Our Unfulfilled Dreams for Chateau Du Mer

The Chateau Du Mer Beach House and Conference Hall , Front Gate, 1999 

If you follow my blogs, you probably know, Macrine ( RIP) and I built a retirement Beach House and Conference Hall in Boac, Marinduque for ourselves in 1999, three years before my retirement from the FDA.  Since then we divided our time in the Philippines and the US. When Macrine passed in 2020, I decided to close the beach house and live here in the US almost whole year round. 

The following is a semi-fictional story based on our unfulfilled plan to transform Chateau Du Mer as a haven for Filipino retirees returning home to the Philippines.  

🌺 “Chateau Du Mer: A Second Coming”

This is a semi-fictional story based on the transformation of our beloved beach house into a haven for Filipino retirees returning home- ONE of the several  future dreams for our Balikbayans- not fulfilled. The photos in this posting are real photos and not AI generated. 

Chapter One: The Return

In the quiet town of Amoingon, Boac, Marinduque, the sea had always whispered stories to the wind. Long after the parties, family reunions, and golden sunsets faded into photographs, Chateau Du Mer stood in dignified silence—a beachfront home, once vibrant, now resting in semi-retirement itself.

David B. Katague, now in his 90s, stood at the veranda💚, his cane planted in the gravel, looking out to the Western Sibuyan Sea. He and his late wife, Macrine, had built this place in 1999 as their escape from America, their homage to the land that raised them.

But now, with the world changing and friends slowly vanishing into silence, David felt an urge—not to let go, but to transform. Chateau Du Mer still had a mission.

“What if this place becomes more than memory? What if it becomes a sanctuary… for people like me, coming home to rest and live again?”

---

Chapter Two: The Vision💚

David reached out to old friends and new partners: a Jesuit-educated architect from Manila, a balikbayan nurse from New Jersey, and a local priest who once served as an OFW chaplain in Dubai.

Together, they sketched a bold plan: Chateau Du Mer Balikbayan Retirement Sanctuary—a beachfront retreat not of sorrow, but of second chances and active senior living.

• The main house would remain, lovingly restored with hand-carved molave wood accents and capiz windows.

• Beside it, a cluster of “Kubo Moderno” villas would rise, open to sea breeze and sun.

• 

  The Chateau Du Mer Conference Hall, Built in 2001

  A Conference Hall and Healing Garden would grow where the old mango tree once stood, with winding paths, bamboo benches, and stations for prayer and meditation.

• The garage would transform into a wellness clinic, offering telemedicine, hilot, and even acupuncture and herbal medicines.

• A small chapel, open to the sea, would host weekly Mass, rosaries, and a choir of residents harmonizing under the moonlight.

  
  The Prayer Room at Chateau Du Mer, Built in 2010

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Chapter Three: The First Tenants

They came from Los Angeles, Winnipeg, New York, and Rome.

• Lola Cora, a retired piano teacher who had lost her husband but found joy teaching the village kids music.

• Tito Ben and Tita Mila, a childless couple who longed to grow their own tomatoes and tell stories by the beach.

• Fr. Eddie, a retired missionary priest who volunteered to be their spiritual guide, leading yoga at sunrise and Mass at sunset.

and  Dr. Derek Mendoza, Ph.D..  A Retired Scientist, a Nobel Laureate in Chemistry

They shared more than years—they shared a longing for home. And Chateau Du Mer gave it to them.

---

Chapter Four: Living Again

At the Sanctuary, mornings began with laughter over brewed barako and pan de sal. Afternoons were for painting shells, singing the kundimans, or sharing memoirs under the talisay tree. Evenings were scheduled for Karoeke and Ball Room Dancing. 

A young staff trained in both elder care and Filipino hospitality treated every resident like family—not clients.

There were tears, of course. No one escaped the aches of age. But there was also life: rekindled love stories, friendships forged by fate, and dreams no longer deferred.

On certain nights, a lantern would be set afloat into the sea—each one carrying a prayer, a thank you, or a goodbye. The Firefly tree is filled with thousand of fireflies on a warm summer night.

