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?@

Read More...

Start of post only...

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. @

Read More...

Start of post only...

Story from Mr. Panguy-ab

This story was emailed to me by Mr. Panguy-ab.

I could have written a similar story with a better plot. But I am so drained lately. I've just been from a marathon of grad school exams, I thought I'm now brain dead from such a hurdle. My brain might be dead, but my fingers are not. So I have to make a post, even if such is ingloriously plagiarized.

Btw, Mr. Panguy-ab is a UK resident. But he is so bored by his hapless existence in a nondescript county miles away from London that he makes panguy-ab, or yawning, a favorite hobby. In his neighborhood, everybody is absorbed with work, nobody has the time to even chat with him. His boredom sometimes mutates to homicidal tendencies especially because, as a first time UK college student and a transferee from the University of the Philippines, he finds out that his subjects which seem awefully and nosebleedingly hard to his classmates, are to him nothing but reviews of his high school subjects in the Philippines; and a slap to his nationalistic fervor - while he guiltily admits he has never finished reading and analyzing Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, his English class takes up nothing but the works of William Shakespeare, somebody he has never admired and thought of existing. And he is so bored with the Shakespearean lines he could stab Romeo if he sees him, or snub Juliet if he ever meets her. Yes, William, a rose by whatever name, still smells as sweet. And to Mr. Panguy-ab, Juliet by whatever pseudonym or guise, still sounds and looks irritating. So he takes to panguy-ab, irregardless of whether he is before friends, Romans, and countrymen without ears.

Here goes the story...

The Vote for Heaven or Hell

A powerful senator dies after a prolonged illness. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the senator.

"Well, I'd like to but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven."

"I'm sorry but we have our rules," replies St. Peter.

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. Nearby are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is in evening attire and very happy to see him. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.

Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly guy and who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that the time flies, before he realizes it, the senator has to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves while the elevator rises.

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.

"Now it's time to visit Heaven."

The next 24 hours pass with the senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well then, you've spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity." The senator reflects for a minute, then answers, "Well, I would never have said it, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. Now the doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags.

The Devil comes over to him and lays his arm on his neck.

"I don't understand," stammers the senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a beautiful club and we ate lobster and caviar and danced and had a great time. Now there is only a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.

The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted for us!"@

Read More...

Start of post only...

Yanggaw

Yanggaw is an Ilonggo term meaning ‘to convert to being a witch or aswang’. If used as a noun, yanggaw means ‘a new convert; a new witch or aswang’. Technically, yanggaw connotes witchery and must be used sparingly and in private conversations or in whispers only. However, lately, the term has evolved into a common idiom which is used openly in jest. It loosely means ‘to convert’, or ‘a convert’ without the aswang connotation. So, a new member of a group of drinking buddies can be referred to as a yanggaw; or a new member of a barkada is a new yanggaw. Similarly, somebody who has just been addicted to smoking or to a new Boy Band is said to be na-yanggaw.

Yanggaw is also the title of an indie movie currently being talked about in Iloilo. The movie has earned awards and citations and is especially popular among the students from the elementary to the graduate school.

But unlike other indie (for independent, or a movie made outside any major film studio) movies, Yanggaw is not about sex, sexuality, and sex organs. Yanggaw is about culture, traditions, and beliefs which may clash with modern day living.

But what makes Yanggaw a hit in Iloilo is that, it is a mainstream Philippine movie that depicts a slice of Ilonggo provincial life. And most of all, the movie was dubbed in Ilonggo and is topbilled by Ilonggo actors.

It is a story about a yanggaw in a rural baranggay which is, based on the names of places in the movie, somewhere between the municipalities of Oton and Tigbauan. And possibly, it is a story common in many Philippine rural towns told in a hush and only to trusted friends, lest the ire of the concerned is stoked. Or worse, the rumour monger gets the sinister attention of the real aswang and the aswang stalks him (the rumour monger) till he dies of fear or from loss of blood after being disemboweled or dismembered by the aswang before he is turned into sushi or dinuguan.

