Most often I call my classmates Manong or Manang, or Iyay for obvious reasons. Now I call them the Psst! Group. Psst! is not an acronym for a deadly group of suicide bombers (similar to the TBS 13 or True Brown Style 13, a fraternity of youngsters in Iloilo who, as part of their initiation, are allegedly killing taxi drivers after taking their cash collections), nor a pseudo society of souls who are fond of looking back to their past because the only future they can look forward to is their bleak retirement. I don't even refer to the popular meaning of Psst as Practice Safe Sex Today. Many of my classmates regard sex as a verb in the past tense. Never associated with Today. Period. If you get my drift.
But going back to Psst!
Some members of the Psst! Group. Taken after the last rites for the late wife of Ernie C. at Forest Lake Memorial Park, Manduriao, Iloilo City, Nov 27, 2010.
I call this group Psst! because when they hear somebody say Psst! they will automatically turn their heads to the source of the sound. And even if the first time, the second time and the nth time they discover that the Psst! is intended for somebody else, yet the next time they hear another 'Psst!' they will still turn their heads towards the sound, unmindful of their previous experience. Parang di na natuto. Haven't they heard about the boy who cried 'Wolf!'?
Will somebody lecture this group about Classical Conditioning or the theories of Pavlov and Skinner? Over a can of maram-an?
Pero, with all the shortcomings, I still look forward to meeting my classmates and the banters that I share with them. Daw nami gid man mag-estorya kang mga nagreligad. Because… come on, can I talk about the stock market with these people? So we talked about our past.
The few times that my classmates would meet, we really make the occasion special. Even if we just huddle for a few minutes with not even a plate of peanuts or butong pakwan in sight. We talk of the days we were classmates in high school, our antics and ambitions then, and our lives now as bread winners, some as doting lolos and lolas, and a few as still coy virgins who remained untouched (kuno) and unmarried in their menopausal years.
Frankly, I sometimes am embarrassed to call my classmates ‘Klasmeyts’ especially in front of my kids. Because - I have to be tactless – they just looked so old as in mal-am gid. Of course, they are still not legally senior citizens. But when left on their own, they would chatter the whole day about their apos, their arthritis and other ailments, the pang-tuition of their college-age children and other financial woes, or the witches or aswangs who happened to be their in-laws. Will somebody tell these people to have a life? Come on. You talk of these topics with a maram-an on hand. And you share buyo, bunga, and other sangkap with the mal-am you are talking with. Try to eavesdrop on the yuppies. Are these the topics they are talking about?
Well, in one of our talks, they mentioned some familiar names.
We had some klasmeyts in high school, according to them, who didn’t allow anyone to copy their answers during exams. Mga dalok gid. They covered their answers as if these were for their eyes only. They folded the top portion of their answer sheets over the items they were answering and they stooped low over their papers so nobody would see what they were writing. As if they were really sure that their answers were right. Their answers were like their panties – they had to pull their skirts down so nobody could have an idea of the color, or if they even wore panties. But look where these dalok nga mga klasmeyts are now. Daw wala man asenso sa pangabuhi. They are not as successful professionally as those merely copying answers during exams. Agto ka sa balay nanda, baw grabe agwanta mo nga para indi ka mangihi. Kay hadlok kaw mag-agto sa anda CR. Basi indi lang toko sa dingding ang makita mo. Mayad pa mangihi sa baid kudal.
And this klasmeyt nga seaman – kapitan sa barko. He was so embarrassed when his son saw his board exam rating. His rating was gakabit nga daw wasay. But he regained his composure. He told his son, ‘Look at your mother. Grabe kataas ang board exam niya. But her 1-year salary is much less than my 1-month salary.’
And that klasmeyt who, when everybody was asked by the school nurse to bring individual stool specimen to school for laboratory analysis, he brought a big Nescafe bottle filled to the brim with his stool. And he was proud to show his loot before the class. Our teacher shrieked and ran fast out of the classroom as if she saw a scary monster.
And that klasmeyt who was so dumb in Math she only memorized the multiplication table for 1's. 1 x 1 = 1. 1 x 2 = 2. 1 x 3 = 3. And so on. Tapos na ang klase di pa nya mamemorize ang 2's.
And that teacher who was so motherly outside, but a terror inside the classroom. Kapila niya ginbunggo sa blackboard ang ulo ni dumb klasmeyt in Math. This teacher's behavior may lead to dismissal and a criminal case now. But during our time, teachers could be so despotic and physically cruel.
At times, the topic became personal. The target of the ribbing is usually the klasmeyt na laon or spinster. Why are there spinsters? Nobody courted them? Males statistically fewer than females? And the spinster answered back, by choice naman daw ang kanyang pagiging laon. Meaning, ginusto nya. Talaga? Inspite of the pocket books with lots of pasaring sa mga pangyayari sa kama? Inspite of the boys who talk dirty na dapat lang pakuluan ang mga bunganga? Inspite of the TV shows na PG pero standard ang torrid kissing scenes ni bidang lalaki and a retinue of female characters in different stages of undress?
