.  He was just released some weeks ago.

                 When the man came in the afternoon, my daughter was again in

  the garden and she promptly ran in to tell her grandpa that the man

  wanted to see him.

                 “What man?”

              That man who was in prison because he did something bad to  his wife, ” she said and rushed out to play once more.

               My father hastened to meet the man and apologized for his granddaughter.  But from then on, my mother was very careful with  what she said in the presence of the children.  Another article Sarah wrote had to do with Dance Instructors. Under any excuse possible, Filipinos will find a reason to dance.  When ladies in Manila were very much in to dancing—the best way to exercise was how they described it—that trend had not yet become popular among Filipinos in D.C. so Sarah, learning about it, put it into one of her

columns:

                 *For Fun and Fitness*

                  As autumn winds start coming to close the summer season, life     becomes serious once more.   All that physical activity spent on the  beaches or hills are set aside and remain as mere memories. Reality
descends, playtime is over, it’s back to the grind.  And, the   activities from which we got our exercise in the summer, have now  reduced us to sitting at our desks, in front of our computers and    our muscles start to settle in.

                 In the big towns and cities the not-so-young anymore who have     retired from their nine-to-five jobs go out as soon as the sun peeks  out in the eastern horizon to jog or ride a bike in out-of-the way

bike paths and get the much needed exercise for their aging bones. Sometimes these people form groups to avoid the loneliness of a solitary walk through the park.  This way, they combine their physical daily dozen and the chance to socialize or exchange a little gossip among friends

          But as all things in this world are bound to change, this type  of exercise is also fast disappearing.  In its stead, a more  pleasurable and exciting one is taking over.  This is the Dance!

          Many fund-raising projects have used the dinner-dance as the     main attraction, for what Filipino doesn’t enjoy dancing?    Invariably, this has garnered fairly good profits.  We have to admit  that the Filipino is born with dancing feet. Watch any Filipino when the music picks up, and pretty soon, the body will sway, and the feet move.   Birthdays, anniversaries, reunions and other festivals always get good attendance when dance is on the menu.  And the most interesting part about it is that many of the participants are those     battling the difficult onset of old age.  They claim to have proof that dancing exercises all the muscles of the human body so it is the best form of exercise.

          “Well, so does swimming,” quip the few who do not dance.”

         “But swimming is limited to a few standard strokes.  And there is really nothing interesting about a swimsuit that one wears all the time.  Dancing, on the other hand, gives one the excuse to get

 all dressed up and put on makeup.  It boosts one’s self-esteem,‘ answers the dancer.

          Personally, I believe that if dancing has become more popular,   it is because it requires a partner and therefore develops a good sense of coordination.  Also, it wins one more friends and so a   dancing session results in wholesome camaraderie.”

         “What happens if one does not have a partner?” I asked.

          “Ahhhh,” a pro-dance enthusiast quipped.  “In Manila, many wealthy, slowly aging widows or wives whose children have grown and whose husbands are too busy, have what they call a DI.”

          “A DI?!  Excuse me! But, pardon my ignorance!”

          “A Dance Instructor—a much younger man who is a retained     employee and whose job is to teach and practice with his “charge”   everyday in the modern ball-room dance.  Hotels even have dancing sessions during the day when ladies like to have brunch or coffee    mornings or afternoon teas.  The DI also serves as an escort at parties so the ladies can show off what they have already learned.”

          “They must be paid handsomely,” I remarked.

          “That’s an understatement.  I’ve heard of a few DIs who’ve  managed to go through college or buy a “condo” from their earnings.”

          Apparently, the system has not yet reached these shores.  Here the women bring friends or invite a similarly situated aging friend as their partner for the night.  And if they cannot find a friend of

the opposite sex to go with them, well, what’s wrong with two women dancing together?  Of course, it might be rather odd to see two men  doing the same thing.

          In fact, an enterprising friend of mine has thought of     starting a company where he would gather some good-looking, mature,  well-mannered and graceful men for employment as dance escorts.

There can be retainer contracts, or for specific occasions only.  He thinks it will be great.  I do not doubt it at all.  I believe it would be a boon for many ladies who wish to keep themselves fit and have fun at the same

time.  It keeps the threat of aging at bay. And so. . .ON WITH THE DANCE!  

            Sarah wrote of happy moments in life, as well as sad moments, of weddings as well as loss.  She wrote about people in the community who made it good in their new life, simple, hard-working, no nonsense people

who, like Sarah, made the best of what they could find in the world they were in.  One such person was a friend, Evelyn Silangcruz-Manuel who  played in one of Sarah’s presentations.

