ALUMNI

Eulogy for Papa
Derek "Siopao" Chua

Posted Friday, 18-Feb-2005 10:49 AM

     Atty. William Chua is from XS Class 1972. He was a leading human rights lawyer who helped the cause of the poor and oppressed. Atty. Chua likewise prosecuted more than 20 kidnap cases for which he was given the 2003 Rizal Awards for Excellence by The Manila Times. His efforts resulted in 100% conviction rate. Not known to many, most of the cases he handled, he willingly gave his services free of charge. William passed away last December 13, 2004. The following article written by his son, Derek of XS Class 2000, is reprinted from Tulay Fortnightly (January 4, 2005 issue).

            Good evening. My father would be extremely happy to see all of you here tonight. He would be pleased to see the outpouring of so much love and affection, and how special he was to so many people. On behalf of our family, I would like to thank everyone who offered prayers and support, and everyone who came to see him during his time of need.

            This past week, I have been overwhelmed by new things I have learned about Papa from stories related to me fondly by his friends and colleagues – how he eluded arrest during the Marcos era by sneaking out of the La Salle campus in the tiny trunk of his professor's car, how he was constantly blasted with water cannons while protesting in the streets, how he taught us to chant “Marcos Hitler, Diktador Tuta! When we were toddlers, how he would attend his hearings without socks and other countless colorful stories. I thank you for the stories you have shared with my family; this week we have seen a side of Papa through your eyes, a side that we never heard about before.

            These are some of the stories I have heard, and there are many, many more. But whatever they may be, each one has taught me one important thing about my father: that he was essentially a man for others. He thought more about the people around him than himself. When I hear anecdotes about Papa and his work, I always feel a great sense of pride to be his son. This is because underlying these stories is a common theme: It was always about how he helped this person or that, most of them without charging a cent.

            Papa did these things because he prided himself not on his success as a lawyer but on his building an honest reputation, goodwill and trust with his clients, colleagues, and friends. It wasn't the money but the work that mattered. He was always proud of hard work and being a self-made man. All of us looked up to him as an example.

            As a father, Papa was liberal and reasonable but strict and uncompromising when it came to principles – principles such as honesty, loyalty and selflessness. He challenged us not to be afraid to work hard, to be bold and take risks, and to learn from our mistakes. Pop taught us not to think only about ourselves but other people as well. He always told us that the only thing he can really leave us kids is a good name, that we will never be ashamed to tell anyone that he is our father. I am not ashamed; I have never prouder to be anyone's son.

            People always talk to me about the great accomplishments my dad did throughout his life. But for me, it is the little things that make me the saddest, that make me miss him the most. It is these little things that made him who he was, that made him a part of my everyday life. It wasn't his great works but his daily mannerisms and interactions with me that made him my dad. And now, they are no longer here. They add up to a void that reminds me every second, every minute, that life is no longer normal, that life will never be the same again, because the life I will live is one without my father in it.

            I will never again hear his boisterous laugh, listen to his stories, green jokes and foul language, or see the twinkle in his eye when he would come home with a plastic bag full of new DVDs. I will never again have those moments where I would help him organize his movies, or talk about his life, or share a late night pizza or dimsum and noodles. I will miss hiding his chicharon in my closet so that my mom wouldn't catch him munching on it, or hearing him talk about his wine and liquor collection and explaining the difference between scotch and cognac.

            I'll never again have those funny moments when I'd accompany him to the mall with him in his slippers and ratty old house shorts. The store clerks would always snub him, and he would have this satisfied smirk on his face when he'd buy something just to shock them that this disheveled old man actually had cash in his pocket. I will miss watching him tinker with his toolbox around the house, drilling holes and hammering nails for new paintings, rearranging the house décor every two weeks, changing light bulbs and other things that made him quite the handyman.

            My dad had simple joys; he got his kicks out of simple things. He had this habit of waking up in the middle of the night to check up on us kids, and if we were sleeping, he would lie down on our beds and hug each of us for five minutes, whispering in our ear that he loved us. I loved that about him, and it saddens me to know that I can never share that with him again.

            But now, seeing how much people love him and how he touched everyone here, I am comforted by the fact that my dad mattered to others the way he mattered to me. The blow is cushioned by the knowledge that even if he is not here physically, the mark he left will always be with me, and in that way, I am closer to him than ever before. While my dad never see his grandkids, or see how we turn out in the years to come, I am thankful that in the 22 years I knew him, he taught me enough to go on. He taught me how to be a man.

            My father was sick for six months until he passed away, and for those six months, I took care of him, along with my mother and my siblings. It was the most difficult experience of my life, but it was also the most rewarding. Many asked me why I gave up job opportunities, further studies, and post-graduate vacation to stay at home or in the hospital with Papa. And it's true. For six months his sickness became the center of my life, and it meant sacrifices on my part as well as on the part of my entire family. Many told me I gave up my life for those months, and that is true as well.

            But looking back, I have no regrets. I would give up my life again, in a second; if it meant that I could do what I did then – dedicate my life and myself for someone who dedicated his life to me. For whatever sacrifices I made, they were but opportunities for me to repay my Papa for everything he was to me – a father and a role model. I am at peace with the fact that, even if for a while, I was able to share in what he went through. I was able to assure him through my care and my company that whatever struggles he had to endure, he was never alone.

            Sometimes, I would hear comments that people would make to my dad. They would at times chastise him and say that he did too much for too many, when mostly what he got in return were nothing but small tokens or simple “thank you's”. But that's precisely the kind of person he was – he helped not because he wanted fanfare on his behalf or something in return, but because he found a sense of satisfaction in knowing he made a difference in someone's life.

            Nevertheless, seeing all of you gathered here today, and having experienced such an outpouring of love, I am sure that now my dad knows that everything he did really did matter. If in the past, people thought that his work was trivialized because of lack of recognition or because he did not receive much in return, now I can see that his work really meant something. His work was anything BUT trivial. And I thank you today because by being here, you have all given him the biggest reward and recognition, far greater than what he could have received when he was still alive – you are all giving him back love, respect and honor. I'm sure he could ask for nothing more. Thank you very much to all of you.
  

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