Chona Kasten would have cringed at today’s youth flaunting tattoos and wearing rubber flip-flops to a business meeting

I must first say that 90 percent of what I know comes from my role model in life, Chona Recto Ysmael Kasten; the rest from observations and actual experiences, from her childhood, throughout her growing years and her marriage to Daddy Johnny Ysmael, her role as mother, followed by the peak of her social whirls and travels, a failed second marriage to Hans Kasten, her fashion consultancy with Aguinaldo’s, her stint with PAL, and as designer for Panache, her exclusive pret-a-porter line for Rustans.

Until this very day, my mother’s legend lives on, and to this day there are still so many reasons for it—her image and exquisite beauty, her refined smile, her vanity and perfumed scent, her poise and grace, her style on the catwalk, her gift for dance, curation of her wardrobe, natural flair, and eye and palette for good taste.    

Or was it simply her inner sparkle and outer glowing aura? Her charisma and inimitable natural femininity? She had a gentle disposition, a charming personality, and a sophistication and cosmopolitanism unrivaled by anyone in Manila at the time. Her indefatigable stamina for travel and passion for art and culture drove her to see and learn about the world, to study foreign languages and appreciate music and become a true lover of life and people. But she also possessed the ability and flexibility to adapt to complex or hurtful situations, which proved that she used her brain as often as she used her heart. 

I mention all of the above with much pride and devotion. There were so many other intangible values that she passed on to me, her only daughter, like kindness, self-confidence, and simplicity. There was so much to learn from her, but her outstanding core values were sincerity, discipline, organization, patience, fortitude, perseverance, and devotion to prayer. 

I remember the time she walked into the Fiesta Pavilion of the Manila Hotel for the Kahirup Ball with her first Christian Espiritu bead-less, no-fuss-and-fishtail ivory gown. She wore no jaw-dropping jewelry, yet there was an electrifying hush when she glided into the room. Seconds of silence followed by the buzz, whispers, and glances of admiration from the crowd, who were all dressed to the nines with large valuable rocks and dashing tuxedoes. I distinctly remember feeling so proud to be her daughter, as she stood out in the rigodon de honor. It was not just her understated elegance, but her poise and bearing, which was graceful and subtly sexy. 

But there were also moments of carefully controlled flamboyance, as my mother’s best friend Tita Mary Prieto (who wrote for this newspaper for a decade until she passed) so comically quipped one day many years ago: “Goodness, her earrings!” She exclaimed. “With a glare so blinding, and dressed for cocktails at a luncheon. Has visto Chonita, que pendientes y arretes de brilliantes! Brighter than the spotlights that lit the runway for the models. . . . “ She had my mom and I in tears from laughter.

My mom would have cringed at the way the youth today exaggeratingly flaunt their tattoos, or wear rubber flip-flops to a business meeting, out to the theater, dinner, or other socials. They were okay for the beach, but not in the city or malls in a business district as walking footwear—unprofessional and far from being appropriately patrician.

Her love for us was bottomless. Her serenity and very unassuming, humble ways were always admirable. She was never, ever vengeful, but always forgiving, respectful, and considerate to everyone. And as her daughter, together with my brothers Piqui, Louie, Ramoncito, and Hansi — we were all privileged to be able to snuggle up close to her and feel her gentle embrace before and after sleeping hours, or just plain lounging about unwinding in between squeezes. Her gentle caresses, choosing our clothes and teaching us how to wear them, her advise from wisdom and experience, our travels together, particularly to New York City (even to Trudy Heller’s, the discotheque in Greenwich Village where she was carded because her Cowleen bangs, above-the-knee skirt and flats, swinging bob, and college girl appeal made her look our age — people’s eyes would pop in disbelief.

Over the years La Divina and I exchanged many notes and letters, and this column will partly rely on that correspondence to not only pay homage to the Philippines’ most beloved icon of style and sophistication, but also hopefully teach younger readers to follow in her soft but self-assured footsteps.   

As her longest student, number one fan, and only daughter, I can attest to the conclusion that the traits I will talk about in this column made her who she was and what she blossomed into throughout her life. Of course there were rumors and smear campaigns of wagging tongues, but she always easily shrugged them off and said, “Once they stop talking about me — that is when I should worry.”