---

Chapter Five: Legacy

The Entrance to the Main House, Chateau Du Mer, Built in 1999

Years later, the village would be known not just as a retirement sanctuary but as a living storybook of the Filipino diaspora—a place where lives once scattered across the globe found peace on a small island shaped like a heart.

And in the garden stood a plaque:

"To those who returned, and to those still dreaming of home. Welcome."
— Dedicated by David B. & Macrine J. Katague

---

My Advertising Flyer, the First Year Chateau Du Mer was Opened to the Public, 2002

Personal Note: This dream was also the dream of my youngest son ( David E, III). He has planned to  convert Chateau DU Mer from our private beach resort to a Balikbayan Retirement Sanctuary as outlined above.  David had discussed his plans with me and Macrine and his early retirement from the US Federal Government.  We approved of his projected plan for this year, 2025. Unfortunately, David's young life was unexpectedly cut short at a young age of 59. David E III died last March 2022 and his dreams( as described above) were never fulfilled.   

Rest in Peace, David Ernst Katague III

Lastly, 

Did you know that the Philippines exports a lot of tropical products from Canned Tuna to Sweet Pineapples: The Philippines is a Tropical Food Basket!

Of course, Philippine fruits are famous, and also a major players in processed tropical foods. Think about those canned pineapples you see in supermarkets globally – a good chance they came from vast plantations from the Philippines.

The Philippines is also a significant exporter of canned tuna and various other processed fruits like mangoes and bananas. Its delicious tropical bounty reaches plates around the world!

Sausalito Ferry Ride and Lunch at The Trident

Tomorrow is Our Sausalito Ferry Trip and Lunch at The Trident ( see photo below)

If you are joining us for this excursion below is the website of the Trident listing their menu,

A historic waterfront restaurant in Sausalito,

California, renowned for its spectacular views of

San Francisco, Angel Island, and Alcatraz. 

Established in 1966 by the Kingston Trio, The

Trident became a cultural hub during the late 

1960s and 1970s, attracting notable figures such

as Janis Joplin, who had her own table, and

hosting events like the Rolling Stones' private 

parties organized by Bill Graham.

​

THE MENU features a diverse selection of dishes

 crafted from seasonal, local, organic, and 

sustainably sourced ingredients, reflecting our

 commitment to wholesome and flavorful cuisine.

 We are also proud to be the birthplace of the

 modern Tequila Sunrise cocktail, created by our

 bartenders in the early 1970s.💚

​

THE UNIQUE AMBIANCE is enhanced by

 original 1960s decor, including psychedelic 

murals and rich, warm woodwork with flowing

 curves, preserving the artistic spirit of the era.

 Our heated outdoor decks provide a sensational

 bayside dining experience, making it the perfect

 place to relax and enjoy a meal with friends 

while overlooking the bay and the San Francisco 

city skyline.  For the menu and other Details read:

 

https://www.thetrident.net/

Sausalito is closed to the heart of Indy( Darryl Choy)- my massage  therapist, because Yee Tock Chee was his grand father. A park was named after him. https://sausalitohistoricalsociety.catalogaccess.com/people/1562

Who was Yee Tock Chee? The park was created in 1968 when the old Purity Market was converted into a restaurant and retail stores as part of a zoning variance approval deal. Yee Tock Chee was the grocer who originally opened Purity Market in 1941. The spot originally held the Sausalito Land and Ferry Co., which had bought most of William Richardson’s Mexican-era Rancho from him when he had financial troubles (spoiler alert: he lost all of the money in bad business deals). The Land and Ferry Co. then subdivided and sold land to expand the village into a town and operated a ferry service to link us to San Francisco. For Details Read: 

https://www.oursausalito.com/visiting-sausalito/parks-in-sausalito/yee-tock-chee-park.html

Interacting and Taming of AI Technology

This posting is inspired from my last 2 two-months of interaction with AI technology. I have used AI to help me finalized a short novel, based on a draft of a long novel, I have written in draft several decades ago. I have used AI to analyze several paintings I owned as well as a painting of a neighbor here at THD. I have used AI to draw images, tables, charts, travel plans, and answer medical questions. I have used AI to trace some of my ancestral roots in the Philippines. I have used AI analyze art works and a Collage/Decoupage- a gift on my 90th birthday.    