Yanggaw, as the title connotes, is a horror movie. But unlike other horror movies, it does not use heavy make-up, prosthetics, zombies, alien creatures, and ghosts which tend to be hilarious rather than horrifying. It does not need an expert make-up artist or a cinematic engineer to create an aswang. An aswang is just any common folk around us. He or she can even be the person sitting beside you right now. Yanggaw creates fear through implied scenes and situations which become vivid in the viewers’ imaginations. It is a researched movie, playing on the aswang image and derring-do as cultivated in the Filipino psyche through years of story telling from childhood to adulthood. Scenes are made real by terminologies like ‘buyag’ (means ‘the ire of evil spirits’), which were long lost after the aswang-believing generation has died or has been eaten by the ghost of alzheimer’s.

I like the movie, not necessarily because of its technical aspects, but on its way of unravelling the story and its ability to capture the attention of the viewer from start to finish with feelings of non-stop excitement and anticipation. The dialogue is simple and real, with no flowery lines of written prose. The scenes are heart-rending especially to a family person. The line ‘a face only a mother can love’ pertaining to a super ugly baby is truly reflected in the movie. A father will do whatever he can, even to kill another person, just to protect his child, even if his child is a known aswang. Parents will never abandon their child, even if they know that their child is an aswang. And to do the extreme of killing his aswang child , a father will do it but with the welfare of his child in his mind. ‘Patya na lang ko, Tay’, the daughter implores her father because she is an aswang, a beast. The father will do it, but will first advice the daughter in a fatherly tone to first close her eyes. ‘Piyunga lang mata mo’, so the child will not see death coming. And death will be sudden with no pain at all to the aswang.

Ti malantaw na kamo Yanggaw?

The first time I uploaded this post, I included an internet version of the movie which I found by sheer patience. But I took it out for professional reasons. Instead I placed a YouTube version of the trailer. Anyway, you still can find the internet version if you really search for it, and if it was not yet taken out.

The internet version is free. But please help the Philippine indie movie industry. For many of you who are abroad and who can not watch personally the movie in its commercial screening, please advice your kins in the Philippines to watch Yanggaw in its commercial run. Or if they prefer the VCD version, please advice your kins to buy the original copies and NOT the pirated ones.

@

Read More...

Start of post only...

Dinagyang Fever officially starts; Calle Real

The actual Dinagyang is still months away, in the last week of January 2010. But starting today, the sound of drums will drown the days of the Ilonggos. The Dinagyang celebration officially starts today, October 16. And practices of participating tribes will again be common sights in school campuses and side streets in the city.

I heard the news about the opening ceremony over my car radio. The radio announcer gave instructions to motorists to avoid portions of Iznart, Muelle Loney, Guanco, and JM Basa Streets as these were the routes of the opening parade. Of course, no traffic will be allowed to pass the front of Freedom Grandstand as the program will be held there.

I had an appointment along Plaza Libertad. So I left my car in the Provincial Capitol parking area and just walked to my destination.

JM Basa St. taken on a Sunday morning last August 2009 from the Freedom Grandstand.

