(my great, great grandfather as told by my mamasita)

he came from Calbiga
with his Spanish nose
tropic’s warmth allowed him to wear
but a pair of shorts everyday
his shirtlessness revealed
smooth, supple, brown skin
thick shimmering white hair
the only clue to his age
without knife or razor
his fingers felt his face
and tweezered stubble
with a pair of empty clam shells
he slept on a pillow
of hard narrah wood
made smooth and shiny
by years of use
he built his nipa and bamboo house
by the shore
big, sturdy and strong
sheltered at cliff’s foot
it withstood every storm

high atop the cliff
a tree stood tall and huge
a prolific garden of crops and flowers
grew in the soft filtered light of its canopy
cane and banana relinquished skin
in strips scraped clean and sun dried
woven into harvest and fishing baskets
braided into fishing line
he cut down only what he needed
allowing the plants to thrive
long before sustainability was new

old folks said that tall and huge tree
was a faeries’ castle
tending pineapples growing beneath it
Apay Bectay heard a voice beckoning her
a sweet musical melody in the wind
“Bectay…Bectay…”
she peered upward to a vision so beguiling
a beautiful naked lady sitting high on a limb
her skin a pale, pale white
her face and smile radiant
she stroked her long golden hair
with a golden comb
as it flowed alive with the breeze
she appeared as a mermaid underwater
sitting in a sea of swaying green leaves
Apay Bectay ran home for fear of enchantment

one day, my ears followed a peaceful, playful tune
until I came upon Apoy Engo
by his front door post
improvising on a small yellow flute
he had carved by hand
a thin, foot long bamboo chute
harvested from a nearby grove

when the tide was high
you could always find him fishing
by the house, close to shore
rain or shine
as long as the sea was calm
sitting in his banca
slightly stooped
patiently awaiting a bite
for his viand
a woven sun shade hat
tied under his chin
a picture of serenity
accompanied by the soft lapping sea

white roses and Jacob's Coat
purple bearded irises and ferns
dark red wax begonias
scents of night jasmine
French lavender
antique tea roses
loquat, plum, guava and lemon trees
all swaying with an ocean breeze
casting shadows in the setting sun

memories of childhood
bamboo and nipa houses
coconut groves and fragrant banana
witches, faeries and wok-woks
a favorite white haired grandfather
living off land and sea
harvesting root crops and fruit
fishing for viand
barefoot and ******* sarongs
in a private paradise miles from town
bonfire festivities
tuba wine and drunken salamats
an open adoption
a house tiled with affluence
and visits back home
a war's interruption
people lost or found
married off to life in America
lumpia, pancit, beefsteak and beeco
spaghetti, burgers, *** roast and pizza
dinner's table set for eleven
the house on Wagner street
the loss of husband and son
advancing age and declining health
ER's and ICU's
a final farewell

a garden of children
grand children and great grand children
branches in Lala's family tree
her progeny sprouting roots
looking to the future

(tales of my mamasita cont.)

lambayong grew wild on the roadside
a vine like any other
large hand sized leaves grew singly
never in bunches
although lush and green
it was taken for granted
lambayong lay largely left alone
ignored and all but forgotten

my friends and I jumped rope
on the street by the big house
there was always a noisy gaggle
of 4 or 5 jumpers
just out having fun
a long vine stripped of leaves and branches
made a great rope
one day a young passerby asked
if she could join us
we had never seen her before
but gladly let her jump in
for some reason she got mad at me
grabbed the vine, doubled it
and lashed me hard
she was about to hit me again
I reached out and caught the vine
wound it around my hand
and lashed back at her
she ran away sobbing and wailing
we never saw her again
and never found out who she was

during the Japanese occupation
not everyone evacuated like we did
a lovely family from Cebu stayed in town
one daughter was my fourth grade classmate
a beautiful mestiza with fair skin
and loose wavy hair
but we were never friends
just classmates
her family’s affluence was well known
father was a doctor and land owner
jealous lips whispered lies
“the family is supporting guerrillas”
denials fell on closed ears
perhaps willfully lost in translation
lack of evidence didn’t matter
there was an example to be made
brutality’s lesson to be taught
the entire family was beheaded
down to the four year old

Isabel was my best friend
we found each other before the war
I had many neighborhood friends
but Sabel was the only one welcome
to play in the big house
she had both parents
a big sister and brother
a younger brother
they lived in their own
nipa and bamboo house
stilted high from the ground
a beautiful girl with a dark complexion
long black ***** hair fell
in ringlets onto her forehead
we would bathe together
singing together in the bathroom
one kind uncle had his own wing
in the big house
he built me a sturdy swing for two
hung from the ceiling
big strong ropes held a wide wooden seat
Sabel and I would swing away together
sometimes upside down
like a couple of crazy monkeys
we would go up and down the stairs
arms over shoulders
forever singing songs
sometimes her family invited me to lunch
but she never had a meal with us
in the big house
her parents managed to support their family
mother provided laundry service
for the affluent in town
including my family
father traded goods
their life seemed happy and harmonious
after the war
my family returned to Carigara
don’t know what happened to them
I never saw Sabel again
but I never forgot her

Lemme flex my mom
My earliest memory is her holding me close, in a nipa hut somewhere in Cavite, I was probably 2 years old, the smell of pouring rain outside, the banging of the wind, and the song "Welcome to the family" playing inside our mildly lit house. I've never felt more secure than that night.
When I was 6, she gave me one of my strongest skills: English Fluency. She said that if I learn to master this language, people will think I'm smart, and that I could go to places because of this. She taught me how to think logically, how to be technical, and to always grab an opportunity while it's available. Her wisdom was beyond her years.
Then I remember pouring all my insecurities to her as a teenager, dad was working abroad and she was the source of both love and strength. She protected us, provided for us, shouldered everything on her own.
She moved abroad to find work. She and dad lived there until June of 2016.
Then when they came back, I saw her with signs of Alzheimer's, it was irreversible. I remember being broke that year, she (in spite of her sickness) walked up to me and handed me 20 pesos, she smiled and whispered "Anak, sa iyo yan, kain ka." it was as if her old self broke off from her sickness for the last time and for a few minutes I saw my mom again. A version of her youth, a version full of hope and kindness.
The last time I saw her was when I visited her last October. Before I left, she held my wrist, pulled me inside the kitchen, knowing that I was about to leave she said with a smile "Are you going to your work?" then I said " Yes ma, but I will some back."-- A promise I was not able to fulfill.

Now her ashes are no more, fragments of her memory will always linger...

So  let me flex my mom. A mother like no other. The strongest, most caring, most assertive, most empowering woman in my life.
You will always be in my heart.

Culled thee from nipa
Little manger roof
We call it “Belen”
By third year students
It’s from a palm tree

My advisory
TED BEEd Three
Don’t know who from them
But it’s one of them
Who got and placed it

Third day January
Third day Twenty Twelve
Third day of the year
Of Water Dragon
About 8 AM

Roof of small manger
Back from one corner
Third years placed it there
With other decors
Character papers

Tolada of kind
The first one unrhymed
Got with two more leaves
Obtained the same day
While Xmas decors unfixed.

-01/03/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection