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I am a Pediatric Surgeon, but I do not stay
in the operating rooms of the different hospitals 24 hours a day, or 365
days a year. This page will give you a glimpse of my history, i.e., where I came from, what I went through, including my career and my extra-career
activities that might be of some interest to you. I will try to include
hospital as well as non-hospital activities that have helped me become what
I am now. They will necessarily have to include my family, my friends,
my colleagues, my acquaintances, my patients, as well as ALL the people whom I have come
to brush (or rub elbows) with, even superficially, but have touched my life in a small or great
way. Read on.
I am 39 years old this year. Only a year away from the age when I am
forced to begin my life. Who was it who said that life begins at...? I
wish he said 50 or something. I can honestly say, however, that I
have spent all of my 39 years with the zeal and enthusiasm that are hard
to match. I also believe that I am a basically-good person. I may
not exactly be the goody-two-shoes next door, but I definitely strove to
become good. I would like to re-trace my life in order to bolster my belief.
MY BACKGOUND
FAMILY
I was born to a Chinese father and a Filipino mother. My father was
born in Amoy, China, in 1918, and his real name was Ong Tin Lay. This means that our
real family name is Ong. However, due to the turmoil and repression
that characterized communist China before the second world war, my father
was one of the Chinese who sought to free themselves from the bondage of
a communist rule. One of the ways popular during that time was to
escape to nearby Philippines which was touted to be a relatively young
and naive country that supports free trade, and a democracy that was a dream for a lot of Chinese, educated or un, during that time. To come over, one had
to be adopted or claimed by a resident here, and in the squabble for a paper family,
my father was assigned to a clan surnamed Hao. And so it goes.
My mother, on the other hand, was the former Lydia Valero, born in Bago City in 1925 - a consistent first-honor student until the cruel war broke, and shelved what promised to be an impressive scholastic finish despite of, or because of, poverty. The poverty that drove their family to seek refuge in the town of Talisay, next to Bacolod City to the north, to escape worsening lack of food, and forcible seizure of shelter, during the Japanese occupation.
It was in the town of Talisay where my parents actually first met. But separated by some seven years in age, my father considered my mother as "just a girl" whenever she would drop by his store, selling what we coloquially term as chicherias, from rice to salt, and other such staple domestic necessities. My father then was a handsome and dashing, all of 24 man-of-the-world who was into business, while my mother was just the typical dainty and demure Filipina of 16 going on 17.
Apparently, however, the first impressions stuck, for when they saw each other again a decade later in the big city, where my father now co-owns a shoe store erstwhile called the Negros Shoe Palace at the junction of Luzurriaga and Gatuslao streets (now occupied by Rose Pharmacy and PCI Bank), they realized they were attracted to each other enough to get married. Much to the consternation of my grandparents who were of the impression that Chinese are basically polygamous, and that they all have Chinese wives back home.
Of course, they were right. Two years and a half before they met again, my father had to be practially dragged back to China to fulfil a dying grandmother's (my great grandmother) wish of tying the knot with a matchmade wife, long before he felt the need, the urge, or the stability to get married and settle down. But such is Chinese tradition deeply embedded, in all it's squalor, in the hearts of its descendants. And so it goes again.
The first marriage produced one daughter and an adopted son. The daughter is now a manager of a big firm in Hongkong, while the son went on to become a scholar of the British government, fiished college in Australia, and is now head librarian and researcher of the prestigious University of New England in that continent down under.
The second marriage of which I am a part, of course has an even impressive record. Or so I want to think. It produced five children in 8 years, 3 boys and 2 girls, and an adopted son.
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