Rural Road Trip Part 1

Centenarian Granny and
3 year-old great grandson

My 100 year-old grandmother choked on a soft bread morning of January 1, 2011. It was a 5-minute horrible experience getting her out of her bamboo house into the vehicle and then to the nearest community hospital. But i can easily laugh about it now, especially when i recall the scene involving a topless brudda and a father driving without his slippers or shoes on. I might write about our comedy of errors later but for now let me tell you about the little side trip we had today which, partly, was a result of my grandmother's hospitalization.


A little after lunch we went to the hospital to pick up my sister (will be referred as sister #1) who stayed overnight with granny. Another sister (will be referred as sister #2) will take over for the change of shift so that sister #1 can go home, wash up, eat and have some rest. She will again return later for the night shift as sister #2 needs to go back to the City for work the next day. 


My kid (hence, granny's great grandson) has been raring to go around for days now. And though only 3, we've repeatedly brought him along during hospital visits because he wants to go where the car goes, even if the car takes him to Hell.  For 2 days now, the car has been going back and forth to the hospital so to hospital he, too, goes.


Incidentally, the community (or is it district?) hospital is in Sibalom, a town where there is supposed to be a dam. My dad worked with the irrigations in the 80's so he was right there in the middle of the action when the dam and the irrigation systems were being built, so he knew. He asked if we want to go there, see the dam and all and get the travelling itch off the kid, his grandson. And also because my mother wanted to deliver the fresh molasses to her friend, who lives in town, a local politician, who also happens to be my (birth) godmother. 


So, off we go. 


We first drove towards my godmother's house but she wasn't there so we didn't stay long; didn't even go out of the vehicle to partake the usual Filipino hospitality of juice or coffee and biscuits or whatever's left of the New Year's feast. Then we headed for the dam. Sister #1 asked to see the place that was washed out during the Typhoon Frank (international name Fengshen) in 2008. I think about 2 dead bodies coming from that place were found inside our property (the farm, not the residence), amongst the mess of logs and debris. Bugo, the town that was most severely damaged is in San Remigio, a town next to Sibalom, at the foot of a mountain range.  



Dad said it's a little far, further than where the dam is, but he might take us there. 


When my father worked with the irrigations he was assigned field officer. In the duration of the trip he would point to us the places he'd trekked while on the job. As field officer, he said he was responsible for the maintenance of the equipment and for making sure that the supplies needed to maintain the field operations are in place, like fuel and tools. He said there's a tunnel underneath the road or the fields that channel the waters to garble garble garble. The sound of the motor drowned the rest of is story. 


Along the way i learned that Sister #1 had no recollection of our father working for the irrigations, which i found rather incredulous. That job was like a milestone in our father's career as an engineer. Calculating, she realized she must have been too young to remember--she's just 4 then. 


So i told her, "There goes your childhood amnesia."


Meanwhile i kept snapping pictures. 


We passed by Sibalom Municipal Cemetery which i found rather fascinating, albeit nostalgic. It looks welcoming. But then, you always like the things you don't have and a good welcoming feeling is probably what our church's cemetery doesn't have. Apart from the fact that WE really do not have a municipal cemetery to peacefully bury any dead person's body in absence of inconvenience related to his/her religious affiliation. 


More cemetery talks later.


 The kid fell asleep seconds after we left the cemetery and when it was time for him to see the dam, he's dozed off like he hadn't had any sleep for days. No amount of shaking and calling out "bridge! bridge!" could wake him up so we contented ourselves with admiring the men doing laundry by the dam's causeway (if that's how you call). 


I also took pictures of colorful houses. I personally do not find seeing these kinds of houses comforting nor do I find it uplifting despite the delicious colors. Kid rather associated them with cakes. I would probably never develop any taste for these kinds of houses. But it is worth mentioning that they were built in plots adjacent to each other. Yellow, orange, green and blue. I can just imagine the owners getting together, in a small meeting, maybe in the middle of tong-its or mahjong and coming to an agreement on who would paint their house with what color. 


