My Published Articles for ViewsHound: July 2020

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

The First Filipinos Landed in Morro Bay, California in 1587

On 18 October 1587, the first Filipinos landed in what is now the Continental United States at Morro Bay in Upper California. They arrived aboard the Nuestra Señora de Buena Esperanza, which had sailed from Portuguese Macao, as part of the Manila galleon trade. During about three days of travels ashore around Morro Bay, the crew of the Nuestra Señora de Buena Esperanza came in contact with the Chumash people, ultimately resulting in the deaths of two crew members: one Spaniard and one Filipino.

Departing Morro Bay after the deaths of the crew members, the Nuestra Señora de Buena Esperanza eventually reached its intended destination of Acapulco. No other Filipino landed in California until 1595. In 1995, a monument on Morro Bay was dedicated to commemorate the events of 1587. October has been designated as Filipino American History Month since 2009 in recognition of these events.(Source: Wikipedia).

During the Manila-Acapulco Galleon Trade era from 1565 to 1815 Spanish galleons crossed the pacific between the Philippines and Mexico. On October 18, 1587, the Manila Galleon Nuestra Senora de Esperanza commanded by Pedro de Unamuno entered Morro Bay near here. A landing party was sent to shore which included Luzon Indios, marking the first landing of Filipinos in the continental United States. The landing party took official possession of the area for Spain by putting up a cross made of branches. The group was attacked by native Indians two days later, and one of the Filipinos was killed. Unamuno and his crew gave up further exploration of this part of the coast.

Historical Landmark Declared by the
Filipino American National Historical Society
California Central Coast Chapter
Dedicated October 21, 1995
static.px.yelp.com/bphot…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile enjoy this photo from my album:

One of the many orchids ( Princess Mikasa) in the Gardens of Chateau Du Mer, Boac, Marinduque, Philippines

Saturday, July 11, 2020

Additional Information on my Great Grand Father-Victoriano Catague

The latest information I have about my great father was that he was a big land owner and rancher(cattle and horses) in Buenavista, Guimaras, Philippines. He also donated 36 hectares of land to the Boystown and Girlstown organization in the island. For details read the following from my blog and FB conversation with Conchita Catague who grew up in Buenavista, Guimaras.

https://theintellectualmigrant.blogspot.com/search?q=victoriano+Catague

New information about my great grand Father ( Victoriano Catague ( Lolo Batol)- he is a rancher( Pinoy cowboy) and landowner from Buenavista, Guimaras, Philippines

David B.Katague, B.S., M.S., M.A, Ph.D. Related websites: http://lifeinus1960present.blogspot.com and www.chateaudumer.com Photo from the balcony of the Chateau Du Mer Beach House,Boac,Marinduque

About This Website theintellectualmigrant.blogspot.com The Intellectual Migrant-Autobiography of a Filipino-American Scientist David B.Katague, B.S., M.S., M.A, Ph.D. Related websites: http://lifeinus1960present.blogspot.com and www.chateaudumer.com Photo from the balcony of the Chateau Du Mer Beach House,Boac,Marinduque

Here's an excerpt of my conversation with Conchita Catague of Buenavista, Guimaras. Conchita's grandfather ( lolo Ambo) is the younger brother of my Lolo Batol (Victoriano).

Conchita: So related mn kmo ni tiyay Puri ky sya c Purification Lopez Catague ky didto ko na na kita c David Catague pgpatay ni tyay puri ba yon or my iban lng nga ocassion elementary pa ako sadto cla owner sng malapad nga duta d donated sa boystown c lolo victoriano ang owner nickname (Batol)

Me: Good to know. I like to know more about our Lolo Batol!

Conchita:Lolo Batol lapad duta dito sa Buenavista tyay puri donated 36 hectares to boystown then my gnpabay an sya nga duta until cultivated by one attorney but now that attorney died na kg my rancho dya amo na nga daku iya area d ky transfer nya iya rancho fr one place to his other are kg father ko ang iya upod bakero my latigo sya pirme para sa iya bakahan kg kabayo my pgka spanish sya ugali suno sa akon father ky si lolo ko Ambo iya manghud amo ngpuli d sa Guimaras halin sa Antigue kulasi Antique kg last time my ngpangita dire sng mga pamilia Catague ky my daku cla nga palanublion sa Antique malapad nga kadutaan kg sa barotac mn i dont know kn ano na natabu ky c tatay napatay 1997

Me: So we are 3rd cousins since your lolo Ambo and my Lolo Batoy were brothers, Now I know the Buenavista and Antique connections. Damo guid nga Salamat for the information.