Walking along Calle Real was without hassle. Calle Real (literally Royal Street), the Iloilo City strip spanned by JM Basa St., Iznart St., Plaza Libertad and Plazoleta Gay, is no longer as crowded as before. People who come here are mostly after business transactions. Few come to shop as it is more convenient and safer to shop in the malls. The City government offices are temporarily transferred farther away. A number of the old art deco buildings are now abandoned and crumbling, or used as ukay-ukay stores. On the eastern side of JM Basa St., what used to be panciterias and textile stores, open only after dark as seedy girlie joints or gay bars. The stores on the western side seem to fare better. Socorro Drugstore, Seven-Seven, Commoner, Sam’s, Shanghai - stores I’ve known since childhood - are still operating. Cinema, Allegro, and Golden Superama - the best movie houses before – are now Korean stores selling cheap items that easily break. Only one movie house is still operating. It shows old bold flicks which could not be shown in movie houses inside the malls. Hoskyn’s Compound, touted as the first establishment in the Philippines to operate as a mall, still exists. Keben Theatre is now a computer school and a host of small offices and clinics. Summerhouse which used to serve the best pancit lomi in Iloilo, transferred to another location. Dainty’s still exists and still serves the best pancit as before. But while other popular restaurants have sprung branches and have gone into franchising, Dainty’s remains as a hole in the Calle Real wall but nevertheless has maintained its loyal patrons. The IN restaurant before was Fatima. What is left of it now is just the concrete Fatima signage. Where it operated before is now a hardware store. But Roberto’s, the small restaurant popular for its take-out counter, still attracts queues of customers, like before. Vendors hawked their wares and I could smell whiffs of peanuts fried with garlic and cheap apples which reminded me of Christmas. When I was a small kid, apples only appear in Iloilo during Christmas time. My parents would bring us to Calle Real to shop and Calle Real smelled of apples. We bought the cheap smaller variety because we could not afford the bigger Red Delicious. We only ate apples during Christmas.

I was disappointed when I reached my appointment because the traffic along the route seemed normal. There was no parade that choked the traffic. I could have taken my car all the way to my meeting place.

(Above photos)An Ati tribe waiting for its turn to perform, and the same tribe while performing.

But it was a different story when my appointment was over. As I retraced my steps towards the Freedom Grandstand, a wall of humanity four-persons deep blocked my way. The Dinagyang opening program had started and traffic was rerouted. Actually, the crowd now was a small fraction compared to the crowd during the Dinagyang culmination activity. But nevertheless traffic could not pass through. And I was thankful I parked my car farther away.

(Above photos)No these are not parts of a performance, but some tribe members perched on mid-street fences to get a better view of the performances.

The afternoon was hot and humid. In this condition, walking along Calle Real in business attire was uncomfortable indeed. But seeing the usual places and happenings that evoked memories of the old happy childhood days when my only problem was how not to take a bath without being noticed by my mother, the walk was worth all the sweat and the grime in my collar.@

Read More...

Start of post only...

Iloilo Airport secondary access road

I still avoid the Duyan-duyan route to Cabatuan. The Duyan-duyan road is a turugban when it rains (and it rains almost daily) and a dusty and bumpy dirt road during sunny days. Of course, I can always close my windows. But I don't like to punish the residents with dust fumes each time I pass. Besides, there usually is a traffic build-up because many portions use only a single lane for two-way taffic.

Sometimes I like to stop and have a cup of coffee in this establishment along the road leading to the airport. But my companions are always killjoy. We better proceed daw to the city, where we can have many choices of where to pass the time.

Good thing that the Tiring to New Iloilo Airport road is still passable. The dirt road was used at the time the airport was being constructed. Now, it serves as a shortcut to the airport. It is not asphalted but, at this time, is better than the Duyan-duyan road. Only few light vehicles, aside from the tricycles, carabaos and hand-held power tillers, are using this road. Sometimes I find myself the lone occupant of the road all through-out the trip. Therefore I usually stop along the way to talk to the farmers and just to commune with the bucolic setting.

Through my frequent stops, I rediscovered the smell of rice as it ripens on its stalk. I even took some rice seeds and tasted them. I looked for wild spiders which hide behind rice leaves.

When I was a kid, we play with the spiders by letting them fight on a foot long piece of bamboo stick. We cheered and clapped as the spiders went into a jostle. Our cheers reached fever-pitch as the spider which won the fight wrapped the hapless loser in layers of sticky web. We looked for spiders by following their glistening webs against the sunlight.

Now, there are no webs and possibly no spiders. Could be the pesticides sprayed on the ricefields. And I just munched on some fresh rice seeds.

Farther away some farmers are readying some paddies for planting while others are fixing the banks, we call kahon, of the paddies.

Near the airport is an aeronotics school. Walking distance from this school are bamboo shanties offering bedspace or room-for-rent to students and airport workers. Beside the road is a small sari-sari store which serves as mall, tambayan, or grocery for the transients.

I like this old and dusty dirt road. The scenery is very Filipino. Ricefields, farmers, nipu huts, carabaos, and white egrets - all positioned strategically as if painted on a canvass; the symmetry shattered only by the roar of the coming or the going of a jet plane.

The airport road is a model of a provincial road. But turning right to Tiring on this old dirt road is a turning point. This road is going to be modernized as an alternative access route to the airport. Diggings had already started and the link to the highway in Bgy. Tabucan had been inaugurated by government bigwigs.

Looking at the diggings and the hectares of productive ricefields that will be waylaid by the access route in the name of progress, I couldn't imagine the sacks of rice that will be sacrificed, the ecosystem that will be trummeled, and the bucolic scenery that will be lost forever.

@

Read More...

Start of post only...

A saint in the house of Arroyo

Hate her and bad-mouth her. But Gloria Macapagal Arroyo is assured of heavenly intercession amidst allegations of lying, cheating and stealing in high office - all mortal sins according to the Catholic doctrine. The Catholic faith is now working on making an Arroyo kin the second Filipino saint (after Lorenzo Ruiz, beatified in Manila on February 18, 1981 by Pope John Paul II , the first beatification ceremony held outside the Vatican, and elevated to Sainthood and canonized by Pope John Paul II in Vatican City, Rome on October 18, 1987) and the first saint from Iloilo.

Last Wednesday, PGMA and family flew in to Iloilo sans much noise and funfare, to join the Liturgical Celebration which marked the formal diocesan process of the cause of canonization of Mother Rosario Arroyo de la Visitacion at the St. Anne Parish Church in Molo, Iloilo City. Mother Rosario was the founder of Beaterio de Molo and the congregation of the Dominican Sisters of the Most Holy Rosary in Molo. The mass was officiated by Jaro Archbishop Angel Lagdameo.

PGMA and party were met at the airport by the Dominican nuns, a visibly old Raul Gonzales, Sr., unshaven Iloilo City mayor Jerry Treñas, Gov. Niel Tupas who stood far from the others, and other politicians and government functionaries possibly out to ask for electoral intercession.

And how is PGMA related to Mother Rosario?

Mother Rosario Arroyo was born in Molo, Iloilo City, Philippines. She was the only daughter of a wealthy couple, Don Ignacio Arroyo and Doña Maria Pidal. She had four brothers – Jose, a lawyer, became a senator in 1917; Mariano, a physician, became the governor of Iloilo in 1928; and the other two died in infancy. (Remember the Jose Pidal account divulged by Sen. Panfilo Lacson? Now you know where the account name came from.)

Jose Pidal, ah… Arroyo pala, later married Jesusa Lacson from Negros Occidental and had 7 children, one of whom was Ignacio Arroyo who later married Lourdes Zaragoza Tuason. Ignacio and Lourdes were the parents of Jose Miguel "Mike" Arroyo, as well as Ignacio Arroyo, Jr., the one who admitted in the Senate hearing to owning the Jose Pidal account.

Back to Mother Rosario…

At the age of 27 she entered the Congregation of the Dominican Sisters of Sta. Catalina de Siena. She was given the name Sr. Rosario Arroyo de la Visitacion. Following her piety, she donated her inheritance to the congregation and lived an austere life. Don Ignacio and Dona Maria gave up their residence in favor of the Sisters. A free school was built. The Dominican convent now stands on the site of the original Arroyo residence.

According to the Dominican Sisters of the Most Holy Rosary of the Philippines website, Mother Rosario was very observant of her vow of poverty. She loved simple things and was detached from material and worldly goods. She wore darned and patched clothing and had very few of them. Her simplicity enabled her to share what she had with the poor, sometimes even giving to the sick neighbors the food prepared for her. Vanity did not have a place in her heart. Despite her position and patrimony, she never boasted of them. She preferred the obscurity of the convent life.

And when will Mother Rosario become a full pledged saint?

The Catholic process of sainthood have four long steps – the Initiation led by the Bishop of the Diocese; the Investigation of the life and works of the candidate employing a "general promoter of the faith," or devil's advocate, whose role was to raise objections and doubts as regards the virtuosity of the candidate; the Beatification; and the Canonization. Each of the last two steps requires a miracle attributable to the candidate saint, and which was verified and confirmed by the Church.

Question: If PGMA becomes a Prime Minister in 2010, and her net satisfaction rating in surveys goes up to above zero in the coming months, will the Catholic Church consider these as miracles worth consideration in the pursuit of sainthood? @

Read More...

Start of post only...

San Joaquin, Iloilo

If you take the road from Iloilo City to Antique, the last town of Iloilo that you will pass by is San Joaquin. It is a 3rd class municipality and deemed un-touristy. It is one of the many blur of towns passed by if one opts to pass through Antique, coming from Iloilo, to Boracay.

But San Joaquin has some exciting spots to offer if only one stops by to look around. Its beaches along Tiolas, awashed with pebbles instead of sand, are havens to swimmers. But take note that the beaches are deep. Kantilyado. I remembered I nearly drowned in one of the beaches when I was still in college.


The ancient baroque San Joaquin Church is a must-see. It is made of limestone from the nearby town of Igbaras and coral stone which was abundant in San Joaquin. Like many other churches, it served in the past a dual purpose - as a look-out for sea-faring invaders and as an impregnable refuge for the town’s people in time of invasion. Today, the church is a beacon of the Catholic faith and a proud landmark of San Joaquin. The church’s façade is its most famous trademark and is unique in the Philippines. While other churches display saints, angels or holy objects on its facade, San Joaquin Church sports a mural of the victory of the Spaniards over the Moroccan forces in the Battle of Tetuan. So realistic and so detailed are the carvings that a viewer standing on the ground can see the facial expressions of the soldiers during the battle. In fact, the façade could have earned the church its recognition as a national historical landmark.



Outside the poblacion, as the road zigzags up the mountains to Antique, motorists can see stalls along the road selling bandi and other peanut condiments. (Reminds me of the mountain roads in Baguio where locals sell strawberry and ube jams.) The San Joaquin bandi and condiments are made by the locals and are good pasalubongs. A note to drivers: stall owners give the driver whatever item for sale he wants, as bonus for stopping by. I was always given a big bandi the size of a saucer, even if I drive a family vehicle - with only my wife, kids, and some nieces as passengers – and even if my passengers had already asked the needed paaman with their purchases after an intense bout of haggling.



San Joaquin is 53 kilometers south of Iloilo City. The road is asphalted and safe. The public utility jeepneys plying the area are somewhat too fast. And it seems embarrassing to apprise the driver when the local passengers seem not to care and they even seem to enjoy the fast ride.

Note: The pictures above were taken when we passed by the municipality of San Joaquin on our way back to Iloilo from Antique.@

Read More...

Start of post only...

New terminology: Fujiwhara Effect

Typhoon Pepeng (international codename: Parma), which lashed Northern Luzon last Saturday and exited the Philippines area of responsibility towards the direction of Taiwan on Sunday, returned back to the Philippines via Ilocos Norte, making landfall Tuesday night, packing peak winds of 105km and gustiness up to 135kph, the Pagasa said.

Pepeng's return was anticipated as it lingered for two days in the South China Sea.

The apparent change of heart of Pepeng was attributed to another typhoon Quedan (internationally designated as Melor), churning in the Pacific, 2,000 kilometers east of the Philippines. Quedan sucked in Pepeng affecting its direction.

Pagasa however added that the strength of the second landfall of Pepeng is not as strong as its first landfall in Cagayan last Saturday.

This dance of the typhoons is apparently not a new phenomenon. Experts call it the Fujiwhara Effect named after a Japanese meteorologist named Dr. Sakuhei Fujiwhara. In 1921, Dr. Fujiwhara determined that two storms will sometimes move around a common center pivot point.

