Nobody, nobody but you!

It's been a while since my last post. Anyway, holidays naman. And nobody was supposed to visit my blog during the holidays, right? Wala na gani time mag-shopping, tapos mag-surf pa sa blog? People thought my insomnia has been cured because of the absence of any post. But it was understandable that even if I still couldn't sleep, I would be doing something else, rather than just sit in front of my computer. The past weeks, even salesgirls, or especially salesgirls stayed up late. Baw, grabe gid mag-shopping mga tawo.

I too had to chauffer my family to shopping and visiting sorties. And these sorties sometimes lasted up to the wee hours!

But now, tapos na Christmas, and the shopping rush and spending woes that went with it. It was a habit of Filipinos to really splurge during Christmas. It was also a habit of malls and other business establishments to mark down prices or put up Sale gimmicks to entice and squeeze out the last money from gullible holiday shoppers. Anyway, better to give than to receive daw. But tell that to the marines, as I witnessed faces fell in Christmas gatherings because,after spending a lot for the exchange gift, some participants resented it when they received obviously cheap items from ukay-ukay or tiyangge sale; or they were about to cry after receiving a piece of handkerchief or a lavacara, knowing fully well that they bought branded t-shirt or other pricey items for their own exchange gift. They even had their gifts specially wrapped with special wrappers by paid wrapping counters that sprout along mall aisles, only to be forcefully torn by excited receivers. They didn’t even appreciate, even for a few minutes, the art and the skill that went with the gift wrapping.

In my family, we too had our share of budget scare. No matter how we limit the expenses, it seemed the final bill was always over the budget.

We shopped and purchased gift items and groceries for Christmas dinner early to avoid the rush only to find even as late as the eve of Christmas that we failed to purchase some required items. For example, we planned to cook pancit molo, our tradition, for Noche Buena. Days before, we drove to Panaderia de Molo to purchase the chicken molo balls. My kids and nieces love their molo balls! On Christmas eve, as my wife was cooking the molo, she discovered we had no molo noodles and spring onions. I hated the queues and the road traffic while paying or while driving, as the case maybe. So I purchased the noodles in a small tindahan near my mother’s house kilometers away when I fetch my mother for midnight mass.

Every Christmas we attend Misa de Gallo in the Colegio de San Jose chapel. The chapel is walking distance from my house and its Christmas eve mass at 10:00 pm is earlier than in our hometown. After the mass, my mother, my siblings and an assortment of nieces, apos and in-laws gather in my house for Noche Buena, exchange gift, and a party. For years now, we gather in my house because my house is the most accessible and the biggest in my mother’s family (but not anymore).

Also, every year my sisters and nieces choose a color motif for our Christmas attire. This year 2009, it was violet, lavender, purple, indigo, whatever. Everybody had an exciting time scouring the malls and tiangges for their Christmas attire. In my case, I already eyed some violet t-shirts in some boutiques. On Christmas eve, when I was about to purchase my shirt, I discovered there was no size for me. Nag-panick na ako. Violet is an uncommon color for men’s clothes. The only store I thought I have not gone to was Collezione. I thought I would be wearing one of its shirt, the most worn t-shirt this side of the planet this season (which I don’t like to wear because it was so common) – the one with the map of the Philippines embroidered on its breast. From Noynoy and Kris Aquino, to the TV news anchors and reporters, to salesgirls and even cigarette vendors – they wear proudly the Philippine map on their breasts. Very nationalistic, indeed. But do I have to wear what half of the Filipinos were wearing? Luckily, there was also no size for me at Collezione. The last boutique I went to was Folded&Hung. I avoided this boutique because its items were very expensive. But now I discovered it sold t-shirts for below Php500.00. And they had all the colors of the rainbow. I also liked their t-shirt with the Philippine map. Its embroidered outline of the map extended up to the collar, with the upper part of Luzon already embroidered on the collar. Cool. At least iba. But then, there was also no size for me. Uso kasi ngayon in the Philippines ang body-fit style of shirts, na nakadikit sa body na parang balat ng suman. Bagay sa mga kids and students. But for an older professional like me, parang trying hard ang dating sa akin. Parang nag-shrink ng todo ang damit mo, and you still have to wear it because you have no choice, dahil wala ka nang pambili. So I bought my violet shirt from F&H, the one without the map.

On the night of the Misa de Gallo, my kids and nieces were excited to wear their attires. We first had a group picture-taking before proceeding to the church. It was nice to know that, in the wake of the Filipino diaspora, many of us were still together to celebrate Christmas. There were new faces, as a niece got a husband, and a brother had an apo. But I was sad to know that other faces in our last Christmas picture were no longer with us - a niece went abroad to work and my only nephew who was my constant companion was in London with his parents. The world is getting smaller. Every Christmas, there is always a missing face in our group picture. Who would we miss next Christmas? Can we ever gather completely again?

The church goers were staring and smiling at us, as twenty-plus of us, and my wheel-chair bound mother and the babies, paraded to the church wearing all shades of violet. Probably, many were thankful they were not wearing the same color, else they be mistaken as members of our boisterous family.

The mass was long as it was preceded by a re-enactment of the Nativity starting from the arrival of Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem up to the birth of Jesus and the coming of the three Kings. The children were happily watching at the start, and silently sleeping when the play ended. We had a hard time keeping them awake during the mass.

We had a hearty Noche Buena after the mass. And exchange gifts and games. Two computers with webcams were strategically placed in our sala so our homesick relatives abroad can also join us on real time. The kids danced like they were drunk. And they danced mostly to the tune of Nobody, Nobody But You. They kept on replaying the music and dancing to its beat, I thought my eardrums would burst. It would have been nice to hear Jingle Bells or Silent Night as it was Christmas. The kids only stopped the music when we had our ‘exchange gifts’. Afterwards they were snickering as they thought their gifts came from Santa Claus, but they said it was actually their Tita - my sister – who gave them all the gifts. I received a replica of the crucified Jesus as gift from my SP (special pal).

At 1:30 am, I drove my mother to her house in our hometown, as she will never sleep in any house but her own. When we arrived in the town 25km away, I passed by many cars and people. I found out the mass had just finished and people were still going home for their Noche Buena at 2:00 am.

In the morning, we all woke up late. And we ate all the left-overs from the previous night’s meal. The children were again preparing a dance number for the Christmas Party with their friends in our compound. I told them they should dance to any music except Nobody, Nobody But You. They just laughed. Then they all swayed their hips as Nobody, Nobody But You shattered the morning calm.


@

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The women in the Arroyo Fountain

Early this morning I drove to the office of my sister in Bo. Obrero. It was their Christmas Party. The party was a day-long activity starting with a breakfast. I brought with me ibos, huwad-huwad, and ripe mangoes for their breakfast.

Driving from our house in Jaro to Bo. Obrero, passing by Lapaz to Lapuz without crossing the Iloilo River, was a so-so experience - especially the trip through the Lapuz area. It was just one of those forgettable trips, so humdrum it was over before I even thought about it. The place was very impersonal, with the buildings either closed or occupied as warehouses or depots, and populated by half-clothed cargadors and other daily wagers carrying sacks of produce.

On my way back, I changed my route just to brighten up the trip. When I reached the Rizal rotunda, I turned left to cross the Iloilo River via the Quirino Lopez Bridge. Across the river, I could see the new Provincial Capitol Building, The Atrium, the old Iloilo Prison, the Hall of Justice Building, and far to my left is the turn of the century Aduana Building.

