An Harong Mi

I remember our house. It was a two-floor house that stood tall in an open yard, by the side of the hill, perhaps some 20 meters away from the highway. Going there, one had to pass a rice field lined by trees of palo maria, madre de cacao, and green shrubs. There were days when the house—seen from the national road—was almost covered by lush green vegetation that all you could see was the second storey.

If it pleases you, simply picture a typical Philippine postcard: green farm on the foreground, a two-storey house in the middleground, and a hill of trees and vegetation on the background, where the sun rises.

If one enters the main door in the first floor, there was our living room, where we had a wooden sala set: a sofa good for three average-size visitors, four arm chairs and a rectangle center-table—all draped in red and orange florals. (Let it be added that the sala set was made of a very hard wood—I was too small to ask my mother where she bought it, or what kind of wood it was made of. But certainly, not one of the furniture was broken until all of us could really grow up.)

The living room then lead the visitor to our dining space where a long wooden rectangle table was flanked by two long benches for the diners. Each of the benches could seat three children. There was only one chair or silya which served as the kabisera—yes, indeed, for Mama, the head of our family.

Going further, one was greeted by the kitchen, where cooking was done on stove and later, dapog, and also the lavabo. Further to the left going to the back, the visitor could relieve himself in either of the two comfort rooms—one was the toilet and the other was the shower room.

Our house was cool. It did not have much stuff inside. It was airy inside the house. We had few but very functional fixtures. We had jalousie windows in all corners of the house. In the first floor, there were windows in front by the sala and in the dining area; and a very big window by the kitchen.

To reach the second floor, one ascended the wooden stairs, going to the second living room, where a former platera now stored old books from the school library. There, in the second floor, we had glass jalousie windows fronting the road. At the back, or inside the two bedrooms, we also had wooden jalousie windows. Air from the farm and the mountain entered all corners and sides of the house.

Not just that. From the living room in the second floor, one could see the open view of the highway where the barangay folks passed from the Triangle or visita to Banat, a sitio near the barangay elementary school where our parents served and yes, indeed, made their own marks as teachers and leaders.

But through all those years, I wonder why we had a house in a place that was almost idyllic like the one in Wuthering Heights. It was far from other people or even our own folks in libod (meaning backyard), the compound where the rest of our uncles and cousins lived.

Did our parents see the need to raise six kids even before all of us were born so they sought to establish their own family in  a bigger, wider space, away from the neighborhood of the growing clan—which we call libod, where our grandparents began their own?

Around the house, we made our own toys, we planned our own games, and relished our place in the sun, especially during summer vacations, when we played in the hay in the morning and toward sundown. The house was one of solitude where we children were rather drawn to fend for themselves, or find leisure and life for ourselves.

Alumni Homecoming

Susog ki David Ray

Abaana! Ano man daw ta nakabali ako

sa grupo kan mga polongóng iniho—

mayo nang giniribo ngonyan na banggi

kundi mag-irinuman tapos magharambugan—

túgbo digdi, túgbo duman, garo man daa

ngonyan lang naman nagkanuruparan.

Mayo na nin ibang pig-iristoryahan

kundi an saindang nagkágirinibuhan

na aráram kan gabos na man, mga lugar

na nagkádurumanan, mga chicks nindang

nagkátsaransingan—mga nagkágirinibuhan

nindang inda kun anong kamanungdánan.

Igwang nagharáli sa lugar mi pagkatápos

kaidto; tapos ngonyan pagkauruli, huna mo

sainda kun sáirisay na man daang Polano.

Pagkatápos kang tînuhon, mákua man daá

nin serbesa sa lamesa tapos dai ka kakauláyon—

garo dai kamo nagkáibahan nin pirang taon.

Yaon sana sa táid mo, mayong girong.

Ukon kauláyon ka na, masabi siya: dai ka

man giráray palán nag-iinom. Nin huli ta

kaáabot niya pa man saná, dai niya áram

na nakapirá ka na antes mag-sinárom.

Iyo ka man ngaya giráray: dai man nag-iinom,

mayo pa nin agom.  An ibang mga beer belly-hon

huna mo kun sáirisay na iriigwáhon, mga parainom!

Dai man daw an mga empatsádo nindang tulak

an iyong pinag-iimon kan saindang mga agom?

Yaon si Sulpicio, si Crisanto dangan si Claveron.

