(The following uber-long post explains my sudden hiatus. Pardon the length. It should fall on the category of creative non-fiction but I don't know whether it would pass as such. Haha!)
It was six o’clock in the morning. Streaks of warm sunlight seeped through the window jalousies. The cool morning air smelled strongly of leaves cloaked with dewdrops. Somewhere, the birds were chirping and singing for another day. I stretched my limbs and buried my face deeper into the pillow. Aye, HOME.
I love, love Jesuit education. Lots and lots of schooldays taken off because of Catholic Celebrations. This time, it’s the annual teacher’s retreat. Three precious days taken off the weekdays. And Monday is St. Ignatius Day so that would be a total of six days plus the weekends. And yeah, long vacations mean one thing – I AM GOING HOME!
There isn’t really something special about going home. It just means sniffing the old Cotabato air, waking up with the chirping of the birds, submersing yourself for hours of moon and stargazing, eating as much as you can (which includes being able to eat much rice without the hassle of saying ‘EXTRA RICE PLEASE!’), seeing my cousins again, snatching a few moments of intimacy with my siblings, watching TV for hours, cooking, washing the dishes, taking hour-long baths without the constant knocking, and of course, listening to the everyday yapping of my grandmother. HOME SWEET HOME.
It’s not something special, it is everything special that is. Maybe I was so used to adjusting that I don’t really sink myself to depression when I think about them. I haven’t realized that it has been two years. Two years living without my family. I haven’t seen my mom for six months and I haven’t missed her to the extent of burrowing my face into hers when we meet. Two years, and everything is still the same. Yet, I know they were now different. My brother Ammar is now eleven and is on his last year in grade school. Sharmaine (Men) has already gotten her period, is the second lieutenant in their CAT, and has only one more year left before college. Muaz, our youngest, grew larger than before. Long gone were the days when we threw cups at each other when we fight. We were growing up. And I barely even noticed. The changes haven’t shocked me until I slept at night and I find my pillow wet from tears. I wondered where they came from before. But now I know. They were my unconscious lamentations.
Last Friday, Mamang asked me to go to Kusiong. Kusiong is that coastal countryside where I spent my pre-schooldays and my long summer breaks. She woke me with her usual everyday voice lessons. Ranting about everything that displeases her. My grandmother is still the same strict woman I knew my whole life. She hasn’t changed a bit. And so Kusiong I go. We took the course via river. Mamang’s cousin, Papay, had his pumpboat. He is going to visit his fishpond. Seeing the convenience. Mamang literally threw me inside the boat, handed me my clothes, loaves of bread, and a bag of fresh rambutan for my cousins. I can actually go to Kusiong via jeep but since it would be my first time to ride a boat to get there, I happily took my seat and prepared for what would be a great adventure ahead. And the river cruise began. It was like sailing through the Amazon. Twice, we've seen a falcon and an eagle circling above the mangroves and swooping down the river to catch fish. The river currents formed curved shapes as they collided with each other. The water splashed continuously on the sides of the boat. Only the roaring sound of the motor could be heard; yet, there is stillness inside of me. I felt peace. I felt that all my worries were drowned on the gushing waters. And then, we were on the open sea. The mocha-colored water dissolving into deep turquoise. Fishermen boats dotted the vast horizon. I must be too busy gaping at them because the next thing I knew, we were already docking on the shoreline of my childhood years.
Nothing has changed. At first glance. It's still the same long stretch of beach lined with cottages and the acacia trees Mamang has planted. When I was small, I took pride of our beach because unlike other beaches that has coconut trees in them, we have acacia trees. During those times, I am still Mamot for those who know me well and this place is "Pantalan" for the barrio people. But that was before the elaborately-painted gate and the videokehan opened. It was when the number of cottages were still below thirty. But what was "Pantalan" before, is "Zahra Beach" now for picnickers and barrio people alike. And people now know me as "Bam". Nevertheless, whatever its name may be, it's still ME and my HOME.
After putting my things in our house, I decided to take a dip into the waters. For me, dipping means more than an hour of bobbing in and out of the water. Yes, I've been living in the city all my life but deep inside I'll always be a barrio kid. Some say I never grew up. I still exude the cheerfulness I have when I was still Mamot. Some say, I always bring back memories of yesterday. Some say, I bring with me an invisible band of kids. Their kids. The kids I used to play with. The kids before who have now left their homes either to seek fortune abroad, or to have kids themselves.
I decided to wash my clothes after two hours in the water. Its almost siesta time so I climbed up the hammock my beloved Bapa Eng made. My uncle never grew old. I can say that with the way he laughs whenever he watches Tom and Jerry. Very much the same with his laugh ten years earlier. I thought, time really IS slow in places like this. I must have dozed off longer than usual because I woke up at around sundown. I knew it was already sunset even if the sun is hiding himself behind the mass of clouds that looked like lumpy cotton balls. Its faint orange tinge barely visible from the steel gray color of the sky. I sat up and walked around the house. There were bicycles inside the yard so I hopped on one and pedaled my way around the beach. I swerved to keep away from the protruding roots of the towering acacia trees. Back when I was a child, I used to play with these roots. I would walk on top of them and never let my feet touch the ground.
