Santacruzan sa banwa ko

I consider May the month of debutantes – when awkward girls metamorphose into poised and pretty ladies to enthrall the world. At least, this happens in my side of the world in the flower month of May.

In the Philippines, May is not complete without the Santacruzan or the culminating activity of the Flores de Mayo – when young boys and girls offer flowers to the altar of the Virgin Mary in a month-long novena. Santacruzan is a religious festivity which re-enacts the journey of St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great, to Calvary to look for the cross used in the crucification of Jesus Christ. In every Catholic parish in the Philippines, the Santacruzan is re-enacted in all its splendor, to give color and worthwhile activity to the sometimes humdrum existence in the provinces; and lately to raise funds for the church.

To re-enact St. Helena’s journey, a retinue of beautiful girls wearing the most beautiful and colorful gowns, parade around the poblacion to embody the entourage of St. Helena and the virtues of the Virgin Mary. This is why I call May the month of debutantes – because the girls are just stunning, while a day before, they are just common students or errand girls of their parents. And not because of their make-up or get-ups.

Just look at the pics!

Ang rebulto ni Tan Tono (siya ang nagtukod kang banwa ko nga tinuboan) nagalantaw sang mga maanyag nga mga lin-ay sang banwa sa ginahiwat nga Santacruzan.




Ang Santacruzan ginakabig nga hirimuon kang mga kababaihan. Gani ang mga lamharon nga kalalakihan nga dya, giya lang sa gwa kang simbahan nagahulat. Samtang ang mga kababaihan naga lantaw kang pag-korona kang Reyna de las Flores sa sulod sang simbahan.



Please click on the arrow to play the slideshow.

After more than 2 decades, this was my first time to witness a Santacruzan in our town. Maybe there were changes made in the festivity since my last outing. But the Santacruzan is about St. Helena, or Reyna Elena. And the focal character in a Santacruzan is the Reyna Elena and her escort, the Constantino. But in the Santacruzan that I just witnessed, why was there no Reyna Elena?

Of course, whatever. Nobody cares. As long as all the girls and their proud parents had their moments of fame.

But, really? Was the Reyna banished during the long interregnum?

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Rains at last!

After the summer months of too much sun, when many complained of the oven hot temperatures and drying wells, it was indeed a great blessing to hear the raindrops pummeling our roofs the other night. And this morning, it rained hard again. And for a change, it was impossibly awesome to see the leaves drenched with water and not with dust. It was wonderful to see the streets dribbled with quenching rain.

Before the rains, I was in our farm. It was heart-wrenching to see trees baked under the sun. Avocado trees, mangoes, calamansi, poncan, guavas, jackfruit, tambis, coconuts, chicos - all were already fruit bearing yet it was sad to see their leaves in different shades of brown. Grasses and flowers had dried. My once green farm had gradually turned into a virtual kaingin.

Just yesterday, the radio stations were inundated with complaints of residents that for the first time their wells had dried up. They surmised that underground water was being sucked away to the wells of some of their enterprising neighbors who were selling water to commercial establishments in the city. The neighbors cannot stop their activity because, as they explained, many hotels, restaurants, hospitals, etc. will be deprived of water. And it didn't help when experts warned that when underground fresh water is used up, salt water seeps in. And when salt water settles in the water table, it will no longer go away.

In our house, it never happened before that air went out of our faucets, instead of water. Parang magic. Metro Iloilo Waterworks District was helpless. They were even clueless as to why the bills of their clients reflected exorbitant amounts even if the clients had not seen water from their faucets for months.

