Nena’s Nocturne: How I discovered my grandmother’s legacy
Anita Villanueva is the grandchild of the late concert pianist Nena del Rosario Villanueva (1935-2021), the Philippines’ first piano prodigy. Nena, mentored by the famed Isabelle Vengerova, made her Carnegie Hall debut at age 12 in 1947 upon winning a New York Times competition. She was the first Filipino pianist accepted at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. She went on to perform in the world’s most prestigious musical venues throughout her career.
Anita writes about a side of her grandma few people knew, how she slowly discovered her legacy in the music world, and her involvement in the Manila Symphony Orchestra’s campaign for Nena’s nomination for National Artist.
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Upon hearing my grandmother’s name, a vivid image immediately comes to mind: she is in bed, her hair disheveled, donning one of her many white linen nightgowns. Her spindly fingers are grazing a box of half-eaten See’s Chocolates which she had likely received that same day.
This image is starkly different from the one staring back at me as I sift through photos of her grand performances as the Philippines’ own piano prodigy.
Growing up, my grandma and I shared a very special bond, one separate from her piano accolades. My frequent visits to her house were composed of a strict routine: first, she would mark my height and the date on her white closet doors. Next, I would take on the role of her makeup artist. As she sat at her vanity, I became the painter to her blank canvas of a face. I rummaged through dusty makeup bags and acrylic holders, gathering only the shiniest, most colorful of her expired products.
I then began my work, rubbing shimmery green Chanel eyeshadow on one eyelid and lining her lips with bright red Guerlain lipstick, creating my masterpiece. Once I was finished, I held up a mirror for my grandma to relish her newfound beauty. Every time, without fail, she had lit up with laughter; tears swelling in her eyes as she examined the dance of colors on her face.
Then came the third, most integral part of our routine: the McDonald’s drive-thru. With her make-up on, she and I, immensely proud of my work, would make our way down to her dark green Jaguar. We would drive to the nearest McDonald’s drive-thru, where I ordered a Big Mac with orange juice, and she ordered a caramel sundae with fries. I thought it was the most bizarre thing, watching her dip each fry in her ice cream; she was certainly the only person I had known to do it.
Now, my childhood memories with my grandma, saturated with the smell of mothballs and the sound of her pearl bracelets, remain stowed away, only occasionally revisited. That is until I began to work on what I call the “Grandma Project.”
At first, I was tasked with the seemingly menial job of sorting through large plastic boxes filled with photos, newspaper clippings, and letters. However, the time spent simply sifting through these items became an incredibly transformative experience.
Only when I agreed to help organize her campaign did I discover the depth of this entirely different identity of hers. Growing up, I was always aware of her relationship with piano. Mentioning her name would often trigger the automated response of “the one with the piano right?” However, since she had never once mentioned it herself, I was completely oblivious to the impact she made on the Filipino and international music scenes.
As I look through the various photos of her in huge auditoriums wearing ornate gowns, the letters from former presidents, and newspaper clippings of her at only fourteen, I am becoming acquainted with a different Nena, foreign from the one dipping fries in her caramel sundae.
Though this Nena is completely distinct from the one I so fondly remember, I carry with me the remnants of her identity as I strive to embody the light she sparked in the world.
