shared by Theresa Navarro, her cousin
"O Ate, Where Art Thou?"
I have a confession: as far as I can remember, I never called Cindy my “Ate” – a Tagalog term of respect used to address older female relatives. In my immediate family, for example, I was called Ate so often that my own brother didn’t know my actual name until we were well into middle school. In retrospect, I find this so strange – especially because Cindy was and always will be someone I hold in the highest respect.
Although she already had four sisters of her own, Cindy treated me like I was one of her own. Since her passing in 2003, I never had a chance to share my memories of Cindy outside of private conversations with family and close friends. This blog represents the first opportunity I have to publicly express how much Cindy has touched my life.
From the beginning, above all else, we were playmates. I regularly begged my parents to let me sleepover “Cindy and VJ’s house” – a magical place full of books, clothes, games, toys, and videos. If we weren’t watching The Princess Bride on VHS or playing with thrice handed down She-Ra figurines, I was happily studying up on early 90s style by letting Cindy make me her living doll. She’d braid my hair with her signature colorful thread kit or dress me up for mock photo shoots – and I so enjoyed being an object of her attention that I’d get mildly jealous when I realized she shared close relationships with other cousins as well.
A true people person, Cindy would rather create common ground than play favorites. These bonds she almost single-handedly forged amongst my cousins were so dynamic that we even formed a club – the F.L.I. girls (yes, based off the dancers from In Living Color!!!) – and we were so legit, with initiation rites, special roles, and everything. We shared secrets, performed dance routines, and made light-hearted mischief – and Cindy was the good-natured glue that kept us all together.
As we got older, our cousin time transformed from games and toys to gossip and boys, but I always appreciated how Cindy stayed involved with church, family and school. Sure, I may have had to sneak the cordless phone upstairs while we “played chess” (code for when we called our crushes) and occasionally forgot to return R&B mixtapes from Cindy’s many admirers (Shai, All-4-One, Color Me Badd – swoon!). But I also became an altar server after Cindy made it seem "cool" and watched in awe as she orchestrated the annual Rabuy clan holiday gift exchange.
It was Cindy’s commitment to school, however, that really had the most profound impact on me. While she took me to high school dances and parties as her singing and dancing little cousin, she also introduced me to her love for learning and team sports. From her letterman jacket to her creative school projects, Cindy showed me a holistic educational experience requires finding a harmony between fun and responsibility.
Though Cindy’s actions and achievements came from a truly altruistic place, her hard work and dedication did not go unnoticed. I bragged incessantly about Cindy’s important elected posts and various awards – my cousin Cindy did this, my cousin Cindy did that. And I cheered loudest of all from the TAK Field sidelines as Cindy was inducted into the Homecoming Court – a Rabuy tradition I’m proud to be part of as well.
We drifted when she went away to college at UCLA, but she was there for me during one of the most crucial moments of my academic career. After sending in solid college applications – with a high GPA, solid SAT score, and your typical Rabuy extracurricular activity list – I was unceremoniously rejected from every single school I sought admission to. I was beyond devastated, sulking in my room for days and refusing consolation from anyone.
Lo and behold, Cindy returned and nonchalantly delivered a plain manila envelope to my room. Inside, Cindy had photocopied letterheads from the three schools that rejected me, with apology letters about why they could not accept me for the most fantastic reasons – a new experiment where they only accepted uncool kids, how unfair it might be for un-cute girls to have me there, and so forth. Cindy also sent me information on Santa Monica Community College, a Southern California JC with a terrific transfer rate to UCLA, and a handwritten note (in her uncannily neat penmanship) to move with her to LA while I finished up my GE.
While I eventually received a scholarship to attend the University of California – Riverside, I probably would not have had the confidence to go away to college if she had not nurtured my broken ego at that critical moment. When my parents weren’t able to bring me to orientation, Cindy offered to go as my guardian and received more information than my parents would have requested anyway! She rescued me regularly from the boondocks of the Inland Empire and we were both excited to partake in another Rabuy tradition – Philippine Culture Night – when she was called back to her creator.
Today, Cindy’s little cousin – a title I was and still am proud to bear – is on the verge of 26 and freshly graduated from a Masters Program at the University of Hawai’i. Not surprisingly, even 3000 miles away, I continue to meet people that have experienced Cindy’s generous spirit. Whenever I do return to the Bay Area, no visit feels complete without stopping by her grave to pay my respects.
To this day, I often imagine what advice Cindy would give me if she were here or whether she would approve of the decisions I’ve made so far. I see my own younger cousins grow up and while I’m far from perfect, I can only hope to offer them the same sisterly love and acceptance that Cindy showed me. Though her untimely departure came as a major shock, I’ve come to realize that we haven’t lost our Cindy forever. I can find her every time I volunteer or listen to a loved one or practice humility. She remains an irreplaceable presence in my life and I love and miss her so much – my cousin: Ate Cindy.