This posting is from Washington Post, that I read recently and very delighted to share it with you.

 

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The most common way people experience artificial intelligence is through chatbots, which work like an advanced form of instant messenger, answering questions and formulating tasks from prompts.

These bots are trained on troves of internet data, including Reddit conversations and digital books. Chatbots are incredibly adept at finding patterns and imitating speech, but they don’t interpret meanings, experts say. “It’s a super, super high-fidelity version of autocomplete,” Birnbaum said of the LLMs that power the chatbots.

Since it debuted in November, ChatGPT has stunned users with its ability to produce fluid language — generate complete novels, computer code, TV episodes and songs. GPT stands for “generative pre-trained transformer.” “Generative,” meaning that it uses AI to create things. “Pre-trained,” means that it has already been trained on a large amount of data. And “transformer” is a powerful type of neural network that can process language.

AI can now create images out of thin air. See how it works.

Created by the San Francisco start-up OpenAI, ChatGPT has led to a rush of companies releasing their own chatbots. Microsoft’s chatbot, Bing, uses the same underlying technology as ChatGPT. And Google released a chatbot, Bard, based on the company’s LaMDA model.

Some people think chatbots will alter how people find and consume data and information on the internet. Instead of entering a term into a search engine, like Google, and sifting through various links, people may end up asking a chatbot a question and getting a confident answer back. (Though sometimes these answers are false —)

Taming AI: Deepfakes, hallucination and misinformation

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The boom in generative artificial intelligence brings exciting possibilities — but also concerns that the cutting-edge technology might cause harm. Chatbots can sometimes make up sources or confidently spread misinformation. In one instance, ChatGPT invented a sexual harassment scandal against a college law professor. It can also churn out conspiracy theories and racist answers.

 Sometimes it expresses biases in its work: In one experiment, robots identified Black men when asked to find a “criminal” and marked all “homemakers” as women.

AI ethicists and researchers have long been concerned that, because chatbots draw on massive amounts of human speech — using data from Twitter to Wikipedia — they absorb our problems and biases. Companies have tried to put semantic guardrails in place to limit what chatbots can say, but that doesn’t always work.

Sometimes artificial intelligence produces information that sounds plausible but is irrelevant, nonsensical or entirely false. These odd detours are called hallucinations. Other people have become so immersed in chatbots they falsely believe the software is sentient, meaning it can think, feel, and act outside of human control. Experts say it can’t — at least not yet — but it can speak in a fluid way so that it mimics something alive. Google shared AI knowledge with the world — until ChatGPT caught up

Another worry is deepfakes, which are synthetically generated photos, audio or video that are fake but look real. The same technology that can produce awesome images could be deputized to fake wars, make celebrities say things they didn’t actually say or cause mass confusion or harm.

Companies test their artificial intelligence models for vulnerabilities, rooting out biases and weaknesses by simulating flaws in a process called red teaming.

Despite attempts to tame the technology, the innovation and sophistication of generative AI causes some to worry.

“When things talk to us like humans, we pick up a little suspension of disbelief,” said Mark Riedl, professor of computing at Georgia Tech and an expert on machine learning. “We kind of assume that these things are trying to be faithful to us, and when they come across as authoritative, we can find it hard to be skeptical.”

Meanwhile, Did you know that....

The Philippines is One of the World's Biggest Consumers of Rice (and it's a Staple for Every Meal)! While many Asian countries eat rice, the Philippines takes it to another level.

Rice is not just a side dish; it's the undisputed king of Filipino cuisine, forming the basis of almost every meal – breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It's not uncommon to hear a Filipino ask, "Did you eat rice yet?" as a standard greeting! This deep dependence makes us one of the largest rice importers globally.

Lastly, here's my dinner last night. Herb Crusted Rack of Lamb, With roasted baby carrots in honey, Saffron rice Pilaf and Red Wine Au Jus. It was delicious. Kudos to our Chef, Joel Torres!

