homesick

(source)

Flashback:

You step down from a trike and your pamangkins come rushing “Tito! Tito!”. O, how sweet is that even if they were actually after that package of siopaos or burgers that they have been nagging you about when you left that morning. Sometimes, arriving empty-handed you tell them, “oh, the baker was sick today and was not able to make siopao” and tell them anecdotes instead. Or pull some tricks or hunch your back for their rodeo ride.

You slouch on the sofa and sister calls out “dinner is ready” while Noli de Castro screeches “teeveeeeeeeee patrol!”. A steaming bowl of your favorite law-oy or sinigang. Or grilled fish with guso salad. Then a long chat over that matter that caught your and your siblings’ collective awareness or curiosity during the day. The laughs will be hard you’ll be reaching fast for a glass of water while choking on your food.

Majority wins on which program to watch on TV after, which all the time, will be the teleseryes. You wanted to get another TV but decides against it. And finally, you get to reconcile with Jhie’s shrieks over Coco Martin's dramatics amidst his lisps.

You lay in bed, the jalousies open while the chirps and flapping of the kulansyangs’ try to lull you to sleep. Or a few pages of Milan Kundera. Tomorrow will be a long day and you’ll beg high heavens that insomnia will not pop in tonight, more than you pray for peace on earth.

You look forward to weekends for catch-ups and rest. You do not worry about doing the laundry or the ironing since Jhie already took care of that. You are the king of the world despite that you reign over the basket to flea market and the kitchen on Sundays.

You caught the flu and Mamang rushes to the city with leaves that she will boil and forces you to gulp. That is so sweet despite how awful the concoction would taste most of the time.

You have a trip for a few days or weeks, and since Mamang protests against how you simply dump your stuff in the luggage, she volunteers to do the packing. Never mind that you will have to rush to the department store nearest to your hotel after discovering that she missed to put in some underwear.  

O, life is sweet. The benefit of family and community.

Fastforward:

You step down from a trike and your landlord greets you, “nagabin-an man ka?”. After a long day, you manage a smile for a reply. Silence and shadows envelope your unit. You unlock the door and turn the lights on. Stillness, the scent of solitude sprayed all over. You open the fridge, debate with yourself whether to re-heat last night’s left-over or not and decide it will be sandwich for tonight. Tomorrow will be cereals, then sardines and bread the following day. You sigh. Ugh.

You did not get a TV yet so you open your computer and play Winamp. Go online if you were able to load credits to your plug-in. But the prepaid connection can be very sloooooow you'll get dizzy to the circular motion of the loading icon on the address tab.

You lie in bed and the tuko beats your lullaby. Or an article in the newest issue of Reader’s Digest.

Saturdays will be laundry and office or laundry and sleep. Sundays will be church and ironing or church and sleep. If you lazed and chose the latter, then just squeeze in the ironing after taking a bath on Monday and the rest of the week.

You caught the flu and you call your nurse-sister for some medical advice and try not to play the doctor part, which you often do. You take a pill. 

You have a trip and you simply dump your stuff in the luggage. You will make sure you will put in some underwear this time. 

Such a drag. The price of independence.

Now I’m sick. And I want my old life back. I want to be tito and king once again.

I want to be home.

(Musings while finding hard time sleeping on the fourth day of nursing the flu and headache from sinusitis. Manang manghihilot did not show up. I know, this too, and the flu, shall pass. I shouldn't have called home and talked to the kids. But still, I just so enjoy this self-regulating, sovereign life that I will persist.)

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.