I once watched The Bottomline, a public affairs talk show hosted by Boy Abunda and shown at ABS-CBN. Since it was the show's first year anniversary, it was the talk show host's turn to answer questions thrown by a panel.
Questions range from being funny to Miss U-type thing and Tito Boy (feeling close :)!) answered these questions eloquently, elaborately as usual.
Then he was asked about his memories of his father, his college days and how he survived the seemingly insurmountable struggles he experienced during his younger years.
This brought back a few childhood memories of mine.
The earliest memory I can remember of my childhood is me playing in a creek - about 300 meters from our house. Beside the creek is a well where we used to obtain our drinking water. The place is surrounded by tall trees, ferns, moss, among others. To reach the creek and the well, I had to descend like 10 meters down. If there was rain the previous night, going down would be a serious challenge. I am assigned to fetch water from the well every late afternoon. I was the only child then. What to do! If I went there rather late, the place looked creepy with the sounds of the birds and the leaves falling down. I like to play at the water. It was clean, cold and inviting. My mother usually saw me here talking to myself. She was worried I might be talking to some ghosts or elves already. I would go up as soon as I hear her scream out my name. It's 6pm. I'm supposed to stay at home already.
Our home is a typical bahay kubo - made up of slabs, bamboo and nipa - similar to the image you see below. We had only one room. We slept together. Visitors as well.
We had a garden in front of our house. My mother grew flowers and vegetables there. My father raised chicken at our backyard. I mean the vast space at the back of our house. He would catch one of those poor
barnyard creatures once in a while if he wanted to eat good food after a heavy drinking spree. And also as a peace offering to my mother after a fight. My father is a good cook. Until now.
Once, my parents left me because they had to attend a burial at the poblacion (Espanol for town). But since they would leave on a weekday and I had class, they couldn't take me to my grandparents where I would sleepover for three days. I had no choice but to walk more than 5 kilometers after school together with my cousins and schoolmates going to my grandparents' place. Almost every way home, two of the boys or the girls would get into a fight. I don't get involve. I'm such a chicken. Until now.
That also started my stay with my lolo and lola because sometime after my sister was born, a gold rush was discovered in the mountains of Monkayo, the municipality we were in. My father, being fed up with farming, decided to try his luck at mining and brought with him my mother and my kid sister. I lived then with my grandparents for 4 years, walked 10 kilometers each day to school and back and stayed chicken when my cousins, boys and girls, were bullying each other.
I don't like why I grew up painfully shy. As I could remember, I seldom talk to my lolo and lola for they also talked very less to me. I was more open to my Mama Drita (God bless her she's in heaven already), my father's older sister who's family lived near to my grandparents. But even then, I was still reserved. And proper. Pino kung kumilos. Until now.
I would see my parents on very rare occasions during that 4 years - sometimes during school closing ceremonies or sometimes during Christmas. I don't remember they showed up on my birthday. Well, I don't remember celebrating my birthday either.
During those years, I was silent. Not playful. Not enthusiastic as any kid would be.
No great memories at all.
When I finished Grade 5, my father, although still working as a miner, decided to live out from the mining area and rented a house at the poblacion. They took me back.
The town had electricity. For the first time, I studied not using the lamp my lola usually lit up at dusk. And my nose hair no longer acting as a smoke filter.
And there was my first time to watch television. At the neighborhood. At the mercy of a neighbor's nasty kid.
Still not a great memory!