Fujiwhara Effect has been used to describe the tendency of two nearby tropical cyclones to interact with each other. Sometimes they merge into one super typhoon.

In the case of Quedan, it didn't really made a landfall in the Philippines. It headed north at 22 kph toward Japan, and could possibly pull in Pepeng to follow a north northeast track.@

Read More...

Start of post only...

Typhoons in Luzon; storm in Iloilo

Sunday, the sun shone brightly all over the Philippines. Alleluia! There were intermittent rains in some parts of Luzon. But on the whole, the weather was good. The Department of Education ordered the resumption of classes on Monday except in those areas where there are still floods and in schools still occupied by evacuees.

TV news dwell on the typhoon Ondoy experiences and footages of the devastations wrought by typhoon Pepeng as it lashed Northern Luzon last Saturday afternoon. Typhoon Pepeng was indeed a super typhoon.

Iloilo was spared from the typhoons. But last week the sky was overcast and there were also heavy rains in Iloilo.

And a storm has been brewing in Iloilo for weeks already. And this storm is comical, entertaining, and many times stupid and pathetic. The storm I am referring to is in the field of politics. Elections may still be eight months from now. But to a true blue politician, May 2010 is just some weeks away. Politicians have started getting the voters’ attention months ago.

Currently in the eye of the political storm is incumbent Iloilo Governor Niel Tupas, Sr. Since last week, local radio stations have been airing his alleged misuse of government equipment in building his resthouse at Brgy. Juanico, Banate, Iloilo. Local TV stations showed video clips and photographs of dump trucks, a grader and a bulldozer working in the governor’s house. The green dump trucks are marked “Province of Iloilo” while the blue grader and bulldozer bear the official seal of the Banate municipal government.


In a radio interview, Tupas said the trucks never got near his house. But when shown with copies of the pictures, he said he only invited the drivers to have coffee and snacks when the heavy equipment passed by his house as they were getting quarry materials from a quarry site nearby. He added that the issue was politically-motivated.

It must be recalled that early this year, Gov. Tupas established a house at Brgy. Juanico and transferred his voter’s registration to the same barangay in preparation for his candidacy for congressman of the 4th congressional district of Iloilo opposite incumbent Rep. Ferjenel Biron. Gov. Tupas is on his third and last term as governor. The 1987 constitution limits the term of local officials to three 3-year terms.



As the alluded source of the video and pictures, Rep. Ferjenel Biron, in a radio interview, hedged the accusation, and rather lambasted Tupas for allegedly stashing so much ill-gotten wealth. In so many words, he questioned the capability of Tupas to build multi-million-peso houses on his capitol salary of P38,000 a month. He asked something like ‘Ano gid bala ang business ni Tupas nga nagmanggaranon gid siya?’ Biron, a medical doctor, owns a drug company and a chain of pharmaceutical outlets.

I would like to stress that the first time I heard about Biron was in the 2004 elections. It was the first election I witnessed since I transferred for good to the Philippines. In that election, I think the dirtiest was in the 4th congressional district of Iloilo, between Ferjenel Biron and Jesry Palmares who were running for Congressman. The fourth district might be far from Jaro where I live, but the radio and TV airtimes were inundated with political black propaganda of the two candidates against each other. The attacks were so vicious, I wondered how the two protagonists could still face the people with dignity after the elections.

If Tupas is graduating, who are aspiring to be the next Iloilo governor?

When typhoon Ondoy was bringing floods to Luzon, politicians in Iloilo were also flooding the halls of Hotel del Rio in Iloilo City to hear Congressman Arthur Defensor, Sr. and Board Member Richard Garin announce their decision to run for governor and vice governor, respectively, in the May 2010 elections. Defensor said that he has decided to run again for governor (he was Iloilo governor from 1992 to 2001) to “bring back the trust and confidence of the people on the provincial government.” He added there are reasons “to put an end to the continuity of the present leadership and restore faith and dignity among our people.”

