Wild River....
(I was supposed to post this way back when I wrote this, but since I was busy with work, I couldn't find the time to squeeze it in, with new accounts and what have you, having no rest days, no time for lunch etc. But that's a different story...)
I was playing with my son the other night, we were throwing rolled up blankets ("bwanky" in nukispeak) at each other. It was fun and tiring, he then told me he wanted to make wiwi, so off he went, took off his shorts and made wiwi. After that, I hear him shouting "Dada! Miming!" which meant he wanted to take a bath, more of he wanted to play in his tub.
I reminisced to when I was younger, during those times when I would spend my summer vacations at my grandparents. Half at my Dad's parents and the rest of the summer break at my Mom's. My Dad comes from Batangas, home of kapeng barako, balisong, "ala-e!", and fond memories of my Lolo.
My Lolo was an always smiling Lolo, he had smiling sad eyes, think of Steven Seagal, without the ponytail and that furious I'm gonna kill you with my aikido look. During my stays there, He would always take me with him wherever he went. He used to drive this big truck to a farm that his boss owned and we would go there, the farm had a lot of cows, chickens, horses, and exotic birds. I remember seeing a peacock and a kingfisher there.
We also had a banana and coffee "plantation" near our house in Batangas. It was there that my Lolo taught me to use my own tirador or slingshot, which he made. The "tagdan" or frame of the slingshot was made of steel, unlike the ones my playmates had then, which were either made from guava branches or wooden ones bought from the palengke. I still have that "tagdan" somewhere in my room in LB. That slingshot was so accurate; it was so easy to hit any target with it. I also learned to properly use and take care of a jungle bolo. He had this very old jungle bolo, which he let me use. I would practice chopping down banana trees, much to my Lolo's dismay. (He eventually passed the bolo on to my Dad, who then lost the bolo.)
But the most unforgettable memories I had with my Lolo were our daily trips to the river, where he would wash our clothes and where we would take a bath. We would walk a good three kilometers from our house to get to the river. On our way there, we would pass this sugarcane field, where he would cut down some "tubo" or sugarcane, strip it, and cut it into foot-long sticks which we would chew on. And as we walked he would tell me stories, legends, alamat ng ganito, alamat ng ganoon. He would light up his pipe, and I would catch the sweet smell of his tobacco, which I liked a lot.
When we reach the edge of the river, we then had to climb down a steep slope, and there we were. My Lolo would then proceed washing our clothes, and I would play skipping stones for a while. After I've cooled down from the long walk we had, I'd go and swim. But I would be very careful not to go too far or too deep. This river was tricky. It may seem shallow and a slow moving one, but actually it was very deep in some parts, and had a very strong current. I had my favorite spot, wherein, I would sit down behind these two big rocks, where the water came down in a sort of mini-waterfall. After that we would walk back to our house, passing by the sugarcane field again.
I also remember once when we had a picnic, my whole family, with my grandparents, in the same river, but we took our car then (a VW bug) with us. I couldn't remember how, but my Dad found a way to bring the car to the river and park it in the middle. (It's a VW! It'll float!) I even had a picture taken then, with me standing naked as a bird beside our beetle, with a metal "tabo" on my head. (Alas, I lost all copies (2 of them) of those pictures. I think I know who has them, but the possibilities of getting them are slim.)
As I grew up the times we went to the river lessened. With the river eventually getting dirty from all the pollutants dumped into it. Every time we would go home to batangas, we would pass over a bridge that spanned the river. And I would always look down, remembering that I once swam and played in it.
And while I was playing with my son, I thought of how he would never be able to experience what I did when I was younger. He has seen a sugarcane field and played near a river in Bacolod. But the chances of him getting to swim in one that is clean and safe are very small.
I believe I am very lucky to have been able to experience these things when I was young. Trips to the river, getting chased by honeybees, falling in a fishpond, getting stuck knee deep in a rice field in nueva ecija, falling down back first from a five foot wall, crashing my bmx bike after a jump and seeing your friends bike about to land its front wheel on your head, and realizing you have no helmet, and other crazy and wonderful things.
But what made my adventures in Batangas very different and memorable was my Lolo, the last vivid memory of my Lolo was when he visited us in LB. My mom and I were very surprised with that visit. He was not supposed to leave Batangas and commute on his own. I was about to leave the house then to go to class, so I chose to miss my first 2 classes that morning and stay home. When I had to leave after lunch, My Lolo offered to drive me to UP. I didn't want to at first because I knew that he hadn't driven in a long time, and that he couldn't see that well anymore. But he insisted, so we let him. On the way to UP, I looked at my Lolo, he with his smiling sad eyes, and I felt like a small boy again, on my may to the river.
Dang, I miss my Lolo....
