MY HOMETOWN

[Alibangbang]

Hi Pats,

So I see! We literally lived in a somewhat parallel universe. MANILOD, is what we call it. To harvest palay that had ripened after the regular harvest sweep. I accumulated mine stuffed in a burlap sack and jealously guarded it with my life against frisky chickens who tried to attacked it for lunch and dinner from all directions.

When I had enough, I’d “gi-ok” the palay until the undersurfaces of my feet were raw and winnowed it to separate chaff from grain. One “almasin”, two “almasins”, three even four depending on the season and how much time I’d spent on the rice field. The benefits were many folds: I love the solitude, I like the smell of straw, I make pocket change, and most of all… those, were afternoons spent on uninterrupted daydreaming --- mapping, as to what to do with my future.

Nanay/Tatay bought my "tinilod" and incorporated it in the ”kahon” that held our yearly provisions. These harvest time activities ceased when I was in high school. My parents decided I’ve grown and time to focus on other things. Also, time to stop accompanying Tatay "ma noh” nan alimango or "manaklob” nan pasayan at night. It was time for my younger siblings, if they so choose, to fill my shoes on domestic front. Yap, been there done that. I suppose it’s safe to say that if I’m stranded alone on an island, I’d know how to survive! HAHA!

Nanay wasn’t big on storytelling. That was Lolo Gorio’s job. His stories ranged from comical, romantic and horror with sprinkling of science fiction. The horror ones I didn’t like. They kept me up at night.

Moonless nights and moonlit nights were spent quiet at home except when the drama that we followed, volume set on loud to drown-out the static, played on the transistor radio. Our (Tatay and mine) favorite: “Mga Damgo ni Amboy” was on at 7:30 pm if I remember correctly. When the drama's done, and the moon was out, on my way upstairs (arenola in hand), as a form of habit, I’d peeked through the jalousie expecting to see different, but all I see is the same, shadows of coconut trees, their fronds playfully slapped each other to the rhythm of the breeze. And if I linger long enough, I hear the distant occasional grunting of pigs as they rolled in sleep at their back pigpen.

Pats, the white sounds I’ve missed. The frogs after the rain… they’re all I hear calling, mating all blessed night long. Sure,lulled me to sleep.

Getting to bed at night as I age sometimes is a challenge. The body is exhausted but my mind is wide awake. Envious at my husband's peaceful light snoring; to relax, I’d troll through my memory bank. Some memories shot out like pebbles from a slingshot, painful, and would ultimately take me down.

Childhood memories are what make my heart grew tender. They’re most pleasurable. So easy living day by day... I owned them and no one can ever take them away from me. And most recently, I've discovered, they're the most effective sleep aid.

[Insomada]

Abbs and Pats,

I have similar memories.

I harvested unripe rice using kalog to make pilipig. I had to do it furtively to avoid the reprimand of Papa usually done in a shotgun fashion. He had to remind me repeatedly then that my main task to go with him to Layog was to look after his store practically nestled in his big kamalig. The store was primarily intended for his mga 'Saops' and 'Kumpaniyas.'

In Papa’s store, wide array of goods that cater to the needs of his most valued Saops were; sardinas, buwad, tobacco, gamos, coffee, sugar, vino kulafu and other spirits, condense milk and many more. One thing Papa wouldn’t go to Layog without was paksoy na barilis for that was what people were agog the most to eat. It was beef steak to them.

The scenario of people in a long queue approached the store with palay put in small ‘kupians’ or sacks placed on their heads is up to now a memory I fondly treasure. Their smiles, wider as the got closer to the kamalig store for it meant “beef steaks” won’t be long within their grasps. These people are the backbones of our nation. They worked with all their might, planting rice for people like us to eat. They should be given a Guernsey!

[pato]

To Mana Abb,

Yes, you are absolutely right. We lived in a somewhat parallel universe.

I haven’t experienced manoh nan alimango or manaklob nan pasayan at night because my father would not allow me joining with our neighbours even if how much I insisted. It was always a reason from him that I’m still young and he had this notion in mind that I might encounter accident due to my impulsiveness. What I have once experienced before was manumbada. A sumbada is composed of 2 boats – a pump boat size – which sets apart by a bridge made of wood from its both opposite side direction. At the middle of it is an attached canopy of a small payagpayag. Adjacent to the payagpayag is a petromax stand lamp wrapped in a matured seamed nipa hut leaves and at the center is a pulley where the petromax is hanged so that it can be pulled easily into an up and down motion. What they would do to catch a fish was my father would stand-by at the payagpayag while his companions would lure the fish from afar using a canoe and a petromax lamp heading back to the motionless sumbada. Once his companions were already arrived, they would turn off their petromax lamp right away and my father then would loosely pull down the hanged petromax lamp closely to the water. As you peered on the rippling waves, you could see the different kinds of shimmering fish while the prepared fish net had been pulled up hastily under the water. The hanging petromax lamp then is moderately pulled-up simultaneously. It was unbelievable. I can’t explain my emotion due to my amazement. On that night, we’ve gathered 3 rattan big baskets of assorted fish. Balik-balik an amu sud-an ma pirito, pinaksiw, tinuwa ug buwad. You would’ve longed for a different food.

