In the summer of the late 1960s, Rosalina and Roger Goulet moved to the Philippines to escape the political turmoil of the United states. They had just graduated from University and had married on a whim, but they loved each other as much as a person could. Unable to bear children, Roger and Rosalina adopted a beautiful baby girl, a child that would later become my mom. This is her story.
My mother had never felt alienated by her adopted family. Although unrelated by blood, her mother had her high cheekbones and Filipino nose, and her French father’s authenticity shone in her. She was never compelled to seek out her “real parents”— the environment that her adopted family had raised her in was more loving and supportive than she could have ever asked for. She had lived nearly 50 years without any contact with her “real family,” and she saw nothing wrong in that.
It happened all at once. My mom had purchased ancestry kits for each member of our family, hoping to uncover the mysteries of her and her biracial children’s ethnic backgrounds. She couldn’t have ever anticipated that the DNA tests would reconnect ancient severed ties, or pave the way back to the Philippines. But within days of receiving her ancestry test, my mom was in contact with distant members of her biological family, exchanging stories and picking up the puzzle pieces.
My mother had known little about her adopted parents. She had come from a closed adoption, meaning that the records of her biological parents were left unknown to her and her adopted family. Now, she knew everything.
Her parents’ names were Magdalena de Castillo and Arnulfu Pontino. Arnulfu was the victim of a terrible bus accident, and was left bedridden and in a coma before dying years after. In the wake of Arnulfu’s tragic accident, Magdalena gave my mother away for adoption.
Many of the details of my mother’s adoption remain shrouded in scandal and mystery. Adoption was unheard of in traditional Philippines, so much so that countless members of my mother’s family had no idea of my mother’s existence. For those that knew of the event, my mother’s adoption represented a very sore and personal wound, unable to mend itself even after 50 years. There were some relatives who refused to recognize my mother as Magdalena’s legitimate child for their own comfort and convenience.
Magdalena died in 2007, 11 years before my mother had finally reconnected with her biological family. Those closest to Magdalena told of how she longed to be reunited with Arnulfu and my mother until the end. Ever since the accident, Magdalena was never fully there, always with a faraway look in her eyes.
The information was difficult to process; it was as if we were mourning the death of a stranger, someone that we had never truly known, but who impacted our lives so deeply. My mother would show me pictures of her, comparing her facial features to her own. My mom’s expression was always unreadable whenever we talked about Magdalena. For me, learning about my grandmother’s death was inexplicably harrowing; I can only imagine how my mom had felt.
“She [Magdalena] may [have] been bubbly in her facade, but, deep inside I knew she hurt [until] the end. When I visited her wake, I remember very well what her husband shared with me. That the last time he saw her, she was sitting at their dinner table, with [a] far, far away look and a great sadness in her eyes, holding her dearest companion: Her cigarette! It was then at that moment I surrendered my grief that in death, she is finally at peace with herself, and that your grandpa and she are together again.”
Tita Emilie on my grandmother, Magdalena [Diting] de Castillo
My mother’s reconnection with her family, as well as the news of her mother’s death, compelled her to buy three tickets for my family to visit the Philippines. We were to meet up with her Tita (Aunt) Agueda and her family, before meeting everyone else at a massive family reunion in Bacolod, Philippines.
On the plane ride to Bacolod, I anticipated watching my mom reunite with the family she had lost so many years ago. In my head, I imagined her embracing Tita Agueda, with tears streaming down her face. It would be a pivotal moment in her life, the true beginning of her relationship with her biological family. But as my mother took her aunt in her arms, her cheeks were dry, and her face was carved from stone. Even in the days leading up to the reunion, as more long lost relatives embraced her and kissed her forehead, she remained level-headed, yet smiling.
In those few days, there was not a silent moment. My mother had missed out on nearly 50 years of life within the de Castillo family, and her relatives did their best to fill in the blanks. Tita Agueda and her brothers, Junior and Konit, told stories of their childhood: how they once had a wok so big that they swam in it as children, and how they would stand on their tiptoes to reach the mangoes on the tree in their garden. They had hailed from a rich family, with their parents involved in the sugar cane business. Every day, it seemed, they would tell us new stories about the different places they had visited in the Philippines and around the world.
Everyone had stories about my grandmother, Magdalena, whom they called Diting. Diting, with her infectious personality, was the person who was always sought after at every event. She knew how to party, and loved Mahjong, so much so that she would pay her family members to play with her, only to beat them again and again.
“She was so full of life, and the most sought after person in parties. She loved food, and as shown by her body, lots of it! The way she loved fruits was amazing. I remember her bringing kilos of fruits inside the movie house… Few people may see her inner character tho. For me, she is a passionate character. When she loves, she loves to the fullest, giving her everything. Till the end, she searched for your mom. Even marriage to another man and having another child didnt deter her from her longing to be with your grandpa and your mother.
Tita Emilie on my grandmother, Magdalena [Diting] de Castillo
With each story and moment that we shared with our biological family, I could feel my mom slowly peel away her hardened exterior: she was smiling more often and laughing at every anecdote. Now, I could tell, she had finally begun to appreciate her biological family without any hesitation.
On the day of the big reunion, my mother was nearly smothered with questions and embraces from everyone there. There were nearly 200 people in the venue, all somehow related to my mom. People would pull my mother aside to talk about her mother Magdalena (Diting) with tears in their eyes and laughter on their lips.
My mother and I arranged to perform ABBA’s Dancing Queen in front of all of our relatives. We sang an entire beat out of time, and incredibly out of tune, but as I sang and held my mother’s hand, I knew that there was no place that she would rather be.
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