THE WAR YEARS IN DONSOL
(The Japanese Occupation)
The Malapoc Experience
As the soft light of dawn enveloped our new found unfamiliar environ, the household was already stirring and welcoming the peculiar sight and sounds and smell of Malapoc.
Curios, I limped and hobbled to join the family in savoring the promise of a beautiful sunny day- the first full day in our evacuation site.
My father decided to choose Malapoc as a safe enough place to evacuate the family for two good reasons: it was remote and far and distantly impossible for the Japanese to look for scared people like us; the second one was, papa owned 24 hectares of the barrio and a foothold from the dangers of war. On hindsight I understood why lolo Julian put a stake in such a remote and barely populated land almost at the edge of the world compounded by an unglamorous name- Malapoc! The name means muddy. But by the grace of God, the piece of land titled under the name of papa by lolo was vast and huge, called homestead.
The Homestead
The homestead was planted to coconut trees bordered by a rich virgin forest inhabited by wild animals – monkey, snakes, wild boars, deer, and wild birds- together with wild plants, wild flowers, giant ferns, etcetera’s. David Attenborough of Discovery Channel would have loved to poke and tinker and discover the different species of flora and fauna there in their untouched state, then. Malapoc was endowed with a flowing clear river coming from the upper waterways with the forest a source of hard wood like narra and molave and a r ice field which supports the entire Malapoc population made itself sufficient in rice supply. From the evacuation house in Dancalan, the first barrio from the poblacion across the Donsol River, our family moved up to Sibago on our way to the target location – Malapoc. This house of lolo Julian called kamalig can accommodate a whole barangay by today’s standards, but was already bursting at that time with evacuees from Manila and other provinces at risk of Japanese atrocities. They were relatives bringing along with them their friends including their families. So the refugees kept on ballooning. It was really a squeezing-in situation there in Dancalan that our family had to move on to Malapoc, pronto.
The Caravan to Safety
The route from Sibago, the jumping point to the interior sitios and barrios like Malapoc was the river passing by San Rafael and a carabao trail. Sibago is the sixth coastal barrio from the poblacion reached only by boat or by foot through the coastal shores.
In Sibago, five carabaos were already saddled to transport the dried goods and part of our belongings including us kids eager to experience a carabao back ride. A big casco was all ready to launch loaded with the rest of our household needs convoyed by the fleeing passengers – my parents and crew on this historic moment - the escape !
The caravan and our boatload counterpart left early from Sibago headed to our destination. The first kilometer or so was a fun ride with the carabaos swaying gently on a seemingly paved trail. Suddenly as if hit by a thunder bolt, the carabao where Coro and I were aboard, lurched and plunge into a deep swirling sea of muddy trail almost throwing us off the saddle. And the torturous journey did never left us till our bones crackled and muscles stiffened. I wondered if this muddy place is attributed to Malapoc’s name.
I suffered for three days a discomforting fever due to muscle pain. A temporary shelter was already waiting for us made in anticipation for our arrival by the barrio folks. In a weeks time we moved to our lovely new bamboo and nipa and anahaw house- thanks to the Bayanihan spirit at work in Malapoc. Our new home was airy and sunny with wide windows all around and purposely built along a sparkling, clear creek teeming with shrimps and other protein source.
'The Red River'
Settled and snugly feeling at home in our new evacuation nook, our next move was to “attack” the mountains of dirty clothes. As usual I made ‘buntot” to Manay Ligaya and Coro and another helper for this fateful morning to wash the clothes in the river, a kilometer away. Always wanting to be bida, I raced with Coro to the river bank.
As if hit by a lightning Coro and I stopped short
in our tracks, confronted by a surreal vision of a river flowing in scarlet blood! I likened this ghastly scene to Moses transforming the Egyptian river into blood to spite the Pharoah. At that time at barely seven years of age, I was unaware that I was already face to face with the realities of war in our midst. The “bloody occurrence” was repeated many times over during the dark days when the so- called guerilla movement was in hot pursuit for Kapilis the Japanese informers and collaborators. The notoriety of this band of murderers
and assassins struck fear and caused instability in the lives of simple folks around. It was known that this socalled-guerilla chopped off heads like chickens by the dozens along the upper river banks only a distance away from us causing the river to turn into a crimson red.
However, the folks around the vicinity swore that most of the victims were innocent farmers who did not show support to their perverse ideology. Their modus operandi was to ransack and terrorize and rob the farmers of their produce. From the other side of Donsol we also learned from evacuees coming from the cities the carnage and the sordid chaos and crimes of the Japanese invaders parallel to what the bandits in our midst were atrociously doing to our people. For sometime Malapoc was spared from the raids conducted by the bandits in our neighboring barrios.
A New Lifestyle of Survival
And so our life in Malapoc was near idyllic while the bandits were biding their time not to disturb our peace. Thus, a new lifestyle emerged. My father started to raise a poultry of healthy robust chicken bred on natural feeds, leafy vegetables, insects, earth worms, corn , palay- all chemical free. Papa used a whistle to the chicken during feeding. An abundance of eggs lying around our yard every morning were shared with the neighbors in exchange for newly harvested vegetables, camotes or other fresh fruits.