I pedaled until I reached the far point of the beach where our old house was located. It was still there. Though renovated by my uncle, Bapa Don, before he died. The bamboo walls, wooded panels, nipa roof, and rattan walls were his legacy.
I can't explain it, but that part of the beach disturbs me. There, the air is thick, the birds hum, and the silence is broken only by the faint rumbling of the waves at the distance. I avoid going to this area especially during afternoon. It makes me sad. And alone. This place reminds me of what was once but is lost. Here, I look at the past but I see reality staring back at me, slapping my face, shaking my shoulders. Here, I still see Men sitting beside the house selling mangoes so that she can have money to put on her piggy bank. I see Ammar's toothy grin as he would throw mango peelings at Men. I see Mami carrying Muaz in her arms. And I see Papang, with his baggy shirts and faded jeans, walking towards us. Laughing and talking. He would then walk towards Men, pat her head then go to Ammar. Ammar would then jump around him and Papang would laugh and carry him around. And then he would walk towards Mami. He'd get Muaz and play with him while talking to Mami. All that with his humongous bag still slung over his shoulders. Then he would look for me. He'd grunt and say 'Mulag!' then all of them would chorus "Damulag!". And I'd run to him and threw my arms up his neck. He would pat my head and we would all walk inside the house happily.
I still see these things. But in dull gray shades. It seemed so real even if I know that it is not.
I got on my bike again and this time walked along the shore. My aunt Kakabai once taught me how to throw stones that would leap in the water. I took one and sent it flying in the air. It landed on the water with a soft splash. It took me five stones before I managed to do two leaps. I picked up another pebble. The sixth pebble is covered with moss. And then I remembered. The stones here aren't covered with moss back when I was a child. Was the world so young then? Or did the stones grew old with me? Where are the shells that usually were a-plenty in this area? Did they vanish with the years gone by? I looked up to the blooming flowers of the acacia tress and the birds that circle the treetops. What happened here? I looked down and threw the pebble in the waters. It leaped three times, sending ripples at my feet. After a few seconds, they were gone. As if I never threw any stone at all.
Impermanence. This is the way of the world. Everything come and go through time. Time is Impermanence. It takes away everything. Not now, but someday it eventually will. Nobody can stop the cycle.
I rode in my bike and pedaled home as the last rays of the sun left the earth. Dusk fell and the moon rose, leaving a faint glow around the beach. Clouds masked the moon's radiance. It was dark, save for some trees which were lighted up by fireflies. I looked out the window and sighed. I tapped my pen on the windowpane along with the noisy chatter of the crickets.
Time takes everything. Even memories. That is why I leave my thoughts to the pen and paper. Maybe, if I put them into form, it would still last even after me. Maybe, time wouldn't erase it completely. Maybe, I could say that forever does exist.
May it be.
I love, love Jesuit education. Lots and lots of schooldays taken off because of Catholic Celebrations. This time, it’s the annual teacher’s retreat. Three precious days taken off the weekdays. And Monday is St. Ignatius Day so that would be a total of six days plus the weekends. And yeah, long vacations mean one thing – I AM GOING HOME!
There isn’t really something special about going home. It just means sniffing the old Cotabato air, waking up with the chirping of the birds, submersing yourself for hours of moon and stargazing, eating as much as you can (which includes being able to eat much rice without the hassle of saying ‘EXTRA RICE PLEASE!’), seeing my cousins again, snatching a few moments of intimacy with my siblings, watching TV for hours, cooking, washing the dishes, taking hour-long baths without the constant knocking, and of course, listening to the everyday yapping of my grandmother. HOME SWEET HOME.
It’s not something special, it is everything special that is. Maybe I was so used to adjusting that I don’t really sink myself to depression when I think about them. I haven’t realized that it has been two years. Two years living without my family. I haven’t seen my mom for six months and I haven’t missed her to the extent of burrowing my face into hers when we meet. Two years, and everything is still the same. Yet, I know they were now different. My brother Ammar is now eleven and is on his last year in grade school. Sharmaine (Men) has already gotten her period, is the second lieutenant in their CAT, and has only one more year left before college. Muaz, our youngest, grew larger than before. Long gone were the days when we threw cups at each other when we fight. We were growing up. And I barely even noticed. The changes haven’t shocked me until I slept at night and I find my pillow wet from tears. I wondered where they came from before. But now I know. They were my unconscious lamentations.
