PART I: Formative Years and Life in Rosario–Nato
The life journey of Mr. Florencio “Nonoy Pinsing” Alonso, his devoted wife, Inday Lily Alvarez-Alonso, and their 12 children—eight sons and four daughters—is, to my mind, a living testament to faith, discipline, enterprise, and enduring family unity.
Rooted in the fertile lands of La Castellana, their story reflects not only material progress but moral fortitude and deep communal ties. I consider it a privilege to have witnessed their formative years from close range.
In Hda. Rosario–Nato stood their imposing two-level residence fondly called “Balay Daku”. Complete with a fireplace and chimney—rare features in a rural hacienda home—it symbolized both aspiration and refinement.
Our own house stood barely 30 meters away within the same cyclone-fenced compound. That proximity shaped our childhood in ways words can hardly capture.
My siblings—Jo, Bebot, Neneng, Bred, and Rey—and I grew up alongside the Alonso children, sharing laughter, scraped knees, whispered secrets, and life lessons that would linger long after childhood faded.
Those were unstructured yet meaningful days. We played tumba-patis, enter-enter, hide-and-seek, sungka, rope skipping, cards, hole-in, and spirited soccer matches in the wide yard. We grazed carabaos, rode on their broad backs, bathed and fished in the river, climbed nearby hills, chewed freshly cut sugarcane, and crafted bird traps from bamboo and twine.
The world felt expansive and safe. Often, the Alonso children would arrive at our house unannounced, share our meals, and sleep over. We would do the same in theirs. It was a time marked by openness, trust, and a deep sense of belonging.
The Alonsos possessed the only telephone in the neighborhood, with another unit in their office—hand-cranked instruments that connected through a central operator. Neneng fondly recalls how she and Lilyboy would sometimes give a long ring simply to catch the operator’s attention and ask for the correct time of day.
On occasion, youthful curiosity led them to eavesdrop on conversations—particularly those of Nonoy Pinsing—since the line was shared as a party line with Balay Daku. Thankfully, their innocent mischief remained undiscovered, tucked safely into the treasury of childhood secrets.
Modernity touched Balay Daku in other ways. The family owned a tape recorder—an impressive device at the time—that played Spanish ballads and local songs. One tune that lingers in my memory is “Haciendero,” whose lyrics captured both the promise and uncertainty of sugar life:
“Umaga sang banwa sakay sa awto,
Pa Bacolod mahulam sa bangko.
Matambok ang tubo, manubo ang presyo.
Bawion lang, sa sunod nga galing na.”
Through such music—and through conversations between Nonoy Pinsing and Inday Lily in Spanish—I gained early exposure to the language. That informal immersion later helped me earn top grades in Spanish at the university. Little did I know that childhood listening would become academic advantage.
Weekends sometimes brought joyful excursions. We would travel together aboard the sturdy Weapons Carrier or the family station wagon to Blue Hawaii Beach in Hinigaran or to the Acapulco Swimming Pool in Himamaylan.
The journey itself was part of the adventure. Laughter filled the vehicle as we anticipated sea breeze, cool waters, and the freedom of open skies. Those trips were more than leisure—they were woven memories of sunshine, storytelling, and shared delight.
By the late 1960s, in search of broader opportunities, the family relocated when Nonoy Pinsing assumed the role of administrator of Hacienda Carmenchica in Pontevedra. During the transition, they stayed briefly in Bacsay—places I continued to visit.
Leadership seemed to follow him naturally. He served as president of the Sugar Planters’ Associations of La Carlota, Pontevedra, and La Castellana. His influence extended beyond the cane fields into civic and spiritual life.
An eloquent English speaker, he once delivered an extemporaneous radio message over DYEZ, quoting Mark 10:31: “But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
His message was clear: earthly wealth and social standing do not determine greatness. Humility, sacrifice, and obedience to God define true success. Those words would echo powerfully in the paths chosen by his children.
Nicolas “Nico,” the eldest, possessed mechanical brilliance. He could dismantle and reassemble his large motorbike with remarkable ease. In later years, he administered the vast Uriarte coffee plantation in Pontevedra and was appointed the Sugar Regulatory Administrator during the Estrada presidency.
His responsibilities—regulation, production monitoring, trade oversight, and research development—were vital in a province whose lifeblood was sugar.
Cecilia “Inday Celia” displayed exceptional literary talent even in high school. I vividly recall her essay reflecting on love and good riddance—a piece so mature it left me in awe. She later became a broadcaster for DYEZ Radio in La Carlota City.
During the 1969 Kanlaon eruptions, she reported with wit and professionalism, humorously remarking, “Kay man ining Kanlaon ka pilyo gid.” Today, she resides in Canada, her voice once again carried across new horizons.
Domingo “Nene” once saved my life. At 5 years old, I fell from a truck roof and struck the bumper, blood streaming from my head. Nene rushed me home, pressing his hand firmly against the wound until I could receive stitches. That courageous act remains etched in my memory.
Decades later, together with Lilybel and friends, we revisited the ruins of Balay Daku, our childhood haunts, my Moringa farm, and even my strawberry project in Canlaon City—retracing the geography of memory.
Pilar Milagros “Baby,” beauteous and charming, blossomed into a dedicated professional with Sterling Airlines in Manila. Her grace and determination reflect both inner strength and outward elegance.
From humble farm beginnings, the Alonso children carried forward values of courage, intellect, service, and faith. Balay Daku was not merely a structure of wood and stone—it was a training ground for leadership shaped by discipline, simplicity, and love.
In its wide yard and echoing halls were formed lives that would extend far beyond Rosario–Nato, yet forever remain rooted in its soil. | NWI
(To be concluded)