I had no chance to listen drama over the radio before because my interest was into music. I could still remember that my mother would nag at me early in the morning because I prioritized the singing in our karaoke than the home chores. I really love singing ever since. I had been even an avid fan of amateur singing competition before but the intensity had gone when I was already in college.

Of course! How can I forget those frogs ‘voice? They’re my music at night every rainy season. Speaking of frogs: Our neighbours in Camagong before would catch a flying frogs (pigirit) on the rice fields during ploughing season in December. They would fry it then or cook it in a coconut milk. I’ve tried tasted it once and it’s like chicken. It’s very delicious. Have you tried one?

[Alibangbang]

Abbs and Pats,

I have similar memories.

I harvested unripe rice using kalog to make pilipig. I had to do it furtively to avoid the reprimand of Papa usually done in a shotgun fashion. He had to remind me repeatedly then that my main task to go with him to Layog was to look after his store practically nestled in his big kamalig. The store was primarily intended for his mga 'Saops' and 'Kumpaniyas.'

In Papa’s store, wide array of goods that cater to the needs of his most valued Saops were; sardinas, buwad, tobacco, gamos, coffee, sugar, vino kulafu and other spirits, condense milk and many more. One thing Papa wouldn’t go to Layog without was paksoy na barilis for that was what people were agog the most to eat. It was beef steak to them.

The scenario of people in a long queue approached the store with palay put in small ‘kupians’ or sacks placed on their heads is up to now a memory I fondly treasure. Their smiles, wider as the got closer to the kamalig store for it meant “beef steaks” won’t be long within their grasps. These people are the backbones of our nation. They worked with all their might, planting rice for people like us to eat. They should be given a Guernsey!

Insom,

Back then, young adults-teenagers pilipig gatherings weeks before harvests were considered a social event. This was like “jamming!"

I don’t like pilipig. Not then, not now. The texture’s too dry for me almost like eating sawdust. But, I’ve attended the Pilipig Solita has hosted. Hers were the most extravagant. She had biko and flan to go with it and the soft drinks flowed like fountains. Royal Tru-Orange was then my choice of beverage and she had at least a case full, warm of course.

Pilipig was an occasion where one can study one another and depending…. could lead to courting. I’d melt into the background and watched how Minti threw glances at my cousin. His was true love…sadly, my cousin wasn’t interested. Cuz, if you happen to read this… please don’t disown me.

A place we called Gamoton, somewhere in San Miguel were where Nanay had her little tindahan and engaged in pahumay during amihan and tubas. Her older sister, Iya Merced, lived in Bongtod but had a house there. This was where I saw the biggest of all haw-an ever. It looked like a snake and scared me half to death. The “Iyo” struggled with it when he bartered it for sugar and kerosene. When the deal was sealed, Iyo took a piece of something hard, hit it on the head and we had that thing for dinner that evening then breakfast and lunch the next day. I can’t remember who was in the kitchen but he cut the tail, fanned it and pasted it on the post that held the kitchen wall. By the time we left, there must have been at least half a dozen haw-an fanned-tail that got added to the display.

Between the haw-an, luwab and agok-ok, we'd always come home a tad heavier.

[Alibangbang]

To Mana Abb,

Yes, you are absolutely right. We lived in a somewhat parallel universe.