Last Friday, Mamang asked me to go to Kusiong. Kusiong is that coastal countryside where I spent my pre-schooldays and my long summer breaks. She woke me with her usual everyday voice lessons. Ranting about everything that displeases her. My grandmother is still the same strict woman I knew my whole life. She hasn’t changed a bit. And so Kusiong I go. We took the course via river. Mamang’s cousin, Papay, had his pumpboat. He is going to visit his fishpond. Seeing the convenience. Mamang literally threw me inside the boat, handed me my clothes, loaves of bread, and a bag of fresh rambutan for my cousins. I can actually go to Kusiong via jeep but since it would be my first time to ride a boat to get there, I happily took my seat and prepared for what would be a great adventure ahead. And the river cruise began. It was like sailing through the Amazon. Twice, we've seen a falcon and an eagle circling above the mangroves and swooping down the river to catch fish. The river currents formed curved shapes as they collided with each other. The water splashed continuously on the sides of the boat. Only the roaring sound of the motor could be heard; yet, there is stillness inside of me. I felt peace. I felt that all my worries were drowned on the gushing waters. And then, we were on the open sea. The mocha-colored water dissolving into deep turquoise. Fishermen boats dotted the vast horizon. I must be too busy gaping at them because the next thing I knew, we were already docking on the shoreline of my childhood years.
Nothing has changed. At first glance. It's still the same long stretch of beach lined with cottages and the acacia trees Mamang has planted. When I was small, I took pride of our beach because unlike other beaches that has coconut trees in them, we have acacia trees. During those times, I am still Mamot for those who know me well and this place is "Pantalan" for the barrio people. But that was before the elaborately-painted gate and the videokehan opened. It was when the number of cottages were still below thirty. But what was "Pantalan" before, is "Zahra Beach" now for picnickers and barrio people alike. And people now know me as "Bam". Nevertheless, whatever its name may be, it's still ME and my HOME.
After putting my things in our house, I decided to take a dip into the waters. For me, dipping means more than an hour of bobbing in and out of the water. Yes, I've been living in the city all my life but deep inside I'll always be a barrio kid. Some say I never grew up. I still exude the cheerfulness I have when I was still Mamot. Some say, I always bring back memories of yesterday. Some say, I bring with me an invisible band of kids. Their kids. The kids I used to play with. The kids before who have now left their homes either to seek fortune abroad, or to have kids themselves.
I decided to wash my clothes after two hours in the water. Its almost siesta time so I climbed up the hammock my beloved Bapa Eng made. My uncle never grew old. I can say that with the way he laughs whenever he watches Tom and Jerry. Very much the same with his laugh ten years earlier. I thought, time really IS slow in places like this. I must have dozed off longer than usual because I woke up at around sundown. I knew it was already sunset even if the sun is hiding himself behind the mass of clouds that looked like lumpy cotton balls. Its faint orange tinge barely visible from the steel gray color of the sky. I sat up and walked around the house. There were bicycles inside the yard so I hopped on one and pedaled my way around the beach. I swerved to keep away from the protruding roots of the towering acacia trees. Back when I was a child, I used to play with these roots. I would walk on top of them and never let my feet touch the ground.
I pedaled until I reached the far point of the beach where our old house was located. It was still there. Though renovated by my uncle, Bapa Don, before he died. The bamboo walls, wooded panels, nipa roof, and rattan walls were his legacy.
I can't explain it, but that part of the beach disturbs me. There, the air is thick, the birds hum, and the silence is broken only by the faint rumbling of the waves at the distance. I avoid going to this area especially during afternoon. It makes me sad. And alone. This place reminds me of what was once but is lost. Here, I look at the past but I see reality staring back at me, slapping my face, shaking my shoulders. Here, I still see Men sitting beside the house selling mangoes so that she can have money to put on her piggy bank. I see Ammar's toothy grin as he would throw mango peelings at Men. I see Mami carrying Muaz in her arms. And I see Papang, with his baggy shirts and faded jeans, walking towards us. Laughing and talking. He would then walk towards Men, pat her head then go to Ammar. Ammar would then jump around him and Papang would laugh and carry him around. And then he would walk towards Mami. He'd get Muaz and play with him while talking to Mami. All that with his humongous bag still slung over his shoulders. Then he would look for me. He'd grunt and say 'Mulag!' then all of them would chorus "Damulag!". And I'd run to him and threw my arms up his neck. He would pat my head and we would all walk inside the house happily.
I still see these things. But in dull gray shades. It seemed so real even if I know that it is not.
I got on my bike again and this time walked along the shore. My aunt Kakabai once taught me how to throw stones that would leap in the water. I took one and sent it flying in the air. It landed on the water with a soft splash. It took me five stones before I managed to do two leaps. I picked up another pebble. The sixth pebble is covered with moss. And then I remembered. The stones here aren't covered with moss back when I was a child. Was the world so young then? Or did the stones grew old with me? Where are the shells that usually were a-plenty in this area? Did they vanish with the years gone by? I looked up to the blooming flowers of the acacia tress and the birds that circle the treetops. What happened here? I looked down and threw the pebble in the waters. It leaped three times, sending ripples at my feet. After a few seconds, they were gone. As if I never threw any stone at all.