The Roots of Time, The Story of Dr Derek Mendoza, Nobel Laureate

The foundation/plot of this short novel is from the Draft of My unfinished novel, the Intellectual Migrants.  

The first scene in the novel was on the airplane, on United Airlines from the US to Stockholm, Sweden. Derek was on his way to receive his Nobel Prize Award. Derek is the first Filipino-American to win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry. Dr. Derek Mendoza research on the botanical extracts from a rare plant in the Philippines that lead to the development of a pill that retards the aging process was the main reason he won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry. 

During his flight flash backs and reveries of his life from childhood in the Philippines until his retirement in the US dominated his memory. This is the main theme of the novel.

Introduction: In The Roots of Time, we follow Dr. Derek Mendoza, the first Filipino-American to win the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, on his flight to Stockholm—a journey not just through air but through memory. From the humble gardens of rural Iloilo to the world’s most prestigious scientific stage, Derek’s life is a testament to tradition, love, and the enduring power of belief.

Blending folk wisdom with hard science, and cultural identity with global recognition, this reflective short novel captures one man’s quest to prove that healing—true healing—begins with remembering where you came from.

A celebration of heritage, science, and orka💚.

Chapter One: Above the Clouds

The plane hummed softly as it cut through the icy air somewhere over the North Atlantic. Dr. Derek Mendoza, seventy-two and silver-haired, gazed out the window of United Airlines Flight 964. Below, a blanket of clouds stretched endlessly, like the thick fog that used to roll over the rice paddies of his childhood years in the town of Barotac Viejo.  The town was a 3rd class municipality of Iloilo province, Panay Island at that time.  

On his lap, a thick brown envelope bearing the royal blue seal of the Nobel Committee rested unopened.

He could feel the weight of it—not just the award, but the journey it represented. It wasn’t just about chemistry, or molecules, or compounds that extended the vigor of life. It was about stories: his, his Lola’s, and the island wisdom passed on in whispers between generations. It was about orka-💚 the inner strength to get going through challenges, symbolizing resilience and determination.  

A flight attendant passed by offering coffee. He declined, nodding politely. He didn’t need caffeine—his mind was already racing.

---

“Do you mind if I sit here for a few minutes?”

The voice was soft, with a lilt of Scandinavian rhythm. A woman—young, perhaps in her early thirties—stood beside him. A press badge hung around her neck: Eva Lindström, Svenska Dagbladet.

“Not at all,” he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him.

“You’re Dr. Derek Mendoza, right? The Nobel laureate in Chemistry?”

He gave a modest smile. “Guilty as charged.”

“I’m writing a feature on the laureates. May I ask—what are you thinking about, on your way to Stockholm?”

Derek paused. He didn’t want to give the usual rehearsed answer: I’m honored, humbled, grateful. Instead, he looked out at the sky again.

“I’m thinking,” he said slowly, “about the smell of wet earth after rain... and a girl named Lilia who used to sell kamote by the roadside. I’m thinking about my grandmother’s wrinkled hands, crushing leaves between her palms and telling me, ‘The cure is in here, Derek. You just need to understand it.’”

Eva blinked. “Your grandmother was a healer?”

“She was everything,” he said. “My first teacher. And the reason I ever looked at plants with more than just wonder.”

The hum of the engines filled the pause. Derek leaned back, his thoughts already slipping—unbidden, unstoppable—into the river of memory.

---

Barotac Viejo, Iloilo, 1946.

The boy—barefoot, mud-streaked, and wide-eyed—ran along the riverbank chasing a carabao, laughing as it splashed. His Lola called out from their bamboo hut: “Derek, anak! Come help me with the tanglad!”

The scent of lemongrass filled the air as she boiled herbs in a battered aluminum pot. Derek watched as she whispered prayers over the steam. It was the same ritual every time someone in the barrio came down with a fever or a swollen joint.

One afternoon, he asked her, “Why does it work, Lola?”