          *A Jane of All Trades*

           Recently, a very good friend asked why for some time now, I  have not written about anyone in our community.  She said that it  was inspiring to read about people whose unselfish service or qualities benefit society and they should thus, be duly appreciated.  Having been reminded that there were people around us who fit   the bill, I remembered one person who has been close to me for some time and who deserves to be the subject of my column in this issue.What really puzzled me was why on earth I had not spotted her previously since she is, so to speak, right under my nose. This person is Evelyn Silangcruz-Manuel who has worked for   some time now at the World Bank and at the same time manages a very popular food factory that supplies healthy Philippine and foreign entrees to residents of the Washington Metropolitan area.  One cannot help wondering how she can produce such sumptuous dishes and at the same time be the efficient employee in a big international organization.   Evelyn was a consistently brilliant student since her early schooldays, garnering prizes in declamation and many other contests and earning the distinction of being the outstanding student of the  year at the time she graduated.

          Her singular gift is that she is endowed with an inclination to several areas of art and culture.  She has taken voice lessons  and is a member of the Forex Choir group.  She plays the piano and     enjoys going to classical concerts.  But her latest and most  successful accomplishment in the cultural horizon is in theater.

    Despite my severe warning that lessons involved are difficult and    time-consuming, she said that she would go through whatever it took to be an actress. . .a desire that surprised and pleased me at the     same time.  So I groomed her intensely and mercilessly for three  months and a half before the last show I presented in 1998.

          She came three times a week for the extremely tiring exercises  for the development of a diaphragmatic voice and the maddening   lessons for good voice and diction on stage.  She tried hard and succeeded in subjecting her feelings and emotions to self control and seriously performed her exercises in eurhythmics for the  graceful use of body and limbs.  As the leading lady in * Sa   Kahabaan Ng Gabing Madilim*, the last play I directed, she did some     superb acting.

          Evelyn’s real great love however, is cooking.  She feels that she is giving more service to the community by feeding people with  wholesome and healthy meals and in her desire to be a real professional in this field she went to London where she finished a course in Cordon Bleu’s Pattiserie and Cuisine.  As a prerequisite

    to graduation, she also received a certificate on Food Safety from the Royal Institute of Public Health in London.  Her license in Virginia is for Certified Food Manager.

          At present, she enjoys managing her Philippine Oriental

    Market.  She has also started making French delicacies and dishes to  acquaint her numerous customers to exotic fare.  More power to her!   

      Great teachers become great because they have learned under great teachers before them.  As a Fulbright Scholar, Sarah was fortunate to come under the tutelage of outstanding individuals who tapped her

talents and passed on to her the skills that she perfected to become the teacher that she was.  When she heard of the loss of one of these gentlemen, she shared her grief openly.

        *In Memory of a Great Teacher*

I cannot understand what is happening to me at this very  moment.  I am seated in front of my computer, ready to write my fortnightly piece, yet somehow, nothing seems to register in my mind.  Perhaps it is because my heart is so full of sorrow over the  death of a person to whom I owe so much of all I know about theater    arts.

          A former classmate e-mailed me the sad news that our one time professor, Mr. James D. Waring has gone to a better life.  As I read it, there was a sudden tightening of my heart followed by a stream

    of tears, remembering how I enjoyed the classes under him in Directing, Scenic Design and especially Stage Lighting.

          
            In 1961, I received a Fulbright Scholarship Grant for research and graduate studies in theatre arts.  At the Catholic University, Father Hartke, Head of the Speech and Drama Department assigned me to two advisers, one of them being Mr. James D. Waring.  Both advisers were excellent teachers but it was under Mr. Waring that I truly learned.

          Mr. Wiring had inexhaustible patience.  He explained difficult  methods over and over, most especially to me, without any sign of  despair over my slow comprehension.  I believe that what sustained him was his fantastic sense of humor that often refreshed our sensibilities.

          When I handed in my first light plot, a project that took me   more than five hours to do, he looked at it from different angles, closed one of his gray-blue eyes and said, “If you use this plot for your play, your actors will all look like they came from Mars.”

          During all the time I worked with him in his classes and when    we were preparing for production, I never saw him flustered over the  many problems that invariably came up.  Nor did he lose his temper

when we could not get to produce the exact effect he wanted. In one production, I was assigned together with Tom to a  follow spot to light action on the apron of the stage.  We had to be  on a one and a half yard square platform on one side of the main floor of the theatre.  During the technical rehearsal we suddenly

realized it was our cue to turn on the spot.  I reached for the switch to turn the spot on but with my thick glove, much too big for my hand, I pushed the spot and it went crashing to the floor in a hundred pieces.

          ‘DAMNATION’ came the thunderous voice of Fr. Hartke from the dark balcony.

          I wanted to die with shame and guilt. But from the middle of the orchestra section came the soothing

voice of Mr. Waring.  “That’s okay.  Those things do happen.Ten-minute break!  And let’s clean up.  And Tom, get another spot of   the same size from the stock room.”

