The town roosters took turns in welcoming the morning as the balmy, tropical morning breeze wafted through the opened windows of the house he built for his mother. Through half-closed eyes, he saw the morning light peeking through the horizon, the coconut trees silhouetting against the spectral and luminous colors of the rising sun. It was his first morning in his native country, 10 years after leaving it for the United States at age 21.
“I am going to retrace decades of memories today,” he mumbled as he rolled out of the folding cot, waking up his dog, Roger, all curled up nearby. Thirteen years old and almost blind, Roger could still recognize him; its tail feebly wiggled, the ebony patch on its tip now ghostly grey. It whimpered as he prepared to venture out into the city where he was born.
He hailed a stretched, open-aired passenger jeepney and felt somewhat dejected that it was not as brightly-decorated and compact as he remembered it.
Used to seeing expatriates coming home, the passengers were not keen on checking his garb – brown fedora hat with a Fire Flames band, a colorful kerchief around his neck, mirrored sunglasses, and pocket-laden, below-knee cargo shorts. He wondered whether their disregard was a subtle disgust at his advantaged state or they were just deep in thought of their own fate. The coconut and mango trees that lined the roads swayed in the same breeze that cooled their faces on that hot day.
His blinking and breathing became rapid as the jeepney traversed 4-lane roads, water buffaloes dragging bamboo sleds nowhere to be seen except for the countless trisikads (pedicabs) vying for any available road space and passengers. He was anxious to reconnect with the influences that helped mold his existence in a place he called home for 21 years.
He got off at a familiar corner in the city. Unmoving, he scanned the vast expanse of the city block, the splashing of the waves against the rocks quite audible, the ocean where he almost drowned just a stone’s throw away.
This southeast corner was where their house used to be. It was a 2-story with an intermediate landing room for his parents. It was where he and his 9 siblings were born.
The living room had bamboo slats as floor. The space in-between bamboos allowed for easy hunting for rats that scampered in the 5-inch space between the finished soil and floor. The bamboos were strong and pliant to withstand the birthing of his mother’s pregnant sow during a monsoon week.
His mother’s cooking was enjoyed at a large table with a pet monkey providing entertainment in one corner. It was in the dining room when a violent spasm propelled him against an opposite wall when he reached for an extension cord with light socket through a hole in a wall. The socket was empty and it was “live”.
The top floor was where his siblings, relatives, and he slept and where they played mahjong, a pastime that his father abhorred, one set of tiles ending up half-burnt.
The front doors of the house were tall and wide and always left open, allowing for natural ventilation. They were at their widest one day when in Grade I, he stayed home sick. The school bus stopped in front of the house, catching him unaware with nothing on but a T-shirt.
Adjacent to the house was the bamboo and nipa hut on stilts where as a boy, he was doted upon by the au pair he became close to, referring to them as **Nanay and Tatay. It was where he saw swimming milkfish fry in clay pots being counted and then sold to fisheries.
To the side of the house was a luxuriant garden, a convenient source of fresh fruits and vegetables. It disappeared overnight when a prowler was caught hiding in it.
The house had a side yard that served as a playground where they cavorted in the rain, where he was the “IT” when they played tag, and where they swam when it was flooded with mucky monsoon rain.
The empty corner lot abutting the side yard was wide enough to allow for his father’s rusted junk and a makeshift chapel during Flores de Mayo (Flowers of May) wherein neighborhood kids honored the Blessed Virgin Mary, throwing flowers at the altar and given treats afterwards. He was quick to remember that some mischievous boys would fight over the flowers for reuse the following day, leaving the small stones that they’ve thrown with the flowers.
In the southeast corner was the outhouse, one that was dreaded nocturnally, unlit that it was. Widely circulated, but not totally verified, was that a sister fell into the hole.
He turned his head to view the 4-way intersection where annually in May, it was cordoned off, the center used for fiesta dances which led to the coronation of the Fiesta queens, his 6 sisters taking turns over the years in being crowned, reigning over royal courts of beauties. One significant May found his sister to be the Reyna Elena (Queen Helena, the legendary founder of the true Cross) and he as Constantine (Queen Helena’s son), her escort in a procession.
He gave the corner a lingering look, thinking about the joys and sadness that was shared in that house and its vicinity. All gone when a great, raging fire razed several city blocks. The corner was now the entrance to a sprawling supermarket.
He walked around the supermarket to locate the tall 2-story apartment they subsequently rented and reminisced about being in the backyard, cramming for the day’s exams and also challenging a frog’s survivability by placing it in an empty can with water and held down with a rock for days.
It was where he had a pair of parakeets in a cage with nest he made himself. Several eggs didn’t make it to maturity, impatient that he was. However, he was able to successfully break open one. It matured but died when it flew head on to a closed window. The birds eventually perished, unable to subsist on the more affordable birdseed replacement.
The second floor had wide and tall east and west windows. The west windows offered unfettered vistas of the neighborhood, the seaside littered with nipa huts on stilts, and the nearby island famous for its sweet and luscious mangoes. They were wide open when he experienced his first earthquake, the barking of neighborhood dogs immediately preceding it. He, along with the people on the streets, dropped on their knees to pray. It was also on the second floor when he saw the much-heralded Ikeya-Seki comet in all its epiphanic glory when he flung open the east windows one early a.m.