Indeed, you would never appreciate the importance of water from the taps until you're deprived of it. Since last March, we seldom had water from the faucets. Lately, the faucets stopped giving out water for more than 2 weeks straight. We were thankful we had a well inside our compound. But it was hard to handle our jurassic pump connected to the well. Parang antiquated na gym device which would create a painful bulge in your testicles (hernia) rather than create the manly bulge in the arms and the shoulders. Transporting the pails of water to inside the bathroom was equally demanding to the lungs. Mas OK mag-jogging. While jogging, puwede ka magpa-porma. But how can you do porma when you are fetching water for your bath? In our barriotic culture, we take a bath first before we do porma. Diyahe naman maligo sa labas. Hindi ako si Manny Villar. Dahil siya naliligo sa dagat ng basura.

After watching the rains outside today, lo and behold, water came out of our taps. Allelujah! We filled all the containers in the house. We cleaned everything that needed to be cleaned. I had a very long bath. Possibly I lost 5 pounds as I really rubbed my skin of pounds of libag with a flat stone I picked up from the riverbank near the farm. It was the first time in months that my body had a thorough rinsing. Hindi na ako nangangati sa residual soap na dumidikit pa sa balat ko dahil sa kawawalan ng tubig. Sarap ng feeling. I smelled great. And our bathroom smelled clean after so many months.@

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Angelicum School's Lizares Mansion is 'mine'

I considered the Lizares Mansion, now part of the Angelicum School, as my own. I was enamored with the mansion. It was the house I would like to look at but I was afraid to live in.

My romance with the Lizares Mansion started when I was about six years old. At that time, I was already a voracious reader. But I didn’t like to read children’s books. I read mature stuff, such as the Philippines Free Press, a politically hard-hitting national magazine. I liked its articles on politicians it called Tongressmen (Congressmen) and Senatongs (Senators) in reference to the politicians’ penchant for grease money. But the section I loved most was the True Horror Stories because I found them exciting. One of the stories I read in this section was about the Lizares Mansion and its owner.

My kids, nieces, and a nephew in front of 'my' Lizares mansion in Tabuc Suba, Jaro. The mansion is now part of the Angelicum School of Iloilo (ASIL).

According to the story, the owner of the mansion, who was long dead, appeared at night at a specific period. And it was an unusual apparition. Parts of the owner’s body would fall from the ceiling. They wiggled on the floor and would later form the complete person of the owner. He would then stand up - a tall, handsome, yet old mestizo. He walked to where his cane was located and proceeded to the landing of the winding staircase. Under the staircase there appeared a fire. He then walked around the fire as if looking for something. Then, he and the fire disappeared in thin air. And everything went back to normal as if nothing had happened. The owner might have kept something important under the stairs.

I loved the story. I considered it my 'own' because the setting was in Iloilo. I was born in Iloilo and, at that time, I had never gone outside of Iloilo. It was the first time I had read the word 'Iloilo' in a national magazine. So I felt proud. At that time, to me the Lizares mansion was Iloilo.

It was understandable then if I craved to actually see the Lizares mansion. The opportunity came when my grandmother planned to go to Leganes to see a faith healer. I heard that the road to Leganes passed in front of the mansion so I begged my grandmother to take me with her.

The PUJ to Leganes was sardine-packed. But I craned my neck and looked for whatever opening in between torsos, heads, and baggage of the passengers. Then there it was, my mansion – grand, white, opulent, and unreachable – a stark contrast to the rice paddies that surrounded it. The fast PUJ gave me a flitting image of what the word 'baronial' really meant.

My fascination with my mansion didn't wane as a grew up. I learned that it was built by the Lizares-Gamboa family when the sugar industry was booming. When the sugar barons of Iloilo transferred their residences near their vast estates in Negros, the mansion was mostly left to the caretakers. From then on, it served different purposes - as torture chamber by the Japanese, a haunted and feared sentinel of phantoms and ghosts, and a sleazy vice den of the gamblers. It was later acquired by the Dominican Fathers which used it as a seminary and later as rectory of the Angelicum School of Iloilo (ASIL).