Then the question: 'Ti, waay gid ti guwapo ikaw nga nakita?'
And the answer: 'Ay raku nga guwapo eh. Pero ang gusto nanda indi ti guwapa, kundi guwapo man.'
I remembered our spinster neighbor. She was beautiful, fair, kutis porselana. She was my bordmeyt when I was in college. She was at that time working as a salesgirl. Long after I was already working, I heard that she died of breast cancer. But before that, she usually passes in front of our house and took notice of my nieces. Many times, while playing with my nieces, she would just cry so loud, complaining that she had no children of her own to take care of her as she was already diagnosed with cancer. When reminded that she had many nephews and nieces, she would complain that the kids were only good to her if she had money. Possibly, if she could only turn back the hands of time, she would have asked any tambay, sikad driver, or kargador to impregnate her just so she would have a biological child to accompany her during her cancer years. Or nagpangamang siya kang ana mga bordmeyt para lang magbusong. But she was so suplada and picky when she was still young.
And the banters and recollections continue. Daw kang san-o lang. Psst! Ti, may sugpon o dugang kamo?
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Psst! Group
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Spiderfighting or 'paupas ka damang'
I got entangled into the web of this kid stuff called paupas ka damang when I noticed some kids skirting the perimeter fence of my farm, intently looking for something among the shrubs and trees. I asked my caretaker what the kids were doing. He answered that the kids were looking for spiders as paupas ka damang is currently the favorite past time in schools.
I approached the kids and asked them if they had already caught some spiders. They showed me matchboxes, with partitions inside, containing spiders. I told them about the role of spiders in nature and that we need to protect them. I didn’t know if the kids heard me.
Paupas ka damang, with two spiders jousting on a stick.
‘Sir, raku damang diyan sa inyo, paupas ta.’
Well, I didn’t like to be killjoy. So I asked them to show me how to do paupas ka damang. They readily agreed. And the paupas started. It was fun, though I pity the spiders.
In a spider match, a kid must be skillful to hold the stick without touching the spiders.
It was not the first time I witnessed paupas ka damang. When I was a kid in Iloilo years ago, one of our past times was paupas ka damang, or spiderfighting - a version of cockfighting where, instead of cocks, we used spiders as the centerpiece of the action. We caught wild spiders and let them fight on a foot-long stick. The winner was the spider that successfully subdued its opponent and subsequently wrapped the victim with its web to become its meal. I remember how we cheered when this happened. We usually did paupas ka damang after the harvest season when the rice fields were either covered with weeds and shrubs, or replanted with corn.
A deadly finale. At the end of the fight, the victor throws its sticky web upon the immobilized loser.
When I outgrew this macabre sport, I discovered that my nephew who was in the elementary grades, was also hooked into this activity. He was studying at the Colegio de San Jose in Jaro, Iloilo City. The school may be in the city and ran by Catholic nuns, but the students were not spared from the popularity of spiderfighting, which I thought was only popular among kids in the rural areas who could easily catch spiders from nearby fields. My nephew saved his pocket money intended for food in school, and used it to buy wild spiders from enterprising boys loitering outside the school’s gates. Other boys, and even girls, in his school were also buying spiders – the boys bought spiders based on the length and size of its legs, while the girls chose the spiders with the cutest and the most likeable colors. My nephew would go home and boast of his spiders he kept inside a matchbox. He would slowly open the matchbox to show us the spiders, while at the same time slightly blowing at his prized possessions so they would continue curled inside the matchbox and would not scamper away. One time, one of his spiders escaped and was seen by a niece, his cousin, crawling on the floor. Though slightly frightened, my niece stepped on the crawling insect, and turned it into a splattered mesh. Seeing his prized spider – equivalent to a healthy serving of sandwich and juice in the school canteen - turned into a drop of ketchup, my nephew cried and rolled wildly over the floor as if his purpose in life was to polish our floor with his school uniform. Amidst wails and tearful threats to destroy all the barbies and toys of his spiteful cousin, my nephew threatened with finality that he would only stop crying if he was given another spider. So, together with my sister who was the mother of the spiteful cousin, we scoured the back of our neighbors’ houses, hoping that they were not cleaned for years so a spider would find it conducive to spreading its web near the mouths of its cindered and dusty crannies. Alas, we caught not just one, but three plump house spiders – their bodies bloated by so much food from such a dirty place, and their limbs so short and skinny with not so much exercise as food was literally crawling to their mouths in such a darkened place. And my nephew stopped crying as his eyes twinkled upon seeing what to me were yacky creatures. Whether he became popular in school because of the house spiders was another story.
When opening the matchbox containing the caught spiders, a kid must gently blow the spiders to keep them from escaping.
But my nephew too outgrew spiderfighting as he graduated to internet networking sites. Like a spider, he stays sedentary in front of the computer virtually surrounded by his web of sites, and patiently waits for whatever spook or interesting visitor that gets stuck into his webby rants.
The common container for spiders is an empty matchbox with built-in partitions inside.
A stylized container for spiders.
I don’t know if kids in other countries also enjoy spiderfighting. What I know is that foreigners are aware of the poisonous venom spewed by wild spiders, while the National Geographic Channel would warn people to keep away from wild spiders. And NG was not particularly referring to tarantulas. I also know that kids and high school students in the provinces continue to love paupas ka damang inspite of school topics like animal conservation and efforts of LGUs (local government units) to ban catching of spiders because the activity disturbs the ecosystem in the fields. Spiders are also considered farmer-friendly, as spread around through LGU seminars on Integrated Pest Management.
Damang. Following the glint of its web against the sunlight, I discovered this wild spider, curled up under an orchid petal.
When will the paupas end? I reckoned that when I was a kid, our past times or games changed with the season. Perhaps, it would be paupas ka damang today. Next it would be bug-oy ka sigay…. then, pityew… then tayhup and pitik using rubber bands… and bug-oy using patani… then taksi… kag damo pa. Yes, we didn’t have computer games and cellphones. But we enjoyed our childhood days just the same.@
Originally posted: November 11, 2009; 10:12 PM
Common things we fail to see
It's rainy season. The plants are green and the wild flowers are bursting with colors.
Lantaw ako sa ugsadan. Just then I realized, ang dami ko pa lang na-miss. Colors are everywhere. Sobrang ganda pala ng mundo. I missed the simple things. Sobrang busy kasi in making a living. Always busy. We have to make money. We have other priorities. We have to look at bigger things to make life better for everyone. We are too important to see and enjoy the trivial things.
Then I remembered my high school Literature. Yon bang poem ni Ralph Waldo Emerson. Ang The Rhodora. Until now, memorize ko pa rin. Actually, ang memorize ko lang ay ang linyang '...if eyes were made for seeing, then Beauty is its own excuse for being.' But who cares? The lines had become so popular, Emerson could have meant the colors in my backyard.
Here's Emerson's poem. And the pictures of what he could have meant. Enjoy.
The Rhodora
by Ralph Waldo Emerson
On being asked, Whence is the flower?
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.
@
Originally posted: July 27, 2009; 2:42 PM
Friday, September 10, 2010
Of local royalties and royal marches
September 10 is the patronal fiesta of the town of Cabatuan in Iloilo. The patron saint is St. Nicolas de Tolentino, who is also the patron saint of the towns of Lambunao and Guimbal. Both towns which are also in the province of Iloilo, are also celebrating their fiestas today.
People run out of their homes to see a pirate ship sail on the streets of Cabatuan, about 30 kilometers away from the nearest navigable sea.The ship, with trapunto-like bellowing sails and sturdy cannons may have snatched some attention from Their Majesties, The Fiesta Queen and Her Consort. But it sure adds a lot of drama and novelty to the otherwise staid annual festivity.
What's a fiesta without the parades and the fiesta queens? In Cabatuan, traffic has to be re-routed, offices are closed, and most of the populace troop to the poblacion to join the parade or to gawk at the fineries of the royal princesses and entourage. The food, the bazzar, and the perya are just side dishes to the smorgasbord of sights only witnessed during the fiesta.
Part of the royal entourage are the singit boys. They are the ones who carry long bamboo poles to reach out to the overhead electrical wires for the safe passage of the royal floats.
Little princes and princesses.
Seasonal fruits are refreshing sights on the sidelines.
Tan Tono, the mythical founder of Cabatuan, may have wondered at all these ordered chaos. He may have founded the town, but only a few knew the actual date he formalized this sitio. And I never heard of any activity to celebrate Tan Tono's efforts. His cold statue under the shadow of the towering Catholic Church and the expensive patronal fiesta are reminders that religion is primordial in the lives of Cabatuananons.
All the pictures I took from the vantage point of the ordinary mortal who could only be in the sidelines and never near touching distance of the royals; and outside the coronation shrine. My feet are still caked with clay. (As a consolation, I was given an invite to sit beside the royals inside the covered gym but I got cold feet as I was informed I could only mingle with the royals if I wear a 'coat and tie'. Well, I have my mothballed americana hanging in my car in peparation for the main event. But the sweltering heat and humidity reminded me that americana is not the tolerable wear of plebeian Pinoys. So I donned my Tshirt and just took pictures along the route of the procession and outside the coronation shrine. I just thought I could never be a royal; I will never be invited to any royal gathering again; and I will never have a chance to rub elbows with the royals during the lifespan of my camera.)
Below are more pics I took during the royal parades. (If you don't see the slideshow, please click on the link you see below. The link is only shown in the absence of the slideshow.)
@
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