Mama became an instant chemist by inventing a lotion from coconut water for curling hair. She curled hair by means of winding the hair by section on industrial nails inserted in papaya stem pressed by a hot iron- and presto, a Shirley temple look- alike curly bouncing hairdo come into place- I modeled for the fashion. Mama was our informal teacher learning the wonders of the alphabets and written words and became a hands- on science tutor giving us the time to know the cycle of insect life in our backyard like the butterfly and other living things. As a story teller she would gather us kids around her almost every night and told us straight from the novels she read from hardbound books. Unknowingly decades ago she was already practicing the now renowned “Read Along Program” sponsored by the Phil. Daily Inquirer.
She was a passionate educator. Influenced by her love for books, I was already reading a heavy weight book titled “How Green Was My Valley” when I was in grade four. It was about the industrialization (in steel) that turned that beautiful green valley State into a grimy one.
During lull hours mama would sketch portraits and sceneries adding richness to her pieces of birds in flight.Not even the famed Krispy Kreme can beat mom’sdoughnu ts. Perhaps you will wonder where in Malapoc’s name do we shop for bakery supplies! Well, the Chinese compadre of papa who taught him to play majong and who owns the biggest bodega of food supplies in Donsol donated sacks and sacks of flour,sugar and giant cans of lard and oil in anticipation of the lootings that really happened during the skirmish when it was reported that the Chinese were also the target of the Japanese.In times of war lawlessness surely prevails.
As our house was purposely built beside a rippling clean stream it became a source of our protein intake – shrimps, hito ,etc. So we really didn’t need and had no desire for a lot of money then. Trading was done by bartering a can of camote for a live chicken, for example.
We subsisted on dinorado, a sweet smelling rice produced in our own ricefield,camote, camoteng kahoy,fresh vegetables, fresh fruits, fresh everything that a fridge is an unknown commodity.Why, we really lived in simplicity! What a beautiful life – no credit cards, no cellphones, no smoke belchers, no noise pollutions, no outrageous Meralco bills, no rush hours, no office bundy clocks, no deadlines, no schools, wow, what a carefree life! Nevertheless, we kids in the neighborhood had to be inventive in how we spend our sort of a heavenly free life. The river is our source of joy when not covered in red. We swam to our hearts desire, together with the carabaos smelling mud and polluting our space in the water but enjoying anyway the dives we made from their slippery backs. Then we spooked ourselves of the imaginary “Capri”that reigned over the super huge balete tree that positioned itself strategically in the river bank. This river of my youth was a source of life support to the river people around. It was used as channel to transport raw products like copra, lumber, firewood, etceteras down to Sibago in exchange for such basic commodities as sugar, soap, coffee, cigarettes, and others. We used the river to launder clothes; we used it for fishing; we used it for bathing bringing along coconut milk for the hair and gugo as our super shampoo said to ward off dandruffs , retard baldness and falling hair.
The Raid
But this good life ceased in a blink of an eye when the bandits remembered to attack and raid Malapoc and arrested all the male population. Our ‘mamo’ an uncle priest who came to say mass that morning in his priestly garb was kicked and slapped and pulled by a rope on his stomach. I witnessed this horrible scene at such a tender age. Providentially papa and mama left for Sibago at the crack of dawn to barter some foodstuff on that fateful morning.
Suddenly, two bad looking men barged in our house brandishing their guns on us small kids trembling with fear. They ransacked our house looking for our father or any male in the house. They left when no male was found in the place. We were crying in fright when Manay Ligaya appeared back fishing from the stream unaware of what was happening to us. The men didn’t notice her down stream. Without any second thought she left in a huff instructing us to hide under the house and wait for the “pick-up”.She took off to warn papa and mama of the raid.Manay Ligaya crouched and crawled to the other side of the stream and trail blazed the deep forest of cogon unmindful of the danger of being bitten by the snakes , and the thorns and sharp objects ripping her clothes and flesh. Use of the boat and carabao will alert the raiders. By foot Sibago is three hours away in normal times. By nightfall Manay Ligaya came for us kids already hungry and suffering from the traumatic experience,So we crouched our way to the trail that manay Ligaya made without the benefit of any light from even the heavens above. We did our blind walk through mental calculation. That was the great escape ever- not from the Japanese aggressors but from our own band of perverse mad people who should have been our protectors. That melodramatic episode was the tipping point of our sojourn in Malapoc. And, that was the last glimpse I saw Malapoc bringing with me memories of the scars of war and the taste of a beautiful life in its simple state.
This Malapoc story is a tribute to Manay Ligaya who saved the family from the claws of danger.She was only in her early teens (around 13 or so I reckon) but blessed with an adult-like wisdom and wise decisions wizened by the cruelty of circumstances. She was my first cousin(from papa Ido the eldest son of lolo Julian ) who stood by my family through the tough times in the early years of the war..
There was Socorro of course, the younger sister of manay Ligaya who was my age and acted like a sister to me and who stayed with us faithfully during the war years.
Thy both passed away in their appointed time
.
Epilogue: Deep in my heart I can discern now why papa completely left the 24-hectare property in Malapoc for a song. Just like me he never set foot again in our “paradise lost” bringing with it happy and sad memories. In my mind Malapoc was no longer the place with an unglamorous name but redeemed itself as a shining haven for a “running family.” I promise to visit you sometime. After a lapse of 68 years- memories of you are as fresh .