The first time I went near the mansion, almost touching it, was when I was already a professional, when I had my vacation from abroad. My nieces were studying at the Angelicum School and I went there to pick them up after their classes. I went early to the school to quench my desire to see upclose my mansion. After parking my owner-type jeep, I crossed the lawn and went near the outside of the main living area. It was expansive. The sheer curtains revealed that the living area was converted into some sort of a chapel. I peeked for the ceiling. I couldn’t see it. There could be an electric fan inside. The curtains were moving. So, I thought that the story could be true. No one could stay long in this area, so the new owners used it as a prayer room.

I walked towards the tubular wing housing the winding staircase. Its glass walls were covered with lace curtains. But I could see the outline of the stairs. It could be the grandest staircase in the Philippines. I looked at the area below the stairs. The curtains were heavy but I could pinpoint the area where the owner could have walked around the fire. The curtains were again moving. I could sense that there were eyes behind the curtains looking at me. I imagined the tall, handsome, and old mestizo standing underneath the stairs and looking at me. I felt cold air enveloping me as my hairs stood at attention. I hurriedly walked back to where the yayas waited for their wards. Now I felt safe.

The only time a Lizares scion crossed my path was when I was in 4th year high school. I was one of the three delegates of our school to the Children’s Museum and Library Inc. convention held at the Teachers’ Camp in Baguio City. Actually, we were delegates of Panay Island as we were the only delegates from Panay. There were hundreds of delegates from Luzon. Only a few were from outside Luzon, so I gravitated towards the Ilonggo speaking delegates from Negros.

One day a friend from Negros asked me to accompany him to retrieve some stuff he had forgotten. Then we went out of Teachers’ Camp. He explained to me that he was living outside the camp as they had a house just across the street. As we neared their house, I saw the sign atop the gate: Lizares Residence. Then I remembered that my friend’s surname was Lizares and that the Lizareses of Iloilo, just like the other rich hacienderos of Iloilo, settled in Negros to be near their vast landholdings.

When we entered the house, I was dumb-struck. It was awesome. It was the first time I saw such a grand house. I thought I was outside the Philippines.

‘Pre, just wait for me here.’ He pointed at the velvet-covered sofa. ‘If you like to eat, the ref is there. Feel at home. The caretaker is outside.’ He turned his back to go up to the bedroom. The stairs were made of hardwood. There were many antique bulos (wooden carvings of rice gods, like in left photo). The lamps were exquisite. The carpets looked too expensive for my cheap borrowed shoes. In my plebeian surroundings, floors were made of bamboo slats. This one was tiled. My jaw was about to drop.

‘Pre, where are your folks?’ I asked as I sunk into the soft sofa. I gazed at the stone walls which led to the hardwood ceiling. ‘Pang-Baguio gid’, I thought.

‘Pre, my folks are in Bacolod. But they are coming. Hope you will meet them.’ He disappeared from view.

Then, the site of the ceiling flooded me with childhood scenes – legs, torsos, arms, and heads falling from the ceiling; they wiggled on the floor in front of me, and then they formed into the persons of his folks, and they would say Hi to me. This was a Lizares residence, right? Would it be different from my Lizares mansion? The opulent surrounding suddenly turned musty and creeping, as if Dracula lived here. The curtains made the room gloomy and dim. I thought I heard a door creaking and distant chains scraping the floors. All the bulols seemed to stare at me, their eyes glinting. The cold Baguio air filled the house and my hairs stood on end.

‘Pre, wait! I’ll go with you!’, I shouted as I ran towards where he disappeared. The door to his room was slightly ajar. I saw him skimming at convention papers atop his bed. I carefully approached him. My hairs were still standing. I was trying to dismiss the thought that he was a ghost, possibly a bulol in human clothes. Then he turned his head towards me and gave a fearful cry. I startled him. He thought I was a ghost.

Note: This is a repost; originally posted on 12/29/08 3:47AM @

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Requiems for Sister Aurora

Eternal rest grant unto her, Oh Lord
And let perpetual light shine upon her.
May she rest in peace. Amen.

