this story was originally published in the philippine daily inquirer on November 27, 2004.
I’ve got Bicolano blood running through my veins, so I got all excited when I saw the large colorful tarpaulin outside the Wow! Philippines tent shaped like a clamshell. I read it out loud, “Wow! Bicol,” and told my friends we had to go inside and explore the tent.
As I opened the glass door, cold air that smelled of stagnant water welcomed us. I wondered briefly where the smell was coming from, and quickly found the answer. It was coming from the exhibit of the Donsol butanding or whale shark. There was a small pool of water with a scuba diver dummy in it, but to my dismay, there was no butanding at all. I’m not sure if the water was salt water or fresh water, but it certainly made the entire tent stink.
I approached a booth that read “Sorsogon.” Initially, I was hesitant to go really near it, so I viewed it from afar. Just then a lady noticed me and approached. “Sige, lapit ka,” she invited me, breaking my initial reluctance.
I went to the booth and smiled at the woman behind it while I leafed through a brochure. “Taga-Sorsogon po ako,” I said by way of explaining.
“Talaga?” she asked in reply. “Saan sa Sorsogon?”
“Sa Bacon po. Actually sa buong Sorsogon naman po.”
“Ah, anong apelyido mo?”
“Duran po.”
“Ah, oo. Marami ngang Duran doon.”
Then she started talking to me in Bicolano. I got confused because I really don’t understand the language although I know a few words of Bicolano. This made me wish I had put more heart into learning the native tongue of my ancestors. After all, it truly is a beautiful and colorful language.
“Teka po,” I said. “Hindi po ako marunong mag-Bicol eh. Sa Maynila na po kasi ako lumaki. Huling uwi ko po sa Sorsogon ay noong 6 years old pa po ako.”
“Ah, ganoon ba? Dapat bumisita ka minsan doon. Maganda ang Sorsogon. Mas ma-a-appreciate mo siya ngayon kaysa nung 6 years old ka.”
“Opo, gusto ko nga po eh. Dapat nga noong summer ay pupunta kami. Busy nga lang po ang parents ko. Hayaan ninyo, sasabihin ko sa mga magulang ko.” In my mind, I could already see the beautiful corals under the clear blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. My paternal grandfather had a modest resort along Bacon Beach, off Sorsogon City and my Mom and Dad used to submerge me in the waters just so I could see the beauty that mother nature had in store for me underneath.
The storekeeper smiled and excused herself for a while. She went to the back of the booth while I leafed through some of the brochures. The pictures made me feel nostalgic once again.
Vividly, I saw a 6-year-old girl romping on the beach and picking up seashells on the white sand. Lining the beach were coconut trees against the backdrop of what seemed to be an endless sea of blue meeting the clear skies in the horizon. Then I heard Mom calling me for lunch to partake of the sumptuous meal of laing, fresh shrimps and my favorite pili nut budin for dessert.
I was brought back to the present when the lady came back and offered me some pili nuts, saying, “O, masiramon ini (This is delicious). Heto ang product ng Sorsogon. Masarap ‘yan.”
She handed me the delicacies with a big smile. I knew that just like me, she was happy to find a kababayan in Manila.
After that interaction with my kababayan, I walked around the tent. I came upon a booth where they were selling all kinds of trinkets: purses and slippers made of abaca, bayong, baskets, necklaces and many other things that I cannot remember anymore. I wanted to buy a lot of things, but I finally settled for two shell necklaces for my Mom which were selling for only P5 bucks each. These were strings of shells that would later be called “Kuwintas ni Dugong” by our kid boarder.
Walking farther down the alley, I found a crocheted bag that I immediately fell in love with. It was a brown, tan and orange sling-on bag crocheted in one piece. Without much hesitation, I bought it for P200, a real bargain compared to bags sold in commercial malls.
Happy with my newfound treasures, I decided to show them off to my friends. To my dismay, I didn’t see them close by. I then realized that my group mates were not with me anymore. They must have moved on because I dallied too long in the Sorsogon booth.
Apprehensive that I would have to go home by myself, I searched for them with mounting anxiety. When I found them, they were eating dirty ice cream without any care in the world as they walked lazily outside the tent. I guessed they understood my feelings about the place because they knew that I am a person who greatly values anything connected to my heritage.