Do you know Daisy Catague Cababasay ? She is the first cousin of my Father and they still have lands in Buenavista? Have you heard of Guillermo C(Katague) mto to Hofilena in Buenavista, What is the full name of Ambo? Is it Guillermo?

Conchita: Yes i know Daisy Catague Cababasay tambihanay lang km duta d sa Dan Nicolas ky cousin mn ila tatay n my father kilala gd ang mg cousin tyay puri and also Daisy's father 2nd wife c Daisy ang Ist wife cla Rodrigo yata

Dalawang ng asawa ang father ni Daisy kg sa 2nd wife sya

Me: Yes, Yes small world indeed! Could you write this all in English, so I could post as Addenda in my blogs.

Medyo mahina na ang Ilonggo ko.

Conchita: So ok i know fr my father lolo Batol had children here in Buenavista aside or kabit

And we are close also as relatives maybe Daisy dont know them but i know them ang during our Catague,s reunion we invite them

Me: Daisy is much younger than me so she does not as much as you do about the Catague Clan. Do you know any of the C(K)atague in Binalbagan, Neg Occ?

There is a Facebook Page Catague and Katague Clan- joined in and I will accept you! I am so happy to know you, because of your knowledge of our ancestry

Conchita:Ah i have heard so many of them they maybe related to Daisy because her mother is fr Negros sometimes Daisy's mother visit here in she said she had 11 children and I know also in south Cotabato and Zamboanga and i have sister Oliva Catague also in Bacolod have Oliva Catague in South Cotabato have Adelfa Catague also same i have a sister Adelfa because im the 2 nd to the youngest so i lived with my father most of his life so i know more about his relative ( our) we are also have a big family We are 14 Nd im the13th

Me: So is Daisy your second cousin?

Conchita: By the way how old are you now for i know a named od Dr. David Katague and my father said they are the owner of Katague buiding in Iloilo city and i know DrDavid Katague is one of that family owner since when tyay Puri died i think that Dr David Catague Was there? Not so sure but my father knows and have mention that named Dr David Catague

Me: Dr David Katague, former owner of the Katague Building was my father. I am his oldest son, David Jr. I will be 86 years old this coming December

Yes we are 2nd cousin but we ara not close they seldom visits here they have build a house here but as of now they just come here once a wk and Daisy dont come here wth his husband Leo

I think they (Daisy and Leo) have a fish pond in Buenavista, but she is busy with her restaurant in Iloilo

So ok we are 2 nd cousin also so you know Dra. Chythia Sedino Imaysay fr Kalibo aklan And Recto Catague Velez also attorney Hector Catague Veles They are brothers sister are Ng Alma Ng Nita Ng luz And ng Cristina there in Zamboaga

Yes they have and Leo so long stay abroad and after he retired plan to stay here i Guimaras not they rented fishpond sometimes drop here To Us Locon big shrimps

For Details on Marcelina Javellana wife of Victoriano Catague read the following also:

https://javellana.wordpress.com/

Guest Article from Susan Creamer Joy

In The Silence, by Susan Creamer Joy.

Today's guest article is from Susan Creamer Joy. Susan is one of my favorite authors in the ViewsHound community. Susan writes, draws, paints and cobbles together art from found objects making a variety of creations from jewelry to religious shrines. She frequently sports burns on her fingers from her soldering iron, paint on her palms and ink under her fingernails, but her hair is usually combed. When she is not losing time in the creative vortex of her studio, she is likely to be putting her knowledge of metaphysics and esoteric principles including Tarot, numerology, astrology and graphology to good use in consultations. Her children are grown, her husband still works and her four dogs believe she needs serious help. The title of her article is "A Matter Of Love And Death". Thank you Susan.

By the time they reached my bedroom door, I was already sitting up – my stomach ratcheted in the tense grip of an unnamed anxiety; my pillow, unburdened of my drowsy head.

To this day I cannot explain how I heard them coming up those stairs in their bare feet or how I knew that my father struggled to hold his composure as my mother unnaturally clutched at the folds of her dressing gown and followed him through the dark just a little too closely.

As the wooden groan of those old stairs tore into my bones that morning like a hacksaw, all I could see between the predawn shadows was the letter I’d written just hours earlier to my boyfriend, Chris, propped against the lamp on my desk across the room awaiting an envelope.

I had not slept well. It was late November and there had been so many changes since the middle of August when he left for the Air Force in Texas to begin basic training and I began my third new school in as many years.

The conspiracy between fate and the last surge of the Vietnam draft had broken apart the every-waking-minutes of our two-year union with unceremonious indifference. All that night my sleep had been infested by difficult dreams and by the illogical fear that truth and reality were merging into a darkness only a martyr could grasp; and at sixteen, martyrdom seemed reasonable only for the nuns among the poor in Bangladesh

I tried to remind myself that he would be home on leave for Thanksgiving in another few days. It was the only tether to calm I could find, but reviewing the facts offered little relief from my baseless fears.

