Proud promdi
You can take me out of Gulod. But you cannot take Gulod out of me. I say it with pride albeit with apologies to whoever said the original line.
Yes, I now live five days a week in the city that is abuzz with lights, modernity, noise and skyscrapers. But deep inside me resides a true-blue promdi. Yes, from the province. I always have that pride of place.
Sure my hometown of Cabuyao is already a brand new city. But I was born and raised in Gulod, a barrio that is bucolic as it is sandwiched by Laguna de Bay in the east (silangan) and verdant rice fields in the west (kanluran). This is just one reason why I ache to come home at the end of the week.
The landscape of Gulod is its own bountiful blessing. On fine days, the early morning sun that peeks out the precipice of Bundok ng Susong Dalaga, a beautiful sight courtesy of Talim Island in the province of Rizal, spells glory as the sun’s rays are splayed on the bay. The mocha-colored waters are momentarily veiled with the soft yellow hue of the sunrise.
My childhood remembrances of a clean and clear lake are still vivid in my mind; I used to bathe a lot in the lake where my cousin Tetang taught me to swim. It was also in the lake where my friends and I, using a pante (fishnet) or a biwas (rough-and-ready fishing rod), caught ayungin, biya, tilapia among other freshwater fish that our family would feast on for dinner. After a day in the lake, especially on summer vacation, we would stay by the shore to fly our kites. We would loosely knot a dried stalk of water lily around the kite rod and let the stalk be carried by the wind up above until it kissed the kite soaring mightily in mid-air. We whispered our childhood wishes to the wind and believed that they would come true once the dried water lily stalk reached the kite.
To witness dusk in Gulod is to experience divinity. Come dusk, a fiery orange ball slowly sinks down the ridge of Tagaytay. Yes, from the rice fields, on days when it is very clear, we can see the still and sleepy silhouette of Tagaytay ridge from our place. Sunset in Gulod is eclectic and electrifying as the horizon becomes the playing ground of soft and phantom-like clouds in pink, lilac, orange and bluish-green. A flock of birds will zoom to the sky, like black dots on a colorful canvass. And, if you’re lucky, while facing the sunset, quails and owls, though very seldom, will make momentary appearances while you’re seated on a paddy. If you turn your gaze to the left, you will see a tranquil mountain shaped like a woman in supine position. This is Mt. Makiling, which, from afar, doesn’t only reveal its verdant state but also a structure that has red roof — the National Arts Center.
On some occasions, the landscape of Gulod also becomes its own curse. Especially since 2009, during the surge of typhoon Ondoy that wrecked havoc to the security and property of the people, the place has never been the same. Lately, many people from the barrio feel anxious even with the slight rain. Those who live near the lake panic because non-stop rain means inundation of their houses in floodwaters again. Even those who live on the side of the rice fields are not spared from the rainwaters that accumulate. Imagine how it is like when the waters coming from the lake merge with the waters coming from the fields. This lagoon-like scene in Gulod was first experienced in 1972. It never happened again until 2009. To this day, after the recent onslaught of habagat, a few more families still live in classrooms, their temporary homes. Many have come back to their houses even if their place is still submerged in water. Despite this, the resilience of people is the primary armament they carry with themselves. A resolute will and a spirit that’s never cowed by the infinite test of times are some of my kababaryos traits that continuously make me a proud man from the barrio.
Just like every Juan, Juana and Pedro, people love to sing in my barrio. There’s videoke singing for every occasion — birthday, Christening, wedding, even singing at wakes. When my father died, many of my friends from Manila who came to my old man’s wake were amazed to hear someone belting out I Will Survive from a videoke outside our house. It’s a way of life.
If wedding receptions for people in Manila are held in hotels or restaurants, most of the people in Gulod (and its neighboring barangays) hold the reception in a vacant lot adjacent to the house of the bride. This spacious lot is decorated with coconut fronds and fresh flowers, too. Inside the frond-outlined reception area are a long presidential table and monoblock chairs. The bride and groom will only enter the reception area after they have kissed the hands of their elders who are in attendance. Then the couple breaks bread with their whole entourage. No, it’s not bread that they first partake on but a bandehado of steamed rice followed by the ubiquitous greasy serving of menudo, hamonado, morcon, galantina, chopsuey, gulaman and leche flan. Other dishes like adobo and dinuguan are normally not served on the presidential table because these viands are given to the men and women who helped cook the wedding feast.
The same menu is served when a lady celebrates her 18th birthday that is usually held at Gulod Elementary School’s basketball court if not in a spacious vacant lot in the neighborhood. I had my heyday of emceeing many a debut party in our place. And even if the scented invitation says that the attire should be formal, expect many people to come in jeans and long-sleeved shirt. That is already “formal.” And it seems to be all right.
In our little sleepy barrio, people do not normally make appointments if they want to visit a long-lost friend. They just show up by your doorstep and this act is primarily not seen as improper, let alone impolite. If you’re a balikbayan and your ways have changed after some years abroad, expect people to talk about you. They, too, can be frank about their thoughts of you.
Though many have upped their entrepreneurial skills in Gulod, not everything in our barangay is for sale. So, expect a friendly neighbor to drop buko, kamote and chico in your house for free. No strings attached. Sometimes, you can just go to the field and ask for sitao, kalabasa, upo and patola. Again, without charges. You return the favor by sending him or her a bowl of freshly cooked sinigang na bangus sa bayabas or ginataang bilo-bilo.
On a moonlit night, friends gather in pockets to strum the guitar and sing their joys and lamentations. All these are done while a pitcher of beer or a bottle of affordable and available rum in the next sari-sari store is passed around. While having fun, which sometimes goes raucous, they take their pictures using their S3 or BlackBerry and automatically upload them on Facebook.
Those abovementioned scenes and more are the reasons why I love Gulod. I love going home during the weekend because I love celebrating my roots. Gulod taught me to appreciate the things that I have and the things I don’t have. The simplicity of the place has taught me to have a goal. And to hope for better things to come.
I will remain a proud promdi at heart.
(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. I’m also on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday!)
