Returning to Vigan

Six months ago, I joined a group in facebook called Binondo Heritage Group. It is composed of Tsinoys like myself, many of which were born and raised in the Philippines. It was a very happy time in my life because I have been in America for the last 25 years. In most days, I speak English with my patients at work, then Mandarin with my wife at home. Tagalog and Fujian were not used at all. I now realize that it is not just not being able to speak Tagalog but also not being able to feel my homeland.

In the past six month, through discussions about our ancestry and family history, it ignited my desire to know my own family more. My grandfather left Fujian, China in 1908 at the age of ten. He settled in Vigan, Ilocos Sur. My father was born in Vigan. My last visit to Vigan was forty years ago. At that time, I did not know that one day I would want to be back and learn more about the place.

When I decide to visit Manila this year, I asked my brother and sister to arrangement a trip to Vigan. My father is now eighty-two years old, I would like to bring him back to his birthplace one more time. I would like to see my grandfather’s old house one more time. I would like to make the connection with my grandfather one more time. My grandfather died three years before I was born.

Day 1, March 6, 2016, Sunday

<Incense>

That is the only way

that we communicate

Every time I go home

Every time I am about to leave

Dad said

Pa, Benna has come home

As if we instantly invited you back

As if you touched my head and said

My grandson, my good grandson!

And when I am about to leave

Dad said

Please protect Benna

I leave

As if carrying an amulet

Like the day you left for

South Pacific

Brave

Marching forward

That Sunday morning, after lighting up four incense, I stood in front of Angkong and Ahma.

"Angkong, we are leaving for Vigan, please bless our trip. I want to write your story. Please show me where to get information. Thank you!" I silently said my prayer, took four bows, put the incense in place.

A quick breakfast in McDonalds gave us the needed caffeine and calories to start our twelve-hour adventure into northern Luzon. For me, it has been more than thirty years since I last ventured into the provinces north of Manila. Everything is new to me. New expressways are equal and close to American freeways. We got to Urdaneta, Pangasinan in about two hours.

My father used to travel those cities when he was doing sales. My brother Milo said that twenty years ago, they went to Ilocos without a map, just with my father's memory bank. My father was sitting at the passenger seat in front. I noticed that he loves to be a the "front seat" driver.

"It is open now, pass that tricycle!" He would say out loud with his finger pointing too.

When we got to Rosario, La Union, there was a sign pointing to the right that says: Baguio. I was navigating with the app Waze. It showed left. Shortly after we passed that sign, he yelled, "Wrong! Do not use this route. Go back! There is a short cut there!"

Well, should we trust a smartphone app or someone who traveled this area frequently for years? One solution was to stop and ask. We stopped twice. Both tricycle drivers said we are on the right highway.

Just to verify, I checked the bigger map. My father was right. If we were to go right towards Baguio, we can go through Pugo and still get to Agoo. Based on the map, it is not a shorter distance. After twenty years, the roads are different. The left route later turned out to be okay.

Another test of my father's memory came when we got to San Fernando, La Union. When we reached a park, he said, "Turn right here. We can check out the Chan-Cu Association building."

The day was still early. My brother made the turn, curious to see if he was right. Two blocks away, we saw the two story building on the left street corner. Viola! PHILIPPINE CHAN CU ASSOCIATION OF NORTHERN LUZON.

After ten hours, we reached the city of Vigan. I recognized the place just because I have been doing my research. I have many questions. Did my grandfather go to Vigan directly? Did he stop by Manila first? What happened to his business? What was Vigan like during the Japanese occupation? What was grandfather’s business name?

For dinner, we went to cafe Uno for Ilokano food. My father truly enjoyed it. Pointing at the empty dishes, he said, "Ilokano food!" As if he was back to his childhood days. I guess the trick worked. I was hoping that stuffing him with comfort food will make him tell us more stories about Vigan and my grandfather.

Day 2, March 7, 2016, Monday

Grandfather’s Old House

Maybe

We should talk in Ilokano

Maybe

I should have visited more often

Maybe

When my father was telling me your story

I should have listened more

Now

Your walls have faded color

Now

 Your balcony has only one left

Now

All I can hold on to is just a photograph

But

There you are

Standing

For me to see

For me to hear

The story of my grandfather

When I visit you next time

I shall bring some sampaguita

I shall hang it on your door

For you

For grandfather

So that grandfather can smell the fragrance

Of the flower and return

And

We all can have a visit

The next morning, at day break, I grabbed my camera and went to Calle Crisologo, which is just one block from Hotel Luna. I wanted to feel what was Vigan like early morning. The birds were chirping. The rooster yelled, “cock-a-doodle-doo!” This is a totally different world than the big city where I live.