Chris had been girding his pacifist sensibilities preparing to fight in an unpopular war that had not yet slaughtered its last innocent. I was hovering just over the line of inclusion at an exclusive girl’s school – missing him – and finding myself at odds with these young women and their attachment to propriety and with the prep-school veneer that blinded them to the fact that they were no better than anyone else.

Neither one of us was coping well with the worlds into which we were respectively summoned, and although we both knew that the best hope for any future together depended upon our individual successes apart, it was far from comforting most days.

But in spite of our discomfort, we each did our best; and, of course, there were the letters: Thin, plain-paper sheets with row after row after row of inky blue words penned with the intensity and awkward locutions of a love learned too soon. It had come down to just that little, but without them, I would have had nothing.

Chris was learning to fly. I was learning to drive, and both of us were aching to transport our souls to an earlier time through the hallowed intercourse of memories and dreams. Of course, as with all progress, there was the positive element: We were both clean and drug-free for the first time in years.

Now, without pretense, both healthy cognition and sincere motivation surfaced regularly in my psychology and prompted me to care about myself and to arbitrate against all temptation for a better standing in the world, in school and in my own eyes. I even did my homework.

No longer was I escaping today but, instead, living for my day of escape. Lying still in the dark of my room, I listened to the slow, padded footfall of my parents approaching and looked to the floor and to my history book half hidden beneath the nightstand where I’d tossed it the night before. Even in this early morning dark I could make out the swirls and stars in colored marker and the bubble-formed letters that spelled C H R I S in soft, juvenile curves on the torn book cover I’d fashioned out of a brown paper grocery bag.

I vaguely remembered throwing it there somewhat hastily. I had been doing my homework when a sense of urgency struck and I realized I had not written him as I promised I would and glancing at the clock, I noted it was nine-twenty-three. Why that mattered I had no way of knowing in that strange moment, but within hours, it would be one I would never forget; and although I was becoming drowsy and still needed to finish my work, I felt beyond reason that my letter to him could not wait.

So, I wrote. I would always write. I would always be there. He would always be there.“Suzi."It was my name spoken in the smooth and familiar voice of my mother, although weighted and slow, her head bowed to her chest almost as though she were speaking only to herself.

"Suzi.” She said it again, this time with sharp gravity, like a chisel against stone.

As if on cue, I leaned forward, flanked now by my parents who were sitting on either side of my bed.

I had been waiting for them. I don’t know how. I didn’t know why. The lights in my room remained off, but it seemed that the darkness clung more to them than to me, as though they were holding it there – away from me to give me enough light to see through the next moment. They were crying. My father was crying. My father. “Suzi. We have something very, very bad to tell you." Chris has been in a car accident." And he was killed."

If the world moved forward from that moment, I could not know it. f there were air around me worth breathing, I could not take it in. And if there were another sound beyond the leaden bellow of my own raw grief, I could not hear it.

"Who am I going to talk to? Who am I going to love?” I wailed. Who will love me? In that sodden moment violated by the intrusion of a predawn light that had no business rising, everything I ever believed about happiness, hoped for in life, trusted in or held as my own was annihilated.

After that – there was no after that. After that came months of hollow redundancies that would inform my way of being in the world for years to come. A serial commitment to waking up each morning, remembering he was gone and dedicating the remaining hours to forgetting. To that end I would try anything, drink anything, ingest anything, inject anything. It was a slow and arbitrary suicide by indifference.

Many years later, at 25 years-old and in the midst of a pharmaceutical free-fall leaning dangerously close to terminal, I discovered that I was expecting a child, and after a decade of forgetting, I remembered. I named him Griffin after the legendary winged lion, a symbol of the divine because what he inspired and the miracle that he was, were nothing less. I remembered and I loved again, and I went on to marry and to the gift of two beautiful daughters.

Today my son is struggling not to drown in the same well of drug abuse and apathy that almost swallowed me – his great, divine wings clipped by his own hand; and while it is up to him to restore his place in the sky, I will do my best to help provide an open runway.

In the meantime, I will continue soaring for both of us; bequeathed as I have been, with a determination to fly from a boy whose ragged fate precluded that dream.

Death took one young man from me once upon a dark time. If it has any intention of coming for this one, it will have to go through me. And trust me, it will be in for one hell of a fight.

Note: If you enjoy this article, please let me know.

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

The First Filipinos Landed in Morro Bay, California in 1587

Saturday, July 11, 2020

Additional Information on my Great Grand Father-Victoriano Catague

Linkwithin