And as I got near the other side of the Iloilo River, I was face-to-face with the Arroyo Fountain, that famous landmark in front of the old Provincial Capitol Building.

The Arroyo Fountain is also known as Kilometer Zero in the island of Panay. And I think all Ilonggos must know this – that all kilometer readings beside the highways all throughout Panay were measured from the Arroyo Fountain. It was named after an Ilonggo Senator, the late Jose Maria Arroyo. He was the grandfather of the First Gentleman Mike Arroyo, infamous for being linked to the many scandals and anomalies in the administration of President Gloria Arroyo. (Now, Ilonggos must be aware that the person they love to hate is just a fellow Ilonggo.) The fountain features four women carrying a basin over their head. When I was in high school, I was one of the few students tapped by the Department of Tourism to help in their tourism promotion campaigns. We were given briefings as regards attractions in Iloilo City. I remember that we were informed that the four women in the Arroyo fountain were originally naked. But the conservative attitude of the Ilonggos, made the government decide to cover the women with Grecian garbs.

And I was reminded of the original nakedness of the stone women when I passed by the fountain two weeks ago.

It was a Tuesday, about 9:00 am. I was driving to Calle Real for some errands. The streets were busy with pedestrians and traffic. It seemed a normal day. Just like the other days before. But something unusual happened.

As I approached the Arroyo Fountain, I saw this unusual sight – a voluptuous near-naked woman, a pale orange gumamela tucked behind her ear, was dancing on the street level ledge of the fountain. No, I was not hallucinating. It was not one of the four stone women turning to life, possibly because of some enchanted kiss of a prince charming in the guise of a taong grasa. The woman was real flesh and blood. She was doing a sexy dance while circling the fountain like she was in a bar - gyrating and grinding her pelvis, swinging her exposed breasts, and taunting the passersby with the most luscious lips. From afar, her morena features would easily make her just another buang or babaeng grasa na nakakadiri. But as I got near, I could see she was not the usual streetside buang. Her body was well maintained and she could pass for a high-prized GRO. Her auburn hair could have been from a parlor. Her bras were pulled up. Her tits were dark but she had perfect skin. And her scandalous performance seemed choreographed.

But, alas, as I passed in front of her, I failed to see her face. I failed to see if she was really still wearing panties.

When I passed in front of her, I was concerned more of the reactions of the many minors and students who passed by the area. I was concerned more of whether there were policemen around and what they were doing. I was more like a scandalized Ilonggo of old prodding my government to put stone clothes on the statues that may cover the stony outlines of their nubile womanhood.

No, there were no policemen. I could see two uniformed traffic enforcers about twenty meters away with some scandalized old ladies. Surely, the dancing lady did not commit any traffic violation. The traffic enforcers were looking helplessly at the live performance they could have longed to see but could not because of their meager salaries. But in the presence of the manangs, they were in a quandary of whether to stop the indecent performance or to flag down their libido from producing a raging hard on in broad daylight. Accidents too might happen as drivers may think they were at the ringside of a go-go bar and not at the driver’s side of a vehicle.

Then I was far away. I didn’t like to look back as I may be the one to cause an accident.

When I reached home, I immediately narrated the incident to the carpenters doing some renovation in my house. We had a good laugh. One panday told us that, in the past days, he had been hearing over the radio the same incident. According to radio reports, the lady was not buang but possibly high on drugs or could have bouts of depression.

Anyway, for you my cyberfriends, I didn’t just fail to see the face of the dancing lady, but I also failed to take a pic of her even with my cellphone. Bitin? Just pray I could again witness her next free performance. And hope that my cellphone is not lowbatt.

But look at the photo of the Arroyo Fountain. Can you imagine how the stone women looked originally? @

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The woes of government pensioners

It’s the 8th of the month. And government pensioners are again trooping to the ATM machines of Union Bank to withdraw their pensions. And to again experience the woes of helplessness amidst the unbridled ineptness of the Government Service Insurance System (GSIS).

No, their woes are not so much because Union Bank has only two branches in Iloilo City to serve the thousands of government retirees in the city and province of Iloilo, including the nearby provinces. Why Union Bank was appointed as a transit or repository of retirees’ money is beyond me. Compared to Union Bank, other local banks, like Banco De Oro, have many branches and ATM machines strategically situated in different corners of the city, including inside the air-conditioned comfort of the malls. It is therefore not uncommon to see senior citizens forming a long queue in front of Union Bank even as early as 6:00am.

Today, retirees realized that their pensions have not been remitted. And that, many who came hoping to have money to buy food, medicines, and other requirements of their old selves have nobody to complain to but the sleepy bank security guards who had no idea what the GSIS was up to.

Late in the day, the local GSIS chief issued an explanation that GSIS was undergoing computer data migration and therefore was unable to remit the pensions on time. No date was given as to when the pensions would finally be remitted.

Last time, the pensions were paid in two installments within the month. The reason forwarded was also about the computer software.

As a computer software professional with years of experience in software development, implementation and maintenance, I was appalled at the reasons given. To me, not paying salaries or any payment due because of computer glitches is a mortal sin that warrants the termination of services of the computer geek concerned. Database migration, software implementation, and hardware changes are scheduled and done in installments so as not to affect services. I know how programmers behave. And to me, non-payments or late payments could only be caused by the insufficiency or absence of funds.

So, woe to the senior citizens who had been hoping for a comfortable life after serving the country and the people with dedication and pride. Today, they gathered at the GSIS building to air their grievances. Some were sitting and lying on the concrete floor because of exhaustion. Possibly others have not yet eaten. Poor people. I was glad Nanay has children. At least she was spared the indignity of queuing for nothing at Union Bank. But of course, as her proxy, I wasn’t spared.

But this is the Philippines. Can the shabby and lousy services be a ruse so that young people would be enticed or forced to go abroad? If they remain in the country, they just add up to the unemployment rate.

No wonder.@

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The feel of Christmas in Iloilo

Through the local evening news, my kids learned that Central Philippine University (CPU) has switched on the Christmas lights in its campus. This is a yearly activity of CPU to add merriment to the Christmas celebration in Iloilo.

Students enjoying the CPU Christmas spirit. Background is the outline of the CPU Chapel.

So after dinner, my kids asked me to drive around CPU where we can do some walking. Good exercise. We hopped in to the car – my two kids, two apos of my brother, my wife and I.

We proceeded first to Angelicum School which also has the same Christmas lighting activity every December. But Angelicum has not yet started its lighting activity. The kids were disappointed. But nevertheless, on our way to CPU, they comforted each other with stories of ghosts residing in Angelicum.

A big screen was put up on the football grounds to show the goings-on of the program on the stage nearby. Background is the outline of the College of Nursing building.

The atmosphere in CPU was festive. There were lights overhead the roads and lights to outline the buildings. There were food stalls selling the usual street foods and it was fun to see students in shorts and jackets and some in uniforms, eating isaw, barbecue, or hotdog sandwich. My kids also wanted to buy swaharma but I told them we just had our dinner and we were there to see the lights and to do some walking. Again they were disappointed but they ran to the football field where there was an ongoing program.

We never had our walking exercises because the kids preferred rolling on the lawn. So I told them we better go home as they still have classes the following day.

My kids enjoying the night in CPU. Note that they are wearing jackets. This December is colder than the previous ones.

The road in front of CPU was bumpy, especially the one leading to Sambag. Grabe. You will never think you are still in the city.