Padarakuláan nin tulak, pagarabátan nin buy-on.

Ngonyan, garo pa lugod sinda binabayadan

ubuson an pirang kahon kan serbesang dinunaran

kan mga kaklase pang nakabase sa Taiwan.

Kaya na sana man gayod an iba samo

amay nagkagaradán, nagkángaranáan

sa rarâráan sa kada taon na urulian.

Siring sa dati, mayong sistema ining tiripon  

apwera sa limang kahang baseyong

pwede na naman iarapon.

Mauli na akong amay—babayaaan ko

sindang agit-agitan naman magtiripon

sa bagong sumsuman na inorderan pa

sa luwas kan eskwelahan—inasal na hito

sagkod an pinaluto pang dinuguan.

Maagi an mga aldaw siring kan dati,

ma-check ako nin FB sa sakong Galaxy 3;

sa status message sa Group mi, dai ko

mangalas kun igwa na naman R.I.P. 

Delusions of grandeur

In June of that year

In June of that year, you started tutoring Seth, a freshman and Zandro, a sophomore—both were newcomers in the school where you chose to teach.

Seth appeared cool and quiet, but there was much eagerness when he started talking about himself, his participation in class and school activities, and other things he does in school or at home. He was a growing young boy whose parents whom you chanced to meet desired much good for him. Composed, serene, you saw in him a promising young man who will make a name for himself.

Meanwhile, Zandro was the bubbly type, always wearing a smile, and always less serious and preferred to read ghost stories, not to mention that he was an avid online gamer himself. He wanted to be a nurse because he wanted much money—lots of it. He said he would have to work abroad so he could always provide for himself. Also, he always wanted to eat. 

Every now and then you would excuse the two boys from their classes to chat with them. To you they always sounded hopeful—in anticipation of the chats with you. You would talk to them about how to help their parents do chores in the house, study harder so they would not flunk any class or be good sons to their parents. You also talked to them about how to gain friends in school. Seth said he had new friends—all of the freshmen were his friends. The playful Zandro confessed how he would participate in the sophomores’ horseplay in between class sessions or even during classes. 

In your chats, you approached them like they were your younger brothers. At first you mentally prepared your questions for them. Later, you would just talk to them very casually. Through the days, they had become your friends, so to speak. The chats you had had with them had gone smooth and personal, like they were your younger brothers. Your words would usually end up as friendly pieces of advice for these young boys growing up. And how they sounded so real, so convincing to them. 

Every time you talked to them, you thought you saw yourself in them. You saw enthusiasm in the things they did or wanted to do. They were struggling to become themselves. Full of hope and anticipation, the boys had a lot to live and to learn. They always appeared as if they had to know a lot of things. 

Continually you had told them how to be always good, and would always ask them about how they would fare up to virtues like charity and service, honesty and truthfulness, diligence and stuff. Talking about these virtues with these boys made you aware of your own shortcomings. It made you start to ask again your own life question. It made you want to quantify your own [sense of] achievement. 

Though you’d gone that far, you had not really gotten far enough to try to live sensibly—with a definite purpose. You thought you had to have a definite purpose. Just like them, then, you seemed to long to fling your arms wide open to the world and take on what life really had in store for you.

In June of that year.

Bread and Butter

Grade I - Camia , School Year 1982–1983

Grade I-Camia

School Year 1982-1983

 

Bagacay Elementary School

Bagacay, Tinambac

Camarines Sur

 

Mrs. Thelma Cornelio

Adviser

 

First Row (seated from left)
Jorge Torres (cut from the picture), Darwin Torrazo, Alfredo Cortez, Oscar Solano, Laureano Begino, Ronnel Luzada, Jonathan Cristal, Rey Teope,  Niño Manaog

Second Row (seated from left)
Romeo Caceres, Jonel Dazal, Ronnel Garcia, Ramon Solano, Edgar Bayola, Andres Olalia

Third Row (standing from left)
Joy Begino, Marilyn Solano, Lolita de la Rosa, Mrs. Thelma Cornelio [seated, center], Ma. Salvacion Mendoza, Raquel Celeste, Monina Tacorda

Fourth Row (standing from left)
Marissa Orillosa, Susana Judavar, Eleanor Base, Realy Tuy, Divina Abiog, Dina Nacional, Rosemarie Abragan, Josephine Pilapil, Myla Dazal, Richelle Azur, Maribel Corpuz