I haven’t experienced manoh nan alimango or manaklob nan pasayan at night because my father would not allow me joining with our neighbours even if how much I insisted. It was always a reason from him that I’m still young and he had this notion in mind that I might encounter accident due to my impulsiveness. What I have once experienced before was manumbada. A sumbada is composed of 2 boats – a pump boat size – which sets apart by a bridge made of wood from its both opposite side direction. At the middle of it is an attached canopy of a small payagpayag. Adjacent to the payagpayag is a petromax stand lamp wrapped in a matured seamed nipa hut leaves and at the center is a pulley where the petromax is hanged so that it can be pulled easily into an up and down motion. What they would do to catch a fish was my father would stand-by at the payagpayag while his companions would lure the fish from afar using a canoe and a petromax lamp heading back to the motionless sumbada. Once his companions were already arrived, they would turn off their petromax lamp right away and my father then would loosely pull down the hanged petromax lamp closely to the water. As you peered on the rippling waves, you could see the different kinds of shimmering fish while the prepared fish net had been pulled up hastily under the water. The hanging petromax lamp then is moderately pulled-up simultaneously. It was unbelievable. I can’t explain my emotion due to my amazement. On that night, we’ve gathered 3 rattan big baskets of assorted fish. Balik-balik an amu sud-an ma pirito, pinaksiw, tinuwa ug buwad. You would’ve longed for a different food.

I had no chance to listen drama over the radio before because my interest was into music. I could still remember that my mother would nag at me early in the morning because I prioritized the singing in our karaoke than the home chores. I really love singing ever since. I had been even an avid fan of amateur singing competition before but the intensity had gone when I was already in college.

Of course! How can I forget those frogs ‘voice? They’re my music at night every rainy season. Speaking of frogs: Our neighbours in Camagong before would catch a flying frogs (pigirit) on the rice fields during ploughing season in December. They would fry it then or cook it in a coconut milk. I’ve tried tasted it once and it’s like chicken. It’s very delicious. Have you tried one?

Pats,

Pigirit? Noooooo…. Pats… nooooo…. I can’t bring myself to eat it even if I tried my hardest; all because, I adore them ‘ol frogs. I’ve seen them cooked to perfection, smell so appetizing but I feel so guilty looking at them “hands” in full surrender. Give me iggie, give me kamboway, give me bayon-on and bok-gay but please no pigirit.

You kidding? Of course I know what manumbada means and you know what? Same fishing method is practiced in Malaysia and Thailand. I pointed it out to Luis when we were on a tour boat on our way to Koh Chang Islands.

Awesome isn’t it? To know how to grow and catch our own food!

The suba was a few yards from our kitchen door. That is, until my brother dug it up and made a fishpond out of it. The suba was generous. It had plenty to offer: crabs, pasayan and freshwater fish were always in abundance at the onset of high tide at dusk. These were pre run-off of pesticides, fertilizers, and other chemicals added into the land to help boast a good harvest.

Timing plays a rule in this venture. We usually eat dinner at 4 or 5 pm. If we’d eaten dinner already, the catch will be on tomorrow’s menu. If we haven’t, then it’s what’s for dinner.

Manoh requires two people: one to hold the petromax, the other to capture the catch. One the way, we set our goal: Three or four alimangos that’s it. Over fishing was never a good idea. With no refrigeration, it was better to leave them there and catch them later, cook fresh out of the river.

Once we enter the knee-high water, our movement is stealth like cats stalking an unsuspecting rats foraging near the kalero. When tatay spots a crab, he’ll give me a signal. We’ll drag our feet underwater in controlled slow motion. Then, I’d take the petromax from him as we hold our position. He’ll gently lower the net, then quick as blink he’ll trap the crab under the circular net. Very carefully he secure the claws, lift it up, turn it upside down, it’s a female and not quite 4 inches in width. He sets it free, “pasoligon na naah Ma”, he says. We start stalking all over again.

In less than an hour we have our crabs and we head for home.

If we haven’t eaten yet, by the time we reached home, water’s already boiling. You see, Nanay watched us from the back window upstairs. She stood and follows the light of the petromax. That’s how close it was. From the window, you won’t lose sight of the light of the petromax.

When my sister’s turned came, Nanay and I would watch them from the same back window. Then one night, something strange happened. From the distance, the evening silence was broken by my sister’s shouts, half of a scream. “Uno anhi nga sa si D>>>> ag mo piyaget?,” she asked. Then again, and again and again, the yelping continues. Yet, they kept on going farther out to the other end where the river forks. Soon, Nanay’s curiously moved her into action. She ordered me to haul my youngest brother over my hips while she holds my other brother’s hand and the moron on the other. Off we go chasing after them, in the dark except for the moron’s unsteady light. She needs to know what's going on.

It was pure lunacy. The field was muddy and the mud suck our sleepers right off of our feet. To make matters worse, every time we get near them, they crossed over to the other side of the riverbank. We marched on leaving our sleepers stuck in the mud. “Balikan dan sinilas silom buntag”, but this slowed our progress because "dugi" were everywhere and now it's me who's yelping.

Poor Nanay was bent on thinking that tatay was skinning my sister alive… why with the desperate aray!