Instead of going straight home, we headed for Pavia to see the two big houses near Aganan bridge which had the most audacious and extravagant residential Christmas display in Iloilo. We passed by these houses many times on our way to Cabatuan and back. But we never had time to stop by.

When the kids learned that we were heading to Pavia, they were excited.

One of the Aganan houses as seen from inside the car.

When we reached the Aganan houses, I parked our car across the street. Ours was not the only car parked. Many passersby were also parking for a moment and taking pictures. Many people were milling outside the gates. Hangang-hanga sila sa lights and decorations. Parang di sila nagsasawa sa katitingin. They were unbelieving and childlike. Parang they thought they were transcended to some magical place and they were not in Pavia. The other houses nearby were bare of Christmas decors and lights. At least this was my observation. The residents of the nearby houses were sitting in their porches either sad that nobody paid attention to their meager decorations if any, or happy that they will not be paying much for electric bills this Christmas.

My kids were mesmerized and infatuated by the decorations. They were busy praising or commenting on the extravagant display. Gradually they kept quiet. They were now sleepy.

Back home we had no Christmas decorations. There is an ongoing renovation in our house. It’s just small repaint and alteration jobs but these somehow made it hard to put up the Christmas spirit. The kids will possibly do some decorations next week.

Of the two Aganan houses, this one is more ostentatious. Top photo is a close up of the house. Some of the life-size Santas were moving or dancing to Christmas carols.

But all along, I don’t like my kids to embrace Christmas as a go-for-broke and ostentatious celebration. I taught them to embrace good Filipino traditions, and the commercialized Christmas in the Philippines is not a Filipino tradition. I told my kids that Christmas reminds us about the birth of Jesus Christ and doing good and giving love must be done daily and not just on Christmas Day. We can have Christmas decorations but the best decoration is in our hearts.

Years past, when my kids saw beautiful Christmas displays they would inform me that they wished we would have the same in our house. Tonight I was happy. My kids liked the Christmas displays. But they never mentioned giving our house the same make-over. @

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How to fart inside a PUJ without creating a scandal

This story was narrated to me.



Michael had the urge to fart while inside a PUJ. But, horrors! He didn't like to create a loud and smelly scandal. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the music hoping to calm down his stomach.

Anong balita / sa radyo at TV/ Ganon pa rin/ kumakapa sa dilim/Minsa'y naisip ko nang umalis na lang dito...

It was Monday. Yesterday, Michael's boardmates returned from their hometowns with the usual homegrown foodstuff. So, this morning Michael pigged out on nilaga na kamote at saging, scrambled native egg at kape. He ate ravenously especially because, this morning, the food was free. No wonder, now his stomach was revolting.

Bato-bato sa langit/ tamaa'y huwag magalit./ Alam naman natin / kung sino ang toso......

Sa bawat lumuluhang dukha/Alay ko'y dugo./ May kasama ka kapatid, kaibigan./ Hangang ako'y humihinga/ may pag-asa pa...

After a few seconds, Michael could not hold back anymore. He must pass wind now. So he closed his eyes and let go, hoping that nobody would notice.

Hallehuhulu.. Hallelujahhhh...

And, possibly it was his lucky day. He heard nothing. The wind passed in sync with the drums and shouts of the rock music. Now he knew he could do it again. He just have to time it with the music. And so, when a storm signal percolated in his stomach, he let the raging wind pass in time with the loudest audio in the music. Sinong galit/ sumigaw / kagabi .. And as he heard nothing, he surmised that his fellow passengers heard nothing also. Hallehuhulu.. Hallelujahhh.. Then he farted again. And again. And again. And he heard nothing. Everything was timed with the crash of the instruments. Hallehe... he... he.. Then he gingerely opened his lids. He sensed that he was nearing his destination. He blurted, 'Lugar lang'. But the driver seemed not to hear him. Hallelujah... So he opened his eyes and shouted 'Sa lugar lang! Putsa.'. Then he noticed everybody was looking at him. Oh well, astig ako, he thought. He just shouted at the driver, right? .. see the faces in front of me... But before he disembarked, he thought he should give the driver a lesson. So he farted again to the tune of Let's go. Hallelujah... As he prepared to get down, he noticed that everyone was looking at him with naughty expressions on their faces. A passenger spoke to him. But he could not hear. He heard only the rock music. Save me from the fahyahr.. from the fahyahr... Then he realized that earphones were stuck to his ears. The music was from his ipod! He got his earphones and the music stopped. In a clear baritone heard by everybody, a passenger told him, 'Pare, rock band ang almusal mo? Grabe ka umutot. Parang rock concert!'. And the PUJ rocked as everybody, including the driver, nearly died laughing. Michael too wanted to die at that moment.

Moral lesson: Fart inside the PUJ if you like. But time it with the music. And be sure that the music is not from your ipod.

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Not a work of a human

For my posts, I don’t usually touch on topics which are the usual topics in other blogs or websites. I like my posts to be personal. But with the Maguindanao massacre, I couldn’t help but write what others are writing about as the Maguindanao massacre has been a hot topic of countless of bloggers.

The Maguindanao massacre was an act of a monster, a maniacal and sinister plot of the devil. As one TV interviewee who had been in the massacre scene had said, the incident ‘ay hindi gawa ng tao’. And even without the camera showing crumpled vehicles and dead bodies dug up by a backhoe from a fresh mass grave, and the mutilated bodies with cut ears, gouged eyes, bullet hole on the head, and ‘bukas na zipper at aring niratrat ng bala’, the face of Andal Ampatuan as shown on TV without handcuffs was somehow enough to illustrate the point. I can’t imagine what the man (or monster in the guise of a man, or the devil himself in the person of Andal Ampatuan) was thinking when he allegedly ordered the massacre of some 64 men and women. I can’t imagine what the Ampatuan family was thinking when the idea of killing people was allegedly hatched by them. Are Andal and cohorts really human?

I didn’t know personally any of those massacred. But I was outraged by the barbarity of their deaths. The guys may not be perfect when they were alive. But they never deserved the kind of death they’d had. As one widow lamented, hindi lang pinatay kundi binaboy ang kanyang asawa.

Watching the massacre scenes on TV was numbing. Many times, I wasn’t aware that I was shedding some tears. I was thankful though that I was watching TV alone. Ganito na ba kagarapal ang tao? Possibly, the same scenes could be seen in Iraq or Mombay. But Iraq is a war zone. And the Mombay incident was a terrorist act. The Maguindanao massacre was an act of politicians and militiamen who were supposed to protect the people and whose salaries were paid for by the people they’ve killed. Ganito ba kagarapal sila? Can a sane person really do the act in such a magnitude?

The TV stations were good enough to blur out images of the decapitated, and sometimes they showed black and white footages to blot out the abundance of gore. But such self-censorship just magnifies the details especially when the scenes were followed by the close-up of a smirking Andal Ampatuan wearing a headband ala Rambo. Tao ba talaga siya? Because I agree with the interviewee that the massacre ay hindi gawa ng tao.

The word 'massacre' is heavily used in this post because I could'nt find a graver word. Perhaps, terrorism is graver than massacre. But terrorism could be simply 'kidnapping'. While massacre means gruesome death and lots of gore.