She looked at him and said something that would stay with him for life:

“Because we listen. The plants tell us.”

---

Back on the plane, Derek closed his eyes. The Nobel Prize wasn’t for him alone. It was for every elder who had ever held a leaf with reverence. For every Filipino child who’d been told their dreams were too big. And for every memory that refused to fade.

Somewhere far ahead, beyond clouds and time zones, Stockholm waited. But first—memory.  And memory, he knew, would carry him the rest of the way.

---

Chapter Two: The Boy from Barotac

Barotac Viejo, Iloilo, 1946.

The air smelled of crushed guava leaves and morning dew. Roosters crowed in scattered rhythms, and the low clanging of a kawali echoed from the next bahay kubo. Derek, barely twelve, crouched beside his Lola Consuela in the garden behind their house. The sun had just begun to pierce the palm fronds, casting golden spears of light on the dark, fertile soil.

“Lemongrass... turmeric... sambong,” his Lola murmured as her callused fingers brushed each plant. “All of these can heal, anak. But you must know when to use them. You must feel their ugma—their harmony with the body.”

He nodded, even if he only half understood. It wasn’t just about knowledge, she always said—it was about pakiramdam. Feeling.

Derek’s eyes widened when she picked a small, unfamiliar plant with purplish veins and a faint lemony scent.

“Lola, what’s that one?”

She paused. “Ah... that’s the Kalipay root. Very rare. Your great-grandfather said it only grows on shaded slopes by the river. For fever of the spirit. For sadness that medicine can’t fix.”

He stared at the plant, captivated. Something about the way she said fever of the spirit stayed with him.

---

The Barrio Clinic

Later that week, Derek walked with his Lola to the barrio health center. Not a real clinic—just a wooden shed with a table, a stethoscope, and a few rusty metal chairs.

A young nurse from Manila named Nurse Lirio was working there. She was modern, scientific, and skeptical of local remedies and herbolarias.

“You still using leaves and prayers, Aling Consuela?” Lirio teased gently.

Derek bristled. But his Lola only smiled.

“Yes, hija. They work.”

Derek watched as Lola treated a coughing child using a warm compress of lagundi and ginger tea. Within an hour, the boy stopped wheezing.

Later, when they walked home, Derek asked, “Why didn’t the nurse believe you?”

Lola sighed. “Because people forget where healing begins. But you won’t, will you?”

He shook his head. “No, Lola. I want to learn more. Maybe someday I’ll find out why your plants work.”

She stopped walking and looked at him, eyes misty.

“You will, Derek. You will go far from this island. You will travel and see the other side of the  world. But don’t forget—science can prove what we already know in our bones.”

---

That Night

Under the mosquito net that evening, Derek couldn’t sleep. He stared at the thatched ceiling, listening to the lullaby of cicadas. In his small hands, he held a leaf of the Kalipay plant Lola had given him.

One day, he whispered to himself, I’ll go to a place where people study plants. I’ll discover what’s inside them. Maybe I’ll even make a medicine.

But even then, in his young heart, he knew—this journey would not just be about formulas. It would be about remembering.

---

Back in the Present

Derek opened his eyes. The hum of the plane returned.

“Dr. Mendoza,” the stewardess said, gently tapping his arm, “we’ll be landing in about two hours.”

He smiled faintly, still half in Barotac. The past never really left—it only waited for quiet moments to return.

And for Derek, every step toward Stockholm was a step back to the garden behind a nipa hut, where healing began in silence, and science grew from memory.

---

Chapter Three: Crossing Oceans

1966. NAIA International Terminal, Manila.

Twenty-six year old, Derek stood on the tarmac, gripping a battered leather satchel. His mother had sewn it from old sugar sacks and patched denim. Inside: three shirts, a notebook, his passport, and a folded photograph of his Lola Consuela standing beside their little garden in Barotac. It was the last picture they had taken before her stroke.

He looked back once more before stepping onto the staircase leading into the Pan Am flight to San Francisco. His father’s parting words still echoed in his ears:

"Don’t forget where you came from, hijo. But don’t be afraid to become more than we ever dreamed."

