Angel Thoughts
When I married to my prince charming, Ramon “Sonny” Siytangco Jr., 57 years ago, I received a unique gift from my eldest sister Cielo and her husband Bading Rivera.
She was a comely “probinsyana,” shy but gutsy and multi-skilled we learned later, a “yaya” from Bohol, Agapita Genosas.
Agapita 'Yaya Pops' Genosas
Yaya became “Yaya Poppins” to my babies, a magical do-it-all like Mary Poppins. Last July 23 at around 10:30, she passed away leaving our whole family grieving.
Top row from left to right: The family: Cora and Junie Siytangco with their son, Miggy, Margaret and AJ Siytangco, David Siytangco, and Sandee and Andrew Masigan, Monchu Siytangco, Deedee Siytangco and Amanda Masigan.
She took care of my brood starting with my daughter Sandee (Masigan) and my three boys, Junie David and AJ, our youngest. She was their second mother, protector, and best friend. My husband and I could work and leave the kids at home with her and not fret. We took her along to Hong Kong on our first family rip, and, much later, my son Junie had her fly to Vancouver to care for his second son Miggy. My friends were her friends, and this included my beloved boss, the late “Tita Cory” who loved her back.
Yaya Pops with Former President Tita Cory Aquino
Here are reflections from my youngest son AJ, 3D graphics professor, and my granddaughter Amanda S. Masigan, a University of Navarra graduate and freelance writer.
“My fondest memory of Yaya Poppins was that almost every day after school, regardless of whether I did well that day or not, I would get a treat, ranging over time from little collectable stickers or plastic toys to bi-weekly G.I. Joe action figures. This was all out of her own pocket, never asking my parents for the extra money. She did it because it made me happy.
I was a sickly kid, and so she would bring me to school, then wait for me, then bring me home, day in and day out, without fail or complaint. She lost me once on the way home, through no fault of her own, but because the fourth-grade me was distracted by a trinket from a toy stall we passed and turned right instead of going straight.
But aside from that, I felt safe with her. She almost immediately befriended everyone around her so that they would look out for me if she wasn’t there on time. That she might be late was never a problem because from the sweepstakes vendor to the school guard to the other nannies and parents hanging around school, I was pretty much surrounded and secure till she came.
Maybe this is why I’ve been accused of being Yaya’s favorite—before Amanda came around. When Amanda’s turn came, Yaya saved up to buy her an iPad. She also befriended everyone around her at Amanda’s school, to the point that she was invited by the grandparent of a student to the student’s birthday party, and it wasn’t even a classmate or a kid that Amanda knew. The invitation to the kiddie party was Yaya Poppins plus one.
But the truth is, whoever she was with, was her favorite. Her heart was big enough for all of us, all her wards, her alagas. We each had a special place with her, and she loved us so much that she stayed around to help raise the next generation. We love you, Yaya, very much.”
Now here is from my granddaughter Amanda.
“My wide eyed innocence at the age of five did not know what ‘yaya’ meant. The TV shows and children’s books all spoke about either your mother, your father, your grandparents, or quite literally anyone in your near-proximity family. My mother was my nurturer—soft and gentle, she would rock me to sleep and comb my hair.
She was in tune with my hunger and pain and would act accordingly every time. I could count on her to know things I could not yet recognize. My dad was my rock. He stood sturdy in every storm, even the ones I did not know about. He gave me my compass to tell right from wrong, up from down and which path was the best one for me.
These things were so clear in my head, even at that age. But I did not put too much thought into what my yaya was to me. It was a cloud of love, intense affection and admiration, ready to explode with nowhere to spill over. But it was there. As I grew older, I still could not exactly define what she was. But the word ‘yaya’ suddenly grew into a plethora of adjectives that I would associate her with. Loving, patient, kind, funny, makulit, feisty, determined, smart, protective, strict, sometimes ‘bully’ would even cross my mind—in the best way possible. As the years went by, my list grew and grew, and eventually stopped becoming mere adjectives but rather, synonyms. She was all the good in the world embodied into one round person and I loved her more and more as the list grew.
Grieving her has been perhaps the greatest pain I have felt thus far in my life. I have been holding her hand since the day I exited my mother’s womb. In the grand scheme of things, it would be a crime not to attribute a big part of my womanhood to her—she raised my mom as well. So, although she has left us in this life, she will never not exist in this reality. The love she poured onto my mom has poured onto me and will be felt in my child and my grandchildren. And in that way, she is with us forever. I love you, yaya. Thank you."