A loving tribute to a very special person during my growing up years.

YAYEE  ..  THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS



I was really fascinated, the first time I heard  the song.


The MELODY.  The LYRICS.  The MESSAGE. The Message . . . FOR ME.


The  picture  of  the MIGHTY EAGLE flashed before my mind . . . the eagle, the King of the Air, that can soar so powerfully and so gracefully over its vast, limitless empire - and gaze unblinking at the mighty sun.  And yet the eagle, with its majestic, magnificent  wingspan, can fly only because it is held aloft by the wind beneath its wings.


And I thought -- if I am WHO I am -- and WHAT I am today -- what, or who, has brought me here?  WHO HAS BEEN THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS?


Some names immediately come to mind -- Fr.Richard Leonard and Fr. Arthur Shea --- Bishop Cornelius de Wit - Earl Martin and Dr. Rene Magalona --Coty Cobangbang and Amy Gustilo --  Fr. Hernando Maceda and Fr. James McCann -- Gil and Purita Jalandoni.  But there are OTHER names that do not readily come to mind -- and yet they are just as deserving . . . for example, YAYEE.  The wind beneath  my wings.  YAYEE.


When I was born -- towards the end of the year of the Dragon, 1940 -- my Mother had no milk in her breasts.  And so we had to ask the help of a nursing  mother in the neighborhood, who would share her mother’s milk with me.  Daily she dropped by to give me, Baby Juni, her milk from her mother’s breasts.


It was at this time that I first met Yayee.  Yayee had just arrived in Manapla from Jaro, Iloilo.  YAYEE WAS MY AUNT. . . MY MOTHER’S YOUNGER SISTER. Yayee” was actually “Otilia” or “Lily”, but Baby Juni could not pronounce “Lily” - I could only manage “Yayee”, and so, to me, and to everybody else, “Lily” became “Yayee.”


Yayee became my babysitter, my YAYA.  I  distinctly remember her tender, gentle, caring, libagon, sintonado singing, coaxing Baby Juni to slumber.  When Yayee sang, the lyrics and the melody never made sense, but they were always a sincere approximation of the original, and they were always sung with much effort, and  great sincerity, and great love . . . by my Yayee, my Yaya.


Then all of a sudden we were on the run.  For  this was the early 1940s.  We found ourselves in the  thick of World War II, and , to survive, we had to be forever running, endlessly evacuating from the ever-attacking Japanese Imperial Army.
One evacuation nest was right beside a river. Yayee would wake up early every morning, and wash the urinolas in the river.  And she would always accidentally let go of the urinolas, and the current of the river would carry them downstream, and Yayee would panic and cry out “Rene! Saklolo! Tabang! Rene!” to Rene, my sleeping big brother, so he would wake up and dive into the river and retrieve the urinolas lost by the clumsy hands of Yayee and playfully snatched  away by the current of the naughty river.  This adventure would happen almost everyday.  With Yayee. Yes, we had laughter, and much fun, because of Yayee.
And then the War ended, and we settled with Tatay Juan and Nanay Paz Javoneta in #108 Washington Street, Bacolod City.  Our house became a boarding  house.  And my Mother became a dressmaker.  And Lola Chong, my grandmother, now totally blind, arrived from Iloilo, and lived with us. The postwar period of my life had begun.


And Yayee  Yayee was still with us, doing sundry jobs around the house, ringing bells at curfew time to drive away the suitors of our lady boarders . . . and still taking care of her naughty Juni, whenever she could.


But I had already grown up  big enough to go to Grade I, in Bacolod West Elementary School.  And my world grew wider, and my barkada was totally new, and  my playground was enormous.  Yes, leaving the house,  and going to school was great, great fun.  And poor Yayee  she just sort of shrank, and faded, deep, deep into the dim, forgotten background of my active life.


I finished Grade School, and I finished High School, and I went to College.  And then I entered the Seminary, and I became a Jesuit.  I was ordained by the Pope ... and then I worked for the liberation of our country and our people from injustice, and Marcos, and Martial Law.


Throughout all this time, Yayee almost totally vanished in obscurity.
Now and then, people would mention Yayee to me, but only to laugh at her.  Partly because she seemed so, so weird.  She probably never reached Grade 4, and she made all sorts of ridiculous mistakes in English and in social graces and in common sense.


Yayee also looked funny, physically.  She was maybe four and a half feet tall  only  and her back was bent; her teeth were very, very bad; her hair always looked terrible.  And she was a bit cross-eyed.  She had very poor vision, and she constantly gazed at nothing, and she often conversed with nobody.