The only way for the Ampatuans to revert back to being humans is for them to feel the same pain that their victims had felt under their barbaric acts. The Ampatuans must be put to prison for life. And they must be thankful that they live in a civil and modern society. Else they are skinned alive, or stoned to death, or chained standing on a colony of red ants and scorpions until they die, or decapitated, or buried alive, or fed with fresh dog poo till they bark, or immersed in a cauldron of boiling oil, or fed to the crocodiles., etc., etc, etc…
@

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Search for Iloilo's outstanding elementary and high school students is on

The Outstanding Students Circle of Iloilo (OSCI), through the Department of Education (Divisions of Iloilo, Iloilo City, and Passi City), has announced the start of the Search for the Ten Outstanding Elementary Pupils and the Ten Outstanding Secondary School Students of Iloilo for the school year 2009-2010.

The mechanics and criteria for this school year's search can be viewed from the OSCI official blog http://outstandingstudentscircleofiloilo.blogspot.com . Nomination forms can be secured from the DepEd Division offices. Deadline of submission of nominations is on January 7, 2010.

OSCI is composed of former recipients of the Ten Outstanding Elementary Pupils and the Ten Outstanding Secondary School Students of Iloilo awards given out during the incumbency of former Iloilo Governor, Hon. Conrado J. Norada. OSCI has been doing the Search for five years already.

Past OSCI awardees were:

TOEP 2009. (1) Arvin John Tejereso, Cabatuan Central Elementary School, 2) Jamero, Jollimee A., West Visayas State University – ILS, (3) Quilantang, Lainly D., SPED – ISEC, (4) Patriarca, Raymund John, Jaro I Elementary School, (5) Susmiran, Patrick Jules, Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School, (6) Chan, Kevin Friedrich Y., Iloilo Scholastic Academy, (7) Bimbo, Angeli Janne Ga, Central Philippine University, (8) Cajandig, Mary Monique, Children's Integrated School of Alta Tierra, (9) Fenis, Ivan Misola, Miagao Central Elementary School, and (10) Villaruz, Gerrod J., Ateneo de Iloilo – SMCS.

TOSSS 2009. (1) Vincen Gregory Yu , Iloilo Central Commercial High School,(2) Java, Albert Jan Matthew A., Central Philippine University, (3) Juan Loa, Nina Isabela P., Ateneo de Iloilo – SMCS, (4) Macero, Milrose P., Passi National High School, (5)Solas, Mark Collin P., Iloilo National High School, (6) Marmolejo, Daryl Ecuben, Guimbal National High School, (7) Miñosa, Nathaniel G., Lambunao National High School, (8) Zamora, Abner C., Anilao National High School, (9) Hontoria, Jaywardene G., Colegio de San Jose, and (10) Faculin, Andre Karl S., Colegio del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus.

TOEP 2008. 1. Lustre, Maphete Dianne (above photo, in green dress) - WVSU - Integrated Laboratory School, 2. Montelibano, Maria Trenas - SPED-Integrated School for Exceptional Children, 3. Deypalubos, Florencio III - Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School , 4. Roga, EJ Marie - Iloilo Central Elementary School, , 5. Guanco, Emma Rose O. - Iloilo Scholastic Academy
6. Alfaro, Rumel Angelo T. - Cabatuan Central Elementary School, 7. Estuche, Marc Adrian Philippe - Children's Integrated School of Alta Tierra, 8. Baladjay, Aserina Yvonne - Jaro I Elementary School , 9. Subo, Ma. Phoebe T. - Barotac Nuevo Central Elementary School , 10. Yray, Kristiana Claire - Ateneo de Iloilo - SMCS.

TOSSS 2008. 1. Penol, Jo Jan Paul (right photo) - Pavia National High School , 2. Palomaria, Stephen John B. - Passi National High School, 3. Baldevarona, Rosa Lea - University of the Philippines High School in Iloilo , 4. Leda, Stella Mariedith - Lambunao National High School, 5. Bayona, Paul Vincent S. - Saint Paul School, Barotac Nuevo , 6. Salinas, Cornelius Cesar Jude - Westbridge School for Boys , 7. Garces, Rose Ann - Guimbal National High School, 8. Enarbia, Stephanie Keiko - Ateneo de Iloilo / Sta Maria Catholic School , 9. Umadhay, Quennie Lyn S. - Sta. Barbara National Comprehensive High School , 10. De la Vega, Beverly Ann - Jalandoni Memorial National High School.

TOEP 2007. 1 Sira, Liza Marie S. - Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School, 2 Fuego, Alyanna Krista - Ateneo de Iloilo - Sta. Maria Catholic School, 3 Demafiles, Shaynne Laurice A. - Iloilo Central Elementary School , 4 Amit, Sheena Mae F. - West Visayas State University - ILS,5 Cortum, Alyanna Sinel - SPED Integrated School for Exceptional Children, 6 Adolfo, Estee Joy G. - Guimbal Central Elementary School, 7 Garrido, Excelle Anne C. - San Enrique Central School , 8 Tronco, Christina Mae M. - Cabatuan Central Elementary Schoo, 9 Lizada, Adrian Nichol - Don Eugenio Ladrido Memorial Elementary School , 10 Hualde, Karla Rosa S. - New Lucena Central School .

TOSSS 2007. 1 Pamillo, Ray John - Central Philippine University High School , 2 Robinson, Victor B. III - Ateneo de Iloilo - Sta. Maria Catholic School , 3 Hualde, Ken C. Cabatuan - National Comprehensive High School , 4 Leda, Francis Pauline B. - Lambunao National High School , 5 Cadete, Ivory June J. - SPED - Integrated School for Exceptional Children , 6 Abalajon, Karl Vincent - University of the Philippines High School in Iloilo , 7 Lazaro, Joe Abad S., Jr. - Don Felix Serra National High School, 8 Tacaisan, Ability-Ann G. - Colegio Del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus, 9 Dato-on, Luville J. - San Enrique National Comprehensive High School, 10 Fresnido, Donna Isabelle M. - University of San Agustin High School.

TOEP 2006. 1. Altamera, Shari A. SPED – Integrated School for Exceptional
Children , 2. Mellizas, Marian Mae L. Cabatuan Central Elementary School , 3. Cerebo, Bryan Eric New Lucena Central Elementary School , 4. Deocampo, Irish Joy G. Iloilo Central Elementary School , 5. Leda, Francis Paul B. Don Eugenio Ladrido Memorial Elementary School, 6. Ponta-oy, Lennon Dingle Central Elementary School, 7. Divinagracia, Bert Lorenz S. Ateneo de Iloilo/Sta Maria Catholic School , 8. Magallon, Marianne Joy Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School , 9. Atas, Celeste West Visayas State University, 10. Jamerlan, Ma. Christina M. St. Joseph School.

TOSSS 2006. 1. Llorente, Neil Andrew Chiu Ateneo de Iloilo/Sta Maria Catholic School
2. Almendros, Ma. Jilyn C. Colegio de las Hijas de Jesus, 3. Tunguia, Saer Martin J. Iloilo National High School , 4. Mondin, Vincent Leuter J. Zarraga National High School, 5. Canong, Ma. Verni Katrina A. University of the Philippines, 6. Misajon, Joshua J. Central Philippine University , 7. Servanio, Nikko Jones G. Pavia National High School, 8. Loreno, Christine Anne L. Lambunao National High School, 9. Pruto, Melissa P. Mina National High School , 10. Sampiano, Nyre Cyre Colegio de San Jose. @

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Winners!

We just came from the mall where my daughter participated in the caroling contest sponsored by a TV network. She was a member of her school’s choir. It was an exhilarating experience.