          I was only a bit relieved.

      When rehearsals were over at the break of dawn, Mr. Waring gave me a pat on the shoulder saying, “Don’t feel too bad about it.   We learn from our mistakes.  Next time, get your own gloves.  Tom

didn’t know what size would fit your hands.” I do not normally allow my grief to show, so forgive me dear

readers, for emptying my sorrow upon your kind shoulders. 

          On happier occasions, Sarah wrote about the beautiful things in life that she observed, like changes in the seasons, baptisms and weddings. . . Sarah definitely loved weddings!

    *A Happy Union of Heart and Mind*

          The first Sunday of October came with the sun forcing its   golden rays through some thick mist and fog and the breeze was  colder than usual, as if to remind us that summer was definitely gone.

          For my daughter and me, it was a red-letter day for we were  set to go to the wedding of a popular career woman and socialite,  the petite and charming Carmen Jimenez Lagdameo, who happens to be a relative besides being a dear friend.

          Carmen was a former member of the Bayanihan Dance Troupe and  has contributed to the cultural scene by choreographing dance   sequences for various stage presentations.  She also showed herself to be an excellent actress in several shows of the Bahaghari Productions.  Carmen was the first Filipina to become President of  the George Washington University Hospital Women’s Board, and after

 serving for two years, she is now a director.

          The setting for this happy event, which, in the words of the bride-to-be was just ‘an intimate gathering of friends and relatives’ was the mansion of the groom in Brooksville, Maryland. Edward Larue Stull is an experienced high-tech businessman, developer and investor.  He is currently in his third term as  Chairman of the Open Distributed Processing that represents the US  internationally in hundreds of corporate standards.  He and Carmen  are both members of the Kennedy Center Circles Board.

          The trip from our place in Falls Church took more than an hour and during that time, I was thinking of a very simple ceremony,   perhaps in the living room of the house with about a dozen or more

friends to celebrate the occasion and wish them happiness.

          Great was my surprise to find it a unique and spectacular  event characterized by understated elegance.  It was held at a large  patio, set on a huge sloping garden behind the building, which was, on that day, converted into a veritable fairyland.

          Besides a handful of relatives, friends and colleagues, there were prominent persons from business, social and diplomatic circles  led by Ambassador Ernesto Maceda who was one of the sponsors.  The bride, magnificently radiant in a pearl-studded gown, came down on the arm of Edward Sison, Carmen’s only son by a previous  marriage.  Walking majestically, her lovely face exquisitely done in simple, natural make-up, she elicited ohs and ahs from her admiring guests.

          When the breezes started to become stronger and colder, some of the guests in fine barongs moved to the patio where it was a bit warmer.  But the weather did not dampen the festive spirit of the event.  The bride went through the traditional steps that are part of any wedding—throwing the bouquet, cutting the cake, the couple  drinking wine and the dance of the bride and groom sealed with a long, passionate kiss.

          It was indeed an occasion to remember and to Carmen and  Edward, I wish the greatest happiness of a lifetime.

             Sarah at one time wrote that miracles take place all the time although they are rarely recognized as miracles until much later. 

      *God’s Gift at a Dump Site*

          It was one of those moonless tropical nights when the only illumination in Manila was the flickering flashes from dozens of  neon lights on the rooftops of buildings advertising different  brands of cigarettes and cereals.

          Ignacio de la Cuesta, or Iggie as he was fondly called, drove  slowly through the deserted streets of downtown Manila trying to  avoid the various potholes that resulted from the recent storm.

          He had just come from a meeting of the Smiles Club, a civic  society of young professionals where he was just elected President. He was perfectly relaxed.  It was Friday and the alarm would not ring tomorrow.  He could wake up leisurely and enjoy breakfast with his wife.  Weekends were usually spent with family and he was planning to mow the lawn and clean the long driveway lined with  multi-colored perennials.

          His wife, Shoney—short for Asuncion—loved those days when Iggie didn’t have to hurry off to work.  With Iggie home, she would sit on the bench on one side of the path while their only daughter,

    Mariela, played with her dolls near the swings.  Iggie was really looking forward to the weekend and thinking about the quiet moments of marital bliss as he drove home lazily, one hand on the wheel.

          About six blocks from their home in Magallanes Village, he  heard a dull thud in the back of his car and surmised it must have come from the trunk.  Maybe his box of tools had fallen on its side  when he avoided a big pothole, or it could be the big bag of toys he was keeping there until Christmas so he could play Santa Claus to Mariela in the coming month.

          He stepped on his brakes and stopped the car, then got out to     see what had happened.