By trust and confidence, he apparently refers to persistent reports of graft and corruption committed by the Tupas administration as reported in the media. And by continuity, of course he refers to incumbent Barotac Viejo Mayor Raul “Boboy” Tupas, Gov. Tupas’ son and anointed one.

Raul Tupas is reportedly running for Iloilo governor. His running mate is former Vice Governor Obet Armada. Surprise? If you recall, it was Armada who was overtly atat-na-atat to kick out Gov. Tupas during the capitol siege in 2007, when the military barged into the Iloilo capitol by breaking a glass wall to bodily drag Tupas out of the governor’s office. Tupas was suspended by the Ombusman for corruption. Defenders said he was suspended because he withdrew his support from President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo following the "Hello Garci" controversy. At the time of the capitol siege, Armada was the vice governor. He ran for governor, but lost, against incumbent Niel Tupas. Now, he will run again, but this time in tandem with the Tupas son. Oh, well, politics is addition.

And in Iloilo City?

Vice Mayor Jed Patrick Mabilog officially declared his intention to run for mayor of Iloilo City at the auditorium of the University of the Philippines in the Visayas (UPV). He will run against Chief Presidential Legal Counsel Raul Gonzales, Sr. and Presidential Assistant on Water Lorenzo Jamora. Gonzales was vocal about his plan to run for Iloilo City Mayor even while sitting as Justice Secretary. At that time, when asked about a possible clash with Mabilog, his partymate, he sounded boastful and confident. Bisan pila pa kuno ka Mabilog, or words to that effect. Now, that Mabilog has announced his mayoral bid, Gonzales sounded bitter and betrayed. He could tolerate being pitted with another elderly like Jamora but not with someone who could be younger than his son.

Lately, the two mayoral aspirants attacked each other’s declarations of Statement of Assets, Liabilities and Net Worth (SALN). The two accused each other of doctoring their SALN. And more skeletons from the closet will soon surface out. Abangan.

And the congressmen for the lone district of Iloilo City? It was tauted before that Iloilo City will be divided into 2 districts to accommodate Mayor Jerry Treñas who is in his third and last term as Iloilo City mayor. The incumbent congressman of Iloilo City is Raul Gonzales, Jr. But the bill is still in limbo as it is deemed unconstitutional.

Treñas is supposed to seek a higher position. But he is a sure loser if he runs as senator. So, congressman it must be. But he cannot yet announce his intention. He does not like to act ingrato kuno to Gonzales Sr. who said that Treñas owed his being mayor to him. Treñas and Gonzales Sr. and Jr. are in the same party. So Treñas cannot run under his party because of the incumbency rule. Besides Gonzales is a party bigwig. And how about Treñas’ P130-M Pavia housing scam? Raul could be holding some aces. But there is a signature drive in the city to ask Treñas to run for congressman. The group expects to gather 5,000 to 10,000 signatures by first week of October. So who said Treñas is not doing anything? Bisan ano basta ikaw ang topiko ka mga tawo.

But I think, the most awaited fight is in the fifth congressional district. Vice Governor Rolex Suplico is reportedly running against his cousin Niel Junjun Tupas, the incumbent and the governor’s son. Who said that blood is thicker than water? I pity the two. When they were kids, the first cousins might be the constant playmates, the best of friends with one ready to suffer bruises and black eyes to defend the other in a kiddy fight. Now that they are older, more mature, professionals, and able to discern right from wrong, they become bitter enemies. Everyone is awaiting what muck, dirt, and family heirloom will fly in the fifth district. Indeed, familiarity breeds contempt.