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
A short message to my children, grandchildren, and to my whole clan:
Long before Kassie my apo asked me to share with them the family history I have already started with my sort of auto biography purposely to acquaint my grandchildren about their ancestry - but I did it in spurts. With the coming of the internet it is easy to post in my blog snippets in a story telling style moments in my life that can be gleaned and pieced together to form a picture of their "familyhood".
I do not aspire to write in a sophisticated and elegant manner for the purpose of impressing my readers in correct english writing and other blah-blahs. My blog is simply for my clan and of course to the other "unique visitors" who wish to share in my war years experience and some dots of history in Donsol in my light writing style. [I forgot that 74 year olds are already licensed not to be apologetic in these things and be "free thinkers " instead].
Very good!
In Parenthesis:
But do you know that writers with zing and spark and bark and bite are my choicest columnists from the Philippine Daily Inquirer [my favorite newspaper] the likes of Conrado de Quiros, There's The Rub; Randy David, Public Lives; and Manuel L Quezon 111, The Long View. Why, because nakakamot ang hindi mo maarticulate na views. Napaka profound ang kanilang mga pananaw and commentaries na nakakahiya tuloy ang pa english english pa, di ba?
Do you know that I labored hard to type the above piece ? What an accomplishment! My apo who types for me is already in school, and I have to make kapa with the keys and call Ember how to punch the capital letters. Many times the keys got stuck because I punched the shift in a prolonged manner.
I do not aspire to write in a sophisticated and elegant manner for the purpose of impressing my readers in correct english writing and other blah-blahs. My blog is simply for my clan and of course to the other "unique visitors" who wish to share in my war years experience and some dots of history in Donsol in my light writing style. [I forgot that 74 year olds are already licensed not to be apologetic in these things and be "free thinkers " instead].
Very good!
In Parenthesis:
But do you know that writers with zing and spark and bark and bite are my choicest columnists from the Philippine Daily Inquirer [my favorite newspaper] the likes of Conrado de Quiros, There's The Rub; Randy David, Public Lives; and Manuel L Quezon 111, The Long View. Why, because nakakamot ang hindi mo maarticulate na views. Napaka profound ang kanilang mga pananaw and commentaries na nakakahiya tuloy ang pa english english pa, di ba?
Do you know that I labored hard to type the above piece ? What an accomplishment! My apo who types for me is already in school, and I have to make kapa with the keys and call Ember how to punch the capital letters. Many times the keys got stuck because I punched the shift in a prolonged manner.
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Kinunot Story
The Story is told that Donsolanons are "kinunot" connoisseurs. Go to the marketplace in late afternoons and find an array of kinunot dishes from shark meat to manta/sting rays laid out ready for a sampling fest for prospective customers, bystanders, kibitzers taking advantage of free 'tastings'. This ritual is done as soon as dusk falls. 'Tasters' troop to the gallery of kinunot and other ginataan dishes like "linatik na pasa-pasa", "adobong lumod", "laing", etcetera to choose the most "kasiram na" dish. Note this: only one fork is used for sampling the kinunot dish passing from mouth to mouth, unmindful of the so-called health hazards. There was no finding anyway (at that time) that using one fork for a multitude of mouths killed anyone of contagious disease, promise!
Do you believe that the fiercest man eating predator of the deep, the shark, scampers away in terror upon seeing a diver with a bunch of malunggay leaves in his hand? Donsolanons have a delightful way of crafting jokes about everyday life especially so when it comes to kinunot and other gata dishes. Do you know why sharks are scared crazy and allergic at the sight of malunggay? Because malunggay, even before it gained prominence as a super-nutritious food, was already an indispensable ingredient in cooking kinunot dishes. Kinunot is obtained from shark meat or manta/sting ray. Decades ago, the Catondolan deep was swarming with sharks (the whale sharks were then rather camera shy), dolphins, manta/sting rays, whales, and the whales which spout fountains out of their backs (now can only be seen in Discovery Channel), and other wilds from the deep. And, do you know that Catondolan was like the famed Tubbathaha Reef with all the works of a beautiful world down under. When I returned from the city decades ago, I wept at the desolate state of Catondolan. The new generation of Donsolanons has been robbed of such a beautiful treasure and heritage; but thanks to the Butandings which made their presence known only now after half a century of being elusive from prying eyes, the tourism carried the mystical world of Donsol on. They carry with them the lesson that abuse of the environment is critical to contributing to Global Warming. With their coming, the Donsolanons were made aware that what we love to eat as kinunot meat are now listed as endangered species. But, how can you resist naman this mouth watering exotic ginataan dish mixed with the nutritious leaves of malunggay and the unbeatable siling labuyo swimming in thick coconut milk? Sige nga!
A Kinunot Recipe:
1-kilo shredded shark meat
2 regular size coconut
2 cups malunggay leaves
8 pcs. chopped green siling labuyo
5 pcs. chopped red siling labuyo (optional)
1/2 tsp. crushed black pepper (paminta)
3 cloves of crushed garlic
5 large size lemoncito or kalamansi juice
2 tsp. of salt for taste
Procedure:
1. Blanch or grill over charcoal the baby shark, then skin it and shred the meat finely. Put into bowl.
2. Press the grated coconut to produce about three cups of thick cream (maliputok). Put into bowl.
3. Put into bowl malunggay leaves, the chopped green sili, crushed red siling labuyo, and crushed black pepper and lemoncito juice and two tsp. of salt.