I was informed that the contest would start at 11:00 am. But when I arrived at the mall, choir #2 was already performing. I frantically looked for my wife to ask if our daughter had already performed. She told me that my daughter's choir was the 14th performer and that there were 14 contestants. I was relieved. I led my brother's two apos, Ryan and Lizzie, who were always going with me, to a vantage point where they could see the full performances. I bought them some waffle. Then I watched from the back.

To me it was a big challenge to watch kiddy shows like this. Nakakaburyong. Once in a while, I would slip out to some boutiques to look for some t-shirts and pants on bargain prices. But I had to return to check on the apos and get an assessment of the performances. Some contestants obviously lacked practice. Others lacked good trainors. While a few really did a pang-contest performance. But I could not say which contestants were sure winners because I hadn't yet seen the performance of my daughter's choir. With the hefty sum the other parents and I paid for the trainor and choreographer, possibly my daughter's choir was the choir to beat.

And then, after what seemed an eternity, the emcee introduced the last contestant. I felt nervous. The choir members marched to the stage. They wore identical dresses, shoes, hairdo, and make-up. My daughter was the first in the line. She was beautiful. I looked at the other members of the choir. They looked just like my daughter. Could be the make-up. But I remembered mannequins in the department stores were made to look like famous fashion models. Perhaps, the make-up artist wanted to make others look like my famous (according to me) daughter.

Then they started singing Christmas carols. Obviously, they had a good trainor. But their performance was pang-choral contest. Indi pang-caroling. Their voices were too soft to be heard. The choreography was pang-recital. It was all song and dance without the Christmas stories that other choirs incorporated into their 7-minutes presentation. It was not a lively performance worthy of an award. But what they lacked in performance, they filled with their best looking personalities. They had the best dresses, make-up, hairdo, and possibly the most expensive make-up artist. They looked like going to a party rather than to a caroling. Their props were unique. Their presentation was subdued and slow, as compared to the verve and pizzaz of the few others. And even if they also came from a public school, they were like a wisp of fresh air as they looked like prim-and-proper, coy, and inhibited convent-bred lasses in a sea of brash, loud and uninhibited public schoolers.

But I didn't mind the performance of the choir. I was focused mostly on my daughter. She was a revelation. She could sing, dance, and was at ease in front of the big crowd. She blended well with the rest of the choir. I could hardly believe my eyes.

My daughter is in Grade 3 and this was the first time she joined an extra-curricular activity. She is good in the academics, but is adamant to join school activities even if I asked her to. She always finds reasons not to join even if I bribe her with an offer to eat out with her cousins. She is suplada personified, which our acquaintances attributed to her having curly hair. Pag kulot kuno, suplada gid. She has no best friend in their class. She seldom talks to her classmates. Therefore, I am happy if I hear that she is the leader of the Cleaners for the Day, a role being rotated among everybody in her class. I will wake up early to pick some flowers for her classroom to make her feel that being a leader of even a cleaners group was special.

My girl was great on stage. I wanted to hug and congratulate her. Hers was the best performance I'd seen that day. Then they exited the stage. We met her at the side. She was beaming with joy.

After awhile, the emcee announced the winners. The judges would pick out 7 finalists out of the 14 contestants. The sponsor was giving cash prizes to all the finalists, who would compete in another round come December. All those which I thought performed well were called on stage as finalists. Then contestant number 13 was called. My wife and the other mothers jumped with joy. 'We won! We won!' they shouted. The adviser called my girl and her classmates so they could go up the stage to claim their award. And I thought they were contestant number 14! I just kept quiet. They were about to head to the stage when they saw another group going up the stage. Then they were informed it was number 13 that was called, and not 14. The teacher and the parents were crestfallen. Ay ahay, kaluoy gid. Then the emcee said he would announce the seventh finalist. The teacher and the parents were alive and hopeful again. They thought all 7 finalists were already announced. When the remaining finalist was announced, it was not number 14. A classmate of my daughter cried. All the parents, including my wife were so sad. They invested a lot of time for the practice and preparations. And the choreography for the 7-minute presentation costed more than a half-month salary of the school's utilityman. The make-up was Php500.00 for each child. But at least the dress could be worn by the daughters to another party. The parents who might have planned to celebrate with their kids in one of the fastfoods, bade us goodbye. They said they would go straight home. They looked tired. They were in school since 8:00am for the make-up and the last minute rehearsal. Perhaps, some of them hadn't yet eaten lunch because of excitement. They looked like losers. Parang mga basang sisiw.

Then my sisters, nieces, and apos who were there to watch my daughter, were surprised when I announced that I was going to celebrate. We went to a popular fastfoods. I got the money from my wallet which was meant to buy a week supply of groceries. I was happy. My daughter was beaming beside me. She told me she enjoyed the experience on stage and being the center of everybody’s attention. And my reticent daughter announced that she would be joining other activities in school. I was ecstatic. Both of us were winners!@

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Tahoooooooo!

When my kids hear the sound of the taho vendor, they stop whatever they do and immediately ask me to buy them some. They join the other kids in the neighborhood to gather around the taho vendor and wait with mouths open as plastic cup after plastic cup is filled to the brim with taho, sago pearls, and sugar syrup. After a cup is filled, the vendor inserts an oversized straw and hands the cup to a kid. Even with some teeth missing, the receiving kid smiles with satisfaction as if he just received a precious gift from Santa.

Such is the magic and tastiness of taho that even old people are seen milling around with the kids and patiently waiting for their turn to be handed out their filled plastic cup.

Taho is one food I can tolerate my kids to eat anytime of the day. It is delicious, filling and unlike other foods liked by most kids, it is considered a health food.

Taho is a soya bean concoction and very rich in protrein. In fact, soya is a recommended alternative to meat for avowed vegetarians. Soya is believed to improve bone density and to reduce the chances of cardiovascular diseases, cancer and post menopausal syndromes.

I tried to look for the English translation of taho in the internet. So far, I have not found any which made me believe that taho is a truly Filipino invention.

Ti may taho man sa inyo da sa abroad?

For those who miss Philippine taho and would like to make one just to savor this delicacy or possibly to engage later in taho business, here’s a procedure to make taho which I downloaded from the internet months ago. Unfortunately, I have not recorded the source website.

Taho Recipe

Ingredients:
• 500 grams soybeans
• 3.5 liter water
• 2 bars white gelatin,
• 250 grams brown sugar

Tools, equipment and utensils needed:
• Blender
• Stove, pot, weighing scale
• Basting spoon
• Knife
• l-yard cheesecloth
• Dial/cooking thermometer,
• plastic basin
• Strainer

Procedure:

Select newly harvested and good soybeans. Good soybeans are spotless, smooth, and free from infestation. Wash them, then soak them overnight or for at least 6 hours. After soaking the soybeans, wash and clean them; by then they would have expanded to three times their original size. Remove the beans from the water and peel the hulls. Blend the soybeans to be turned into taho into a puree. Similarly put the puree for the “taho” into a bowl and mix in water gradually, but this time use only 1.5 L of water. Then using cheesecloth, filter the soy puree to derive soymilk.

Cook the gelatin by dissolving the bars in a liter of boiling water.

Put the soymilk in a pot and heat in low fire. After 10 minutes of boiling, the temperature would reach 80° C. At this temperature, let the milk boil for another 7 minutes or until the beany flavor disappears.

