I met him first when he published “Where is Choy,” a book he sent to me in the mail, with a personal dedication. Later “Tilly, the White-Liver Woman,” also arrived in the mail.
I liked both books, reflecting on his own experience as an adventure-loving Caribbean man-of-many-lives, reminiscing in a most descriptive and unique language, about his life in Aruba, the US, Trinidad and Guyana.
Yesterday, a small announcement in the newspaper was brought to my attention, stating that Isaac J Chin passed away, in his late 90s. He never got to be 100, which was his goal. Condolences to those who loved him, left to mourn.
In 2013, he wrote a charming introductory piece to his book ‘Sunset and Evening Star.’ That’s what he said: “In this age of hustle and bustle, dishonesty, greed for manufactured things, and the drive to get ahead, tenderness, which must be part of everyone’s heart is often displaced. In order to escape from the mess that’s all around us, it is necessary that we take time off now and then, to let sentimentality, spontaneous childishness and Christian humility take over. I do so occasionally by reading those of my writings that have come from deep within me because they reflect the value of tender, loving and lasting relationships. And, thus, I find them: Tonic and balm for my stress-filled days. I share them with you.”
Sunset and Evening Star is a collection of short poem and stories, autobiographical in nature, based on his memories. The book is available in the National Library. Some of my materials for this column were sourced from their website.
Chin was an unusual man. He was born after World War I in Spaarendam, Guyana. As the off spring of immigrant Chinese and East Indian parents in what was at the time British Guiana, he was raised very poor, and passed through a kaleidoscope of careers, adventures and undertakings, in order to survive, from newspaper reporting, to architectural drafting, building construction, feature-writing, community activities, and globe-trotting. He enjoyed a professional career at Lago Oil &Transport Company on Aruba, and while retired, he dedicated his life to writing and being nice and gentle. “I do the things I enjoy doing, hoping that others might enjoy the things that I do,” he said.
He wrote in a kind of Caribbean fantastic realism, part fact, part fiction. The names of the places were real, but the events and the people? Who knows? Perhaps he made them up as a talented story-teller. He also loved to work in his garden and watch the stars at night. In his own words: He was spending some time trying to score points for entry to heaven, and good attendance at his send-off at grave side.
In recent years he worked on Gardening Without Tears, published by UNOCA, and Galaxy of Fruits Aruba Grows, also by UNOCA.
He self-published The Natalee Holloway Case and Joran, Joran, My Son, My Son, motivated by the desire to set the record straight, because he felt the island’s pain: “Once upon a time long ago, the Creator blessed a bit of earth with wind, sun, sea and sand, and set it apart from hurricanes, earthquakes, fire and floods. Therefore, its people basked in their blessings and called their bit of earth —Dushi (sweet) Aruba. One happy island. “
His annually published calendar with pictures of flowers, dedicated proceeds to the Aruba Animal Shelter and the YMCA.
We kept in touch via old-fashioned mail, but in recent years there were no more letters from Chin in the box. May he rest in peace. Good attendance at his gravesite, is guaranteed.
