Words and Worlds

There are moments when you recall some words you first heard when you were young; these words easily bring you back to the past. Whenever you get to encounter them again, you begin to picture people and places, faces and spaces; colors and presences. As if in a dream, these images pour onto your mind at random; sometimes from one face to another; from one place to another; from one scene to another.

You could do only this when you type away the keys: letter by letter, word by word, this daydreaming brings you to these spaces and faces; these times and places; these worlds. Through this daydreaming, which you do usually through the day, yourealize that they are worlds that you would want to rather be in again.

Jamboree. You have never been to an actual jamboree. Vaguely you recall one afternoon in grade school when your mother's Grade 6 pupils were being led by Mr. Domingo Olarve, the industrial arts teacher, to build tents and take part in varied group games, complete with teams and cheerleading. They even built a campfire toward the late night inside the grade school grounds. But you were hardly in school by then. Burubuglangan—that’s how they called you. You just tagged along your mother who was one of the teacher leaders then. It also refers to that kind of player in your games who was not considered an official opponent or competitor. Sort of like understudy—as you were barely 6 years old.

Some years later, when you stepped into the sixth grade yourself,you hardly had one. Probably because Mr. Olarve was now either un-motivated tolead the scouting activities for the school; or that you school principal Mr. Virgilio Abiada’s projects did not include the scouting for the students when October came. You never had jamboree even as you were constantly told that Ardo and Zarina, your cousins in Iriga, almost had it every year and even in their high school.

Timpalakan. You remember this word very well. Across the year, and even across your entire elementary school life, your teachers sought you to take part in an event in the district level—arts contest, essay writing contest and even quiz bees. In these activities, you never wondered why they would not get somebody else.

Bivouac. You first heard the term from your elder brothers Manoy, Ano and Alex, who went to the city trade school. In that school, your brothers had undergone bivouac, that you remember there was a time they could not shut their mouths about their own experiences. You thought it’s bibwak. Years later, youwould know the correct spelling and even encounter the same in one of the stories in the komiks which they asked you to rent from the Bago store downtown. It’s a French word,referring to a temporary camp or shelter. Ah, probably, their own version of summer camp. It must have been exciting.

Library. Back in college, whenever you were in the library, you searched for books dating back to the 1880s or earlier, those set in an old typeface,soft-bound and probably published before 1970s. 

You were excited if you happened to find one by an author whose love for nature was clear in his works. These kinds of books were very difficult for you to find; but you really allotted time to look for them. In a week, you would be able to borrow at least one which you would reserve to read for the weekend.Then come Monday, you would be refreshed, as if nothing bad happened on your Sunday morning’s ROTC drills in the school grounds.

Leo Tolstoy’s diaries, Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis, F. Sionil Jose, Nick Joaquin, or sometimes poetry in the Philippines Free Press magazine or Bikol poems in Kinaadman—you  loved to read them, copy them in your notebook, put some drawings along with the excerpts from a book.

Doing all these made your day—some of them you shared with your sister,your close friend, your teachers; and your significant other. At the time, you had felt fortunate because there were many, many good books in the library.

Among others, it always thrilled you to read short, powerful verses.Some of them answered your questions; others rid you of confusion. Some cleared your mind; and about a few spoke to you loud; spoke to you hard: “We are/Leaves on Life’s tree/And Death is the wind/that shakes the branches/Gently till its leaves/All fall” (“Death” by Herminio Beltran, pre-war Filipino poet).