          His nostrils were suddenly assailed by the foul smell of garbage and saw the metal containers on the side of the street that  held the rotting trash of the whole neighborhood.  Then he  remembered that the garbage truck made the rounds at dawn on Saturdays. As he lifted the trunk door, his ear caught an unusual sound.

He stopped abruptly to listen again.   

           “It sounds like a baby crying,” he said to himself.  But then  he reasoned, “Who would be going around with a crying baby at this  time of night?”

          Seeing that everything was all right in the trunk, he was  about to shut it when he heard the sound again.

          “Now there’s no doubt about that.  There IS a baby crying!” he  said to himself.”

          He held his breath to listen again more carefully. Then he  took the large flashlight from the trunk and went to the big metal dumpster where he thought the cry was coming from.  He got his  handkerchief from his pocket and tied it over his nose to lessen the offensive smell and turned his light on.  His heart stopped when he   saw what was in front of him.

          “My God!” he exclaimed.

          On top of one of the large trashcans was a bundle of gray cloth out of which showed the tiny pinkish leg of a newborn baby. Iggie reached out to pick up the bundle.  At   the baby’s side was a half-empty bottle of milk.  He put the flashlight down and  grabbed the bundle.  It WAS a newborn baby!  Its umbilical cord had

    been cut and its belly button carefully bandaged.  It was crying  with all the strength of its young lungs.  Iggie gave it the bottle and the crying stopped.  On further inspection, he found that it was

    a boy.

          “Dear God, it’s a boy!” he exclaimed to himself.  Pinned to the diaper, he found a note:  ‘To whoever may find my baby. Please love this baby of an unfortunate woman.  May God bless you.’  Nothing more.

          Cradling the baby in one arm, Iggie drove home in a daze.   At  home, he gave Shoney the bundle.  She was beside herself with joy.  It was what she had been hoping for.   “This is a gift from Heaven!” she exclaimed as she took the  bundle from her husband.  For months now, Shoney had been wanting to  get pregnant and in her prayers she asked to “. . .please make it a  boy, Lord.”  But her doctor had told her that after she had the

    tumor in her womb removed, it would probably take another two to  three years before she could conceive, if at all.

          As Shoney took the baby upstairs to clean him, Iggie kept thinking,  “My God! How unfortunate this mother must be that she would be so desperate to give up such a beautiful creature.”  He decided to call his lawyer in the morning to apply for legal adoption of the child.

          Shoney came down to the kitchen, feeling happier than she had     been for some time.

          “He’s so beautiful and healthy, Iggie,” she chirped.  “Where is he?  Where did you put him?  He asked really  concerned.

          “He’s sleeping peacefully in Mariela’s bed.  She’s spending  the night with her grandmother.”

          “What a surprise she’ll get tomorrow when we tell her she has a little brother.”  Then he quickly added, “We should fix that  little den of mine close to our room for his nursery.”

          “You mean we can have him for good?  I mean really our own?

          “Well, we’ll try.  I’m calling Manny tomorrow and we’ll do  whatever it takes to make him ours,” Iggie replied.

          “We have to get him a name,” Shoney said.

          “Was there any suggestion in the bundle I gave you?” Iggie asked.  “Other than the note, nothing.”

          “Let me think about it, Iggie said. “Why don’t we name him after your father,” Shoney suggested.

          “No, that wouldn’t be right.  He’s not really his blood descendant.”

          “Well, don’t you think you should have a name ready before you call Manny?”  Shoney went to see to the baby’s needs.  Iggie woke up earlier than usual the next morning and went directly to see the sweet little bundle he had brought home the night before.  He wanted to make sure it was not just a dream.  He was surprised to find Shoney already fussing over the baby.

          “Good morning, Dad,” she teased.  “Do you already have a name  for me?”

          “Indeed I have,” answered Iggie.  I found him after a meeting of the Smiles Club where I was elected president.  So, let’s call  him Ishmael.  It sounds somewhat like ‘smile’ and he and I will have

    the same initials.

          “Wonderful,” Shoney agreed and she picked him up and greeted   him.  “Welcome to your loving family, Ishmael.  You will meet your sister later today. After the legal adoption was approved, Ishmael became the

    fourth member of the de la Cuesta family. As Shoney had feared, her doctor told her there was no chance

    of having another baby but she was not too disappointed.  She and  Iggie already had two beautiful children and while both of them were   heaven sent, one was a miracle.  After all, had she not asked the

    Lord to give her a boy?           


             Ishmael grew up in the loving atmosphere of an upper middle  class family where he and his big sister had everything they could ask for without being spoiled.  Mariela went to Maryknoll University   and Ishmael finished high school at the top of his class at the

    Ateneo de Manila.  Iggie was not unhappy that Ishmael did not follow

    in his footsteps to become an engineer.  Ishmael’s strengths were in

    Business Management and he graduated summa cum laude at the

    University of the Philippines.  Then he went to Harvard University

    for his MBA.