Yellow house: "Akon tana yellow gid ha so dapat di run kamo magpick kang any shade or tint kang yellow kay akon run ra. Kundi...andaman nyo lang."
Green house: Ako tana, kay inguday kita green gid tana akon. Para lain gid kanimo."
Orange house: "Akon tana orange. Hay hambal da kuno ang orange nga color meaning na kara horny."


I was not able to get a picture of a blue house but i don't really need to, as architecturally speaking, all of them look the same. I leave the coloring to your imagination.  


We also also passed by the rice fields. Lots and lots of rice fields that i wish would never be converted to commercial or residential use. 


This post is too long. I will cut it here and make a part 2 of it. Below, by the way is the panorama of the dam which the kid missed. 

  

Part II coming....

List of memories.

1996. journalism class. Pearl Jam. Therefore, Go. 

(PF asked for Black. If not Alive.)
Sunny opening. Here Comes the Sun.
And an Image of a chair. Because we first met inside the class. In Journalism class. Folding Chair.
And Hey Jealousy because Gin Blossoms was so high school. and 14 years after, on our first trip together they also came to where we were going.
And it was Free Fall (ing) from then on. (I thought there has to be some tom petty song. But I might reconsider. I might take this out.)
And then Handyman. Because, James Taylor was interviewed in BBC during the anniversary of the Beatles this month, December 2010. and because PF said so.
And then. Death of Your Father. 3 am. Strawberry Fields.
Followed by Alcohol which you only took, and never stopped taking from then on, after His death.
Yellow Submarine was the lyrics we dissected during the sessions at Dot’s beautiful house. Where both PF and I vividly recall Sobel and her guitar. She playing under the ficus tree. At 8 at night.
The session was a result of A counseling session where somebody played Danny’s Song. This song will always remind me of our “August and Everything After.”
And you come and you go. I never really understood you. Because you always were joking when you were serious. And it was rather frustrating. So i stopped assuming--but never seemed successful at that. 
You were always coming and going. I guess. We learned to live with that.
When you asked us of our favorite song, in July 2010, the first time PF sat in our writing workshop, this was my answer: The Ride.
I don’t know, but I feel I just have to insert I’ll Follow the Sun here.
Teenage Fanclub also has to be here somewhere. Your Love is the Place Where I come From is good for your kind of weather. You like the rain, right?
After sometime, I let myself believe that I perhaps am close to finally understanding you and, finally, understanding myself. Fade Into You.
All I know of you
is in my memory
All I ask is you
Remember me. Rosemary. 

Happy 40th birthday, Alfredo

. 

Mellow Doubt*

When i had my kid, i thought i'd mellow down.


I thought i'd stay away from things too risky--which i did for some good four years.


So when i was first invited to join a project in Afg, my automatic response was to say "No" because it was the right thing to do. The work was, after all, not just risky, but VERY risky. My kid was too young to lose a mother. The second time i got the same invitation, I again said "No" but informed the invitee that i will be asking around. I wanted to compare the pros and cons. Hearing this, he took the "inviting" a step further--he started showing me half of the real deal. My friend, after learning about it, urged me to accept the offer. She said her colleague who has just gotten back from that place has gotten so highly marketable he easily got a post for a project in colombia (or was it bolivia?). Wow, i so wanted to go to south america. they have very nice architecture there.


I think i will consider.


Now, two months into unemployment i couldn't wait for the deployment notice. i now badly wanted that engagement. And also because in a few more weeks, i'll be broke. The least i'd like to happen is me asking money from my husband. It embarrasses me. I've never really learned to live off from other people's earnings because it seems not fair. I honestly feel that in a family the husband is only responsible for himself and his share of responsibility for the kid(s). The wife should find her own financial security. Therefore she must find a way to contribute to the bills and the things for the kid(s) but certainly her whims is not the husband's responsibility. That way, everything is "equal".


Gad, I really am pathetic.