Impermanence. This is the way of the world. Everything come and go through time. Time is Impermanence. It takes away everything. Not now, but someday it eventually will. Nobody can stop the cycle.
I rode in my bike and pedaled home as the last rays of the sun left the earth. Dusk fell and the moon rose, leaving a faint glow around the beach. Clouds masked the moon's radiance. It was dark, save for some trees which were lighted up by fireflies. I looked out the window and sighed. I tapped my pen on the windowpane along with the noisy chatter of the crickets.
Time takes everything. Even memories. That is why I leave my thoughts to the pen and paper. Maybe, if I put them into form, it would still last even after me. Maybe, time wouldn't erase it completely. Maybe, I could say that forever does exist.
May it be.
11 comments:
I really admire the way you write Bam.. I mean.. you can always let the reader imagine what it is like... i can imagine you with your bike and all.. you throwing the pebble.
you see things that others don't... ;p
i like the last part. :)
True that.
When I was in college my writing skills wasn't as developed as yours. Though I don't think you've puked as much as I have since I was always stoned drunk.
Keep writing man! Isulong and rebolusyon! :P
Hmm. Must agree with those two people above.
hey! i missed ur blog soo much. just like wat they say..ur really great in expressing ur thoughts. i really can picture how u look while reading it. wat u exactly doing. i love it..i just love it. wish i could be write as good as u. =)
i love reminiscing those old times and yeah look how time past. Now, im in a different country i can say that too much have changed. If i will be back wer i grew up i would realy cry and tell myself ive really changed.. BIG TIME!.
Time tells us how weve been through and how far weve reached. time teach us things and in time we learn. And only time can tell wer we will be in the future.
eventho the post was long i knew its interesting to read about. i love it. keep it up! goodluck..
take care. i miss u.mwahugs.
...I was...speechless.
I would have to agree with the comments up there: it was well-written, well enough to make us feel your feelings of nostalgia.
detailed as it is. ahh, memories. so fresh.
whew! ang haba! hehehe
but it was worth my while... nice one, Bam.
akala ko ako lang ang nag hiatus sa pagba-blog. i'm back din.
I was all along the way with you with this post. why? because I lived a year in almost the same place. I took my grade 3 schooling in Tapian (am sure you know this), a barrio way down after Kusiong. The flat stones made to leap by the sea-water? I did those and I can make them leap for more than 4 times. Ah, memory lane, I even missed some of my old classmates there. I wonder how they did life after our ways parted away.
i lurve it!
i like the way you write..
super!
im a sucker for nostalgia myself..
(LOL) Didn't take as long as I thought I'd take. Really enjoyed it; especially since it gave me a visual of something I've never seen.
I always write a lot. Maybe too much? You're the judge of that.
Well yeah, if you noticed it says, "Akira" now instead of "Hikaru". I decided to switch from Hikaru to Akira 'cause it just gave me a better feeling of who I am. I still prefer my NN to be Ryu though, but not many people call me that.
Oh, I like all of the songs in the playlist. Yes, I've listened to all of them. (No life? Yeah, I know.)
You know I miss talking with you a lot. We barely had the chance period, and well me abandoning MySpace didn't really help, but it looked like you abandoned it also. Again, I'm sorry for messaging you late... I'm not sure if you even noticed or not, that I was gone. I did miss you, I had internet problems and computer problems but it's nothing I can't fix. (^_^)
Enough about me. I'm really glad you enjoyed the vacation, or so it seems. You know, I loved that ending, while I was reading it, I was thinking the same thing. Wouldn't it be marvelous just to stop that cycle or just expand it so much that it seems forever? I would like to live for very long to expand my knowledge, 'cause life is too short, and I don't have much time on my day for anything I want to do, but forever just seems so hard, seeing everything you know pass away while you don't. it's not something I'd like to do. But I try to make time for important things, for example, this. I always liked that we share similarities on our way of seeing life, or whatever you may call it. So, I always enjoyed listening to you on what you have to said, wish we could talk one-on-one more often.
I loved this blog especially 'cause I got to find out a lot about you. It's something rare to me, since last time we talked was ages ago, but I always wanted to reply. I never forgot about you =]...
Akira~
P.S. I had written stuff on the blog before the babies also, but you deleted and re-posted it, adding more things, so I hope you excuse me from not writing on those, I did read it though. ^_^
P.P.S. Hehe, *slaps face* there I go writing a lot again, well it's to make up for the time we haven't spoken. (That's my excuse at least XP)
Char. Thanks guys. I'm speechless. Hehe. :)
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