          While Ishmael was a senior at the UP, Mariela got married to a

    very successful lawyer whom she met while she was teaching at

    Maryknoll.  With the two children gone, Iggie and Shoney suddenly

    found their big house in Magallanes Village rather empty.

          During his second year at Harvard, Ishmael fell in love with

    Tricia Williams, a classmate, and the two were married in a very

    quiet ceremony with only the parents of the bride and bridegroom and

    the best man and maid of honor present.  At the end of that year,

    Ishmael finished his MBA course with flying colors.

          Not too long after, Ishmael and Tricia suggested that Iggie

    sell his business and house in Manila and retire in the US where

    they could be closer to one another.  So Iggie and Shoney bought a

    cozy townhouse near Ishmael’s Swiss chalet in a nice community in

    Fairfax,  Virginia.

          Shoney was happy decorating their new home and Iggie was more

    than pleased to begin working on a part-time job that a former

    classmate was able to get him.  In addition, there was the happy

    news that Tricia was expecting a baby!  That was joyous news to the

    prospective grandparents and Shoney looked forward to holding a baby

    once more in her arms.  It had been twenty-eight years since Iggie

    brought home the bundle that Heaven sent.

          Their happiness was short-lived, however.  A few weeks after

    their grandson was born, Iggie was diagnosed with a kidney disease.

    He was in an out of hospitals but the final recommendation was for a

    kidney transplant.  The worst news was that there were hundreds on

    the waiting list and even if one were found, there was no certainty

    that it would not be rejected.

          Shoney was understandably worried.  Their retirement money was

    fast dwindling, and the waiting might be longer than Iggie’s bad

    kidney could stand.  Mariela and Ishmael told their parents not to

    worry and pledged that they would take care of whatever was needed

    to help Iggie recover.  As to the new kidney, they could only hope

    and pray that it would not take too long.

          Ishmael could not bear to see his father agonizing every time

    he was taken to the hospital for dialysis.  He conferred with

    Iggie’s doctor one morning and offered to give one of his kidneys if

    they found it to be compatible.  But, he told the doctor

    emphatically, he did not want his parents to know that the kidney

    came from him.  Only Tricia was aware of the sacrifice her husband

    was willing to make.

          As Fate would have it, Ishmael was found to be a compatible

    donor.  And one Saturday morning, Iggie and Shoney got the happy

    news that a kidney had been found and that they were ready to make

    the transfer the following Monday.  At the same time Tricia made it

    known that Ishmael would be gone for a week because he had to go out

    of town on business.

          And so, all ended well.  Iggie lived twelve more happy years,

    never knowing that he had in him, one of the kidneys of Gods’ gift

    that he found near a dumpster.

          God truly acts in mysterious ways.  We have but to submit and

    do as He has taught us.  When we listen, He sends us miracles.

          (/This is a true story that happened some 40 years ago.  The

    names and some circumstances have been fictionalized to protect the

    privacy of the families concerned.  SKJ) /

          / /

18.      There were times when Sarah would visit the Philippines to attend

special occasions.  One such time happened to be when her good friend

and colleague of many years, Father James B. Reuter, S. J., was going to

celebrate his 75^th birthday.  Sarah held Father Reuter in very high

regard.  Not only was he a friend, he was someone Sarah could find

spiritual guidance from during those times in the past when she was

going through her own personal crises.  She wrote up Father Reuter’s

birthday celebration in her column. 

          *The Good Life*

          Last Sunday, I went to St. Paul’s, at Quezon City to join in

    the celebrations for Father James B. Reuter’s 75^th birthday.  He

    said Mass at 5 p.m. and after that we were brought to the new

    theater named after him.  Then, there was a simple dinner, followed

    by some entertainment.

          Since the Jesuit priest who has lived in this country for more

    than 50 years (or is it 60 years) worked with so many in the theater

    and the Ateneo Glee Club, most of these people were there—greyer

    perhaps, paunchier, but also, in some cases, slimmer.  All were

    there to show Father Reuter, or “Kamote” as he is sometimes fondly

    called, how much they cared for him and how much they appreciated

    the work he has done for the arts in this country.

          I sat beside Maribel Ongpin and Lally Trinidad during the

    dinner-cum-entertainment and we marveled at how many people had been

    his students, or his actors and/or singers.  I myself learned to

    love theater because of him.  As tribute upon tribute was heaped on

    Fr. Reuter that night, I wondered why some people preferred, for

    example, to go into politics when they could have lived a fruitful,

    productive life in the service of fellowmen with no enemies to show

    for the years, no bad blood with others to be sorry for.

          Fr. Reuter has lived and continues to live a holy life, not

    goody-goody holy, but productive holy, inspirational holy.