With so much time in my hands now, I wish i had outrightly said "Yes" at the first invitation and immediately gave my CV. What was i thinking? Why did i let the news on BBC faze me and give me nightmares? After all, if i do get killed on duty, what my kid would be getting would be more than enough to put him through an expensive university. Hell, it might even be enough to support him post-university should he choose to become a starving artist/writer.


I've been reading the Balkan memoirs of Greg Campbell and John Falk and they honestly got me envious. John Falk, especially, since he only got and survived the Bosnia assignment because he wanted to "play" with his existence. He was never really there as a hard-ass frontline journalist. He was there to see if the bombs and the bullets could scare the shit out of him. To test my excitement, I watched Restrepo on Nat Geo last Sunday. Nothing. Not scared. Did I say Diego Bunuel has been there? And Reza--i'm a fan of his work and his advocacy.


Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's just the holidays. I've never been really a fan of Christmas because I've never had good experiences with this season.


Who knows what I'll feel when the papers are really there, in my face. But now i know, when you got the restlessness in your blood, you have it forever. I don't think i'll ever be mellowing down.

FIN.

------


*Mellow Doubt is a title of a very beautiful Teenage Fanclub song from their equally beautiful and amazing album (okay, second to the more beautiful, Bandwagonesque) Grand Prix.

what a Wednesday is.

Yesterday ended rather late and today started earlier than usual. 


My kid and i left for Antique this morning but not without a stopover. In UPV Miag-ao. 


And it was yesterday night that we were buying his outfit for today's event that i repeatedly told him that we will not be taking the bus to his grandmother's house because a stopover in Miag-ao is necessary. I told him, the kid, that we (he + me) will be visiting my former university and that we will be going around the campus. The latter is apparently a lie, told because the truth will not excite him. because the truth is, while we are there, we will just spend the entire time at the registrar's office.  


We took the ride-from-hell from a jeepney in the city. The driver actually started and went on slow drive -- i dunno, i don't drive, maybe around 40-60 kph? -- from the city until midway to Guimbal. This is in order for him to get more passengers as the jeepneys seldom leave the terminal fully packed with sardines--err, passengers. And then when the driver felt it's too close to the destination to get more passengers, he cranked the speedometer up--maybe close to a 100 kph--not minding the swerving. I swore under my breath. I've almost forgotten how it's like riding jeeps plying southern iloilo. 


Despite this, the kid, who was already fast asleep when we reached Arevalo, remained undisturbed in his sleep, in tulo-laway fashion. He's gonna have a crazy hairdo by the time we get off. 


Anyway, I had to drop by UPV Miag-ao to process my request for diploma and transcript. Miag-ao is really a long way from Jaro and "process my request for transcript" as a reason can really not warrant a visit. I can use my connections anytime. And I won't even need to lift a finger. 


naaah -- actually the UPV Alumni Office already offers that kind of support to the graduates. And i'm certainly lying about them "connections."  

UPV "New" Admin building.
 Left wing is where the Registrar's office is.
Link to Photo

The people of the registrar's office took my request in, even to the last minute, even with their hands full of all other requests, and their attention divided by their Christmas party that was to start by 12:00 noon. Before me, came the 1980 alumnus who couldn't locate her records in Diliman, and was due to leave the country in two weeks. The staff at the registrar's office located it and did everything as the alumnus requested. They were not sugary friendly ("nanghihingi-ng-balatong") but they were very helpful to every one there. (Yes, honor and excellence.)


It was really difficult to keep the kid from going from one table to another inside the Reg's office, especially that they had a pabitin (for their Christmas party) in the middle of their office! The kid actually enjoyed being there and when he left with me, he waved goodbye with a long face to everyone in the office.  


Once out of the registrar's office, I started coaxing the kid to walk the rest of maybe 100 meters (or more) uphill to the CUB. The toddler obediently took my hand and i treated him to stories while we walked. I told him the road we're following used to be my regular running route in the university, and that I used to just walk from my boarding house to my classes. 