Upset, Nanay called out... commanding them to come home!

They did, almost empty handed. The river was flooded with ani-it that night and every time my sister stepped on it, she got bitten. I’ve been bitten too and believe me, hurts like hell. My poor sister, the skin on the sole of her feet broken on several places from the pinched of the ani-it. But, she's a trooper. Nursed her feet back to health and went right into it again, iban manoh. Sis, if you happen to read this… please don’t disown me.

PATS, KEEP SINGING……I’LL KEEP LISTENING. IT’LL HELP CUT THE BLUES.

[Alibangbang]

Yikes... sorry folks edit not allowed. Was multi tasking. Excuse the typos and multitude of errors.

[pato]

Abbs and Pats,

I have similar memories.

I harvested unripe rice using kalog to make pilipig. I had to do it furtively to avoid the reprimand of Papa usually done in a shotgun fashion. He had to remind me repeatedly then that my main task to go with him to Layog was to look after his store practically nestled in his big kamalig. The store was primarily intended for his mga 'Saops' and 'Kumpaniyas.'

In Papa’s store, wide array of goods that cater to the needs of his most valued Saops were; sardinas, buwad, tobacco, gamos, coffee, sugar, vino kulafu and other spirits, condense milk and many more. One thing Papa wouldn’t go to Layog without was paksoy na barilis for that was what people were agog the most to eat. It was beef steak to them.

The scenario of people in a long queue approached the store with palay put in small ‘kupians’ or sacks placed on their heads is up to now a memory I fondly treasure. Their smiles, wider as the got closer to the kamalig store for it meant “beef steaks” won’t be long within their grasps. These people are the backbones of our nation. They worked with all their might, planting rice for people like us to eat. They should be given a Guernsey!

Mana Insom,

I am happy that we have experienced somewhat a similar scenario. I am sure you’ve also tried walking on a muddy field with your slippers dangling at your hand.

I am only curious with the paksoy because it has been my favorite food including pancit ever since. How do you cook it? I like the paksoy that is greasy with oil, a little bit sweet and it has only a minimal sauce. hmmm… yummy.

[pato]

Mana Abb,


I enjoyed reading your story. I can clearly picture out through my imagination on how you vividly described it. How I wish I had the chance “manoh” and “manaklob”. Based on your story, I could feel the excitement and adventure even though I haven’t done it yet. I also chuckled with your sister’s experience while I was reading.


There’s an islet in Camagong just across from our house that would only fully open during low tide. We would call it “Bungtod”. When my father would go to Tago and Tandag to buy our weekly provisions, my friends and I would stealthily go there using a canoe to experience and enjoy swimming. That’s the only way I could have the chance to swim because he would strongly not allow me. He warned me already in advance that if he knew it, he would beat me with a pagi’s tail. Still, I didn’t mind him. You see, how stubborn I was then? While we were wading through the islet, enjoying the emerald water and the blue sky is unpainted with a trailing cloud, something had pinched on my foot. I realized I was bitten by the ani-it’s claw. The sad part was the ani-it’s claw stuck steadily on my foot no matter how I squirmed it. Luckily, my friend knew how to solve it. He hastily snapped the claw using his teeth and it had eventually loosened. Yes, it’s true. It hurts like hell.

I am happy for you because you’ve travelled many times. How I wish I could do that too one day. My sister has been working in Thailand since last year. Hopefully, if I have the time and money, I will visit there and see how their”sumbada” looks like.

No, I am not joking. I even had the chance to peddle those fish after sorting its sizes and types. It was a gruelling experience.

Yes, you are right. It’s awesome to know how to grow and catch our own food.

Don’t worry. I will try back to keep on singing, eventually write my own song and you’ll be my first critic.

[pato]

Mana Abb,


I enjoyed reading your story. I can clearly picture out through my imagination on how you vividly described it. How I wish I had the chance “manoh” and “manaklob”. Based on your story, I could feel the excitement and adventure even though I haven’t done it yet. I also chuckled with your sister’s experience while I was reading.


There’s an islet in Camagong just across from our house that would only fully open during low tide. We would call it “Bungtod”. When my father would go to Tago and Tandag to buy our weekly provisions, my friends and I would stealthily go there using a canoe to experience and enjoy swimming. That’s the only way I could have the chance to swim because he would strongly not allow me. He warned me already in advance that if he knew it, he would beat me with a pagi’s tail. Still, I didn’t mind him. You see, how stubborn I was then? While we were wading through the islet, enjoying the emerald water and the blue sky was unpainted with a trailing cloud, something had pinched on my foot. I realized I was bitten by the ani-it’s claw. The sad part was the ani-it’s claw stuck steadily on my foot no matter how I squirmed it. Luckily, my friend knew how to solve it. He hastily snapped the claw using his teeth and it had eventually loosened. Yes, it’s true. It hurts like hell.