Pour and mix the dissolved gelatin into the boiling soymilk. Remove the froth that forms on top of the mixture. Afterwards, remove the pot from the stove and let the mixture cool. Using the cheesecloth, strain the mixture and remove unmixed gelatin bits. Then pour the mixture into a mold. Set it aside and let it cool and harden for an hour.

While waiting for the soymilk mixture to solidify, prepare the syrup and the sago pearls.

To make the syrup, boil 200 ml of water and dissolve 250 g of brown sugar in the water.

Once the soymilk mixture solidifies, get a few scoops, add sago pearls, pour in the syrup, then serve.

This recipe can make about 2 kilos of soymilk mixture with a shelf life of 1 week.

Enjoy your taho. @

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Piyesta Minatay; All Saints Day

I woke up early today, actually too early for me as I sleep usually past 12 o'clock midnight. I am an insomniac, right? In case you forgot.

I had coffee while I waited for the kids to finish their bath. We had to be in my mother's house before the day gets hot. I would take my mother to the cemetery so she could have a glimpse of the tombs of Tatay, her parents, and other relatives. And perhaps, she would comment on how the tombs looked scrubbed and clean. And I would silently wallow on my good job. Well, not necessarily my job, as the helpers did all the cleaning while I went around the cemetery to kill the time. But I was responsible to bring the helpers to clean the tombs, didn't I?

Flower vendors are doing brisk business during the Piyesta Minatay. Arranged flowers cost more than double the price.

I dropped my wife and kids in the farm so they could arrange the flowers they bought for the graves of my in-laws. We bought only flowers - chrysanthemums, Malaysian mumps, and baby's breath. It was a sin to buy the atrociously priced foliage as better looking ferns grow in abundance in the farm. Baby's breath used to grow profusely in the farm too, but they gave way to plots of string beans. My sisters also arranged their flowers in the farm yesterday because of the ferns.

Whole families head to the cemetery in spite of the heat of the sun.

Nanay was dressed up by the kasambahay when I arrived. That was my agreement with the kasambahay. Because she is already 84yo, Nanay is impatient and moody. She will only go out when I fetch her. She will never go with anyone, even with my nieces who grew up under her care. When informed beforehand that we were going out, she would be in a hurry to leave the house and would pester everyone to take her to the car already. In the same way, she would be in a hurry to go home when we arrive in our destination. So, it is not practical to take her to some far away destination.

We arrived at the cemetery at 8:00 am. It was already hot. I showed the helper how to push Nanay's wheelchair. 'If you wish to work abroad, better learn this,' I told him. We went directly to the tomb of my father. Nanay lighted some candles with the help of her grandchildren. We proceeded to the tombs of her parents and siblings. Again she lighted some candles. Along the way, she read the names of the dead inscribed on the lapidas before the tombs we passed by. Sometimes she wondered why some of those she knew were already dead. 'I was older than them', she would comment.

Locally made flower baskets are in demand.


The Jaro plaza is literally blooming during Piyesta Minatay. But the flowers, and even buyers, are fewer this year compared to previous years.

We returned back to my father's tomb and I left Nanay there in the company of my sisters and nieces. Then I hurriedly went to the graves of other kins and acquaintances to light candles. My kids and my brother's apos who were tagging along with me, enjoyed lighting the candles.

There were already too many people braving the heat. The air was festive rather than somber. Of course, we call November 1, Piyesta Minatay because it really is a fiesta. After a few minutes, I took Nanay home.

Metro Manila cemeteries were still wet because of typhoon Santi. But here in Iloilo, we never had a rain the past days. It was really hot and humid. So we decided to take our lunch in the farm.

We had broiled fish and pork, and pork nilaga with alubihod leaves. The kids loved it. We also had fresh young coconuts or kulabo. I like kulabo. I can finish pitchers, not just glasses, of it. For dessert, we had palitaw, which I usually called palubog, and inday-inday. After lunch, everybody lolled on the bamboo flooring of the nipa hut and watched Yanggaw.

Some names are famous. Others are not so famous. Most are never heard. But one thing are common to them - they are names of dead people.

Afternoon was supposed to be the time for pangalag. I liked the kids to experience it. We scheduled a pangalag with our neighbor who promished to cook native kakanins for us. But we forgot the time, so the neighbors just sent us some ibos as they were already leaving for the cemetery.

Some graves have many visitors....


.... others have just one... or none at all.

But we still went to do pangalag in the house of classmate Matea. She had no visitors. She just prepared for us. We had ibos, ginat-an, palitaw, pansit, suman (Tagalogs call it biko) and native fruits. I asked Matea if she had itang (small food servings placed in a corner of the room purportedly for souls or spirits). She said she did not believe in itang, just like the other people I asked. I told her I was just curious about itang because I have not seen it being practiced anymore.

Karalagan - suman, ibos, ginat-an, palitaw. I like the kids to experience pangalag, just like the days when I was still a kid myself.

Before 5:00 pm we returned to the cemetery. The traffic was heavy. We parked far from the cemetery because there were so many vehicles parked on both sides of the highway. As cars were bumber to bumper, people too were shoulder to shoulder. There were too many people. Just as I was sometimes surprised to know that some people I thought were still alive were actually dead already as shown by their lapidas, I was more surprised to meet people whom I thought were already dead but were actually still alive and kicking. I met a doctor who was younger than I but who looked older with gray hairs even in his eyelids. Beside him was a man whom I thought was just his friend, but was actually his son. His son was already shaving his mustache. And my older daughter is only in Grade 5!

There are those literally awashed with expensive flowers.


Others with just cheap ones....


.. or with just a lonesome candle. Or even with just a prayer. All of the dead are remembered today.


Candles are lighted inside the campo santo for those whose graves could not be found.

We were supposed to stay longer and meet more friends. But the clouds were dark. The heavens threatened to damp some rain. So we hurriedly headed for the car. It was still heavy traffic and it was hard to negotiate our way back to town. It was then when I noticed that it was already too dark. The other vehicles were already switching on their headlines. I also put on my headlights. And I saw that the time was only 5:30pm. Just a few minutes ago, the sun was up and it was so hot. Now, it was dark. The streetlights were also on. Parang nagka-solar eclipse.

As we reached the town, the moon was already up in the clouds. The car's clock said it was only 5:47. But the moon was beautiful. Too beautiful indeed. What was lacking were silhouettes of flying half-bodied creatures with uncombed hairs and bat wings. It would have been a more beautiful and more memorable Piyesta Minatay.@

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Aswang stories

I would like to contribute my own personal aswang stories to the many horror stories currently floated in time for the Halloween.

My farmhouse used to be the lone house in my area along the highway (after I built my hut, many OFWs bought the ajoining lots and built big concrete houses). Before my hut was built, the area was a long expanse of sugarcane and corn fields. And as there were no streetlights and no houses nearby, the place was notorious as baragatan, or where a bagat (a kapre, an aswang, or a spirit) would block the path of a passerby.

I employed carpenters living in the same barangay to build my simple hut. After work, the men would always go home early when it was not yet dark as if they knew something sinister would happen in the area when night fell. I heard them talked about two separate road accidents years ago that occurred in front of my property. In both accidents, the drivers of the trucks died on the spot. In the nights following the accidents, aside from the bagat, a sentermo (ball of fire) appeared near the sites of the accidents.

