Finally, after nearly twenty years, I am able to attend a USP world reunion. This one was the pearl of all of them, the “Mother of All Reunions,” this Bente Singko, with the most attendance of all international Upsilon alumni gatherings (more than 330 attendees). Everything worked like clockwork and all the participants were pampered like residents in a high-end care home (sorry for the retiree metaphor). We’re provided with a medically inspired wrist band for easy identification and our license to get into the well-furnished venues (No, Virginia, not to identify the remains afterwards). We are blessed. We’ve got a renowned doctor serving as supremo - Brod Jhovin Poblete ’79 (and not forgetting his diehard team), so rest assured, no living creatures, not even Elvis or the showgirls, were harmed in this production. Even days after the affair, while the wristband had long been cut off by a helpful hotel staff, I could still feel it on me – this I suppose is the Phantom Wristband Syndrome. There too though, is my recurring dream of the Sigma Deltan Gangnam dance number at the Kambingan. (I am told these K-pop moves can be perfected if one spends at least a month with a BTS dance instructor in Seoul.) These things are just retribution for me for staying away for so long from fellowship. I am Odysseus coming home from Troy, Penelope.

Mind you, I had been at the beginning, of the Big Bang so to speak, when the Upsilon Sigma Phi North America Foundation, primarily a brainchild of Slats Donesa ‘52, with the formulation of a Constitution, an IRS registration, and all. Nothing like an expectant parent gazing at the new-born through safety windows! Now, the baby is 25 years old. How did I miss the teen years! But it is more amazing, unlike the T.S. Elliot reminder, we do not have to have time to “prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet,” nor…

“…time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.”

Frankly, my dear, everything is ready. Ground control, it’s lift off (Elon Musk should be so envious!).

I travelled with Brod Jun Astudillo ‘79, of late, a humble Financial Honcho (Director of Finance) of the John Knox Christian School in Burnaby, BC, who is bringing the school out from the brink of a financial quagmire (he won’t admit to this, of course). What better Robin for a possibly straying Batman in the star-dust den of slot machines, Elvis pretenders, and show girls! No temptation will overcome me then with Jun at my side. But as fate has it, we nearly bought the farm. Our cab coming from the airport to the Orleans, was involved in an accident: a car driven by a 90-year-old, swooped in from the right lane as we were going down the left, wanting to turn left into a cross street, cut in front of our ride and got t-boned. We got quite jolted, though like a Bond martini, more stirred than shaken – thank God. Jun said his knees hurt a bit but otherwise unscathed. After our driver took my particulars, another taxi was hailed to bring us to our destination. As we were being transferred to the other vehicle, I see the old man, with the big dent on the left side of his car, open his damaged door, and gingerly approach our affected driver – with a thick blue folder, presumably containing his insurance detail – a serial car banger, for sure.

Then a flash back came, recalling what Behn Cervantes said on our trip to UP Baguio with our summer stock company of 1970’s “Ang Ina” cast and crew, when our rental bus broke down three times on the Mountain Province zigzag. “Mayroon siguro dito may balat sa puwet at namalas tayo… Si Kwong!”Just maybe, that balat is still there. I haven’t examined myself lately – posteriors are never easy for self-examination.

After registration, Jess Ocampo ’64 through his connection got me a room on the 21st floor (“I’m on top of the world, Ma”), not too far from the hospitality suite where the whisky-tasting had already commenced the night before. He helped me avoid the long line up at the check-in counter by directing me to an online screen where a technician was eager to help digitally hopeless people like me. Jess claimed that he was “delirious” when he read my name on the registration list. Jess was one-time resident of Greater Vancouver. I recall the weekend respite from my MBA studies, I spent squatting in his “B&B” where Mel his lovely wife stuffed me with her Pampanga dishes. It was at his residence that I got to meet Brod Mat Caparas who headed the PCGG. After I finished my MBA, Martial Law was in full bloom and my hope to go home was dashed, so I looked for work here, but the only openings for MBAs were in Toronto. Jess who was working to become a C.A. at the time suggested I try the C.A. route. How a brod can lead you down a different road! So, in the summer of 1975, we studied together for the UFE (it just means Uniform Final Examination, not some alien spaceship term). We are both C.A.s albeit retired.

I was also delighted that I finally met face to face many of the members of the USP-SDP Prayer Group, who had been praying unceasingly for many people since the beginning of the pandemic. Like Melvin Hidalgo whose new son-in-law hails from Hawaii, belonging to the Kwong clan. In the picture to our left we have Inday Tiongco, devoted prayer warrior.