    Everybody knows Fr. Reuter and he knows everybody.  People know him

    for his integrity, his honesty, his commitment to work, and his

    goodness.  How he hugged his many friends that night and how he

    enjoyed seeing them all and how happy he was to see them!

          The chapel was filled with his friends, the gym was full of

    friendship, love, fellowship and good cheer.  Fr. Reuter is a very

    wise man.  He chose the quiet, peaceful, productive, full-of-service

    life.

          What more could any man want? 

    

19.      Women all over the world are usually self-conscious about the way

they look especially when the lines begin to appear.  Sarah was aware of

this, especially since make-up is an integral part of stage appearance.

In one of her articles, she played up the master artist who was

responsible for transforming the appearance of the actors and actresses.

          *A Fountain of Beauty*

            As I entered the ladies’ lounge of a big, department store

      one day, I found four of my friends excitedly discussing the

      problem of looking younger than one’s age.  As soon as they saw

      me, they came with questions.

            “You look much younger than your age.  Now tell us what

      product you use—Clinique, Estee Lauder, Lancome, or what?”

            “It is not the brand of cosmetics and lotions that make a

      person look young.  It is knowing how to use them, how to choose

      the right shade of foundation and how to apply it correctly on

      your face. And, I’m in a hurry,” I said as I rushed to the ladies

      room.

            When I came out, they cornered me again.

            “Can you give us a sort of workshop, something like you give

      your actors?  At least you can show us how to choose the correct

      shade and how to apply it as you said.”

            “My goodness!” I exclaimed in astonishment.  “I’m not an

      authority!.  Just go to any of the counters and the sales ladies

      will tell you how to make up according to the color and texture of

      your skin.”

            “But listen,” chirped Susan, the most outgoing of the group,

      “you directed * Ang Kiri *didn’t you?”

            “Yes, so. . .what about it?” I asked

            “Well, your leading lady there was past middle age, you must

      admit!”

            “Yes, she was.  But she delivered her arias very well,

      didn’t she?  And she acted her part very convincingly, don’t you

      agree?”

            “Oh, we’re not talking about her voice or her acting.  What

      surprised us was how radiant she looked. . .like a young woman in

      full bloom in her twenties.”

            “Especially in the second act,” added Polly.  “She looked

      like a young debutante playing golf with her admirers.”

            “And even in the last play you directed which you weren’t

      able to attend because you were sick. . .the leading lady there

      looked so beautiful on stage.  We know her and her eyes are small

      and her hair is short.  But in the play, she looked like a real

      Filipino mother.  Were you the one who directed her make-up and

      hair style?”

            “Oh, my heavens, no.  I did not do that.  It was our hair

      and make up artist.  Many who have seen the shows have remarked

      about that to me.  He’s really an artist and I do not present any

      play unless I am sure I can have him to do the job.”

            “It’s a he!” they chorused.  “And does he give private

      coaching on his art?

            “Yes, it’s a he! And he does not give workshops.”

            “Then, who is he and where is he.  He seems very interesting.

            “Since you and many others have asked me about my actors’

      make-up, I guess I will write about him to avoid answering

      questions separately.”

     20.       His name is Sabino but he is more popularly known as Lino

      Reyes.  Born in Manila, he comes from a venerable line of

      illustrious ancestors who boast of scholars and congressmen.  He

      grew up in the traditionally strict and correct atmosphere of an

      upper class family of those times.

            He came to this country in 1970 and worked at Bell Atlantic

      Co. for many years but he saw that working at a desk from nine to

      five was not really his style.   His strong love for his art

      nagged him to pursue studies so during his off hours, he studied

      at the Potomac Academy of Hair design.

            His first thrilling venture to the realm of feminine beauty

      was when he was asked to direct and produce “Fashion Glimpses at

      the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Crystal City, Virginia.  That was the

      start of a string of similar events where Lino was to give his

      beautifying touch to the feminine participants.  For his first

      steps to popularity and fame, he was given a Congressional award

      and recommendation for promoting the fine culture of the Philippines.

            This warm acceptance by the Filipino-American community of

      his work as a ’beauty wizard’ did not go to his head.  Instead he

      used every chance to be of service in many civic and social

      affairs in the area.  In 1994 and 1995, he was unanimously chosen

      to chair the committee that would choose the Festival Queen for

      the Philippine Independence Day Parade.

            In 1998, he was appointed official make-up artist and hair

      stylist of the Pageants for Miss Philippines, Mrs. Philippines,

      Miss Teen-age Philippines and Mutya Ng Pilipinas.  He also sat as

      a member of the board of judges that would choose the Washington

      DC representative to the Miss U.S.A. contest in 1998.