But wait! Why the solemnity and seriousness? This blog is supposed to lift the spirit. To make the readers smile and be happy. Sister Aurora wouldn’t have allowed anyone to cry and feel sad and devastated. When she was around, she wanted everyone to be happy. And, of course, she always thought that this blog gave her happy thoughts. And she smiled in anticipation when she opened her computer.

And so, after the priests said the last prayers and blessings, as soon as the white roses and white anthuriums were distributed to be thrown to the grave when the casket is lowered, as hankies and boxes of tissue were pulled out for the inevitable, as old folks were poised to wail their loudest, as we bowed our heads in silence to pay our last respects…. suddenly, a nun took the mike and announced to all and sundry that the burial will not push through.

What? What is this, a wedding? That in the middle of the ceremony, somebody would just shout, ‘Stop the wedding! That man (or woman) is already married to me!’ Or as the wedding march is played, somebody would announce that the wedding will not push through because the bride ran away with the best man, or the groom ran away with the maid of honor, or something to that effect. Sister, this is a funeral. And in our impoverished barangay, you don’t stop a funeral like you stop a wedding. It is a taboo. Kadu gid.

The madre was profuse with her apologies for suspending the funeral rites. She said she also asked for apology from Sister Aurora. She announced that they were temporarily suspending the burial because the coffin containing Sister Aurora’s body would not fit in the grave. According to her, they were assured by the Memorial Park’s authorities that their standard size graves can accommodate even the coffin of their biggest foreigner client. She ended her apology by saying that the authorities were rushing to enlarge the grave and that the actual burial might be done the following day.

Sister Aurora died last Monday, May 10, in Cagayan de Oro City. She was a hospital administrator in Mindanao. Her body was supposed to be brought to Iloilo last Thursday, but the nuns couldn’t find a coffin big enough to contain her enormous body. Sister Aurora, when alive, had grown to be enormously healthy. The funeral parlor custom-made her coffin. Her body arrived in Iloilo last Sunday, in time for the scheduled May 17 interment.

After everything was said, mourners closed their mouths and looked at each other as if to ascertain that they heard the same thing. It was their first time to witness a funeral being suspended just before the coffin was to be lowered to the grave.

Relatives and friends placed the white flowers atop the coffin, lined for the packed snacks, and went home. There was no crying, no wailing, and nobody looked up to the heavens to contain the flow of their tears.

The nuns were spirited as they tackled the faux pas. This could be what Sister Aurora had wanted. ‘Si Sister Aurora talaga,’ they gushed. ‘Ganyan talaga siya. Pinapasaya kami palagi.’

It was just 11:00 am. As I drove home with my family and two nuns who asked me to drop them at the mall, I received a call. It was from the memorial park. I was informed that the grave will be rushed and the burial was scheduled at 2:00 pm.

I rushed back before 2:00pm. Baka wala ng workers. The nuns might need me to carry the coffin and lower it to the enlarged grave. I hoped I would not get hernia.

The nuns were at the memorial park’s chapel where the coffin was temporarily placed. A few relatives and friends were also there to accompany the nuns.

At 2:00 pm, sweat-drenched laborers came to carry the coffin. In this morning’s schedule, barong-clad pall bearers would have carried the coffin to the grave. But this plebeian funeral could be what Sister Aurora had wanted. Possibly the nuns could have thought so. And I thought that the sando-and-shorts pall bearers could be far better than the sight of my lonesome self and the coterie of nuns huffing and puffing as we shout 1-2-3! to move the coffin inch by inch to the grave.

The nuns were singing as the coffin was lowered unto the grave at 2:10 pm. But not before the memorial park attendants opened the coffin and peeked at the actual size of the cadaver. In their years of working in the memorial park, this could be the first time that they re-worked a grave because of the size of the cadaver.

There were much fewer people now compared to this morning. But, yes, Sister Aurora. A number of those by your grave shed tears. This was a funeral afterall, inspite the distinctiveness of the circumstances.