I am happy for you because you’ve traveled many times. How I wish I could do that too one day. My sister has been working in Thailand since last year. Hopefully, if I have the time and money, I will visit there and see how their”sumbada” looks like.

No, I am not joking. I even had the chance to peddle those fish after sorting its sizes and types. It was a gruelling experience.

Yes, you are right. It’s awesome to know how to grow and catch our own food.

Don’t worry. I will try back to keep on singing, eventually write my own song and you’ll be my first critic.

[Alibangbang]

Hi Pats,

Thank you . When I re-read my post (above) and realize my carelessness and errors… and editing is not allowed, I knew… I ran the gamut from praise (you ) to contempt (my sister ). She’ll probably not trust me with any other family secrets after this. Here’s hoping she’s a sport and like you, she’ll have a chuckle herself.

Pats, about the islet… this very minute…my mind’s behaving like a multiplex, simultaneously playing various memories, some gray while others, in technicolor.

In one of those trips we took to Gamoton, Nanay and I joined my aunt and cousin from Bungtod (Tago) and sailed in my cousin’s “pambot” stocked with our marketable commodity. We traverse Tago River then, hours into the motor-noisy trip, out of the blue, there was this islet that sprout out of the water in the middle of nowhere just as you’d described. The bungtod flowered with children wearing bright- colored shirts. Some were swimming; the others just playing around in the sand squealing with delight. They were at their happiest.

Minutes later, my cousin’s husband switched the boat’s motor and we slowed down. It was low tide. The pambot, loaded with merchandise was too heavy. Its bottom hit the ground and won’t reach the makeshift dike. Low tide as it was, we got off, slippers in hands, walked in the mud towards the incline of the riverbank. In a few, we found ourselves following a narrow path between tall grasses, blades sharp as knife (kogon?) that led us to a nearby house swarming with people. I can’t remember where it was, only that they were celebrating fiesta. Just like that, the homeowners feed us. Nanay said I should eat fast because we can’t stay long or we’ll miss the chance to cross another river before the tide goes down. When we’re done eating, very politely and with concern, the hosts sent us off to continue our journey --- swollen with “bringhouse” wrapped in banana leaves. My mind’s eyes could still see the house. It was the best “barrio-side” manner, kindness and hospitality I’ve ever experienced. Will never forget it!

Thank heavens for ani-it for what would we do without them? No full-grown alimango to enjoy

I see… you were a bundle of mischief growing up filling your days with fun and adventure.

Pats, my travel days are over. Now, it’s my children’s turn. If I may say so, we do learn a lot about the world and its people when we travel. My friends then (Mary who’s Greek and Joka who’s Croatian), we were the kind that spent our little penny saved on travel.

Oh you will travel Pats, that is, if you set your mind to it. Before Lu and I got married, I gave myself biweekly allowance. Hold myself to it so I can save just enough to travel. You must go to Thailand while your sister’s there. Think about the money you save on accommodation and meals if you “crash-in” with her.

Sorting a catch must be a “girl” thing because I actually enjoyed doing it. A bit challenging than sorting sun-dried copra which has two piles only: hilaw and gango. With the catch, we sort by the kind, by the size and which to keep para konsomo and which to sell out. This was a job I did with pride and hawk-like concentration. I was determined to separate even the tiniest pasayan from the tiniest uwabang or tak-la.

OMG, talking about hawks (owak) do you know how much trouble this darn bird got me into? Nanay would stay up late at night to split and salt the extra fish caught in the “anod” or “pailay” to preserve them. The next morning, she’d neatly arrange them on a “nego” to dry. She’d asked me to set the nego loaded with wet salted fish on top of the tall grasses by the riverbank AND to stay close, on the shade to WATCH for the kuding. Kudings were noted to steal them.

Feeling the “nego” was safe from robbers, I went to Iyo Isok’s house hoping to score some freshly cooked kalibre.

Their house was easy distance from where the nego was… if I spy a cat or tandem of cats, it’s just a hop, a skip and I can save the nego’s load. Off I went, leaving everything to chance.

I was enjoying some steaming kalibre when I heard owak’s raspy call. I didn’t pay attention when suddenly I saw one dove into where the nego was. I ran as fast as I could but too late they’d already done the job. The nego was just about empty.

