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In the early seventies, when I resumed my studies as a working
student at the Far Eastern University, Sarah Joaquin was already a
well-known figure on campus, being head of the university’s drama
and speech department. At that time, the FEU was at the vortex of a
revival of stage and theater arts of which she was the main
architect.
I did not meet her personally but her eldest
son, Tony, was my professor in Speech. That early, FEU had already a
modern speech lab where each student has his own cubicle where he
was trained to pronounce English correctly. I remember Prof. Joaquin
had a hard time coaching me how to get rid of my heavy Cebuano
accent.
The reason why I am recalling these incidents is
that I just came across a book, entitled Of Laughter and Tears, the
memoir of Sarah Joaquin that a friend gave me.
I thought the book was just an ordinary
narrative of a person’s life. I even found the title sophomoric,
or nondescript, to say the least.
But when I started reading the book, I was
immediately captivated by its simple narration and moving prose. Ms.
Joaquin was not just a fine stage performer but was also a superb
storyteller.
The no-frills book conjures powerful imageries
that only an unaffected writer can do. For example, reading the
first chapter, you can almost hear the creaking of the wooden wheels
of the carabao-driven carreton that the young author rode when she
was vacationing in the bucolic hinterland of Bulacan. This was in
the 1920s.
You enjoy with her climbing the guava tree or
riding the bicycle during her fun-filled days in Laguna. You laugh
in her moments of joy and later commiserate with her when she is sad
or in pain.
She and her husband-to-be, Ping Joaquin, brother
of National Artist Nick Joaquin (Nick later lived with the couple
and they fondly called him Onching), would charm their way into your
heart on that hauntingly beautiful episode when they met for the
first time at the Lyric Music Store at the Escolta.
This was before the war, and Sarah, an excellent
marimba player, was to perform at her school, the University of the
Philippines, which was still at Padre Faura. She went to the store
to look for musical pieces. When she saw a marimba there, she
played. “I remember now that I played the Visayan song, Ay,
Kalisud, a plea from a broken-hearted woman. The mellow tones of the
marimba sounded like a lover in despair,” she writes.
As serendipity would have it, while she was
playing the marimba, Ping was also playing jazz on a piano at the
main hall of the store. Ping introduced himself to Sarah and the two
made an impromptu presentation, Sarah playing the marimba and Ping
accompanying her on the piano, to the delight of a small crowd that
gathered outside the store.
That was the beginning of a passionate love
affair that ended up in elopement. They were very young and very
much in love. But just like most great love affairs throughout the
ages, their love did not last.
Having been exposed to the world of
entertainment, the husband proved to be a philanderer. After a
bittersweet relationship and three children, the two finally agreed
to a separation.
As a single mother, Sarah became more engrossed
in her craft, directing plays aside from teaching Spanish, English
and drama at the FEU. She also opened a broadcasting facility in the
university and trained young talents who later became popular radio
commentators.
It was also during this period that Sarah again
fell in love with a guy who was a bachelor and who was willing to
marry her. She, however, refused to have another lifetime commitment
until the guy bid goodbye and married another girl.
Sarah’s book is full of poignant memories, of
a fairy tale romance that turned sour. It is about a remarkable life
that spanned almost a century. Sarah was a gifted, exuberant,
brilliant and fascinating woman, who always topped her classes at
the exclusive Centro Escolar de Señoritas and later at the UP.
She died at the ripe age of 94 on January 30,
2002 in the United States where she migrated in l997 to join the
family of her daughter, Josefina.
This is how Nick Joaquin described his
sister-in-law: “When I think of Sarah, I see dynamos. Physically,
intellectually, spiritually—she’s a dynamo. And I speak from a
knowledge of her dating back to my childhood.”
The book, Of Laughter and Tears, was published
in 2007 in San Francisco, California through donations from friends.
But Sarah’s heirs plan to publish a cheaper edition to be
distributed locally so that ordinary Filipinos would be given the
chance to read this inspiring story of an extraordinary woman.
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