The Announcement

***Posted by Marivic, Part 3 of our 25th anniversary series

My “knight in shining armor” did not have to slay dragons to marry me. He did not have to scale mountains, or square-off with wicked witches and break evil spells just so we can have our happily ever-after. But that’s not to say he had it easy. There were hoops to jump through, hurdles to clear and obstacles to overcome.  First and foremost, he had to return to my village and sweep me away. And while he was there he had to endure being sized-up, judged, “poked and prodded.”

Okay, so what the heck am I talking about? I was a city-girl, born and raised in the second most significant metropolitan centre in the Philippines. What is this village I speak of?

I am borrowing from the phrase “It takes a village to raise a child”.  Once upon a time I was one of those fortunate kids who was loved and raised by a village. That village included not just my parents and siblings but practically a formidable circle of extended family that included grandparents, aunts, uncles, grandaunts and granduncles, cousins, second cousins, and a seemingly endless array of relatives, and close family friends.  I guess, you have to understand Philippine culture to totally comprehend that an extended family is not something you deal with only at family reunions or gatherings, but everyday of your life, and that it’s perfectly okay for say, a cousin three times removed to mind your business. In addition, as a young Mormon growing up in a predominantly Catholic country, I was part of a tight-knit church family where my stake and ward leaders and fellow latter-day saints were not just people I went to church with, but friends of the family, and practically family.  And since they are family, it was perfectly okay for them to mind my business as well. Yes indeed, I grew up in a very tight, loving, and protective village. Very protective.

Because they cared about me, I totally expected people in my world to judge, misunderstand and even disapprove of my personal choices.  So when Alan and I started to become “us”, I didn’t tell anybody back home. I was twitter-pated with the most amazing boy (and he with me!) but nobody back home knew. Not my family and not even my best friend. First of all, I still had a few months left on my mission at that time. I wanted to serve diligently and I didn't want to worry about telling anyone and dealing with whatever reaction there was to deal with. So I kept "us" to myself.  As far as everyone back home was concerned, Elder Marsden was just one of the many young American missionaries who passed through Cebu. There was no reason for anyone in my world to associate the name "Elder Marsden" with Marivic Cuyos. And nobody did.

But then Alan and I started writing to each other about his plans to return to the Philippines after I am done with my mission so we could "date" and have a semblance of a normal courtship. I knew then that I had to tell my family soon. In my anxiety I wrote to my best friend, Milcah (rest in peace my beloved friend), about a month before my homecoming to tell her about what's going to transpire. She was floored! But she was very supportive, and agreed to stay mum until I could tell my parents myself.

January 9, 1985 was the day I returned. Like most missionaries, I felt very conflicted about being home. But I was also very excited because unknown to all except my best friend, I was already about to begin a new chapter in my life. When all the happy commotion involving my homecoming settled down, I finally told my parents I was planning to get engaged to the boy they knew as Elder Marsden. Can you imagine how that must have been like for my parents? Well, for now, that’s all you can do, imagine, because I am not going to talk about their reaction on this post. It’s a complicated thing to write about and I need time.

Instead for this post, I am going to reminisce about the rather amusing (to a Filipino) but perplexing (to a 21 year-old American boy) experiences Alan had with my village and the village people (that sounds funny), 25 years ago this month. When I look back to February 1985, I can't help but fall in love with my Alan all over again.  He was truly my knight in shining armor, steadfast and true.  It would have been so easy back then to say this is not going to work so good-bye. After all, many grown ups around us said it was not going to work.

First, there was my grandmother, my father’s mother, Lola Peling.  She was fiercely Catholic, outspoken, tactless and feisty. But I loved her dearly and I was pretty close to her. She hated that my parents converted to Mormonism and she didn’t like the American missionaries and never ever welcomed them in her home despite my parent’s missionary efforts. But custom required that Alan meet my grandparents, so boy, oh, boy! I took him to her house to meet my father’s side of the family.  Alan not being in his comfort zone reverted to the familiar missionary mode, and when I introduced him to Lola Peling, he extended his hand for an American handshake and said, “Nice to meet you, Sister. How are you?” There upon my non-Mormon grandmother retorted and haughtily said, “Don’t call me, ‘Sister’. Do I look like your sister?”  Holy crap!  I felt so bad for Alan  I just wanted to kiss him right there and then as if he was a big “owie”! I was mad at Lola Peling!  Fortunately, my grandfather Lolo Ikor, a very placid (all Cuyos men are placid), gentle and well-mannered man, took over from there. He welcomed Alan and invited him to the dinner table. I could immediately tell my grandpa approved and liked him, and that was all that mattered. So, hurrah for the patriarchal order in Filipino families! If my Lolo approved, then no one else had a say. Not that my wonderfully caring but, oh so very abrasive grandmother kept quiet.  She pulled me aside one day and said, “Marivic, if you want to marry an American marry a rich old American! Why marry this boy who is not even done with college? You are going to be poor.  What’s the point in going to America to be poor?” (*Sigh*)  Another time she said to me, “You are going to be sorry someday that you married an American.” I asked her why. And she responded, “They treat their women badly.” Puzzled I asked, “How do you know this Lola?” And she said, “Don’t you watch the American TV show "Dallas?” Aii-yaii-yaii. Alan is no J.R. Ewing, Lola! No one, but no one in my life has ever been like my beautiful and spunky grandmother, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing as you can see.

