My Published Articles for ViewsHound: Remembering Macrine J Katague through her Community Involvement here in the US and also in the Philippines

Friday, March 26, 2021

Remembering Macrine J Katague through her Community Involvement here in the US and also in the Philippines

Today March 26, 2021, would have been Macrine's 85th Birthday. A video of her last year video taken by her Care Taker, I shared in my FB page today also. Macrine passed away last August 10, 2020. She had lived a good life for she had touched many other lives through her community involvement here in the US as well as in the Philippines.

This post is to remember Macrine(RIP) in her community involvement during her productive and well-lived life here in the US as well as in the Philippines.

The three awards are Macrine's involvement with Marinduque International, Inc and the Marinduque Association of the Capital Area. For details read:

https://hubpages.com/politics/medical-mission-of-love-to-marinduque

Macrine was actively involved with Filipino-American community in the tri-state area of Maryland, Virginia and Washington, DC. SHE was also active with the Marinduquenos of the Capital Area (MACA). Some of MACA's projects were giving scholarships to needy students in PI. We also collaborated with the humanitarian projects of “ Feed the Hungry, Inc”in Marinduque. In 1998, we participated in the medical mission to Marinduque. We donated 100 used eyeglasses, medical supplies and equipments to the local hospital. In May, 2001 we again participated in the medical mission sponsored by Marinduque International,Inc.. I helped in the distribution of drugs and served as acting treasurer during the mission week, while Macrine was Executive Director of the organization.

Macrine short biography was published in MI, Inc Newsletter when she was elected President in 2003 as follows. "Macrine was born in Boac and a product of the Immaculate Conception Academy High School. She obtained her Bachelor in Business Administration degree in 1957 from the University of Santo Tomas. Two month after graduation she married her college sweetheart, David Katague from Iloilo, who was then teaching chemistry at UP Diliman. They immigrated to the US in 1960.

Macrine stayed home for 18 years raising her four children but decided to go back to nursing school in California. In 1979, she received her Bachelor of Science degree from Holy Name College in Oakland, CA. as well as a Certificate in Public Health Nursing specializing with Spanish speaking patients.

In 1990, Macrine and David moved to Maryland where she worked for nine years as Quality Improvement Nurse for several home health organizations in the Washington, DC area. It was then, when she joined the Marinduqueno Association of the Capital Area (MACA) and became an active member of the association. She retired in 1998 and got involved with the Filipino-American organizations in the DC metropolitan area".

In June, 1999, Macrine was elected overall chairperson of the Festival Committee that was in charge of the celebration of Philippines Independence for the whole month of June. An article was published by the Manila Mail, dated June 15, 1999. An excerpt of the news article written by Bing C. Branigin reads:

RP TAKES CENTER STAGE-45 GROUPS JOIN PARADE IN D.C.

“A big crowd watched the Philippines took center stage when Filipino-Americans stage a colorful parade, fair and cultural show along historic Pennsylvania Avenue on June 6.

Filipino Americans display their pride in their culture and heritage to mark the 101st anniversary of independence from Spain and more than a century of Philippines- American relations.

More than 45 Filipino- American organizations participated in the parade and whole day fair and cultural shows. They are groups from Washington, D.C., Maryland, Northern Virginia, South Carolina and the 40 strong Ati-atihan group from Virginia Beach.

The Marinduquenos who are this year hosts, showed their Moriones, clad in colorful costumes and mask.

Macrine Katague, Philippine Festival chairperson, said she was really impressed by the number of groups who participated. For the last six months, the Philippine Committee had been meeting regularly to make this year's event better.

A group of twenty food vendors sold favorite Philippine dishes, like lechon, pancit etc...For drinks, there was San Miguel beer, sago at gulaman, coconut juice and halo-halo. There were also twenty tents filled with dry goods, like T-shirts, jewelry, gift items, travel agencies and phone cards. One of the highlights of the fair was on-the-spot painting contest for the kids. The Philippine Embassy displayed stamp collection, fabrics and handicraft from the Philippines

Ambassador and Mrs Raul Rabe, patiently stayed at the Fair from 9:00AM to 6:00PM, enjoying all the activities. Rabe will end his term the end of this month. He will be replaced by Ambassador Ernesto Maceda.

Mr. Rabe told Manila Mail “ This is a great thing that we are celebrating our independence here in Pennsylvania Avenue. I noticed that every year we are getting better and bigger,. Hopefully we will keep the momentum going”..

To show their support to their “kababayans”, Marinduquenos from New Jersey came to town. Al Molato who represented the Eastern Seaboard Marinduqueno said, “ This is fantastic, imagine our small island is so small and taking a big role in the capital to host a big endeavor like this. I would like to salute my co-marinduquenos and Macrine Katague the chairperson, for a wonderful job.”

Meanwhile, enjoy this photo of Macrine during our trip to London at Wembley Stadium watching the Football Game between the Redskins and 49'ers.

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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.

Friday, March 26, 2021

Remembering Macrine J Katague through her Community Involvement here in the US and also in the Philippines

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