And HER REALITY was different from OUR  REALITY.  Yayee, you, see, was retarded.  She
was retarded.


And she was so out-of-place, so useless in this world.  But she often went to church, and she prayed very devoutly, and she prayed a lot.


And Manang Guising Hilado and Inday really, really cared for her . . . every day.


But the rest of the world, AND THIS CERTAINLY INCLUDED ME,  we sort of  just ignored her, or forgot her, except during Christmas, when three or four of us would condescend to remember her, and  maybe give her a couple of pesos, or some cheap gift, and then we would rush back to OUR reality, and to what is REALLY important in life, like changing the world.


Poor, poor Yayee  when she was not laughed at,  she was forgotten.  She survived in her own weird,  cramped, ignored, wounded world; while all the rest of us grew, and developed, and traveled far, and gazed unflinching at the brilliant sun, and thought we were pretty important, and pretty good, for we were liberating people, and we were changing the world.


And we did not need Yayee.  And we had no use for her.  Not anymore.

            * * *

I was traveling in America, or maybe in Europe, when I heard that Yayee was dead.  Yayee was dead. Maybe I said a brief prayer for her, and that was all  then I returned to other, more important things.  More important  than Yayee.

           * * *

Recently, I passed by Bacolod, and my sisters took me to the cemetery, and we paid our respects to Nanay our mother, and Lola our grandmother, and  Yayee our aunt.


And they said: when Yayee died and was buried, they discovered HER LITTLE  ALTAR  really just a  flat piece of wood which she decorated with flowers,  and before which she silently, and devoutly, prayed.


On Yayee’s ALTAR, there were three images,  before which she prayed . . .every day.


The first was  a CRUCIFIX, on which hung the image of Jesus Christ,Yayee’s God and Savior.


The second was -- a little STATUE of the  Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, and the Mother of Mankind.  And the Mother of Yayee.


The third image was  was a PICTURE of Fr. Juni Jesena, S.J.  The spoiled brat.  But her dear, dear baby.  Her own little Juni.  Her favorite person in the  universe. . . .


Manang Guising said, “Yayee was praying TO you. . . all this time!
I grew silent.  I gazed at the lonely, lonely  grave of Lily Otilia Cajili, my Aunt, my Yayee. . . .


“WHAT WAS THE MEANING OF YOUR EXISTENCE? WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF YOUR LIFE?  To  you, I was everything. . . . To me, you were nothing.  And I never thanked you . . . never showed I cared. I never entered your world, your loneliness, your pain.  I was so blind.  So stupid.  So unfair. . . But you, Yayee, you always loved me . . . And prayed for  me. . . . That is why, despite myself, despite my weakness and my sinfulness . . . I am still a Priest.


“And if today I can fly . . . like an eagle . . . it is  . . .  thanks to . . . the wind beneath my wings!


YOU!  YAYEE!!  MY YAYEE!!!      But now you’re gone, and I am late forever . . . Please forgive me . . .forgive me . . . I am sorry . . . and I thank you . . . and I LOVE YOU.”


Finally, I turned to Manang Guising.  And I said,  “Yayee was not praying TO me.  She was praying FOR  me.  Praying for her little Juni . . . all this time.  For she knew how WEAK,  how FRAIL I am . . . how much I need her . . . and her prayers. Yes. SHE WAS PRAYING FOR ME . . . ALL THIS TIME.”


Thank you.  Yayee.  My Aunt.  My Yayee.  My Yaya.  The wind beneath my wings.  Yayee.

        * * *

My brothers, my sisters: what about YOU? Yes, What about YOU ?


WHO . . . IS THE YAYEE . . . IN YOUR LIFE?


WHO IS THE WIND BENEATH YOUR WINGS?


juni jesena sj
******************************************************
     
                A LETTER TO YAYEE
(Words borrowed from: “The Wind Beneath My Wings”)


My dear Yayee,


It must have been COLD there in MY SHADOW. to never have sunlight on your  face.  You
were content to let ME SHINE, that’s YOUR way.  You ALWAYS WALKED A STEP BEHIND.


So I was the one with all the glory.  While you  were the one with all the strength.  Only a face without a name, for so long.  A beautiful smile to hide the pain.

I want you to know the truth, of course I know -- I would be nothing without you.  I would be nothing without you.

I can fly higher than an eagle.  For you are the wind beneath my wings. You are the wind beneath my wings.

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank God for you:  THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS.
Your son,
Juni Jesena, S.J.
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