"Sang ara pa ako sa tyan ni nanay?" said the kid. (When i was still in mother's belly?)
"Wala pa." (Not yet)
"Sa balay lang ko ya?" (I'm just in the house?)
"Wala. Wala ka pa ya." (Not yet. You're not around yet.)
"Si tatay ya?" (How about father?)
"Iba man iya eskwelahan e." (He goes to a different school.)
"Upod kami?" (We go together?)
"Wala ka pa gani." (I said you are not around yet.)

link to photo

When we reached the clearing near the Diwata ng Dagat he asked to climb the acacia trees. one tree has a beautiful canopy; it's hasn't grown so tall yet and pretty climable. But it's not a public place, so it was no. I lied about the whole place being the nest of snakes. When i maliciously commented that the Diwata does not have any bra he did not even give it a glance. To think that at his very very young age he's already overly conscious about undressing or getting naked in public. 

link to photo

And because he walked without complain i allowed him to go up the UPV Museum of Natural Sciences (but more like a marine museum) at the lobby of the university library. i can;t remember all the questions i had to answer but one question he kept of asking is that why are the animals there all dead? Okay. 






The whole time we were roaming around, he kept telling me that that everything looks "high" (Wow, taas taas hagdan nila ba! Wow! Taas taas saka naton ba!). I remember it's his first time to be in a building located atop of a hill. And he seldom goes to places several stories high. He's thrilled of the "highness" of it all. Ah, how nice it is to be a kid and inexperienced. 

Inside CUB Cafeteria. It just so happen that this is
the only pic available on the net. Link to Photo

Not wanting to leave the campus, he told me he wants to eat lunch of vegetables (makaon laswa). I consented despite the need for us to hurry home (we had biscuits that could sustain his hunger pangs in the bus--and he ate a hearty breakfast!) because i also wanted to visit the CUB. 


It was lonely. The CUB was one lonely lonely place. I felt miserable eating lunch there. The chairs are broken, the tap not working (so the staff provided jerry cans of potable water), the ceiling fans are also broken, the building looks old, the food was not good, it was so humid. The whole place was just depressing. During my time there as a student, there was a potable water tap that shoot cool, clean, drinkable water. One of my fisheries schoolmate said that it has to be clean because it's what them lab people use for their experiments that required "sterile" water. I dunno what happened. Maybe some students contracted amoeba and they had to shut the line off. Or maybe it's just the way things work. They just stop being good and magical and wonderful one day. 


The kid didn't eat much; I had to throw the untouched cup of rice. I thought I'd be hungry but it turned out i was hungry for a different kind of food, for the ambiance that's is already non-existent. I collected our plate and tray and put them in the collection area while the kid played with his little toy trucks. We hurried outside. 


As we made our way to the stairs leading to the highway, i tell him more stories. For one sentence I say, he tells me a thousand more. 


I made the him wait on the stairs while I watch for the bus. We exchanged questions and answers again about my life as a university student. He kept on asking me what on he was doing while I was at school. Or where he was? Did he wait at home?


"Wala a, wala ka pa ya," I tell him. (Not yet. You were not here yet.)
"Diin ako bay?" (Where was I?)
"Wala pa gid e." (You're VERY not around yet.)
"Diin ko nagkadto haw?" (Where did i go?)
"Wala ka pa to nabuhi." (You're not yet born/alive(?).)
"Napatay na ko?" (I was dead?)
He gave me no choice. I can already see the roof of the bus from the dip in the road ahead. 
"Basta. Huo." (Trust me. Yes.)


And i went to flag for the yellow Ceres bus. 

FIN.

we don't have no place like that anymore.

There was a time (i don't know, in 2008??) that my ninja and I would go to mezzagrille for after office conversations. Most of them included ABD who discovered it first. Following the demise of the Tree House (in General Luna, Iloilo City), this became our favorite place. 

My ninja, ABD and i. 

we don't have no place like that anymore. 

FIN.