I came home defeated. Thank God my punishment wasn’t severe. But, one day it became severe…it was May 16th to be exact. Slices of “pendang” were the victim. Day after our fiesta, Nanay sent me with at least 3 kilos worth of pendang to the middle of the rice field to dry on a bamboo-rack near the remains of what was once the kalero. Once again attacked came from the sky…owaks feasted on the pendang while I was distracted with the hen and her impossibly cute chicks that I’d helped tatay “ton-ton” from the pugad that morning. Oh…I get itchy thinking about the “bunhok” that teemed in my hands.

I understood why the punishment was severe…after all one can’t just slaughter a carabao to make pendang everyday.

Pats, on Facebook, I messaged Keith Urban with this: Keith, whatever you’re currently writing and recording…I can’t wait to hear it. Read Pats, read: same message goes to you.

Ironic! As a child I spent lots of time thinking of how far I could get away from home. Now, I spent a lot of time thinking and wishing I was home. But I do come home, almost every night, in my dreams and imagination.

[pato]

To Mana Abb,

Thank you. It’s what I like most during fiesta because there’s always be a “bring house” when you are ready to leave, most especially, if the house you’ve been visited were the house of your pals and relatives.

Speaking of fiesta, my family was experiencing a very drastic moment wherein our lives had changed instantly like a blink of an eye in an instant. Until now, if I could still recall the memories, especially if I’m alone, I would always ask myself how my life would have been if that incident didn’t happen.

I was in grade 5 when my father had been elected as a councilor in our town and eventually designated as a councilor honcho of Barangay Unidos. This Barangay is the place of my grandparents and a place where my mother had been spending her youthful and vibrant years when she was still young.

I could still vividly recall how flamboyant the Unidos Fiesta was during my father’s reign. There were carnival, a series of different competitions, a bayle, a disco, a hired Adela Serra Ty Band, and a hired Drum and Bugle Corp Band of Gamut National High School that gave additional friskiness and attractions.

Fortnight before the fiesta, my father had already finished inviting all his friends, relatives and fellow public servants. He invited them for a banquet at my grandparent’s house for an advance vesper celebration before the fiesta. They intended it to be like that because not only they would be accommodated properly, the outsiders are still minimal. But, the house of my grandparents was still swarming with people and vehicles like bees.

After the dinner, when his other invited guests were already heading back abode, my father had followed to the disco to entertain his other remaining guests. The disco was located at the Barangay’s Basketball Court. It was fenced by a woven bamboo (amakan) which serves as a wall and its dance floor had been turned-out to be a galaxy of lights that flickers overhead. While they were enjoying the party, there had been some young tipsy gentlemen who would want to enter the disco and would not want to pay for the entrance fee. Since the cashier would not all them to enter inside, the exchanging of harsh words had now been eventually occurred. As the cashier and the gentlemen were still continuing to argue with each other, somebody approached my father informing him about what had been happening at the entrance gate. My father then who was impulsive had been provoked upon knowing it. He went to the gate immediately and lambasted the gentlemen by words that made them steamed their blood. I was already asleep then when the incident happened since it was already midnight.

After the party, he wasn’t aware that he had been eying by the gentlemen he had had once scolded lately on the murky street. While he was walking on his way home, he was hastily attacked and had been hit by a sharp pointed object that pierces his heart. He had been delivered to the provincial hospital but eventually succumbed. It was then discovered that he had been hit by an ice pick.

It was the gloomiest part of my life. I had always been crying especially if I saw my mother steadily glancing at the horizon with her eyes trickling with tears. I can’t endure watching her knowing she had been one moth pregnant with our youngest.

If I would still recall it now, I can’t imagine how my mother and we five siblings had survived with those tormenting and afflicting years. Grabihi ka lisod usahay kun way amo sud-an sa una, mag antos dakan kami nan niyog tapos i-nunu sa ginamos. Yaghilabi nan yanag college na kami. It was really hard yet God has always been good to us. Pasensya na sa ako nobela.

Mana Abb, yes, I will travel hopefully soon. Again, thank you encouraging message.

[pato]

pasenya na an maka basa nan ini nganhi kay dili na ma edit. Maglimid na isab inin pabyon haw utrohon ko.

[Alibangbang]

To Mana Abb,

Thank you. It’s what I like most during fiesta because there’s always be a “bring house” when you are ready to leave, most especially, if the house you’ve been visited were the house of your pals and relatives.