            At present, his little home salon is perpetually full of

      admirers of both sexes and all ages seeking to get a touch from

      him whom they call the ‘fountain of beauty.’ 

      

 21.      Sarah’s  love for writing dated back to her school days and even

when she was no longer as active as she would have wanted to be because

her bones could no longer keep up with her mind, Sarah continued to

write.  She was computer savvy and spent a lot of time at it.  In the

late 90s, she enrolled in a fiction writing course and in the year 2000,

she started on her autobiography.  She was, by then, 92 years old.  “My

legs may be tired,” she would say, “but my mind remains alert. I might

as well use it.  So as long as my memory has not failed me, I shall

write my story.”

      She remained active as the following entries in her journal show.

Her entries show some of the things she did and enjoyed.

      April 1, 1997.  . . . .This is no April Fool!  Instead of the

      bright sun and the soothing breeze of spring, or a light cooling

      shower of April, we have very strong winds. . .winds have brought

      down trees and blown roofs off some houses.  Here it is very much

      milder though the temperature has suddenly plummeted from the

      springy 65 to 40 and in some places 30s.

      And that’s the reason I cancelled my appointment with Dr. Poblete.

      . .  I’ve had a bad feeling since last week.  And all because of

      my abusing my “wellness” beginning with the birthday celebration

      of Myn Valentin-Almusa. . . .It was a very well planned party.

      Oscar, Emy and Julius furnished the continuous dance music. . .I

      danced—really danced—though very slowly so as not to tire my heart

      but just to limber up my legs.  We stayed until 2 a.m. and it took

      me two hours later to be cozily in bed.

      The next day, instead of making up for the sleep I lost, Baby and

      I went to Tyson’s Corner Mall as there was a big sale that day.  I

      walked the whole length of the mall and back and by the time we

      got to the parking lot, I was having chest pains and shortness of

      breath.  Baby wanted to take me to Fairfax Hospital but I said I

      would be all right as soon as I could rest at home.  And I was

      okay the next morning.  After lunch the next day, Monday, we went

      to the Corners again because Jo-Ann’s Fabrics had a big sale and

      the lamp on the stand that I found too expensive two weeks ago was

      only 50% of the original price.  So I bought it for $11.00

      April 3.  I woke up early—about 6:30 a.m. but didn’t get out of

      bed until 8:15.  I ate one half of a grapefruit and had my regular

      oatmeal and coffee.  Then I went out and walked a little bit.

      It is a glorious sunny day with a soft cool breeze that makes

      walking a pleasant exercise.  I notice that our neighbors across

      the street already have some flowers in their garden.  The newly

      planted dogwood tree last spring has white blossoms on its

      branches.  The yellow crocuses are in full bloom in their

      driveway.   Our plants are just budding.  Greg, the hired man,

      planted them just last week.  But our forsythia greets our guests

      with its yellow blossoms and the lilies will be opening soon.  I

      am sure that with three or four more days of sunshine, our porch

      and driveway will be filled with color!

      22. April 7.  It is Oscar’s birthday and we are going to have a party

      here tonight.  I was supposed to cook Arroz a la Valenciana, but

      because we got a big bowl of kare-kare from the Philippine

      Oriental Market, I just cooked chicken and pork adobo. . . .

      After eating, we had some excellent line dancing. . .from

      Arkingking-king, Todo-todo-and Macarena to tango, chacha, boogie

      and, name it we danced it.  The party lasted until 11:30 p.m.

      April 9.  . . .So far I am enjoying my home-study program.  Before

      this, I wrote in my own style developed since my UP days and

      bearing the influence of my having read so many Spanish books.

      Now I am learning the mechanics of fiction writing.  I am

      realizing that it takes so much preparation to write good

      fiction.  This afternoon, Romy is coming for his Spanish lessons.

      He is progressing quite fast though he has no time to do much

      homework and practice and this is essential in mastering a language.

      April 10, 10:30 a.m.  I had to go in and be checked by Dr.

      Poblete.  I am dismayed to find out that I have gained weight.

      Dr. Poblete told me in no uncertain terms that I should shed at

      least 5 pounds in the next two weeks or he would not be

      responsible for what may happen to me.   So I’ve made up my mind

      to try very hard to lose at least a half of that.

      April 11  Tonight we are going to Oscar’s house as a continuation

      of his birthday celebration.  After dessert and fruit, we started

      to dance.  I danced some waltzes with Oscar.  We stayed until

      11:45 p.m.  

      Sarah’s journal shows that her age never slowed her down.  She

went to parties and danced, she cooked, she taught, she shopped for

things she liked, she read. . .and she wrote.  She was given many

talents and she used and shared them with others all the way to the end.

That too is a legacy Sarah Kabigting Joaquin has left. 

