My journey with the UPCS
by Marsha Dungog
There are many stories left untold about my life, but many that I will always fondly remember and cherish are my years as a Cherubim. There are not enough words or paper to describe it all, looking back now with so many decades that have passed. And yet, it still seems like just yesterday.
I remember Mom Rivera auditioning me for an apprentice slot with the UPCS in 1982. I think was grade 3. My sister had perfect pitch and sang like an angel. I, well, let’s just say, I was that proverbial lump of coal that had yet to become a diamond. But Mom Rivera was up to the task of polishing lumps of coals into diamonds. Although I was the longest apprentice in the history of the choir, I eventually became a regular Cherubim after two intense years of training.
Little did I know then that the next 10 years of my life spent singing, performing and travelling with the UPCS would be the best and formative years of my young life. Mom Rivera didn’t cut corners, she drilled us tirelessly to master our musical scores, commit and prioritize our time together above all other school extracurricular activities and zealously ingrained in us a deep love for music and the bravery to perform it in as many languages as we could endeavor – Latin, German, French, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, Japanese, Thai, Bahasa Malay, Bisaya, Panggalatoc… you name it. She proved that music was a universal language, and there would be no barriers to attaining as close to perfection as we could get. This daily, consistent rigor of preparation and mastery to flawless execution is one of quintessential traits of a Cherubim member to this day – we never sacrifice quality. We never will.
Mom Rivera never gave up on me. I sang like a drunk with a tendency to lose pitch at the very critical parts of a piece. She never embarrassed me. She would make every one of us sing our parts individually in front of the whole choir until she tracked down the rebel pitch (alas, sometimes, me). I remember repeating the same measures over and over and over again, hours into rehearsal until we harmonized. We learned to focus on our own pitch internally while also listening to the next person beside us so we could balance and hit that “A440” pitch on Mom’s tuning fork just perfectly. Being able to do so inculcated the feeling of accomplishment that can only come from hard work. We developed tenacity and sensitivity at a young age. This skill ultimately helped me overcome my ugly duckling days in the choir, when older Seraphims with flawless pitch and training would be less than kind in their assessment of my abilities. But Mom Rivera saw the potential in me, and just kept polishing away at what seemed like layer upon layer of charcoal.
Then one day, I emerged. I started to sing effortlessly on pitch, not too soft nor too loudly, but just harmonizing with everyone else. I could sight read and intuitively hit that “A” pitch in my head, like a string that was being pulled from my chin to the last strand of my hair on top. It was sheer joy to sing and perform with everyone else. We went on tours all over the Northern Luzon, dressed in colorful, specially-designed costumes; headgear of feathers, gold bracelets, elegant sheer fabric woven of pineapple fibers. We played the recorder and banduria, taught by the grand mistress of banduria playing herself, Prof. Angelita C. Pasamba; we sang pop music with elegant choreography taught by Ate Aura and we had fun doing it. Mom Rivera taught us to prepare for these concerts, to conserve our energy and voices – she would make us eat chicken noodle soup and tuna sandwiches on cold days, and we would all come to her house to regroup, to relax, and enjoy each other’s company. My love for orchids started with her extensive collection of beautiful vandas, Phalaenopsis, and cattleyas propped on rows upon rows of driftwood trunks in front of her home.
We also learned to have the best manners when dealing with each other, and also as guests in homes of families who would host us when we toured. It was through UPCS that I learned formal dining etiquette, how to engage in proper and courteous conversation with officials, diplomats, and royalty. In fact, my first tour of Hong Kong was in 1982. In that tour, I remember being at a long dining table and being served raw steak. Blood was oozing out of it, but every one of us kept mum and never complained. We just didn’t eat it. So imagine my joy when everyone mysteriously also passed on this yummy chicken dish served in a bowl (which I then proceeded to eat). It ended up being snake. Ah! No wonder they all gave it to me. But because we were so well-mannered, no one ever asked the host what we were eating! This experience is the gift that keeps on giving. I’ve charmed the most difficult of clients and appeased wrathful adversaries with this skill of knowing when to keep your mouth shut.
Then of course, on this same tour, we ended up performing for the PROC in Guangzhou, at a time when everyone there was still wearing black pajamas and riding on bicycles. There were two currencies – a national one, and one for foreigners so we could only buy in foreign-designated stores. We also spent months and months practicing this “Wuo Ai Beijing Tiananmen” song in Mandarin. When we finally performed it before the State, to my surprise no one clapped or even stood up in ovation at our flawless delivery in Mandarin. Yet, when the Chinese choir performed, the applause was so loud the entire theatre felt like it would collapse. To this day, I sing this Mandarin song in every cocktail party that gets a little rowdy. I’ve also sung it to my board of directors when I was tax counsel at The Dow Chemical Company headquarters in Midland. Suffice to say, this is the song that no one saw coming. And it keeps coming. Out of me. On good days. On bad days. On hell, who cares days. In many ways, that little kid who worked hard to learn it and didn’t get appreciated for it (back Guangzhou) is still in me, somewhere. She strikes when I least expect it and she is always welcome to take over my adult self.