4. Finally, pour the coconut milk into the kawali and throw in the other ingredients.
5. Stir the gata continuously until coco milk boils to a frothy cream.
6. Then, put the shark meat mixing it thoroughly with the rest of the ingredients. Let the white meat absorb the hot, hot stuff with it and slowly dip the precious malunggay leaves into the whole caboodle. Follow this in a minute with lemoncito juice to enhance taste.
In about three minutes, the super kinunot dish is ready to be served. Happy sampling!
Do you believe that the fiercest man eating predator of the deep, the shark, scampers away in terror upon seeing a diver with a bunch of malunggay leaves in his hand? Donsolanons have a delightful way of crafting jokes about everyday life especially so when it comes to kinunot and other gata dishes. Do you know why sharks are scared crazy and allergic at the sight of malunggay? Because malunggay, even before it gained prominence as a super-nutritious food, was already an indispensable ingredient in cooking kinunot dishes. Kinunot is obtained from shark meat or manta/sting ray. Decades ago, the Catondolan deep was swarming with sharks (the whale sharks were then rather camera shy), dolphins, manta/sting rays, whales, and the whales which spout fountains out of their backs (now can only be seen in Discovery Channel), and other wilds from the deep. And, do you know that Catondolan was like the famed Tubbathaha Reef with all the works of a beautiful world down under. When I returned from the city decades ago, I wept at the desolate state of Catondolan. The new generation of Donsolanons has been robbed of such a beautiful treasure and heritage; but thanks to the Butandings which made their presence known only now after half a century of being elusive from prying eyes, the tourism carried the mystical world of Donsol on. They carry with them the lesson that abuse of the environment is critical to contributing to Global Warming. With their coming, the Donsolanons were made aware that what we love to eat as kinunot meat are now listed as endangered species. But, how can you resist naman this mouth watering exotic ginataan dish mixed with the nutritious leaves of malunggay and the unbeatable siling labuyo swimming in thick coconut milk? Sige nga!
A Kinunot Recipe:
1-kilo shredded shark meat
2 regular size coconut
2 cups malunggay leaves
8 pcs. chopped green siling labuyo
5 pcs. chopped red siling labuyo (optional)
1/2 tsp. crushed black pepper (paminta)
3 cloves of crushed garlic
5 large size lemoncito or kalamansi juice
2 tsp. of salt for taste
Procedure:
1. Blanch or grill over charcoal the baby shark, then skin it and shred the meat finely. Put into bowl.
2. Press the grated coconut to produce about three cups of thick cream (maliputok). Put into bowl.
3. Put into bowl malunggay leaves, the chopped green sili, crushed red siling labuyo, and crushed black pepper and lemoncito juice and two tsp. of salt.
4. Finally, pour the coconut milk into the kawali and throw in the other ingredients.
5. Stir the gata continuously until coco milk boils to a frothy cream.
6. Then, put the shark meat mixing it thoroughly with the rest of the ingredients. Let the white meat absorb the hot, hot stuff with it and slowly dip the precious malunggay leaves into the whole caboodle. Follow this in a minute with lemoncito juice to enhance taste.
In about three minutes, the super kinunot dish is ready to be served. Happy sampling!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Snippet 6/14/08: Chemical Alert
My gorgeous daughter, Menggay,
Your stack of beautifully designed curtains have got to go.
If you haven't read yet the Philippine Daily Inquirer page A-7 dated 6/14/08, you should hearken to the article of Ms. Jocelyn Uy citing the harmful effects of PVC shower curtains which I am quoting herewith:
"The dangerous group of chemicals in PVC shower curtains was found to emit as many as 108 volatile organic compounds (VOCs) into the air that were found to be carcinogenic and may cause damage to human liver, respiratory track, reproductive system and central nervous system (CNS)."
A member of the Eco-waste Coalition and Chair of the Mother Earth elaborated that aside from VOCs other chemicals, such as phthalates (yes, this is really the spelling of the chemical and I don't know how to pronounce it either) and organotins, can harm people and they are found in other household objects common to everyone's life--phthalates are found in soft elastic rubber, e.g., eraser on the end of a pencil or any other eraser. Hear this: chemicals such as touline, cyclohexanone, methyl isobutyl ketone, phenol, and ethyl bensene are found in the air within 28 days after a shower curtain was unwrapped and hung. Do you know that only ethyl is familiar to me? (From rubbing alcohol solutions, of course.)
By the way, phthalates, also found in PVC plastic medical devices have been linked to reproductive problems including shorter pregnancy duration and premature breast development in girls; sperm damage and impaired reproductive development in males.
Menggay, remember Amy's husband? The one who died of liver cancer, but detests drinking alcohol or smoking? I suspect the PVC as a culprit...
Also, I have observed nine year old girls are starting to grow premature breasts. At my time, we girls in the block experienced "growing pains" at the breast area at the age of eleven or twelve, and have to bandage that part to hide them when we wear P.E. t-shirts.
How now do we live in an environment filled with deadly chemicals? I shiver at the thought...
