Leaving sometimes isn’t a matter of choice. It’s coming back that is. The Hobbits of the shire travelled all over Middle-Earth, but they chose to come home, richer in every sense of the word. ~Patricia Evangelista

Photo Credits: Jcoop500

I went home last June primarily to celebrate my Mum’s birthday and at the same time to have Thanksgiving party for all the great things that happened the previous year. I go home practically thrice a year but these “coming homes” are spent mostly in Manila. I only spent three (3) the most in my “hometown”— my Barrio Siete. Don’t get me wrong, it does not mean that I abhor the idea of coming home to my Barrio Siete. It is just that most of my immediate relatives are now based in Manila.

My last month’s coming home was different. I stayed longer –meaning more than 3 days. On my third day I started to get restless, I coaxed my cousin and my niece to have a walk in town to buy bibingka and check the “ukay-ukay” shops.

This river used to be the centre of activity of most of the housewives. I remember every summer housewives flock to the river to do their laundry. While us– the KIDS will swim until we get very dark and our hair colour turned brown. During this season too, the OLDS would shoo us away telling us that the “mermaid” was crying the previous night. (It means that the mermaid is on “hunting-kid” season.) How bizarre, but as kids we believed and obeyed the OLDS. This year, when I saw the river, it looked very narrow. It looked more like a canal than a river. No more housewives doing their laundry and no more kids playing by the dike and swimming.

Second Stop. The Public Market.

I was not able to go inside the Public Market since it was UNDER CONSTRUCTION; thus, the vendors were in the streets. Surprisingly, some of the people (SUKI) whom we usually buy “stuff” like- tupig, patupat, nilagang mais, bibingka were still there. Only this time they were older and they have either their “apos” or “kasama” to help them. I was told that the public market has been under construction for some time now. Only this time, they were more determined to finish it. Don’t ask me why, for your guess is as good as mine. 2010? .

Third Stop. The Town Plaza.

This was where I learned how to ride a BIKE. Since we were poor, buying a bike means not eating for a month, my cousins and I would usually save our school allowance only to spend it renting a bike. When I visited the place it was deserted. No children playing, and the guy renting out bicycles was not there anymore (His spot was at the corner of the Plaza under a huge ACACIA tree which was believed to be haunted). Yes even the century old acacia was nowhere to be found. I wanted to ask, “Where are the kids?”, but I opted not for obvious reasons.

Fourth Stop. The Church.

The Catholic Church was burned almost 10 years ago, but unlike the public market NO construction is happening. Only the belfry is still proudly standing. I still remember that the church bells ring every six in the morning, 12 noon and six in the evening. Every time it rings at six in the evening, its a SIGNAL that all of us must be home or we get dressed down by our grandfather. His usual sermon “ Kung ang mga manok nagsi-apun na, kayo pa kaya. Kababae nyo pa naman” . My first taste of “male-chauvinist” statement. You must be wondering where masses were now being held? The basketball court inside the courtyard of the church compound was converted into a chapel. Now it was my turn to wonder, Saan kaya napupunta ang collections, to think that there was even a SECOND collection after the mass. Just asking, I don’t expect explanations for I am not interested anyway. I asked for “intellectual masturbation” purposes.

Last Stop. The Looban.

I think every town in the Philippine archipelago has its own version of LOOBAN. Half of my childhood was spent in Looban. When my father died of car accident when I was three, my mum decided to leave Manila and come home to her Barrio Siete. We stayed for several years in my grandparents’ house which was two (2) blocks away from the Plaza, Church and Public Market. Most of the neighbours there were distant relatives of my MUM. I had a lot of playmates there growing up. I still remember the vacant lot near the gasoline station (BUKANA) where kids, teenagers, “tambays” converge rain or shine, day in-day out. When I visited LOOBAN the vacant lot was not there anymore, instead there was a concrete structure where you find a Pawnshop cum Western Union Centre, a Water Refilling Station and a 24-Hour Bakery. We went inside to give respect (Magmano) to the “Tiyas, Tiyos, Lolas, Lolos, Ninangs, Ninongs and some kinakapatid. I recognised some especially the “old” bloods but I don’t recognise the newer generations inhabiting the place. My cousin patiently introduced me to some of them – “Anak ni Manong Ising, Asawa ni Manang Lita, Apo ni Apong Sion”. The house still look the same 20 years ago. I still smell the stench of the improvised canals they created in between their houses. Electric wirings and cables were within reach. If you are stupid enough you might mistaken them as clothes lines. I still smell poverty, but surprisingly it seems that they were “happy and contented”. Their smiles and fire on their eyes cannot fake the happiness I saw from them. Maybe I was WRONG. My cousin told me, “Simple lang kasi mga tao dito, mababaw ang kanilang kaligayahan kaya madali sila mapasaya”. As we walked around to check the spot where my grandparents’ house used to stand I felt a FANG of ENVY. I realised that happiness is not how much money you have or what brand of car you drive. I am not debunking that fact that YES, money is a significant variable for someone to be happy. But what I cannot fathom was, where are these people getting this ENERGY from, that they still manage to be happy despite of all the “not-so-good” things surrounding them.

Before leaving Looban, one of the Apongs said, “Salamat pala sa kape, binigyan kami ng Nanay mo nang minsang napadaan sya dito. Sa uulitin ha”. That was the sincerest “thank you” I have heard for the longest time. I was only able to mutter was the word, “OPO.

Of all the “coming homes” I have made for the last seven years, this trip taught me something significant — being HAPPY “COMING HOME”

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Cora Dolorosa is an avid reader of Reyna Elena and contributor in Barrio Siete. She is working as an OFW in Indonesia.