changes and nostalgia

The late afternoon air unusually wafts a sudden stream of melancholy as we go off to Nang Beny's garden for some fresh picks. I have trekked these tracks between ricefield and irrigation many times before but with two sisters, scenes of early years on this place somewhat flash in random.

We passed by the pond where we used to pick kangkong for food. One sister suddenly recalled the time when we had nothing else as ulam but this green thing three meals a day. I said, "at least now we get to have a choice between kangkong and ginamus" to which the three of us giggled. Silently, I recalled how I used to sigh about this being served in the table like, "again?". Yet unknowingly, this has become a favorite.

The turod (Ilocano for hill) had a different look now. One of its sides was ripped off a few years ago to fill a collapsed side of a river and now, it lost some of its crowns as well. They cut down some of the trees, including the mangga and salumagi (tamarind) where I held posts in childhood camp games. It was climbing on these trees that I negated the branding of being lampa; even as a kid you have to prove some strength to be deemed acceptable. But one buddy, igso and demi-brother constantly took on my side. Jojo and I would pastol carabaos together by the side of this turod, him teaching me how to tame my beast. In time, I had my own carabao budge at one slight tap on the side and my "ho!'s" were obeyed. On the salumagi, Jojo and I also owned branches as our distinct domains where we would camp while looking after our flocks of ducks after every harvest. We were masters of own territories, thing that may be impossible in the real world. But one thing remains true: I realized that proving your worth is really a way of life.

From Nang Beny's garden, I can already see the highway. Bamboos used to hide this from view but they were all gone now. The tale of constant taking without replenishing took its toll on the riverbanks (bamboos hold the banks from collapsing during floods).

Between the garden and the row of houses on the east, the vast field is green. This has always been a refreshing sight even as a kid. Now, more than appreciating the sight is its purpose and meaning in our lives and in the lives of many of my folks. On these fields is where we are rooted. We owe everything to these tracts.

After we picked camote tops, okras and patola, we crossed the wobbly bamboo bridge unto the other bank of the irrigation. I remember enjoying the swim in these muddy waters. "Burarog", they call it which denotes swimming the indulgent type. We didn't care about getting kagid (skin disease) back then. We simply had fun.

As we were heading back home, a flock of birds make a 'V' formation while hovering the power lines above. In the distance, they made a 'W'. Good that we still see things like these. Many don't get this opportunity.

Going home had its usual effects on me. I hope next time, I'd be able to see more of the spots and the memories they will rekindle.