----------------
Now playing: Countdown - Stairway To Heaven
via FoxyTunes
----------------
Now playing: Carl Douglas - Kung Fu Fighting
via FoxyTunes
Your stack of beautifully designed curtains have got to go.
If you haven't read yet the Philippine Daily Inquirer page A-7 dated 6/14/08, you should hearken to the article of Ms. Jocelyn Uy citing the harmful effects of PVC shower curtains which I am quoting herewith:
"The dangerous group of chemicals in PVC shower curtains was found to emit as many as 108 volatile organic compounds (VOCs) into the air that were found to be carcinogenic and may cause damage to human liver, respiratory track, reproductive system and central nervous system (CNS)."
A member of the Eco-waste Coalition and Chair of the Mother Earth elaborated that aside from VOCs other chemicals, such as phthalates (yes, this is really the spelling of the chemical and I don't know how to pronounce it either) and organotins, can harm people and they are found in other household objects common to everyone's life--phthalates are found in soft elastic rubber, e.g., eraser on the end of a pencil or any other eraser. Hear this: chemicals such as touline, cyclohexanone, methyl isobutyl ketone, phenol, and ethyl bensene are found in the air within 28 days after a shower curtain was unwrapped and hung. Do you know that only ethyl is familiar to me? (From rubbing alcohol solutions, of course.)
By the way, phthalates, also found in PVC plastic medical devices have been linked to reproductive problems including shorter pregnancy duration and premature breast development in girls; sperm damage and impaired reproductive development in males.
Menggay, remember Amy's husband? The one who died of liver cancer, but detests drinking alcohol or smoking? I suspect the PVC as a culprit...
Also, I have observed nine year old girls are starting to grow premature breasts. At my time, we girls in the block experienced "growing pains" at the breast area at the age of eleven or twelve, and have to bandage that part to hide them when we wear P.E. t-shirts.
How now do we live in an environment filled with deadly chemicals? I shiver at the thought...
----------------
Now playing: Countdown - Stairway To Heaven
via FoxyTunes
----------------
Now playing: Carl Douglas - Kung Fu Fighting
via FoxyTunes
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Snippets (The First)
Why Tutu? This is how they address me within the family. The name Tutu conveys sunshine for the soul and a source of warmth and comfort for the family circle. Those who call me Tutu outside the family are embraced by me and welcomed in the bottom of my heart. And, my love springs forth to them. 'Tutu' became a token of love when my granddaughter, Andromeda--she was about two years old at the time--uttered, out of the blue, this magical word. She can't pronounce Lola Marichu and so Tutu became my signature name.
In Hawaiian, Tutu means "wise and wonderful woman" and "a source of unconditional acceptance". Also a form of calling your grandparents or elders or a name of a plant (above). How coincidentally it coincided with my spot in the child's life. And, imagine that it was just Andromeda's childish alliteration of "Lola Marichu".
Some strange language invented by my grandchildren at the age when their tongues were just starting to untwist:
By Niki:
"I case you" -- Excuse me (We adults still mimic this when we ask to be excused.)
"Alticol" -- alcohol
(Now on her second year nursing course.)
By Andromeda:
"Kelly" -- Carry
"Kilot" -- Kirot (Filipino for pain)
"Tutu" -- Lola Marichu
"Oted" -- Lolo Ted
(Andromeda is now in her Junior year and deeply involved in her novel writing.)
By Voughnn:
"In Age Utant Inja Ererls" -- Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
"Hah Birdie!" -- Happy Birthday!
"loko-loko-dile" -- crocodile
"Tenchu" -- Thank you
(Voughnn is now in Grade One.)
By Tristan:
"refidelatorl" -- (with a silent/blurred 'r') refrigerator
(TJ is now on his last year in Grade school.)
By Francine:
"cocratch" -- cockroach
"crokrodayl" -- crocodile
"cocratsidoyl" -- When Andromeda tried to get Francine to say "cockroach" and "crocodile" properly, she started with the cocratch first. Then, when it was the crokrodayl's, this word came out. The combined words of cocratch and crokrodayl.
(Francine is graduating from elementary school this year [2008]. )
By Alyanna:
"Pee-Pan" -- electric fan
"Pindot" -- the Automatic Teller Machine (ATM)
(Alyanna is now in kindergarten.)
In Hawaiian, Tutu means "wise and wonderful woman" and "a source of unconditional acceptance". Also a form of calling your grandparents or elders or a name of a plant (above). How coincidentally it coincided with my spot in the child's life. And, imagine that it was just Andromeda's childish alliteration of "Lola Marichu".
Some strange language invented by my grandchildren at the age when their tongues were just starting to untwist:
By Niki:
"I case you" -- Excuse me (We adults still mimic this when we ask to be excused.)
"Alticol" -- alcohol
(Now on her second year nursing course.)
By Andromeda:
"Kelly" -- Carry
"Kilot" -- Kirot (Filipino for pain)
"Tutu" -- Lola Marichu
"Oted" -- Lolo Ted
(Andromeda is now in her Junior year and deeply involved in her novel writing.)
By Voughnn:
"In Age Utant Inja Ererls" -- Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
"Hah Birdie!" -- Happy Birthday!
"loko-loko-dile" -- crocodile
"Tenchu" -- Thank you
(Voughnn is now in Grade One.)