Baby Marivic in my Granpa's arm, with Lola Peling, my aunts and godsister.

My grandmother, of course, was not the only adult in my life who was concerned about my decision.  They were perhaps slightly more reasonable and subtle about it than my grandmother, but nevertheless found ways to express it.

I remember taking Alan one day to my Institute class. Many of my classmates, were young people from my stake and ward whom I’ve grown up with. The instructor knew me and my family. Want to guess what the Institute course of study was for that year? “Eternal Marriage”. And I remember exactly what we talked about in that class that day, as my tall, white boyfriend sat next to me in a classroom full of little brown college-age Filipinos. We talked about the importance of being compatible with our eternal companion. Spiritually. Socially. Culturally. The instructor (Brother Mascardo) assigned topics for us to discuss with a partner, and then to share the results of our discussion with the class. Alan and I were partnered. Of course. And our assigned topic to discuss? “The importance of cultural compatibility in eternal marriage.”  Of course. Needless to say, that was awkward.  But in a way a good exercise that injected a little reality into our romance.

Me with my sisters and friends from church.

Then there was that encounter with my old seminary teacher and family friend, Sister Villanueva. I looked up to her. I still do.  She was a wonderful seminary teacher and I considered her a mentor. Every summer when I was in college, I worked in their home office filing and doing clerical chores for President Villanueva, the CES director at that time. I ate lunch and sometimes dinner with their big family (I think there were eight kids and counting at that time!) She was a strong woman, smart and accomplished, a loving and an admirably efficient mother. I wanted to be like her when I grow up--- well, minus at least half of the eight children if I was being honest. She cared about me and I admired her and President Villanueva deeply. But apparently, she was not happy about Alan. At the conclusion of the morning session of  Stake Conference  I remember she walked right up to Alan while still in the chapel, and said “What do you think you are doing?” Alan smiled but did not know exactly what she meant. Sister Villanueva continued, “How can you take Marivic away from us?” Alan started to chuckle thinking she was joking. But Sister Villanueva was not smiling, “Marivic is a wonderful young woman.  The church in the Philippines needs future leaders like her. What do you think you are doing coming here and taking her away?" Oh, my gosh! She was scolding him and she was serious. Alan, the 21-year old American boy from West Bountiful Utah, was flabbergasted that someone he didn’t know would say that to his face (the Villanuevas had moved away by the time Elder Marsden served in Cebu, and were only there that Sunday because President Villanueva was the visiting authority at the stake conference). I had to explain to him after I extracted him from the situation, who Sister Villanueva was and that her family are leaders and pioneers of the church in the Philippines. That she nurtured me as a youth and taught me how to be a leader, so she must feel it was her right to straighten him out. He understood and was accepting, but nevertheless it was another ouch-moment for him courtesy of my village.

Finally, there was my temple recommend interview with President Siady, my stake president, now a Facebook friend religiously reading this anniversary series :-) Anyway---the Manila temple was not completed until I was half-way through my mission so like most Filipino missionaries in my time I didn’t get to go to the temple before my mission, and now I was getting a  recommend so I could be endowed and later marry in the temple. I had already had my interview with my bishop, so my interview with President Siady was just a formality.  We did it at his home, and Alan and Sister Siady were in the same room visiting while President Siady talked to me. During the interview I remember him asking us why we were getting married. Because we were in love? He told us that he hoped that we were sure it was the right thing to do.  He said that many Mormon Filipinas who married American returned missionaries eventually ended up divorced.  How well do we know each other?  How do we know we were right for each other? He sounded very concerned . Since I had great respect for President Siady, a great example of leadership in the church and success in his personal life, I reflected on what he said many times after that visit.  But I have to be honest, I was young, naïve and unafraid. What young girl imagines that the man she is going to marry will divorce her later in life?  President Siady has since visited us in the States several times, and during our trip back in 1990 we even stayed in his home and I think he has seen that all those thought-provoking questions he asked us when we were young set us off in the right direction. 

So as you see, after waiting for over a year to be together again, February 1985 did not turn out just all fun and romance for me and Alan. People who cared about my happiness questioned my decision-making process.  The common concern was that marriage is complicated enough for people from the same world. How much more for two kids from different sides of the globe, who seemed to have separate destinies until paths intersected? But I understood that they questioned only because they cared. They didn’t want us to make the biggest mistake of our life. And I’m grateful I had people who cared about me and made me think hard. I’m grateful that Alan returned to the Philippines so we could examine our feelings and our relationship face to face in the stark reality of my culture. I saw how Alan behaved and adjusted to the village-culture of my world, the part of it that he was not exposed to back when he was a missionary, and if there was a test I say he passed it with flying colors!  By the end of February 1985, I knew I was irrevocably swept off my feet and ready to ride off into the sunset in his arms. (Was I  hopelessly corny or what?! Still am.)

***Part 4 by Alan will be posted on Wednesday, February 17.