Calle Crisologo was almost empty compared to the crowd filled street last night. I went back to my grandfather's house. With daylight, I can see better. What caught my attention was the nice wooden carvings above the windows. It is an example of fine wood craft eighty years ago. At the top of the house, a green plant grew out from the concrete. Life can be hard but living things always find a way to survive. It reminds me of my grandfather's story, leaving the poverty stricken south China in the early twentieth century, crossed the South China Sea, to find a new life.

I later went back to the hotel and joined the rest for breakfast.

Mr. Lao arrived later, as promised. Meeting him was by chance. When we checked in the day before, my brother Milo spoke to the front desk person. After learning about our last name, she mentioned a certain Mr. Chan. Later on, on our way out for dinner, she saw my brother Milo and said, " Mr. Chan is having dinner here right now."

Milo spoke to Mr. Chan. One thing led to another. We found Mr. Lao. Mr. Lao is a very generous person. He asked his son to drive another car and bring us to different places like Nan Chong School, Filipino Chinese Chamber of Commerce and two hardware stores.

Imagine this. I stood in front of a hardware store which I have never been. All I know is that there is a Mr. Tan. I walked in, asked the first person, "Is Mr. Tan here?"

The person turned and looked back, "Pa, someone is looking for you!" He shouted. I followed the direction where he was looking. A Chinese gentleman in checkered blue shirt and black pants was standing behind the counter.

When he came closer, I extended my hands and said, "Uncle, Dr. Gideon Chan asked me to talk to you." At the same time, my father walked in. They looked at each other and smile. Together they said, "I know you!"

We gathered around the small open area inside the store with plastic chairs. I call it oral history session. The only way for me to find stories about my grandfather is going to be that way!

The next stop was Mike's Department store. I met Merlita through my classmate in medical school. I never met her, but the quick introduction to my father lead to another oral history session.

Such was the same storyline throughout the day. Using one name, one can find a lead to another person. It was also another test of my father's memory. With all the turns and one-way street, he was able to find another hardware store, New Born Hardware.

We went back to Calle Crisologo, looking for a Mr. Chua. This time, my father's "radar" did not work. After blocks and blocks, no Mr. Chua. Or maybe, Mr. Chua moved or died. Such was my realization. All my grandfather's peers are dead. All my father's generation are either dead, deaf or demented. I came to this root searching journey a bit too late.

We did not find Mr. Chua but found a pizza place. That was dinner for me. After days of restaurant food, those few slices of pizza were enough for me. It is called bowel rest!

Day 3, March 8, 2016, Tuesday

My prayer was answered first thing the next morning. I went to my grandfather's old house again. I was hoping to see the renovating crew, maybe they will let me in. I did and they did let me in.

I was able to climb to the second floor. I took a picture of the arch, showing the original thick concrete front. The wooden floors were replaced with concrete. There is an opening in the middle ready for an elevator.

After breakfast, we went to Crisologo museum. Another big collection of historic artifacts. It gave me a good understanding of what my grandfather's house look like. It has wooden floors, big windows with panels made of capiz shells, old wooden furniture, kitchen with clay pots and clay stoves and an interesting pig toilet.

We drove to the plaza for Chinese food then the municipal library. We browsed through some dirty dusty old magazines and found nothing. The next stop was the old jail that was converted to a museum. We had a glimpse of what former President Quirino was like. According to my father, my grandfather was a close friend of President Quirino.

The next was shopping for the famous Ilokos vinegar for friends in Manila. Then I stopped by Tessie's Restaurant. I learned about this place from a Binondo Heritge Group member Pao Chan. The family was very nice. I found another piece of the puzzle. Pao Chan's grandfather Mr. Pedro Chan Sr. has an older brother who stayed at my grandfather's old house. The next task is to know his Chinese name.

Dinner was special. Shirley Chan is the daughter of my Godfather, Mr. Alexander Chan. She invited us for dinner and also gave us another piece of the puzzle. Her uncle lived in my grandpa's house too. And her cousin is still alive and lives in Manila. Her name is Auring. We picked up the phone and called Auring. A visit was scheduled for Thursday.

