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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781463421380 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 07/08/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 607 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Peregrination
AdeleBy Esther Ting Medici
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Esther Ting MediciAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-2140-3
Chapter One
Life in Victorias Milling Company
Memories spawn more memories, and recalling those early days with my grandparents pulls me further back to the time when there was a narrowing possibility of what I would become. My earliest recollection of my Lolo was of a broad-framed, cold-faced, tan, tall man with gray hair. He collected chewing candy in a corner of the house, knowing that his doctor advised him to limit his sugar intake. He had mild symptoms of diabetes. He spoke softly in a low tone, but he was distinct and brief in his conversation. He never said a thing to discourage me from dreaming to making it; all he said was, "Find your dream; even if it hurts you, you will overcome obstacles and gain experience, which is better than staying idle in this place." He was the father of ten children, and they grew up at the VMC compound. He also had a swarm of grandchildren, who became members of devoted workers for the Ossorio family.
On my reflections, I often think on the lives of my Lolo Sev; my father, Santiago; and my uncle, Badong. I have memories of loyalty, honor, and respect, as well as their undying service to Don Miguel Ossorio; his wife, Pacing Yangco; and their offspring. Don Luis Ossorio, Don Alfonso Ossorio, and Clyde were part of life on the island. My family's service to the Ossorios was of great importance in the history of my life. My family became trusted as majordomos, and Lolo's five offspring, all boys, worked for the Ossorio family; and the girls stayed home and minded the little stores.
In early 1919 Don Miguel founded Victorias Milling Company. I called Don Miguel the sugar baron. It became the earliest modern refining mill in the world, something in which we took pride, being "Vicmicans," the Victorias Milling Company families living in a sitio, or a compound, with a mini-American lifestyle. Don Miguel was very emotional about his love for the people, and his lifestyle spread to the community. One can appreciate his eternal giving, his gratefulness for the people's undying support, and his unconditional love for his mission.
At the age of thirty-five, Lolo Severino started working for Don Miguel. The young American Ossorio was thirty, tall, and good looking, full of love for the natives whom he considered his people. As you can imagine, growing up as a child was so incredible, but it was amazing to observe a person with blue eyes and light skin compared to Filipinos. It inspired me, and I hoped to perceive other people from different parts of the world, with their unique physical attributes.
Lolo Sev said that Don Miguel was a very spontaneous business entrepreneur, always thinking of the children first, of how he could create a foundation and leave his legacy. He always felt that Christmas belonged to the children of Vicmicans. He adored them and showered them with Christmas gifts—a basket of grapes, apples, and tangerines; oodles of candies; colorful flower dresses for girls; boys checkered country prints of different sizes for boys. We received our gifts at midnight of the twenty-fourth, and when we woke in the morning, we had personal presents from Santa Claus. This event has been going on until 1967.The kids wear their presents; boys and girls gather in the neighborhoods and show off their precious gifts. In each basket, the items were all sorts of different surprises. As kids we enjoyed showing off and bragging to everyone that was willing to listen. Our parents got big bonuses, and then they went to Bacolod City for shopping until they spent all their money. It was such a beautiful feeling of contentment! Everyone was happy to work for the family, and it was such an eventful life for all of us. Don Miguel envisioned a complete community of workers and their families, where everything they needed was provided.
In 1903 through 1930, the Island of Negros was under American occupation with the rest of the Philippines. The sugar mill was established then. Why in Negros? Spaniards had migrated to this island with the encouragement of Don Miguel. He hired a few of his loyal friends in business from abroad—Americans, Spaniards, and Cubans—to manage the mill.
In 1936, the civil war broke out; a slew of Japan nationals arrived on the island pretending to be tourists in the sitio. They applied for jobs in the compound, and the townspeople did not know that the strangers' intentions were rigorously spying to capture the island. Many Japanese pretended to push a buggy cart, selling ice cream to the kids and neighbors, receiving information from children and adults in exchange for "liché con yielo." Because the Japanese lived in the area, they pretended to mix with the natives until the Japanese Imperial Guard landed in the town on May 21, 1942. They captured Central Victorias with the thoughts of industrializing the islands of the Philippines, because the land was very rich in natural resources, and the people were kind and happy. Filipinos are very naïve and innocent; good deeds and hospitality comes first. Then and now, Japan suffered a great deal of space issues, desiring expansion and industrialization. In their minds they were driven to succeed, to capitalize on and confiscate other countries' wealth and resources in order to utilize it for their own needs and purpose. Japan was a small country with limited agriculture resources and raw products. The Japanese had thoughts of creating chaos from within to capture the greatest islands of the Philippines. The Japanese Imperial Guards' behavior was very shrewd, obscure, and unacceptable. America will always be there to preserve our freedom and protect these fertilized and rich islands of the Pacific.