Several groups came in droves, adding to the excitement of the reunion. The largest batch (and I am told this is not a random occurrence) was Batch ’69 (no surprise, Brod Will Vicuña was in the organizing team, who arranged through his many years of hotel business connection, our blessings of accommodation at the Orleans). Batch '65 religiously executed a “prequel” by visiting other places before swooping in.

I had another compelling reason to be there. Perhaps this was what prompted my Commander to give me my walking papers to leave the home comfort, and to think allowing me to visit the city which some often compared to Sodom and Gomorrah (the slot machines there must have turned many into pillars of salt!). I was there to receive (I am still debating about why I got this, still thinking there are more deserving fellows) a Tanglaw Award for excellence. The plaque reads “Upsilon Sigma Phi North America – Tanglaw Award for Excellence – Fellow Alfredo C. Kwong ’67, for his excellence in writing poems, stories, and essays.”

I had another reason too. With Spike Yabut ’71 and Tom Firme ’74, both fellow residents of Greater Vancouver, organized as the Booksilonians, we manned a book table where we were selling our opus to attendees at bargain price. Together with my book Controlled Burn: A Collection of Poems, Spike’s Brown Rice: A Memoir, and Tom’s Suseia, A Camino Novella, we experienced the overwhelming endorsement of our literary efforts.

At the Plenary, after all the major Board and Member matters were adroitly dispensed with by Chair Zar Galano ’68 and Pres. Jory Catibog ’71, the awardees were called up to the front one by one to receive their trophy and give a comment or two. Brod Bill Romero ’76 came up to present mine.

I didn’t know that we were to do that. Brod Bim Dolorico ’62, an awardee, had his prepared in a sheet of type-written notes. Another awardee, Angie Fandialan ’60, gave me an advance warning as Bim was making his spiel. Thank God I had a good full night of sleep. Of course, it was an extemporaneous delivery, my mind racing to find some relevant anecdote or observation about my art. I can only give you a gist, as you can imagine. I referred to the latest Taylor Swift album, called Tortured Poet Department, and commented the redundancy of her title. I said, “All poets are tortured, that’s just the way it is. For a long time, I see my poems as an elderly relative one stashes away in the attic, afraid for him to come down and embarrass me totally.” But finally in my crucible, I finally let that elderly relative down and my collection of poetry was birthed.

Figure 1 Larry Moe and Curly Joe at the Kambingan

The Kambingan was a love feast – and I mean food galore. Being a Cantonese, cooking at home was confined to some village fare, so it was an epicurean delight, to have my plate piled, not only with goat stew, but other Filipino selections as well. Sad to say, the night didn’t quite work out well for the Booksilonians.We made up a skit of resurrected jokes (best remained buried – those “corn-fest” nuggets that may or may not tickle your primordial funny bone). Case in Point: I am a farmer and I raise three-legged chickens. They are juicy and plumb. And when asked how do they taste like. Answer: I don’t know I haven’t caught one yet (To-goom, two drumbeats). We were expecting that mercifully we’d be called to perform, when the drinks have done their intended effect. But no, we were first in line! The mike volume (or we didn’t hold the device properly) guaranteed that we were barely audible. Let’s say a stand up at a funeral would have fared better than these three amigos. Anyway, the surprises of the evening was a well-executed K-pop dance by a select group of Sis, and a Sis complete with her dark velveted long gown belted a medley of sentimental tunes – to loud and sustained applause. It was “shock and awe.” We didn’t stay for the judging. We took the first shuttle back from Mang Felix to the hotel. On the bus, we were asked to reprise our number. There were a bunch of investigative ad men among the passengers, like Mad Men Tong Puno ’65 who quizzed us about the source of our ha-ha’s. So, we obliged. I can’t recall whether we go any laughs then though.

Then there is Bobby Montelibano ’56. The second most senior brod at the gathering (Ed Espiritu ’55 was the most senior. Praise God, I got to sit with him on Table #25 at the gala night). I got to have an interesting breakfast with him at the Food Court, in which I learned so much about his family history, specifically about his father who was executed by the Japanese during WW2.

Figure 2 At the Gala. Pacific Northwest Brods waiting for Elvis to arrive

The grand finale was of course the Gala Night, again with a bacchanalian buffet, dances, and the pull-all-stops fun. Being Vegas, an Elvis pretender and a couple of show girls entertained us with some expected numbers.

Figure 3 L-R Melvin Hidalgo, Ed Espiritu '55, Mrs. Espiritu, Evelyn, Bing Yuvienco '67, me, and Mon Reyes '69.

I quietly snuck out at about 10 pm, way before the frantic dancing started, to retreat to my room. I needed my beauty sleep.

Reader’s Guide to appreciate this article. Reference “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Elliot from which several verses have been borrowed.