By Tristan:
"refidelatorl" -- (with a silent/blurred 'r') refrigerator
(TJ is now on his last year in Grade school.)
By Francine:
"cocratch" -- cockroach
"crokrodayl" -- crocodile
"cocratsidoyl" -- When Andromeda tried to get Francine to say "cockroach" and "crocodile" properly, she started with the cocratch first. Then, when it was the crokrodayl's, this word came out. The combined words of cocratch and crokrodayl.
(Francine is graduating from elementary school this year [2008]. )
By Alyanna:
"Pee-Pan" -- electric fan
"Pindot" -- the Automatic Teller Machine (ATM)
(Alyanna is now in kindergarten.)
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Snippets (The Second)
Why do I vividly remember faces and sometimes names of classmates and childhood friends and teachers who terrorized us students and persons who showed me kindness, when I can't recall most of the time the birthdays of my grand children and wedding anniversaries of my children. this is also true to my poor recollection of the birthdays of my sisters and brothers and other important occasions in the family. This is funny because the fiesta in Donsol in honor of the patron saint Joseph is etched forever in my mind. Is it because of my aging brain which withstood time at 74 thank you my God, that my whole being now is responding to the natural forces of psychological phenomena. So I asked psychologists what to call this syndrome.
Yesterday my fair-haired son Todd really made my day. We chatted through the YM about his present life in Dubai, enjoying tremendously this rare moment of mother-son talk. What made me feel good was his passion to publish my book about Donsol and our clan. Here's a revelation : Todd says that ever since he accidentally read a page from my journal at a young age, he made a vow to go on a publishing career inspired by my writing . He only shared this inner desire while he's miles and miles away from home. He's gonna publish my book he says, even if it takes only the two of us to rave about it. But without batting an eye lash I told my sister, sister-in-law, cousins, relatives and friends in the States that a super book authored by me, of course, is making its way to the press and see print before the 2010 national elections. That will really be the day! And so a silent campaign to hard sell the unpublished book is heretofore launch. Let me see, in U.K. friends of Felma and Dodi: church members, classmates and teachers of Kassie and Kandice nearing a "multitude" at latest count will surely make my book hit best seller status, di ba? What about the LGU in Donsol, surely they will buy one or two copies for their library. And I'm deadly sure most of my "supposed" friends, (and I think they make up a barangay in count) will jump with glee to eagerly read my book to criticize it to death.
I will be scholarly in my approach in dealing with the historical perspective of Donsol--geographically and demographically. Here's a teaser: Do you know that Donsol is geographically situated at the center of the Philippines--equidistant to the North and the South. I say that the Central Government, Malacañang, should have been established in Donsol due to its commanding and strategic location, in my opinion.
Yesterday my fair-haired son Todd really made my day. We chatted through the YM about his present life in Dubai, enjoying tremendously this rare moment of mother-son talk. What made me feel good was his passion to publish my book about Donsol and our clan. Here's a revelation : Todd says that ever since he accidentally read a page from my journal at a young age, he made a vow to go on a publishing career inspired by my writing . He only shared this inner desire while he's miles and miles away from home. He's gonna publish my book he says, even if it takes only the two of us to rave about it. But without batting an eye lash I told my sister, sister-in-law, cousins, relatives and friends in the States that a super book authored by me, of course, is making its way to the press and see print before the 2010 national elections. That will really be the day! And so a silent campaign to hard sell the unpublished book is heretofore launch. Let me see, in U.K. friends of Felma and Dodi: church members, classmates and teachers of Kassie and Kandice nearing a "multitude" at latest count will surely make my book hit best seller status, di ba? What about the LGU in Donsol, surely they will buy one or two copies for their library. And I'm deadly sure most of my "supposed" friends, (and I think they make up a barangay in count) will jump with glee to eagerly read my book to criticize it to death.
I will be scholarly in my approach in dealing with the historical perspective of Donsol--geographically and demographically. Here's a teaser: Do you know that Donsol is geographically situated at the center of the Philippines--equidistant to the North and the South. I say that the Central Government, Malacañang, should have been established in Donsol due to its commanding and strategic location, in my opinion.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
A real life experience
"Why do you love Donsol that deep, Tutu?" Andromeda inquired, my blogging partner. She who types for me and sometimes puts ad-libs in my works! "It is because of so many becauses." I answered her.
And out of the box of memories is my simple story that happened more than half a century ago.
At that time, the Donsol River was immeasurably wide and deep and crystal clear that it can accommodate large boats like batels, paraos, big cascos, and sibidsibids by the number. But one day, twin giant odd-looking boats entered the waters of Donsol and anchored sail along our rimpiolas or sea walls only meters away from the delta. They came to buy food and water supplies. Also, perhaps to seek refuge from the pirates? Japanese warships? Or bad weather? Innocently, the coming of the Chinese junks was a welcome episode in our diving careers as "sea creatures of Donsol". Now, we can prove our diving prowess from that towering height of a ship. The crew accommodated us to use the proa of these fantastic vessels as diving boards. It was awesome to make a dive from that super height! That was a really cool experience compared to the batels and paraos which we normally used as diving boards. We kids around Punta were sea addicts. We swam all day long during summer, frolicking and crossing the wide river delta from the rimpiolas to the Dancalan riverbanks when it was high tide; the wider the river, the better. I was a good swimmer and so was everybody in the block. However, we were not coached to swim, scientifically; our swimming technique was acquired from natural instinct to float and swim like a fish. My skin during summertime turns into silky black. We were not aware then of any sunblock lotion or whitening cream.