Some folks talk in whispers about a very old woman who was rumored to be an aswang and who lived in the next barangay. She would not die because none of her kin would accept her anta (pet, or in this context, the source of being an aswang; anyone who accepts the anta would also become an aswang). So the old woman became a maranhig (a living dead). Later, her son pitied her. He whispered to her as she lay on her bed, his willingness to accept the anta. She asked her son to get near her and face her. As the face of her son got near her face, globules of air rushed out of her throat and were sucked into the mouth of her son. Then she died. After she was buried, her son vanished from the area. The folks surmised that he wanted to have victims in far away places rather than victimize people in the area who were mostly his relatives. But everyone was cautious, and closed and secured their houses before it got dark. They thought the son could return anytime.

When my hut was about to be finished, I asked some of the carpenters to sleep there so they could keep an eye on some materials I left on the site. I offered them a bottle of whiskey so they would stay. And they stayed only for two nights. On the third day, they said that somebody or something was heard to walk near the house at night. And they were afraid that it was the notorious aswang. I just laughed off the story and asked them to just be sure that all materials were secured when they leave.

After sometime, my aunt went to see me and informed me that as the owner of the house, I was supposed to sleep in the hut on a particular date because, according to her, the almanaque stated that the said date was lucky for the owner of the house. So I slept in my new nipa hut on the specified date. And I couldn’t sleep at all because I was new to the place, and I was not used to sleeping on a bamboo bed or papag. Each time I moved, the papag creaked. And the snores of the carpenters who accompanied me that night, were not in synch with the chirps of the crickets and the croaks of the frogs. Libagon gid. In the middle of the night, when the others were sleeping soundly after two bottles of whiskey, I could hear the sound of somebody or something walking near the house, just as the carpenters said. I recently placed gravel on the walkway that I built from the highway to the hut for my car. And anybody who walked on loose gravel created a sound. The walking sound got nearer and stopped directly under the window of my bedroom. My window was open, with small bamboo poles about 2 meters long serving as grills. I froze. This could be the aswang the carpenters were talking about. I felt my hairs about to rise. The room suddenly became cold. But this could be my chance to see an aswang. I gingerly got up without creating a sound and went to the window. Yes, I was afraid. But my curiousity got me going. I gradually peered over the window. My hairs were already standing. I could hear the thunderous noise of my heartbeats. And I expected a black figure, hunched under my window, looking up at me with red eyes and a diabolical grin that showed its pangs. Suddenly, there they were… the aswangs – two of them, their dark shadows made them bigger, and through the moonlight, I could see the glint of their saliva. These were two dogs walking on the gravel and hungry for food - the same two dogs of my far neighbor that patrolled my hut during the day and fought for morsels thrown by the carpenters at lunchtime. I was disappointed. I shouted at the dogs and threw a piece of bamboo at them. They scampered away towards the direction of my neighbor’s house.

The following morning, I told the carpenters about the dogs. They asked me about the dogs’ sizes. Didn’t they look like human? Were their eyes red? I told them the dogs were ordinary as I pointed at the dogs about to enter my property. ‘Those were the dogs I saw last night,’ I revealed. The carpenters were incredulous as they said aswangs could turn themselves into ordinary animals.

In my farm, I have a poultry, a piggery, and plots of vegetables. I had different people working with me in different times. Most of these people came from far away places, usually from the mountain villages in Iloilo. And they had tales to tell as regards aswang.

I had caretakers who acted differently because of their peculiar experiences someplace. One caretaker was so insentive when drunk but tell him about an aswang and he would sober up. One planted manunggal vines behind my bathroom when he discovered my bathroom had no roof and that it could be made an entryway of an aswang in attacking him while sleeping inside the house. Another placed some bagakay (a slender variety of bamboo)sticks atop the rafters and underneath the house. He said that aswangs were afraid of bagakay.

A manunggal vine winds like a snake behind my hut. Manunggal is said to drive aswangs away.

The oldest and laziest among my farmhands recently got my ire. I nearly fired him because… I was experimenting on propagating bonsai trees. So I planted lunok (ficus) twigs on empty milk cans. After a year, the twigs were already mature and could already be shaped. But after sometime, the growing lunok bonsais were gone. I couldn’t find them. So I asked my men. This lazy man answered that he uprooted the plants and threw them away. He destroyed the lunoks because he said they served as homes of tamawos (fairies). I was incensed. But this was another story.

And here’s a story from my cousin, a cop, who was a constant visitor. He was a fearless crime-buster and a fearful aswang believer. He said there were aswangs passing by their house in Negros. There was a time that his baby would cry uncontrollably every night. So they called for a surhano. The surnaho did a seremonya, placed some oil on his baby, and burned kalawag under their house. From then on, his baby slept peacefully every night. When the crying returned after a few weeks, he called for the same surhano. The surhano made the same seremonya and informed him to keep watch the next few nights. He didn’t sleep that night. Suddenly, near midnight, his baby went into a fit of crying. He told his wife and their helper to keep their eyes on the baby as he kept watch outside their bedroom. He trained his ears to catch unfamiliar sounds. Then there was a noise coming from their kitchen. Someone just entered their kitchen area. This could be the evil kind he was supposed to watch for. He readied his pistol in his right hand and a flashlight in another. He surreptitiously walked to the kitchen. From the faint light from the far streetlight, he could see a crouching dark human form moving near their stove. He was trembling. But his baby was at stake. He would kill the devil, he thought. He aimed his pistol and his flashlight towards the shadow. He counted up to three and opened his flashlight. ‘Grabe,’ he said. The human form, according to him, suddenly turned into a big black cat, its eyes glowing in front of his flashlight. The cat jumped to the opening near a window, causing a kaldero to fall with a loud crash and all its fish contents scattered on the floor. ‘Grabe no? Ang tawo nahimo nga kuti!’, he boasted. I laughed. ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Naghitsura ang garhom nga tawo, kay waay mo pa nakita, sa isip mo tawo na ang nabatian mo. Ti kon aswang to, insa nga nagtakab lang isda? Daad nagderetso sa baby mo kag gintaban.’ My cousin pretended he heard nothing as he asked to leave.

Aswangs are said to be afraid of bagakay. In photo, bagakay sticks atop the rafters.

The classic aswang story was told to me by my father when I was a kid. It was about a person I call T. I will not print the name because this might be a true story of real people, and not necessarily a fictional story woven by my father. I also heard this story from my aunts, grandparents, and other old people who were long dead but who swore that the story was true.

It was school vacation. The son of T came from school with his classmate. The classmate came from another place and was happy to spend his vacation with the family of T.

One night when everybody seemed to be sleeping, the classmate who was sleeping with the son on the same bed (in the barrios, children sleep beside each other on a woven buri mat), had an urge to urinate. So he rose to go to the toilet. When he was about to get out of the bedroom, he noticed that T and his wife were still awake and were in the kitchen doing something. The classmate overheard T asked his wife if the water was already boiling. Obviously, the two were boiling water in a big cauldron. The wife answered that the water was not yet boiling. Then T asked his wife to inform him if the water was ready so he could get the boy. The classmate felt needles were pricking his skin. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Yes, but just be sure that you get the right boy. It is very dark. You might pick up our son. Do you like to eat your own son?’ The classmate heard the reply of the wife. He was terribly frightened. His urge to urinate was gone. ‘No, I will be very careful. Have you noticed that the boy was wearing a ring? Our son has no ring. So I will just get the boy who is wearing a ring.’

The classmate retreated back to the bed. He could not run away without getting the attention of the couple. He was sweating and trembling. He lay beside the son. He could still hear T saying ‘Our son has no ring.’
The classmate took off his ring and carefully slipped it over the finger of the son. Then he pretended to sleep.