Speaking of fiesta, my family was experiencing a very drastic moment wherein our lives had changed instantly like a blink of an eye in an instant. Until now, if I could still recall the memories, especially if I’m alone, I would always ask myself how my life would have been if that incident didn’t happen.

I was in grade 5 when my father had been elected as a councilor in our town and eventually designated as a councilor honcho of Barangay Unidos. This Barangay is the place of my grandparents and a place where my mother had been spending her youthful and vibrant years when she was still young.

I could still vividly recall how flamboyant the Unidos Fiesta was during my father’s reign. There were carnival, a series of different competitions, a bayle, a disco, a hired Adela Serra Ty Band, and a hired Drum and Bugle Corp Band of Gamut National High School that gave additional friskiness and attractions.

Fortnight before the fiesta, my father had already finished inviting all his friends, relatives and fellow public servants. He invited them for a banquet at my grandparent’s house for an advance vesper celebration before the fiesta. They intended it to be like that because not only they would be accommodated properly, the outsiders are still minimal. But, the house of my grandparents was still swarming with people and vehicles like bees.

After the dinner, when his other invited guests were already heading back abode, my father had followed to the disco to entertain his other remaining guests. The disco was located at the Barangay’s Basketball Court. It was fenced by a woven bamboo (amakan) which serves as a wall and its dance floor had been turned-out to be a galaxy of lights that flickers overhead. While they were enjoying the party, there had been some young tipsy gentlemen who would want to enter the disco and would not want to pay for the entrance fee. Since the cashier would not all them to enter inside, the exchanging of harsh words had now been eventually occurred. As the cashier and the gentlemen were still continuing to argue with each other, somebody approached my father informing him about what had been happening at the entrance gate. My father then who was impulsive had been provoked upon knowing it. He went to the gate immediately and lambasted the gentlemen by words that made them steamed their blood. I was already asleep then when the incident happened since it was already midnight.

After the party, he wasn’t aware that he had been eying by the gentlemen he had had once scolded lately on the murky street. While he was walking on his way home, he was hastily attacked and had been hit by a sharp pointed object that pierces his heart. He had been delivered to the provincial hospital but eventually succumbed. It was then discovered that he had been hit by an ice pick.

It was the gloomiest part of my life. I had always been crying especially if I saw my mother steadily glancing at the horizon with her eyes trickling with tears. I can’t endure watching her knowing she had been one moth pregnant with our youngest.

If I would still recall it now, I can’t imagine how my mother and we five siblings had survived with those tormenting and afflicting years. Grabihi ka lisod usahay kun way amo sud-an sa una, mag antos dakan kami nan niyog tapos i-nunu sa ginamos. Yaghilabi nan yanag college na kami. It was really hard yet God has always been good to us. Pasensya na sa ako nobela.

Mana Abb, yes, I will travel hopefully soon. Again, thank you encouraging message.

Hi Pats,

I was out on Jury duty and only now had a chance to read your post.

Pats, my eyes swam in tears. I had no idea that my mention of a fiesta would poke-open old wounds. I apologize. I seriously had no idea that you’d lost your father in a senseless tragedy as that. It must’ve been hard reliving that night but I do thank you for sharing. People say: time heals all wounds but, wound such as yours never really heal. Wound is too deep… it smoothes with time only to resurface at a slightest stir.

“It was fenced by a woven bamboo (amakan) which serves as a wall and its dance floor had been turned-out to be a galaxy of lights that flickers overhead”. Very creative choice of words! I love it.

Pats, they were not “tipsy gentlemen”. Gentlemen don’t argue and say harsh words. They do what is right. These guys you refer to as “tipsy gentlemen” these are what my good southern-belle friend would call: coward-chicken-assed-limped-dick bastards.

Now I have a better understanding as to why you’re a deep thinker. You had to grow up and mature fast for your mother and siblings. If you don’t mind me asking, how old were you when you lost your father?

There was a span of time when thoughts were my toughest enemies. They’d get the better of me and I’d suffer a full-blown panic attack. Having a panic attack at 2 am and you’re living alone in an apartment is something I wouldn’t wish even to my worst enemy. Then, one day I realize that I can’t change the past. I had to learn to play the hand that I’m dealt with and with acceptance then prayers and supplications things begun to ease up. From what you’ve been through I think you’re doing terrific. I tip my glass to your mother for singlehandedly raising responsible children, who are now adults of good character.

Pats, I love your nobela very much. It is written with pure honesty… no highfalutin mumbo-jumbo at all. I appreciate that. Being “poor” (not really poor poor but you know what I mean) is a badge I wear with pride. It keeps me grounded and makes me appreciate the little things.