To Filipinos, America is our mother country, and Spain is our grandmother country. My father hunted those many vicious years of the civil war; the fighting was so rampant, and the Japanese Imperial Guard was so violent. My grandma's sister was raped and killed by soldiers, who also cut her breast with a bayonet. The killing was torturous, cowardly, and barbaric. The constant waves of raiding people's homes, just to get supplies of food, were unacceptable. The wives were so scared and exhausted from running and hiding. The husbands were angry about what was going on, yet they had no choice but to stay away, hiding from the enemy. Few Filipinas enjoyed the bliss of serving Japan's army for continued existence. The US military, civilians, and military leaders refused to surrender to the Japanese; instead they organized a free government, the guerrilla movement that became so strong and helped bring about the surrender of the Japanese forces in 1945.
During wartime, Ossorio and his family left for Europe and New York, trusting Lolo Sev to care for his treasures and priceless rubber tires during the Japanese occupation. It was a point of pride to us that Don Miguel had such confidence in our family. There is an account of how grandfather buried the gold treasure behind the old church; he did not want anyone to know the exact whereabouts of these assets, risking his very life if the Japanese ever discovered his part in hiding the treasure.
It wouldn't do any good for the valuables to stay visible; it was best that Don Miguel gave instructions to Uncle Badong and my father, Santiago, under the direction of Lolo Sev, to bury his assets underground—all the tires, monies, certificates, gold, and silver. It was the only way to secure the future of the company.
The news of Japanese defeat was becoming rampant, and the employees started to panic as they continued to excavate even more; they felt so haggard, thirsty, and tired, but they were so uncompromisingly focused to build the trenches, and they followed through. The structure was soundly laden with solid steel and concrete; one couldn't break through this vault because every raw material that the company purchased was made by and came from America. They masked it under the grove of mango trees, which were once part of the milling site, now the Angry Christ St Joseph Church.
The intense excavations were done at night; workers were appointed in secrecy to carry over their tasks as it see fit. No outsiders knew about the construction; the instructions and distribution of the labors were classified. The laborers' support was intrigued by the of bombings at the vicinity, digging faster was merely emphasized, with a focus to hide the treasures. As they worked, they also fled to the mountains, where they met up to advance their strategies of persevering and combating the Japanese. They left behind their wives and children. Lolo Sev stayed around the area to protect the dwelling. The hostility at the mill continued, especially the residence of Don Miguel. The incessant sound of bayonets hitting men, the victims crying in pain, continued to depress the townspeople. The profound artillery from the Americans fought against the Japanese planes; many American and Filipino lives were spared, though many had died as well.
While growing up at the back of Ossorio's house, Virginia and I had this habit of passing through the groves of guava trees; we'd climb up to gather all the ripe fruits. During the war, as we headed down, we noticed human bones—knees still in the bent position, half exposed from the dirt. We ran scared, dropping all the guavas that we had collected. We felt sadness and -love for the soldiers, wondering what it was like to experience the sufferings of those heroes fighting for us and their family.
Uncle Badong stayed close by but had to hide from the continued Japanese scouting in the vicinity. After all, this was his foremost responsibility. Uncle Badong had a round face; was of medium build but stout; and had the eyes of an eagle, though they were crossed. One could never know what he was thinking and in which direction he was looking. He was timid and quiet, but his heart's focus was on his family. He never shared his business journey with anyone in his family. He was a devout Christian with strict rules; even his sisters were fearful of him. I was not afraid of him because I moved in and out of his surroundings quickly, unless I desperately needed something.
During the war, my father was very scared, but he had to fight to protect the milling company from the hands of the Japanese. My grandpa's father was shipped to Australia from Portugal. my grandpa later swam to the Philippines through homemade canoes, settled in Sorsogon, and met my grandma and got married; they had six children. Some of the kids grew up in Manila, and my father explored Victorias to seek his good future. He met my mother at the tender age of thirteen and offered her parents a dowry, because that was how courtship worked then. My mother, who was also thirteen, originally refused to marry him because she had a boyfriend already. However, her boyfriend was thirty-two years old and attending school in Manila to finish a degree in electrical engineering. Eventually she got married to my father and had nine children. I am the fourth oldest child.