And have you heard this news? A graduating town mayor who is a sure loser if he runs in a higher office, is running as vice mayor instead. He is scouting for a winnable mayoral candidate to support and to run with. But there is a catch – the mayoral candidate must agree to serve only for one term because this graduating mayor plans to run again as mayor after three years. Noting that power is addictive, so far none of those eyed agreed to the scheming mayor’s agendum. And the mayor's wife who was rumoured to succeed her husband was too pragmatic to resign from her job. The mayor also parted ways with his partymate and long-time vice mayor because of the one-term issue. Ang friend niya nga SB nga popular pero masakiton, indi man kay hadlok mapatay sa hapo sa kumpanya. Amo na ang iya problema – ang makakita ti kandidato nga pang one term lang. Pero sin-o nga politico ang indi kapit-toko?

So, there. In politics, your dear friend today is your worst enemy tomorrow. And your bitter rival yesterday could be your ardent partymate today. Like typhoon Ondoy, sa politika weather-weather lang yan.

My friend wanted the campaign period to be now already. She likes to be shocked and at the same time to be entertained. Nakakasawa daw and telenovela.@

Read More...

Start of post only...

A big turn-out of church goers

Saturday has always been the day we attend the 5:30pm mass at St. Clement's Church.

This afternoon the children didn't go to mass with us. They went malling with their titas and cousins. We were a bit late. Nevertheless, we went straight to the usual pew we occupy near the front.

The church was filled to capacity. The big number of church goers was unusual. But then, these were unusual times. The parishioners could be doubly thankful for being spared from the onslaught of typhoon Ondoy.

The priest led the prayers of the faithful. It was specially composed to seek help during these times of never-before-experienced climatic tantrums. The homily was about love and marriage. Frankly, I felt sleepy during the homily. Daw ginaduyan ako. But during my scheduled sleeping time at night, waay gid ako ginatuyo. Ginakibang ako (Do I use this term right? Many times, I encounter terms that were used by my long-dead lolos and lolas, that already sound alien to me.)

Then came the communion. People lined the center and side ailes. Again, communicants were unusually so many. I was about to mention some typhoon supplicants when I noticed the communicants were mostly very young - too young to devote their lives to prayer (Di ba common impression sa mga young people, sa mall sila naga-agto. Mga mal-am kag mga manang lang ang naga-pass their time in the church. Of course, I don't consider myself mal-am. I am not religious. But I like religion, not necessarily Catholism. It brings order to life.)

Then I realized these so many young people were in the church because tomorrow, the Licensure Examination for Teachers (LET) would finally continue after it was postponed last Sunday, together with the Bar exams, because of typhoon Ondoy. The young people in the church were would-be LET takers (WLT). Tomorrow the BAR examination will also take place.

After the priest said the last prayers and exited, and as the regular mass goers headed for the exits, many WLTs headed to the bigger-than-life-size picture of the Mother of Perpetual Help near the altar, genuflected, and said more prayers. Some placed their hands or wiped their hankies on the glass surface. The scene was very solemn and very spiritual. If I were the Perpetual Succor, I will let them all pass the LET.

The recessional song ended. We turned back to the main door and was about to leave. But we stayed for a while because the front doors were just jammed with people. Many WLTs were there, saying more prayers with eyes closed or locked with the eyes of the saintly statues near the entrance. I was glad the kids were not with us because they always light candles after the mass. This evening, the candles area could not be seen because of the WLTs, five persons deep and in deep prayers before the candle stands. (If you are innocent of this Catholic practice, you might think the WLTs were standing there to warm their bodies before a fireplace lit with candles.)Even if the kids could pass by the immobile supplicants towards the bucket containing the candles, possibly there were no more unlighted candles left.

We went out of the church. There were still so many WLTs, giggling and planning where to go from the mass. Ang iba grabe gid ang Kinaray-a. Garagumo gid. Could be because the whole of Panay would take their LET in Iloilo City. Gani, tanan nga klase ka dialect nabatian ko.

Again, I repeated my prayer a while ago. Pangadi ko nga daad tanan nga LET takers buas makapasa. For a change, daad 100% and passing sa October 2009 Licensure Examination for Teachers. Pati na sa BAR exam. Impossible? When did you say, it is impossible for a flood to reach chest-high in the never-before-been-flooded subdivision where you live? @

Read More...

Start of post only...