Sister Aurora, please pray for us.

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Election 2010

Today is the last day of the campaign period during this election year 2010. Candidates make their last ditch effort to be heard and to ask voters to make them their chosen one come Monday, May 10, Election Day.

Please click on pictures to enlarge.

This is the perimeter fence of my farm fronting the hi-way. Rather than curse the mess, I prefer being amused. My frontage look so colorful with all the posters. And even if the intermittent rains wash away the posters, a fresh batch sprout like mushrooms the following day.

As early as 6:00am, when the sun barely made its heat felt, loud speakers blaring the jingles of the candidates shatter the morning calm. It would be debatable whether the noise would have positive effect on the voters; or the voters would just dump posthaste the candidate for disturbing their sleep, or for peddling a surfeit of promises.

At 7:00am the caravans of candidates started. The caravans were preceded by a traffic police and a number of motorcycle riding supporters. Many candidates were wooing voters by visiting each house along the way. They called this strategy house-to-house. Voters have a tendency to recall or like candidates who have entered their abodes. Still other candidates allegedly invited barangay leaders to their houses for merienda or lunch after which Php 200.00 or Php 500.00 was given for transportation fare even if a tricycle fare of Php 5.00 would suffice. Of course, the names of the visitors/recepients were supposedly listed as the candidates hoped that the visit could be converted to votes. I wondered why I wasn't invited to these lunches even if, last typhoon Frank, I led some men in my impoverished barangay to roll a fallen tree off the road so it would not hinder traffic. Wouldn't this qualify me as a barangay leader? Sayang din ang Php 500.00.

But I like this idea of house-to-house. Because in our impoverished barangay, mga bombay lang nga naga 5-6 ang naga-house-to-house everyday. Not anymore. During the campaign period, kada adlaw naga house-to-house ang mga kandidato. But it saddened me to notice that before the end of the day, ang mga kandidato daw amoy bombay din. And not because their platforms and their promises suck.

I heard that in the city the going rate was Php 1000.00 to Php 2000. Bigtime! But I haven't yet met someone who had actually received. Puro bati-bati lang. Bati ko, kon magboto ka pabor sa kandidato gaan ka Php 2000.00. Kon indi ka pabor, gaan ka Php 1000.00, indi ka lang magkadto sa presinto.

You like my fearless forecast for Iloilo?

For President, it's going to be a landslide for Noynoy Aquino. Iloilo is a yellow country. Yellow ribbons and Aquino posters are on cars, houses, posts... everywhere. Even the posters and streamers of Gloria Arroyo's candidates are in yellow. Yellow is subliminal as a plain yellow ribbon speaks loudly of someone's political leanings. Iloilo is trumpeted by Manny Villar as his home province. But Villar is seen here as a filthy rich corrupt businessman. People are waiting for his money. But so far, they have not received any. And to Villar's dismay, Frank Drilon happens to be from Iloilo. And Drilon speaks Ilonggo. While Villar speaks only about how poor he was before he hit bigtime.

For Vice President, it's Mar Roxas. Period.

For Senators, the surprise win is that of Risa Hontiveros-Baraquel.

For Governor, it's hazy. I hope the young one wins. But many believe that the old one who was also a former Governor, was never accused of corruption during his time, unlike the outgoing Governor who is the father of the young one. Ergo, it's OK to vote for the old one.

And how about my choices?

For President, the foremost quality I am looking for is trustworthiness. I will vote for the one I trust to prosecute Gloria Arroyo relentlessly and credibly, for crimes she committed while in office. Future Presidents must be given a lesson that they can not do anything they want as President because they can be prosecuted after their terms. For this I am voting for Noynoy Aquino.

For Vice President, I am voting for Mar Roxas.

