I decided very late on in life, as in my twenties, that I wanted to do more with words than just read them.
It’s a pretty corny thing to say, but as soon as I was able to think consciously, I always wanted music to be a part of my life. This seems odd given that my immediate family have little artistic inclination - or is it that they chose not to follow it?
My father was always a reader, and he taught me to read at an early age. From the age of four, I read voraciously - this is what my parents tell me. Around this time, my mother took my brother and I to spend a year in the Philippines. It was thought that this would be the last time she would see my grandfather, her father.
My grandfather was a professional musician - a clarinettist. He played in orchestras and was also in the military band. He was known to all in the region where that side of my family resides - indeed, when I was last there a couple of years ago, the villagers would say “Oh, so this is Manuel Esguerra’s grand-daughter? Is she musical? Flute? Oh…” It was a shame that I disappointed them; having got something pretty much like the flu, I wasn’t able to play a note - literally.
I was reading about the Philippines on Wikipedia and thought I’d try searching to see if there was an entry for him. I know my parents said they have heard him mentioned as a soloist on the radio in specific recordings, so I’m not making anything up.
Nothing.
Despite the fact that his name has been passed down to my generation (one of my cousins, a year younger is Manuel Esguerra III. His father being Manuel Esguerra II. We call both of them ‘Junior’ or ‘Jun’ for short).
It struck me as tragic: the only ‘history’ that exists of my grandfather is in the memory of others. Municipal records have been burnt so birth and possibly, death records aren’t available for him (I doubt it in the latter case. He got a military funeral, having served in WWII for the Allies).
My mother says that I’m uncannily like him, and she started to notice this as I entered teenagehood.
Such sad irony that the last time I went back to the Philippines, only in his absence was it obvious just how much I resembled him. That probably sounds strange, but everyone there is more like my grandmother.
It was an extremely bittersweet realisation.
My mother has a guidebook, with a photograph of a concert band, and he is in the photo. They are playing for a festival. I should try to scan it and put it up here. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.