---

Berkeley, California

The campus smelled like eucalyptus and protest. Anti-war posters littered the walls of the Chemistry building, and long-haired students in bell bottoms debated Marx and molecules under sun-dappled sycamore trees.

Derek arrived with a full scholarship to pursue his graduate degree in Pharmaceutical Chemistry. His accent was thick, his shoes too worn. In the first month alone, he was called “China boy” twice and asked by a classmate if he knew Kung Fu.

But he was patient. He always had been.

He spent most nights in the library, poring over organic chemistry journals by daylight and scribbling long letters to his family by lamplight. His mind often wandered back to the Kalipay plant—its deep-veined leaves, its earthy scent, the way his Lola had whispered about healing sadness.

One night, buried in a biochemistry textbook, a line struck him:

“Certain compounds derived from plant alkaloids have the potential to interrupt or delay the aging of cells—if the mechanisms of senescence can be properly identified.”

Derek sat up straight. That’s it. That’s where the Kalipay root fits.

He scribbled the line into his notebook and circled it three times. It was the beginning of a lifetime obsession.

---

Friendships and Firsts

In his second year, he met Malcolm Greene, a Black doctoral student in molecular genetics. Brilliant, funny, and politically active, Malcolm called Derek “the quiet genius from the jungle” with teasing affection. They bonded over shared experiences of racism, poverty, and cultural dislocation.

“I swear,” Malcolm said one night over coffee, “between your grandma’s leaves and my granddad’s southern herbs, we could probably cure cancer.”

“Maybe we will,” Derek replied.

He also met Lynette San Jose, a Filipina-American beauty studying botany. She had never set foot in the Philippines, but longed to. Her Tagalog was choppy, but her passion for Philippine flora burned bright. They debated everything—from plant taxonomy to Jose Rizal’s lost manuscripts—and, slowly, their arguments gave way to long walks and quiet laughter and love.

---

Letters from Home

One afternoon, a telegram arrived: LOLA CONSUELA PASSED PEACEFULLY. GARDEN STILL BLOOMS. – NANAY.

Derek didn’t cry right away. He simply went to the campus garden and sat under a pepper tree. There, he opened his notebook and wrote:

“Someday I will prove your hands were right, Lola. I will give the world what you always knew was true.”

---

A New Goal

By the time he finished his PhD, Derek had developed a working hypothesis: that certain phytochemicals in rare tropical plants had properties that slowed cell aging. But few took him seriously—aging wasn’t "treatable," they said. Funding went to cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s.

Still, Derek pressed on.

And one day, decades later, after years of research, setbacks, and discoveries—he would isolate a compound from a Kalipay root sample he had brought back from a sabbatical trip to Iloilo.

A compound that would change how the world thought about aging.

---

Back in the Present

The plane began to descend. Stockholm’s snowy skyline came into view. Derek adjusted his tie and took a deep breath.

He thought of Lola’s hands again. Of Kalipay. Of that telegram.

Now, half a century later, the garden still bloomed.

---

Chapter Four: The Roots of Time

The lab in UC Berkeley smelled of alcohol, latex, and late nights. Decades had passed since Derek first saw the Kalipay plant under his Lola’s hand. Now, he saw it through the lens of science—its alkaloid chains, its cellular impact, its stubborn secrets.

On the monitor, a string of data glowed: “Cellular senescence rate: -42% in treated group.”

He leaned closer. His breath caught.  It worked.  At least in mouse cells.

---

The Discovery

It wasn’t sudden. The Kalipay compound—code-named K-97—had taken fifteen years to isolate, test, and purify.  Derek’s earlier postdoctoral years were spent mapping how plant-based molecules could interfere with p16INK4a, a gene heavily involved in aging.

The breakthrough came not from new technology, but from revisiting old notebooks—his first notebook, stained with pencil and rain, the one he’d brought from Barotac Viejo.

He remembered the line he had scribbled as a boy: “The cure is in here, you just need to understand it.”

And now, he finally did.