My next tour was the International Choral Competition in Nagano, Japan in 1984. We would go around in groups of 4 or 5 using public transportation, and my group was inadvertently dropped off by a taxi cab at the wrong train station. Apollo, Domingo Landicho, Jun Ganaden, and I found ourselves stranded in a train station filled with Japanese commuters who could not speak English. It was sheer fear and anxiety, but I will never forget the look of delight on the train cashier’s face when I said “Hotel Okura" and he understood what it was. He took a phone book and pointed to a row of numbers that was what appeared to be the telephone number to the hotel. A few hours later, we got picked up from the train station and were met with tight hugs and tears from our very relieved UPCS crew. Apparently, the entire Tokyo police had been looking for us!
The next tour was of Hong Kong in 1985 – there were just a few of us who were picked to perform in Hong Kong. I don’t recall what we did or where we went, as things have become quite hazy by now. But it was in its own way, memorable as I remember Tita Lennette singing on the deck of a Chinese ferry at midnight –the moon was full, big and bright yellow sitting on top of the Yangtze river like a gold. I will never forget it.
My last tour was the Southeast Asian tour of 1988. My goodness, that was epic. I know we toured Bangkok, Jakarta (the mosquitoes swimming by our bathroom pool water were enormous), Kuala Lumpur, and Singapore. My mom had joined us for this tour, and I was already one of the older Cherubim by this time. I recall how we ended up almost starving, eating just kropek, in Jakarta because the food was too spicy, the curry was too icky and the water was spiked with hot peppers. The Philippine embassy learned that we were not eating well, so they prepared a feast of yummy Filipino food for us. That was heaven. In Singapore we stayed at the YWCA and we toured this amazing National Orchid Garden. Many decades later, I went back to Singapore looking for this same orchid garden, reliving the fun time we had there.
Our UPCS years usually end once we graduate from high school. But, maybe because I spent the longest time being an apprentice, I also ended up extending at the back end of my career, staying with the UPCS until my 3rd year in college at UP Diliman. By that time, my mother had already gone ahead to San Francisco, and I was transitioning into the brave new world of early adulthood. UPCS was my favorite place to go. I continued singing and performing with everyone even as I became the most senior member of the group. Maybe this was the time the diamond emerged from the charcoal, as we embarked on a new exciting project – Awit Ni Pulau, an environmental play penned by Palanca award-winning writer Edgardo Maranan and set to music by National Artist Dr. Ramon P. Santos specifically for our choir. It was nothing like what we had done before, and Mom Rivera picked me to play the lead role of Igaddu. A male god. Mind you, my version was a handsome stud of a man! It was so much fun preparing with the younger generation of UPCS. We were so close and tight-knit like a small gang. We would put on each other’s makeup, look after each other, and encourage one another to make the next performance better than the last.
I remember singing so many solo songs and not once did Mom Rivera tell me I was out of pitch. She would sit in the front row and listen as we rehearsed and performed. She gave me notes and encouraged me to keep on singing. One afternoon, she called me to come sit beside her. She said I sang beautifully. That was my watershed moment. That one moment when I realized how much Mom Rivera had changed my life and transformed me from that lump of charcoal so many years ago.
I was studying for my Masters of Law in Taxation at Georgetown University Law Center in Washington DC when news of Mom Rivera’s death reached me. I was having a hard time already without this news – I had come to DC on a fellowship to help pay for my tuition so I worked two jobs in addition to a full-time load at the Georgetown. I barely had any money to spend on an international student visa, and I had volunteered as a pianist for the Jesuit priest holding early Sunday morning mass at the University just so I could have access to a piano to practice my music and sing. When I learned of Mom Rivera’s death, I went to the Washington Cathedral grounds and bought a potted cyclamen plant with white flowers that I named “Flora” – I think it was early October or late September, because the grounds were crisp with falling leaves and air had a chill already. I lit a candle for Mom Rivera, sang “Who Has Touched The Sky,” and took my cyclamen back to my dormitory. I would sing to that cyclamen every morning, in different languages – Liebeslieder Waltzes by Brahms, Wir Eilen Mit Schwachen of J.S. Bach, La Petite Fille Sage by Poulanc, every single song I could remember. Although these days singing is best left to the young, I find myself singing our songs when I feel overwhelmed with so much beauty or grief. It hits a chord deep in me that calms and comforts me, but at the same time, recalibrates me to emerge a stronger and much better version of myself.
Happy 49th Anniversary, UP Cherubim and Seraphim. I am proud to be part of this family forever.
XOXO,
Marsha