Day 4, March 9, 2016, Wednesday

On the fourth day, I went back to Calle Crisologo for one more time. This time, I brought my father. My father suffered a stoke last year. His memory is not good, partly probably from aging and partly from stroke. As a physician, he is a “challenging case”. I do not have a clear diagnosis. Being the son, I know that I should not treat. I leave his treatment to his physicians.

A few thoughts came to my mind as we slowly walk to Calle Crisologo. As human beings, we like other people to behave how we would behave. I often say to myself that when I get old, I would do things differently.  But we are who we are. I believe that we are hard wired at birth to behave and think in certain ways. That leads to what I learned in this trip. I learned to forgive and accept my father. He is my father. He has done things that are difficult for people around him. He came to this lifetime playing the role of a difficult person.  At the same time, he is also a very responsible person who raised seven children and helped his younger brother to become a doctor. 

With his weakness, after short walk form the hotel, I sat him down on one of the benches along Calle Crisologo, facing the old house. I do not know what was in his minds. How does it felt be in front of the house where you spent your childhood days seventy-five years ago? Does it bring back memories? 

I took more pictures with him. I notice that the house behind us has a plaque about the history of the house, It mentioned the Singson family. I told him that. He said, “Yes, they live across from us!”

Well, he was right again. That is the state od his memory now, muddy but has very clear moments. Whether navigating around the city or saying names, he was spot on from time to time, which lead me to write the following poem:

Vigan

If everything will disappear

Not this city

For my dad

He can walk around

With eyes closed

Left

Right

Straight ahead

It seems that we are making circles

But every time

He is right

Is this what it means to get old?

Everything will disappear

Not this city

On our way home, we stopped by Angeles city to meet my cousins. Their father, Mr. Manuel Chan, is my second oldest uncle. Cousin Angelito gave me more information about my grandfather. My grandfather passed away when he was nine years old.

He gave us a good description of my grandfather character,his business and his final days.

The Day After, March 10, 2016, Thursday

I had a chance to meet auntie Auring who grew up in Vigan. Her uncle Alex is my godfather. She also lived in the old house before. I feel that my grandfather had been guiding me all along during this search for the family history. He actually saved the best for the last.

In summary, this is what I found:

My grandfather was born in 1898. He came to the Philippines with his cousin in 1908 at the age of ten. He went directly to Vigan. In Vigan, he was able to learn the trade of doing business, saved enough money to return to China and married my grandmother age of twenty.

He had two other business partners at that time. They opened a big business along main street which is now Calle Crisologo. They had a four story house where the first floor was the store front. It was called 聯發 Lian Huat . The second and third floors were living quarters occupied by more than one family. He was the manager of the business and the bulling was registered under his name.

When the Japanese came in 1941, many of the Chinese people in Vigan fled. They heard bad news about all the bad things that the Japanese were doing in the Philippines. After a period of time, when things settled down, they returned to Vigan to do business.

Somehow the business partnership fell apart, so my grandfather brought his family to Manila. They lived in Chinatown, along Benavidez street, a building owned by the Ong Family Association. The house burned down a few years later.

My grandfather was described as very intelligent. he was generous. He could speak many languages including Tagalog, Ilokano, Spanish, and Fujian. He was well received and respected. He was also very good with law, thus people asked for his help.

Life was very hard because of the big family. Eventually, he got sick, was initially brought to Quirino Memorial Hospital, then transferred to Chinese General Hospital. He died in 1958, at the age of sixty, three years before I was born.

Today, I have a better understanding of my grandfather, my father and myself. I am glad that I went back to Vigan one more time. In closing, I would like to share a Tagalog poem about my grandfather:

Ang Buhay ni Chan Teh

          para kay angkong

Sa wakas

Mas malinaw na ang istorya

Isa't isa kong dinikit

Parang jigsaw puzzle

Parang marami na kanyang

Kababayan sa Tsina

Umalis siya, tumawid ng dagat

Noong sampung taon siya

Para makatulong sa pamilya

Yan ang dating OFW

Vigan ang naging pangalawang

Bahay niya

Nagtrabaho, nakaipon

Umuwi at nag-asawa

Lumaki ang pamilya

Lumaki ang negosyo

Lumaki din ang poblema

Noong dumating ang mga Hapon

Nasira ang negosyo

Nasira ang buhay

Umalis na naman

Manila ang pangatlong bahay

Nirerespeto, mabait,

Maganda ang kanyang loob

Hanggang wala na siyang maibibigay

Kundi buhay niya

Natapos ang lahat

Sa Chinese Gen

Huling salita

Noong sesenta anos