I am voting for all the Liberal Party Senators, except Sergio Osmena and Ralph Recto. In their places, I am voting for Satur Ocampo and Liza Maza. Aquino and Roxas need all the help they can in procecuting Arroyo and in furthering the cause.

For Partylist, it's Akbayan.

In the local level, it's too personal. Iloilo is a small place. Candidates are friends, acquaintances, fraternity brods, or blood relatives. I'd rather keep silent on this.@

Saw this streamer in Capiz. Board Memeber is a new position up for grabs only in Capiz.

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Piyesta sa Tiring

May 3 is Bgy. Tiring's fiesta. It follows the fiestas of Bgy. Talanghauan (May 1) and Bgy. Pamuringao-Garrido (May 2). Tomorrow, May 4, is Bgy. Duyan-duyan's fiesta. In the sleepy town of Cabatuan, famous for being the repository of the thunderous noise and the toxic fumes of the jet planes landing and taking off from the New Iloilo Airport, everybody is looking forward to the fiesta month of May as a month to socialize and to gain extra pounds for free, in preparation for the lean months of tag-kiriwi or tag-gurutom. Such is the fun of the fiesta month. In the morning, everybody rushes out to pig out on cornucopias of catered or home-cooked dishes. In the afternoon, many rush to buy Diatabs; or complain of dizziness or difficulty in breathing. It could be heatstroke. Or worse, high blood or heartstroke due to uncontrolled intake of estofado, sarciado, letchon,a cocktail of softdrinks and a hodgepodge of salads laced with artificial flavorings. But still many go home with smiles on their faces. As their horde of children and pet dogs walk after them, with bloated tummies and pork oil stains on their lips. The day has passed with free delicious foods only a fiesta could offer. Ahhh... life is good when food is free. Tomorrow there's another fiesta. Makalibre na naman.

I was in my farm checking the soil whether it was ready for plowing after a heavy downpour. (PAGASA announced that it seeded the clouds to produce rains. The seering El Nino dried the rivers and lack of water had become a serious issue among local politicians in this election season.) I thought that the soil was not ready. Indi na lang ako mag-arado. Much to the glee of my friends who had cajoled me since yesterday to go with them to attend Tiring's patronal fiesta. To my friends' minds, fiestas are the best legacy of Spain to the Philippines. I donned my shorts and tshirt with a portrait and signature of Jose Rizal emblazoned in front. I wondered if my friends really liked to bring me to the fiesta or they just wanted a free ride in my airconned car. Grabe gid man kainit ang panahon.

I grudgingly went with the group. They planned to go to the house of a friend of a friend of a friend of my cousin. In our impoverished village, a friend of a friend to the nth degree is also a friend worth sharing your house and your meals. I went with them because they assured me that we were going to the house of a friend (to the nth degree) which was located across the river and about a kilometer from the main road. A virtual adventure. Sounded exciting. And I liked going to fiestas where food is served not on metal chafing dishes but on platters or bowls used during family meals. Daw kilala ka gid sang tagbalay because with ordinary serving dishes, the ambiance is homey and personal. With chafing dishes, I feel like, nagakaon ako sa himatayan. Or in commercial establishments. (Even if I pay in restaurants, at least aircon. Wala heatstroke. And I can complain endlessly about the food with too much salt, too much oil, too much eVAT. And which I can not do in fiestas where the host could have probably nangutang pa sa bombay para mapakaon ang mga estranghero kapareho ko.) Therefore, during fiestas I avoid the fancy houses along the roads. Just like in Tiring. Almost always, in these fancy houses, the hosts display their chafing dishes as if they use these everyday at mealtime, even if their dapli is baringon, pinakas, o pinamarhan nga sapsap.

It was really a fiesta ambiance in Tiring. The road was festooned with colored banderitas and streamers to welcome guests to the fiesta. Both sides of the main hi-way were converted into parking areas. The air smelled of letchon baboy.