---

Lynette

Through it all, Lynette had remained his compass. They married during his first faculty year—quietly, in the UC Botanical Garden under a canopy of banyan trees.

“Just you, me, and our plants,” she whispered, placing a sampaguita in his lapel.

She was his fiercest advocate, a co-author on early papers, and a calming presence in a field known for ego and ambition. They took yearly trips back to the Philippines, collecting flora samples and partnering with local herbalists.

But her health began to falter in her 70s—early-onset Parkinson’s. A cruel irony, Derek thought, for someone so intimately familiar with healing.

“You’re trying to save the world,” she told him from her hospital bed, “but don’t forget to save yourself, too.”

---

The Ethics Debate

Once K-97 passed FDA Phase III trials, headlines exploded:

“Aging Pill Could Delay 20 Years of Cellular Decay” – NY Times

“Miracle Drug or Playing God?” – TIME Magazine

“Filipino Scientist Uncovers Nature’s Fountain of Youth” – Al Jazeera

But success came with a storm.

Critics questioned the accessibility of the drug—would it only be for the rich? Who decides who gets to live longer? Would retirement be delayed? Would overpopulation become a threat?

At a Senate bioethics hearing, Derek was asked:

“Doctor Mendoza, do you believe humans should have the power to delay death?”

He replied:

“We are not delaying death—we’re prolonging life’s vitality. I do not promise immortality. I offer more birthdays with your grandchildren. More dances. More time to love. More bridge and Mahjong Games "! 

Some applauded. Others scoffed.

---

Loss and Legacy

Lynette died before the Nobel Committee called.

Derek sat beside her, holding her hand, whispering all the findings she hadn’t lived to read.

“I told you the Kalipay plant would do something great,” he whispered. “But I wanted it to save you.”

She smiled weakly. “It already did. You gave me extra years, remember?”

He cried quietly. Not for the science—but for the silence that would follow her absence.

---

Back on the Plane

The cabin lights dimmed for landing. Derek reached into his briefcase and pulled out Lynette’s wedding sampaguita, long since pressed and dried, preserved in a science book she once gifted him.

He closed his eyes. Behind him: a life of struggle, discovery, and love.

Ahead: Stockholm, honor, applause.

But all he truly wanted was to walk once more through a garden in Iloilo with Lynette, hand in hand, while Lola brewed tea by the fire from the out door kitchen.

---

Chapter Five: Recognition

Stockholm, Sweden. December 10.

Snowflakes danced in the thin winter air as Dr. Derek Mendoza stepped onto the red carpet of the Stockholm Concert Hall. The Royal Swedish Academy’s emblem adorned every banner, and cameras clicked like a thousand typewriters trying to write his story.

But Derek didn’t hear them.

In his mind, he heard the crackling of coconut husks under a pot of boiling salabat tea. He heard Lynette’s voice calling his name from their garden. He heard his Lola’s lullabies, sung in Hiligaynon beneath the soft hum of a mosquito net.

He was here. But he was also everywhere he had ever been.

---

Before the Ceremony

In his hotel room that morning, he stared at the Nobel diploma that had been slipped under his door. It was hand-painted with gold leaf, his name scrolled in delicate calligraphy:

Derek J. Mendoza, For his pioneering work in phytochemical modulation of human cellular senescence.

He ran a finger over the edge.

For Lola. For Lynette.  A knock at the door.  “Dr. Mendoza, the car is waiting.”

---

The Ceremony

The great hall shimmered with chandeliers and polished marble. Laureates in their tuxedos sat shoulder to shoulder—physicists, economists, poets. When his name was called, Derek rose slowly, gripping the hand of the Queen of Sweden with both hands as he bowed.

Applause thundered. But he heard none of it.

His ears were full of wind, sea, and the laughter of children running barefoot on muddy paths.

---

The Nobel Lecture

Later that evening, at the Nobel Banquet, Derek stood behind the podium.

His voice was quiet but clear.

“Your Majesties, Your Excellencies, fellow laureates, and friends—thank you.