Close by was a peanut and corn candy shop operated by a Chinese couple whose one and only kid, a daughter, taught him how to count in Mandarin. They allowed him to shell peanuts for a few cents. He would end the tedious task when he earned enough for a movie theater ticket.
He pondered on the whereabouts of the Chinese couple and their daughter when he saw a commercial building in the place of both the apartment and the candy shop.
He followed the familiar route to downtown. On his way, he walked by 3 of the 10 movie theaters, his dream palaces and escapes from reality as a growing boy and emerging adult.
“Tsk, tsk!” he exclaimed, shaking his head when noticing that they were now stores selling cheap goods from China.
He stopped to marvel at what became of the nearby bedbug-ridden movie theater. The unair-conditioned picture show where he enjoyed Walt Disney and mythology feature films on hooky days was now a Farm Supply Store.
“Wow!” he cried, his widened eyes looking over the farm equipment spread over where rows of theater seats used to be.
He was about to leave, the school he went to complete his elementary and high school being 2 blocks ahead, when he heard someone calling his attention.
“Well, hello there!” a faint voice greeted.
“Teddy?” he queried. “Is that you?”
“Yup!”
It was Theodore, an elementary classmate, the owner of the store. The mature timbre of his voice making up for his diminutive size.
“Wow! You have bulked up a little!” Teddy exclaimed, noticing his red polo shirt tightly hugging his chest and upper arms.
“Well…you have grown too,” he responded with a self-deprecating smile, slowly pumping his chest like a proud peacock.
“How have you been?” Teddy asked, leaving his customer to continue examining a plow.
“Oh, just fine. I’m visiting from the United States after 10 years, missing home all the while.”
He said goodbye, wondering whether he’d stumble into another familiar face.
A source of nightmares, scary stories, and school pranks, the somber-looking funeral parlor right across from the school was replaced by a fancy beauty salon. A small mini mart was what became of the school, its nooks and crannies that held memories also swallowed by the big fire.
He sauntered towards the rotunda where as a boy scout, he attempted to direct traffic, unflustered by the flow of cars and **kalesas.
The downtown buildings still looked the same, the tangled electric wires suffocating the countless electric poles. He passed by the rest of the movie theaters where he was once awed by the Hollywood classics and now downhearted, seeing them also littered with cheap goods from China.
He ended at the city pier where, as a 12-year old waiting for a northbound ship to depart, he noted a floating, lifeless body of an escaped convict from the nearby prison with shackles still on. It was at the same pier where, 9 years later, he boarded a ship to escape the city, not knowing what was in store for him up north.
Spent, he dismissed going to the University where he got his degree from and the other homes they rented over time, having gotten no solace thus far.
His shoulders drooped as he stared at the tiny ripples sloshing against the pier logs, feeling like a stranger in a still familiar place. The natives with black hair all looked like him; he spoke the dialect that he was still very fluent in, and yet, he felt like an outsider.
“What am I looking for?” he asked himself. “A sense of belonging? A certain rootedness?”
It was dusk when he made it back to the town, 21 miles from the city, where his family settled when he was in the United States. He stopped at the nearby cemetery to give his mother a visit. The weariness disappeared as he closed his eyes for a mental prayer, the sunset afterglow casting deep and long shadows on his mother’s above ground burial tomb.
He blinked several times to center his gaze on the memorial plaque and proceeded to mumble as his eyes ran over his mother’s name.
“I stopped by where our old house used to be not only to relive memories, but to also hope that I could refill the emptiness I feel during the holidays and the emotional vacuum I carry being away. And then I also visited old haunts for anything else that might lend comfort, even for just a small sign that would help rekindle the spark that I have been missing.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I was disappointed,” he continued, shaking his head. “Perhaps it is time for me to accept the fact that the past cannot be recreated and that, having raised anchor, home is where I am now and not where it used to be.”
He stepped back to swallow away the lump that was forming in his throat. With a faint crack in his voice, he said, “May you continue to rest in peace, ***Mamang. I do miss you.”
He joined his 3 siblings to sup at the table, a framed wedding picture of their parents on one of the walls, immobile and silent onlookers watching the erstwhile brood of 10.
He unfolded the cot, turned on the floor pedestal fan, and fell asleep with Roger all curled up nearby.
“Why is that door there? How come I don’t hear roosters crowing? How come it is so cold? Where is the tropical, humid weather? Where is Roger?” The questions came in rapid succession while motionless in bed, his eyes getting used to the afternoon darkness in the room.
In an instant, his eyes caught something hanging from the ceiling – the spider plant’s runners with spiderettes in a lazy undulation as the heat from the floor vent ascended. The post-nap disorientation clearing up, his ears perked up when he heard the whirring of an engine.
A smile flashed on his face as he saw his neighbors blowing fresh snow off his driveway, a “welcome home” text message from a dear friend shining brightly on his iPhone.
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*kalesas = 2-wheeled horse drawn carriages
**Nanay/Tatay = Mother/Father in Filipino dialect
***Mamang = endearing word for Mother