My first dive from that foreign ship was a nerve-wracking experience. This thrill of a lifetime jump made my heart pound wildly, accompanied by wobbly knees, trembling like crazy. From this point I needed something to reassure myself that I would surface alive after the plunge. Down there, below the ship, I heard the encouraging shouts from those successful jumpers like, "Kaya mo 'yan!". And, I made it! Our life then was full of fun innocence nurtured in the bosom of this unknown and rurally small town called Donsol.
By the way, the Chinese Junks were sea vessels that you can only see in the movies, or the Hong Kong Bay. They have this big stiff triangular masts made strong by bamboo ribs (I supposed then).
I am writing this from the mind and eyes of that little girl who loved the sea, the sun, the lighthouse (where a deep sense of family ties was carved), and everything that was Donsol. The church, the schools, classmates, fiestas, Lenten seasons, harvest times, kinunot, linatik (tastier than the Bicol express), kusidong Donsol (with lemoncito as pang-asim), the barbaric slang words--like tugalsik, and tugalpak, sa bu**-nina-mo, oragon. That is why at that young age, statistics and specs of objects and structures were unknown complexities. It is a treasured childhood, a wondrous magical world.
Where are you now, my swimming buddies, you who were a part of my enchanting fairytale of a childhood where we shared the fantastical ships of the orient and the deep mysteries of Donsol's waters? Our happy childhood with us forever, don't you wanna know where we are NOW? What we have TRULY become? Dorito, Tony, Josefina, Carola, Delia, Herbie, Sonia, Edmundo (the boy who accidentally hit a sharp portion of the ill-repaired rimpiolas near the mouth of the river--I still am sorry for the rips it caused). Edmundo... he affected us greatly because his breast was ripped open. But, it was not his fault. Just that the event was undeniably etched into my eternal memory, decades and decades past cannot fade nor erase it. There are more names that hath faded away in the march of time but are safely locked in my treasure box full of memories. Filled with the wonders that I have seen, and full of emotions for the dearly beloved Donsol.
And out of the box of memories is my simple story that happened more than half a century ago.
At that time, the Donsol River was immeasurably wide and deep and crystal clear that it can accommodate large boats like batels, paraos, big cascos, and sibidsibids by the number. But one day, twin giant odd-looking boats entered the waters of Donsol and anchored sail along our rimpiolas or sea walls only meters away from the delta. They came to buy food and water supplies. Also, perhaps to seek refuge from the pirates? Japanese warships? Or bad weather? Innocently, the coming of the Chinese junks was a welcome episode in our diving careers as "sea creatures of Donsol". Now, we can prove our diving prowess from that towering height of a ship. The crew accommodated us to use the proa of these fantastic vessels as diving boards. It was awesome to make a dive from that super height! That was a really cool experience compared to the batels and paraos which we normally used as diving boards. We kids around Punta were sea addicts. We swam all day long during summer, frolicking and crossing the wide river delta from the rimpiolas to the Dancalan riverbanks when it was high tide; the wider the river, the better. I was a good swimmer and so was everybody in the block. However, we were not coached to swim, scientifically; our swimming technique was acquired from natural instinct to float and swim like a fish. My skin during summertime turns into silky black. We were not aware then of any sunblock lotion or whitening cream.
My first dive from that foreign ship was a nerve-wracking experience. This thrill of a lifetime jump made my heart pound wildly, accompanied by wobbly knees, trembling like crazy. From this point I needed something to reassure myself that I would surface alive after the plunge. Down there, below the ship, I heard the encouraging shouts from those successful jumpers like, "Kaya mo 'yan!". And, I made it! Our life then was full of fun innocence nurtured in the bosom of this unknown and rurally small town called Donsol.
By the way, the Chinese Junks were sea vessels that you can only see in the movies, or the Hong Kong Bay. They have this big stiff triangular masts made strong by bamboo ribs (I supposed then).
I am writing this from the mind and eyes of that little girl who loved the sea, the sun, the lighthouse (where a deep sense of family ties was carved), and everything that was Donsol. The church, the schools, classmates, fiestas, Lenten seasons, harvest times, kinunot, linatik (tastier than the Bicol express), kusidong Donsol (with lemoncito as pang-asim), the barbaric slang words--like tugalsik, and tugalpak, sa bu**-nina-mo, oragon. That is why at that young age, statistics and specs of objects and structures were unknown complexities. It is a treasured childhood, a wondrous magical world.
Where are you now, my swimming buddies, you who were a part of my enchanting fairytale of a childhood where we shared the fantastical ships of the orient and the deep mysteries of Donsol's waters? Our happy childhood with us forever, don't you wanna know where we are NOW? What we have TRULY become? Dorito, Tony, Josefina, Carola, Delia, Herbie, Sonia, Edmundo (the boy who accidentally hit a sharp portion of the ill-repaired rimpiolas near the mouth of the river--I still am sorry for the rips it caused). Edmundo... he affected us greatly because his breast was ripped open. But, it was not his fault. Just that the event was undeniably etched into my eternal memory, decades and decades past cannot fade nor erase it. There are more names that hath faded away in the march of time but are safely locked in my treasure box full of memories. Filled with the wonders that I have seen, and full of emotions for the dearly beloved Donsol.