I stand before you not just as a scientist, but as a child of the Philippines. In a small village in Iloilo, my grandmother once told me that the plants around us held more than fragrance or flavor. They held stories. They held memory. She was not a scientist. But she was the first to teach me that healing is not merely chemical—it is cultural, it is spiritual.

This honor, this medal, it bears my name. But it also belongs to Lola Consuela. It belongs to my late wife Lynette, who believed in this path when it was still overgrown with doubt. And it belongs to every child who grows up far from privilege but near to wonder.

The Kalipay root—'kalipay' means joy in our language—gave us a compound that slows the aging of our cells. But it also gave me a reason to believe that what is old is not obsolete. That tradition can speak to progress.

Let us not fear long life. Let us fill it—with meaning, with connection, with gratitude.”

There was silence. And then a standing and thunderous ovation.

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That Night

Alone in his room, Derek placed the gold medal beside a faded photograph: a boy in Barotac Viejo, standing in front of a Nipa hut, holding a sprig of something green.

He whispered, “We made it, Lola.”

The snow fell steadily outside. He opened the window, letting the cold air kiss his skin.

A voice, imagined but familiar, seemed to answer: “Yes, anak. And now... plant again.”

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Chapter Six: Epilogue – The Garden Replanted

Barotac Viejo, Iloilo. Five years later.

The air was thick with the scent of earth and memory. Children laughed as they ran between rows of newly planted herbs, and a rooster crowed as if to mark the start of something sacred.

Dr. Derek Mendoza, now seventy-seven, stood under the shade of a mango tree, watching them with a smile. His cane leaned against a nearby bamboo bench. A faded baseball cap covered his white hair, and his eyes, though clouded by age, still held that same light of wonder from his boyhood.

He was home.

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The Kalipay Foundation

The land that once held his Lola’s humble garden now bore the sign:

“Kalipay Botanical Research and Healing Center – A Project of the Mendoza Foundation”

It was part research lab, part teaching garden, and part cultural sanctuary. Local healers worked alongside young scientists. Elders told stories in Hiligaynon as data analysts recorded their knowledge on tablets.

And every month, Derek gave a free lecture—though he insisted it wasn’t a lecture, just “tsismis with science.”

That day, a young girl approached him, no more than eight, her hair in pigtails.

“Tito Derek,” she said in soft Ilonggo, “Is it true that your Lola taught you how to cure sadness with a plant?”

He knelt slowly, smiling. “She did. And the plant is still here. Want to see it?”

They walked to a quiet corner of the garden. A Kalipay root plant, its purple veins vibrant in the sun, grew proudly in a hand-carved planter. Derek gently pinched a leaf and crushed it between his fingers.

“Smell,” he said.

The girl leaned in. “It smells... happy.”

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

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The Letter

That evening, after the last visitors had left, Derek sat alone on the bamboo bench. He pulled out a letter—a handwritten note sent by Eva Lindström, the Swedish journalist who had interviewed him on that fateful flight years ago.

Dr. Mendoza,
Your Nobel speech is now required reading in many ethics courses in Europe. I just wanted you to know—your story continues to grow.
P.S. I named my daughter Lilia, after the girl you mentioned on the plane. I hope that’s alright.

He held the letter to his chest, eyes misting, tears of happiness and accomplishments.

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Final Scene

As the sun dipped below the rice fields, casting golden hues across the land, Derek stood one last time at the edge of the garden. He took a deep breath of warm, humid air—infused with tanglad, soil, and decades of hope.

The wind rustled the leaves, and in that moment, he heard them.

His Lola and Lynette. The voices of every patient, every student, every skeptic turned believer.

He closed his eyes.  And smiled.  Dr Derek Mendoza was Grateful!

The END

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Orka:💚 

Personal Note: The above short novel was based on the draft from my unfinished novel, the Intellectual Migrants. The location of the story is from autobiography. The plot based on the first Filipino-American to win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry is purely my imagination. AI help me finalized this short story for a perfect read.  I changed words, events, timelines and characters based from the original draft of my unfinished novel. I hope you enjoy reading this story.  I had fun writing it and with AI help, it was a breeze!  Amazing AI technology!     

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