  

23.                                                       Medialogue

       It was in November, 1999 that Mama asked me to be her escort on the evening that she was to receive an award from the Filipino Community in Washington, D. C. for all she had done for Culture and the Arts.  So I flew in from San Francisco to do her that honor.  Since she joined my sister’s family in the U.S. in 1976, she was active in the community life of Filipinos in the D C. area, writing and staging plays and in so doing, subtly reminding and instilling in them who had become residents and citizens of their adopted country, the richness of their heritage as Filipinos.

        A few months before that, Mama had announced her wish to retire. “It is time now for me to step down and let you young ones take over,” she had said.  “One should know when the lights are shut down and the stage is in darkness, that the show is over.”   But the Filipino community found it hard to let her go.   It was not just the productions she initiated and managed, the shows she produced, the plays she put on. She had become so many things to many people. To everyone who knew her, she was either Mama Sarah, or Lola Sarah, someone who had become family.   She was always ready to listen, to give encouragement and support for those who did not have enough confidence, and advice to those who asked for it.  She would even tell the fortunes of those who came to her for some assurance, some certainty about their future for living in an unfamiliar environment, different from the one that was so familiar and that they had left behind.  Such changes and decisions often brought on worrisome doubts and insecurities.  

      Many times, hers was a hand to hold when one was homesick or troubled.  When one was out of sorts, she was someone to laugh and share a joke with, a friend who never understood why age should make a difference between people.  She had become an icon to the Filipinos in D.C and now they wanted to show their appreciation and love for her.  

      When I walked her down the steps leading to the stage at the Convention Hall to receive her award, I felt the glow of pride but there also was a nagging feeling that something was not right.  The hand, holding on to the crook of my arm was a bit shaky.  I brushed this off as nervousness, but then this was not like her.  One of the things I always remembered about Mama was her firm grip. As I took her hand to guide her, I noticed that her hold was weak, her walk shaky.  And I began to wonder. . .  

      Soon after, my suspicions were confirmed when I learned that Mama had been having regular checkups with Dr. Pio Poblete, her primary health physician.  There were also times when she would stay in the hospital near her home for two or three days “just for observation” as she always claimed.  Mama, by then was in her 90s and while my siblings and I prayed for her continued health, and thanked the Lord for giving her this much time to live her life fully and enjoy her loved ones, my siblings and I also sensed that with her retirement, perhaps she had some insights which she preferred to keep to herself

 24.         On January 19, shortly after her 92^nd birthday, the telephone rang at our Daly City apartment.  It was from my sister, Josefina.  Chita, my wife, and I, lost no time in catching a plane to D.C.  My siblings, Nenita, Josefina, Joey and I braced ourselves for the inevitable.  As soon as we arrived, we immediately went to the hospital.  Mama, seeing me, looked very happy when I kissed her on the cheek.  Dr. Poblete stood by, close to the door.  After the greetings, he signaled me to follow him so I joined him in the corridor.

      “What is the prognosis, Doctor?” I asked, noticing how serious he looked.  I had a foreboding feeling. 

      “Tony,” he said kindly, his hand on my left shoulder—a truly Filipino non-verbal message.  Dr. Poblete had attended to Mama for over 10 y ears during her stay in the U.S.  He knew her condition well. This time, his prognosis was not good.  “Your mother’s vital organs are failing.  But she is a strong woman.  She has no disease to worry about at all except that her kidneys and liver are beginning to shut down.  I shall keep her here. . .” His voice trailed off.  I thought of Mama as a precious, valuable timepiece, one who kept true to pace and time until the well-oiled mechanisms inside began to run dry forcing it to slow down and stop.  

      I knew then what Dr. Poblete was trying to tell me and I nodded to show my complete understanding. 

      So we, her children and grandchildren, and a few friends, waited and prayed.  I thought of checking with my sisters how far Mama had gotten with her autobiography.  I knew she was still writing it because she would randomly send me chapters as she completed them. 

      On January 30, 2002, Balthasara Kabigting Joaquin passed away quietly.  She was just 94 years old.  She was still in the middle of writing the story of her life which she had begun two years before.  What you have read in the preceding chapters is as far as she got, an autobiography that was never completed. 

      Somehow, it would not be right to stop the story of Sarah Joaquin right here.  Her story would not be complete if it did not also include the things she did after she left the Philippines.  Her life in Virginia may not have been as rich or spectacular as her previous years, but it shows how she never stopped doing the things she felt were important in life.  Through letters from people who loved her, people whom she touched and loved and laughed with, her journals, and snippets of conversation gathered from friends and contributors, we have tried to put together a more complete picture of Balthasara Kabigting Joaquin.   

      Mama Sarah never did things half way as her story has shown.  The rest of this book is our attempt to complete that part of her life that she never got to do herself.    

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