We turned towards the river. We had a hard time passing through because of the parked vehicles beside the narrow dirt road. And when I got near the river, we just parked our vehicles on the bank as we were sure no flood would happen that day. It was nearly 1 pm and was scorchingly hot. Grabe. It was good that this place was far from the other houses and we seemed to be the only souls lost in this part of Tiring. I didn't like the sight of us mature people braving the heat, the dust and the far distance just to eat in the fiesta. Mga mal-am na pero dalok pa. Can we not afford the food and therefore we went through this hardship just to have a taste of it? But when I see the young ones, walking in groups even under the noonday heat, daw nami tanda lantawon. Daw bagay kananda maglagaw, ma-miesta kag mag-enjoy. Pero ang mga mal-am, daw mga dalok lantawon.

We parked our cars beside the river. And we negotiated the far distance to our destination as if this was our only chance to taste fiesta food. But we were relieved by the thought that nobody knew us and we were the only souls lost in this part of Tiring.

Finally, we arrived in our destination. We were introduced to the hosts and they were very accomodating. They regarded us as friends they've known for years even if we've just met. Di ba we were friends to the nth degree? When the other guests before us finished eating, the hosts offered us plates and usherred us to the dining table laden with food. And, yes, there was no chafing dish. I felt I was part of the family. I learned from the hosts that this place was already Guiboangan, a barangay adjacent to Tiring. But eversince they came to realize it, they were making handa during Tiring's fiesta and not during Guiboangan's fiesta.

It was easy to identify a house with lots of handa by looking at its backyard.

This house was our destination. We were given a warm welcome by our hosts.

We ate heartily as if we had not eaten breakfast. And as if we also ate our fill for dinner. Mga dalok gid. Then as we were about to finish eating, we were given glasses of punch with freshly squeezed orange juice. May pulp bits pa. When we were through, another batch of newly arrived guests took their positions beside the table. And the platters and bowls were refilled with putahe from a nearby big caldero. It was already past 2pm and it seemed that the stream of manugpamiesta had not abated. Grabe. The humble house had more handa than we ever had in our house during Jaro fiesta!

Estofado.


KBL - kadyos, baboy, langka


Valenciana


Morcon


Ice drop, or belbit, sold in front of the house. It seemed that the ambulant vendor was also a guest in the house. And while enjoying a free meal, he too earned from selling belbit to other guests. Practical and enterprising, indeed.

I went out of the house to have fresh air. You don't know what's going to explode from the guts of newy fed people. Especially people who ate as if they were born solely to eat. The humble house could just explode with hydrogen sulfide!

Outside the house there were still many guests. It seemed they came ahead of us and they'd already eaten but were just resting and waiting for the next wave of famishness so they could again attack the bottomless servings on the dining table.

Outside the house, guests were still arriving. While others were resting and waiting for another serving.

Some guests were also leaving. Possibly they were going to other houses of their friends to the nth degree. And taste a different set of dishes. And compare who had the best valenciana, the best letchon, the best salad. Or they could use the comfort room to unload their guts for another chance at pigging out.

As we went home, we passed by happy old people going home. And happy young people resting under trees and without intention of going home. To them it was still happy hour. Groups of happy men huddled in front of houses with bottles of beer and cheap liquor. I think this is the spirit of a fiesta - just be happy irregardless of your status in life. Be happy. Tomorrow will take care of itself.

It was still early but we headed straight home. Wala pa mga hubog. So it was safer. When I was a kid, after a fiesta, news would filter out nga may napatay sa fiesta. Kon waay napatay, indi sadya ang fiesta. That was my belief then. And today the fiesta was really masadya. Halaaaa....

There used to be a hanging bridge in this place. It was very useful to the residents of Tiring and Guiboangan. But the floods brought by typhoon Frank destroyed the bridge. Now, the people are using this tied bamboo poles that float when the water rises.


Living driftwood.




Top, serisa or aratiles. Above and below, kamonsil or camachille. Both fruits abound in the riverbank.

@

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