Monday, May 12, 2008
12 May 2008--My Mother's Day
I have to write about Mother's Day Celebration. Guess who made "bati" first thing in the morning? It was Jimmy, our moustached landlord. Of course Corky beat everybody by greeting me the eve of M.D. Spanky made missed calls, 23 times because my phone was muted for the rest of the Iron Man movie my granddaughter and I watched at Glorrietta. Nice movie. I didn't fall asleep. But, what was awesome was the gift given to me by Voughnn--it is a cute green plastic flower witha blue stem taken from his toy house. I was so touched that it's really an ultimate gift that warmed my heart! Andromeda treated me with 'obscene'-tasting doughnut with a cup of brewed coffee. Nice. Of course, Myra e-mailed her greeting. Ember who is a block away did send me this message:
"There's a story behind everything--how a picture got on a wall; how a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But, behind all your stories is my mother's story, because yours is where mine begins."
Dodi and Felma's greeting took a while because as usual I didn't hear the call since my phone was tucked under the sofa cover. Succeeded on second call with the good news that Kassie was qualified to face the panel of cowell of american Idol--I think this guy is gross and mean to the contestants. By the way, Kassie is a contestant for the "X-Factor" Show. I hope she makes it.
There's also my son, Marco. He calls every day. And, I'm thankful he didn't forget about Mother's Day. He called a lot. More than anybody else did; he has been sick but still he cared for his mother. I am very grateful to have such children and grandchildren.
"There's a story behind everything--how a picture got on a wall; how a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But, behind all your stories is my mother's story, because yours is where mine begins."
Dodi and Felma's greeting took a while because as usual I didn't hear the call since my phone was tucked under the sofa cover. Succeeded on second call with the good news that Kassie was qualified to face the panel of cowell of american Idol--I think this guy is gross and mean to the contestants. By the way, Kassie is a contestant for the "X-Factor" Show. I hope she makes it.
There's also my son, Marco. He calls every day. And, I'm thankful he didn't forget about Mother's Day. He called a lot. More than anybody else did; he has been sick but still he cared for his mother. I am very grateful to have such children and grandchildren.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
First Ever Post
April 23, '08--Just After Earth Day
I realized something. I wanted a blog.
I read about Nicanor David Jr., A.K.A. Badjay. His blog has been published in a second book, "Mga Kwento ng Batang Kaning Lamig". And, I remembered the 91-year-old blogger who had so many white hairs--note that white hairs are magic; it is like spring time when flowers unload their burden to the world, and open up their souls to the earth, much like the white hairs reflecting life's stress and obstacles. She was still blogging. She can type!
Unfortunately, I cannot.
The one typing up my blog is my granddaughter. She's a typist--with all the down time on the computer, with her 'novel' on the works, I think she'll be able to handle my little request. My granddaughter, let's call her andromeda, is my partner-in-crime. I have edited this portion since she wants to remain anonymous to those that don't know her, she prefers to be called a galaxy. Go figure.
The cosmos is a great unchartered adventure. I want my granddaughter to live up her dreams--and part of those dreams are mine as well. We share this secret; I'll tell you discretely of my little dune made by my pride's wind--it is of a place red like the sun and oak wise. There are rivulets that are drawn to the springs, then, the waters rush to the turning churning river out to the open sea. People bear witness to knowledge there. And, play warned that words about my dreamed place might be false facade for true words within--meanings underline those words, to say the least, it is a secret I mean to keep.
Oh... such a long post already.
I've already given you quite the drabble.
My life is old like wine. So drink from my blog the fruits of my years, and the things you already know but choose to ignore.
I realized something. I wanted a blog.
I read about Nicanor David Jr., A.K.A. Badjay. His blog has been published in a second book, "Mga Kwento ng Batang Kaning Lamig". And, I remembered the 91-year-old blogger who had so many white hairs--note that white hairs are magic; it is like spring time when flowers unload their burden to the world, and open up their souls to the earth, much like the white hairs reflecting life's stress and obstacles. She was still blogging. She can type!
Unfortunately, I cannot.
The one typing up my blog is my granddaughter. She's a typist--with all the down time on the computer, with her 'novel' on the works, I think she'll be able to handle my little request. My granddaughter, let's call her andromeda, is my partner-in-crime. I have edited this portion since she wants to remain anonymous to those that don't know her, she prefers to be called a galaxy. Go figure.
The cosmos is a great unchartered adventure. I want my granddaughter to live up her dreams--and part of those dreams are mine as well. We share this secret; I'll tell you discretely of my little dune made by my pride's wind--it is of a place red like the sun and oak wise. There are rivulets that are drawn to the springs, then, the waters rush to the turning churning river out to the open sea. People bear witness to knowledge there. And, play warned that words about my dreamed place might be false facade for true words within--meanings underline those words, to say the least, it is a secret I mean to keep.
Oh... such a long post already.
I've already given you quite the drabble.
My life is old like wine. So drink from my blog the fruits of my years, and the things you already know but choose to ignore.
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