Ossorio did not have any worries about what would become of his assets. He knew family would not expose or squander anything that did not belong to them. Uncle Badong worked as a facilitator for the transportation department. He was a man of many errands, never staying idle. My dad worked as a foreman at the refinery department, and he was very affluent in dealing with people's trust. He loved to drink Tanduay, a drink extracted from coconut tree blossoms and fermented for few days, with a group of his amigos that he worked with in the mill; they bonded together in the spirit of war.
As the fighting continued, my father was caught by the Japanese. He uttered a few Japanese words, and they were convinced that he was telling the truth about working for them; they gave him his freedom in exchange for secrets of the movements of certain people. When he was released, he notified his comrades that the Japanese wanted him to report to them. The guerilla movement was cooperating to send my father back to the Japanese garrison, but he needed backup in case he would be shorthanded. In my father's psyche, amalgamating with the Japanese army with the idea of spying on them to get the updates of the Filipino activities—as well as their strategy of attacks—complicated his normal operation. The Japanese were not familiar with different dialects, so they needed people like my father to translate for them. He took what he learned and relayed the messages to Filipinos and to the American armies in particular. He was confident that his allies were present, fighting hand in hand with the people, but he was also scared. His shame of assignments was not appeasing to his principle of humbleness.
My father Santiago loved to joke as well as drink. But in the presence of the Japanese army, he was a different man; he learned Japanese and spoke fluent castellan Spanish and Tagalog. The more time he spent with them, the more the Japanese developed trust in him because he managed to learn more and speak their language. He learned to understand how they stockpiled the stolen treasures. The materials were to be transported by means of ferry coming from Daan Banwa, through Malihao River. They made monumental sites, developed maps of the location, and continued with the planning. In my father's presence, they shared their strategy of how the vault was to be buried. According to the Japanese, these treasures were stolen from other countries at the height of the war. At that time, the Japanese had the upper hand; they were very strong fighters and meant business.
In the Japanese minds, they were going to win this war because they were well-equipped and well-trained warriors. They had a strong post in Europe with their allies of Germans and Italians.
The Japanese thought they would win, but my dad noticed that they started panicking to move the items, keeping them in different areas around Negros Island. The reasoning was that they could leave the stolen items in the country for future use. This would mean a good fortune to utilize for future expansion, and to rebuild their industrialized country.
My father became a good digger in the eyes of others; he convinced the Imperial Army to bury the container because he had assured them that the site was safe. As they built the aired tunnels, a Japanese battleship was preparing to enter the Guimaraes Strait, unloading the cargo to the motorized barge leading along the Negros shoreline.
The barge moved toward the mouth of the Malihao River and proceeded upstream until it reached its destination. Where the barge landed, there were civilians and Japanese soldiers waiting to unload. It took a full night to move the cargo into the tunnel.
During the waiting time, my father signaled his comrades to prepare an escape away from the tunnel through the foxhole that was shoring on the other side of the mount, a fifty feet distance. The Japanese were not aware of the other openings because the tunnels were dug at nights.
My father had also prepared an exit strategy for the other civilians hiding away; he was waiting for the signal to throw the Molotov cocktail when the Japanese were done and concealed the stolen goods. My father knew the Japanese plans, and he was afraid that all the civilians that were helping—including him—would be killed and buried in the tunnel.
The Japanese Army roll-called everyone, signaling with a bayonet for the workers to enter the tunnel. The civilians were scared but followed the order. As the last person was called in, my father signaled him to follow the rest up the escape tunnel. The soldiers immediately closed the tunnel and released the gas to suffocate the civilians, but the civilians ran out the other exit.
As the Japanese left the area, passing through the Malihao River, my father and his civilian team followed the route by crawling until the signal was heard to throw the homemade bomb at the battalion; forty of the Japanese soldiers died, and what was left continued with the scrimmage until they were dead. My father's skull was sliced by the tip of a bayonet, exposing his bone and separating his scalp like a wig, but he just pressed it back and wrapped it with his shirt until he escaped to the guerilla camp for treatment.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Peregrination by Esther Ting Medici Copyright © 2011 by Esther Ting Medici. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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