Don’t fuss over errors. My posts are always done in haste and therefore riddled with errors too. Who are we to call the kettle black? "The pot calling the kettle black”

Hang in there…. You’re a good man. I wish I can marry you off with someone equally as wonderful as you.

=============================

Aw, the darn bird I’m referring to is not Owak. It was Banug.

[pato]

Hi Mana Abb,

It’s alright. Maybe it’s true that there’s a reason for everything.

I was only 11years old then when my father had left us. I always cry in school if the flashback of the beautiful memories would suddenly appear and linger on my mind. I can’t really help to stop my yearnings. My class adviser teacher, Ma’am Cynthia Orozco (Ma’am sorry I mentioned your name) had been pitied on me every time she would see me crying. She had spent crying along with me too.

We’ve been thankful because we have a generous, kind and loving family who undyingly supported us all the way up to now. Without them, our lives would be miserable. They are mogul to me.

“The pot calling the kettle black” is very hard for me to grasp. I need to research it first before I thoroughly understand.

I haven’t experienced the “Banug” thing because our house in Camagong was sprawled in the middle of the rice field. No trees. There were coconut trees near in our house but only few.

Mana Abb, thank you very much again. You are such a wonderful and a compassionate friend.

[Alibangbang]

Hi Mana Abb,

It’s alright. Maybe it’s true that there’s a reason for everything.

I was only 11years old then when my father had left us. I always cry in school if the flashback of the beautiful memories would suddenly appear and linger on my mind. I can’t really help to stop my yearnings. My class adviser teacher, Ma’am Cynthia Orozco (Ma’am sorry I mentioned your name) had been pitied on me every time she would see me crying. She had spent crying along with me too.

We’ve been thankful because we have a generous, kind and loving family who undyingly supported us all the way up to now. Without them, our lives would be miserable. They are mogul to me.

“The pot calling the kettle black” is very hard for me to grasp. I need to research it first before I thoroughly understand.

I haven’t experienced the “Banug” thing because our house in Camagong was sprawled in the middle of the rice field. No trees. There were coconut trees near in our house but only few.

Mana Abb, thank you very much again. You are such a wonderful and a compassionate friend.

Hi Pats,

Sorry I was sequestered these past couple of days.

I’m nodding in agreement. Yes, there is a reason behind everything and in every situation we find ourselves into, the outcome solely depends on our action or reaction. I think you responded and handled yours maturely and responsibly.

Some have it easy while others don’t! Whoever said life is fair… lied! It isn’t, never was and never will be. So, we take the good, the bad and hope to come out ahead. But, I do believe that these are part of God’s plan so He can mold, chisel and shape us to the kind of person He wants us to be. I also believe that God will not put us in such a predicament if we cannot handle it. To cope, He wants us to adopt virtues of faith, patience, flexibility, forgiveness and to not lose sight of hope so He can reward us with grace in the end.

Losing a parent at any age is very hard and difficult… how much more if one’s only 11? There’s bitterness, anger and we feel short-changed but soon enough we realize that we didn’t really lost them --- lost them… because we keep them alive in our memory. Pats, I carry around pictures of my parents in my head. Images I play and replay on command anywhere, anytime, every time I need to be close to them. Just close my eyes and there they are, out of reach but I can see them, hear their voices once more. May sounds quite freaky for some but for me it’s comforting. I’m sure you have great images of your father that you carry around with you too… all the time.

Crying is great. It’s therapeutic, actually. My hair is graying, teeth are loosening but once in a while I lock myself in the bathroom to sob my heart out like a five-year old when I need a good release of bottled frustration and exasperation.

A teacher with a sympathetic ear is rare, very hard to come by and supportive family with generous heart is a blessing … I’m so happy God provided you with both.

“The pot calling the kettle black”, I’m sorry… it’s an idiom used when one point to another and accuse that person of doing something that he/she is guilty of doing him/herself. Blogging is a sort of thing we do to share thoughts and emotions. Thoughts flow from our head down to our fingertips. We’re no longer in school, our posts are not meant to be graded or judged…mistakes are a given and should be tolerated; not condemned or ridiculed. After all...no one’s perfect right?

Wonderful and compassionate? Oh Pat’s I don’t know about that. Let’s just say, friendship is like a dance of tango, it’s a give and take. Better yet, as Apostle Paul wrote in his Epistle to the Galatians (6:7) “You reap what you sow!”

Ops I didn’t mean for this post to sound tinged with spirituality. But since a mite it is, yeah Pats, “wonderful and compassionate” is what you are… so…there… right back at you.

Have a great weekend.