The door to the bedroom creaked open. In the dark, the classmate could see what seemed to be the shadow of T. The classmate was profusely sweating, trembling and praying. He hoped T would just go for the ring. Then the mosquito net over classmate and son was raised by the shadow. The classmate bit his tongue so he could not shout. He felt a hand caressing his hand as if massaging his fingers. Then the hand went to the son sleeping nearby.

The classmate could sense that the shadow was raising the body of the son. Away from the bed and on the floor, the big shadow was gagging, suffocating, and tying up the son with a chord. Then the shadow went out of the room.

The classmate prayed that T would not come back. He rose from the bed, and tiptoed out of the room and out of the house. Once outside the house, he ran as fast as he could without looking back. After sometime, he heard shouts and shrieks from T’s house which was already far away. Obviously, T and wife discovered too late their mistake. The classmate could hear the anger, anguish and resolve of the couple to catch him.

The classmate ran and ran. He saw a railroad track and followed it hoping to find help. Then he saw a train station. It was deserted as it was still dark. So classmate looked for a place nearby where he could hide and where he could safely wait for the first trip of the train. After sometime, the classmate heard the rustling of wings as two shadows rushed in and inspected the station. Finding no one, the two shadows cursed and hurriedly left.

After a few hours, streaks of light appeared in the horizon. A few persons, still sleepy, trickled to the station. The station was opened and some persons bought for their tickets. Classmate came out of hiding and purchased his own ticket.

From here on, the story of T became an aswang story.

Maybe, many readers of this blog had also heard this story before as narrated by their elders. Could this story be true?@

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Tigkaralag is around the corner

I just realized last night that next weekend is already All Saints Day and I haven't yet gone to the cemetery to do some cleaning. Well, of course, we don't need to have a big clean-up operation. But sometimes, other cleaners will just dump their garbage beside the tomb of a relative. And that is quite unsightly.

So, early this morning I went to the cemetery, with some helpers in tow, to clean the tombs of my father, grandparents, and an assortment of relatives. In a small town like ours, families are extended. And many of those dearly departed had in a way helped to raise me up as an upright, respectful, and very family-oriented person. (These adjectives are my creation to console myself - my way of commiserating with the fact I discovered today that I was the only son, only grandchild, only nephew among the so many who took time to go to the cemetery to clean the messy resting places and to prepare them for the visits of our relatives come Sunday. I also console myself thinking that it could be that this is my time or my turn to spruce up the graves as I was never bothered during the years I lived abroad. During those years my other siblings or cousins could have arrogated themselves the lowly task of tomb cleaners - the task I just found out was entrusted to me.)

Well, I've got helpers. We bought some matches and candles at the entrance of the cemetery before entering. I gave the helpers instructions on what to do and went around the four hectares Catholic cemetery and read the names of the dead inscribed on the lapida before the tombs. This is a small town alright. I would like to know who among the dead I knew, and who among those I know are now dead.

Repainting the tombs and retouching the names are a yearly obligation of the living.

I saw a few of my teachers. They are dead, alright. And I reminisce how they were too strict inside the classroom as they threw erasers or chalks to our classmates who were too naughty or too dumb to answer their questions. One dead teacher slammed the head of a classmate against the blackboard because she could not solve a simple multiplication. Of course, these teacher acts are no longer tolerated by the Department of Education and will never be overlooked by the parents. But many of our teachers I dearly missed. They were patient, softspoken, and really made us, their students, feel we were worth their time and effort. Too bad they died without us telling them how grateful we were of their sacrifices.

In this public cemetery, resting places could be as elaborate as the ones in private memorial parks.

I've always been intrigued by what lies inside this contraption. I thought before this was a bird cage, possibly to entertain the mourners during the burial. Today, I have a chance to peer into the cage. It is actually a burial plot for two - one side was used as a grave, the other side was like a kitchen top where relatives can serve food during their visits. Nice, but not nice to the eyes.

This is the old perimeter wall of the cemetery, which also serves as tombs. Because the tombs are on top of another, they are referred to as apartments. Now they are seldom used because the tombs are too small for even the cheapest coffins. Our kasambahay who is already old and without a known relative, told us that when she dies, we will just wrap her body with a banig, and insert it into one of these apartments. Rental could be free.

Among the graves I saw was that of a spinster who had a nice office job, who walked with her chin up, who wore stockings and high heeled shoes even when she visited their farm to collect her share of the produce. She thought she was near perfect that she looked down upon a disheveled neighbor who had a drunkard as a husband, and who had to scavenge for whatever to send her children to school. The spinster and the disheveled neighbor had only their lapidas to remind me of them. And of course the contrasting tombs - the spinster in a disheveled grave, seemingly forgotten, but perhaps will be visited by the nieces and nephews this Sunday; and the disheveled neighbor in a tiled grave with borders freshly painted courtesy of the children who are now working abroad.

And of course, the grave of Iyay Quirin. She never had any ailment when she was still alive. And until she died of old age, she was walking on our street peddling her home-made tablea chocolates which I usually bought as pasalubong to friends abroad. Each time I visited my mother, I noticed that the street where I lived before was no longer the same. In fact it looked different from the street where I grew up, I could hardly recognize it. But when I saw Iyay Quirin walking on the street, suddenly the street became familiar. Only Iyay Quirin could put a connection between the present street and the street of my childhood, because she was the only person of my growing up years who was still living. Too bad she is dead now. Our street is no longer as it used to be.

And many yet familiar names. Or could it be that names are no longer exclusive?

I went back to the tomb of my father. The helpers were already resting. They had finished cleaning the surroundings. I asked them if they had cleaned the other tombs farther away of my other relatives. They nodded their heads. I asked whether they had seen any of my cousins or their children. They answered in the negative. Well, anyway today is Wednesday. Everybody could be in their offices. But it's semestral break. And the students are not in school. Oh well, it is too hot today. Could get cancer from too much sun. Spare the young students.

I told the helpers to get back to the car. I also hoped that the busy office workers and students will have time to visit their dead relatives this Sunday, rain or shine. For sure, there will be no work nor class that day.

There is a stairway going up the apartments which I knew since I was a kid. Back then, we used to climb to the top of the apartments and throw dirt at the other kids below. I heard that this location is now a dating place for lovers. This is the view from atop the apartments, facing the highway. The building near the center of the photo is the campo santo.


Another discovery I had atop the apartments is this rusting metal casket. I think I know who owns this. A few months back, the mother of a townmate died. They were planning to bury her in the same tomb where they buried their father years ago. Their problem was what to do with the metal casket of the father. Their father used to occupy an important position in the town when he was alive. So, when he died, the family decided to give him a pompous funeral and an expensive-looking coffin to wow the whole town. And that meant a metal casket which so far had not been seen in our town. So, a metal coffin it was. After sometime, everything turned to dust, as from dust they came, but the metal coffin. And so my townmate had a problem of what to do with the coffin, as even the scrap yards were superstitiously against taking it even for free. Nothing was heard about it though as the funeral of the mother proceeded without a hitch. Now I think I have the answer. Moral of the story: Up to the end, think GREEN. Just be a fertilizer, period.


These are burial niches carved on the inside walls of the campo santo. I was informed that the niches contain bones and remains of departed priests.


Boys play 'taksi' using coins, after cleaning the tombs of their elders.


A cherubim resting in peace. This old sculpture is found in one of the apartments. @

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