Pull It

In the morning Seoyoung was busy preparing breakfast.  Luke rolled over and peeked out from his sleeping bag.  He reached out for Seoyoung.  She stared at him perplexed.  Luke might be dreaming she thought, but he wiggled his finger.  He was in pain, finger cramps maybe, and he obviously wanted Seoyoung to pull it.  So she pulled the finger, and Luke let it out - a supersonic boom from the ass!

I thought this practical joke is purely Filipino, but Seoyoung is Korean and Luke, British!

Farming

I like farming because of its effective simplicity.  You plant something, watch it grow, and when it’s time, you harvest it, and back you go again.  It’s an endless cycle of planting and harvesting, of dying and being born again.

During planting time, the paddies are soft with shin-high mud.  I used to man the tractor which they confusingly call turtle which grinds the mud mixed with water to produce cake-like smoothness.  Then it will be combed with multi-teethed wooden equipment to draw horizontal and vertical lines on the paddies, making a huge crossword puzzle on the mud.  The rice seedlings will then be planted where the lines intersect.  That’s how you get those neatly lined rice paddies you see as your bus passes by.

The farmers start planting from the edges of the rice paddies.  One hand holding a cluster of seedlings, while the other approximates drawing three to five stalks to stick on the mud.  Going left to right, up to 12 rows, and moving backwards as the rows are filled up.  One or two people roam around throwing stacked seedlings to planters scattered all over the field.  The throw always ends with a thud and a splash.  There will be 30 people planting together at a time, hunched, with their wide brimmed native hats and skillful hands.

But the season I like best, is harvest season, when the rice stalks will be hand-cut with a specially serrated knife (to give it teeth) that curved at the end.  The stalks are stacked in bales secured by abaca or dried banana leaf spine.  The bales will then be balanced on the head or carried on the back and brought to a convenient collection site ready for threshing.

Threshing is a process used to separate the grain from hay.  This will be done by a machine called a thresher.  But in the olden days, Threshing means hand bashing or foot kneading to shake off the grains, followed by pounding with wooden mortar and pistel, just like how people do it in the ice age!  Threshing usually happens early morning, and we have to watch over the baled palay the night before or they will be stolen, and that means we have to sleep in the farm, literally.  Thieves usually come to watch out for unwatched bales, but we will be watching them tonight.

So there we were, amidst hundreds of bales in the middle of dried out rice paddies, within a sea of clusters of half-stalks sticking out.  We stared at the night sky with its millions and zillions of stars winking in distant galaxies.  And we would doze off with the intoxicating smell of hay, and lion and tiger katol….It was the first closest thing I ever had for real camping….I was seven.

Grandpa

In his mountain home, Grandpa sits by the porch.  He chews tobacco and spits outside the window.  He always smiles and takes everything in stride.  He never fidgets nor complain nor whine.  Despite obvious lack of money, he always says, I have lots of money then laughs about it.  He was never angry nor fight with anybody.  He is as content as a man can be.

One time, he ran for Barangay Captain and I was there listening to him for the first time.  Up in the stage he spoke for about 3 minutes.  That was his political speech.  And nobody else spoke the entire time.  That was when the proverbial, you can hear a pin drop phrase came into perspective.  And if I never live to see somebody shown such undiluted respect, I want everybody to know that it was the time my Grandpa delivered that talk.  It was a defining moment of my enduring respect for my old man.

He also built his own houses as well as the houses of my uncles.  All of them fine houses as far as country huts go.  Simple, provincial places of abode, made mostly of cut timber and bamboos and nipa roofs.  And there is always that ubiquitous BANGA.  A clay jar (by the see-though bamboo sink) used to store drinking water.  in the mountains where Grandpa lives, there was no running water.  Water was drawn from a well a few kilometers away from the cluster of houses.  They store water in these jars to cool it, and it has a very distinct taste, maybe a taste of moss here or green algae there, growing at the bottom.  It gives the water such character, and it was a taste like no other.

Anglers

We were at Kanagawa Prefecture.  On our way back after gathering seeds of endemic tree species, we noticed several cars and SUVs parked by the roadside.  They weren’t there earlier as we climbed the hill.  We continued walking and I told them to go ahead.  I know the way, and that I needed time to answer the call of nature in the bushes!  Actually, I just wanted to go by the wayside, and see what’s in the woods.  With the parked vehicles on the road, I suspected something’s going on in here.  I just have to go look-see.  I can’t help it.  It’s like an itch that needed scratching

I went down a slope, which revealed moss covered rocks, and more trees.  I went deep inside until I reached a clearing, and heard the murmuring river.  There’s a rod being pulled.  Aha, anglers!  The vehicles were owned by anglers!  I saw another by the bend, and yet another atop a rock.  They have claimed their own spaces.  And they fished quietly, and maybe talked to themselves quietly.  So I left them alone.  But I was expecting a gathering of a clandestine variety, of Yakuzas, and things like that….

Bear

We arrived late afternoon at our cabin in Tanzawa in the middle of a wilderness.  It’s peaceful and quiet here.  You only hear the wind rustle through the trees, and chirping of birds. The spacious cabin sits on a bluff overlooking a confluence of two rivers and a hanging bridge links the cabin to the other side.  A big rock juts out mid-river separating the flow making the water run fast.  I would have wanted to hop in and stand on top of the commanding black rock, but the river is wild, so I settled for a modest rock on the quiet eddies.

After our one-sided little chat which was full of glug-glug-glug-glug…. I went up and crossed the bridge and climbed the pathway up in the woods and then out to the main road.  I was the only one here in this vast expanse of trees, mountains and blue skies.  The wind is pleasantly cold on my face, and gentle gusts ruffled my hair.  I felt like owning the forest.

I walked the winding road going up and down and curving again, then I saw the sign.  It was in Japanese.  And I can not read one single character of it.  But there’s an exclamation point (!), and the unmistakable picture of a BEAR!  My feet, which by now has acquired a mind of its own, shuffled back to the cabin in no time.  Was I afraid?  No. I call it a heightened sense of awareness.…

Japanese Warning Signs

Japanese warning signs are very different than warning signs in other parts of the world, because they usually contain a visual and easy to understand reason why something is dangerous.  Like the sign above.  Kintarou is the name of this guy who sits on a bear, based on a Japanese fairy tale and nobody really can explain what he has to do with this sign. I wondered too….

Deer

We were in the midst of Tanzawa mountains in Kanagawa Prefecture, a suburb near Tokyo.  All of us sleep in one big room in this log cabin.  On the first day, I woke up first while the others were curled in their sleeping bags.  It was still dark outside and the smell of grass and dew were pleasantly intoxicating.  Somehow I felt like being watched.  Then I saw deer!  On the other side of the road, at the foot of the hill, it faced me squarely.  But except for the flicker of an ear, it just stood there unmoving as if chiseled out of stone.  I remained cotton quiet to keep this majestic moment from passing.  The buck looked into my eyes for the longest time, as if searching my soul.  After a while, it stirred and disappeared in the darkness.  I let out a sigh.  It was my first time to encounter wild game, and what a big buck it was….

Dog

We used to eat dog meat.  It was my dad’s favorite dish, because it was my uncle’s favorite dish, and he was my father’s favorite brother, and eating dog is common in the community.  Ok, so much for defense….

To look for dog, we usually drive to Mabuhay, crossing the Salug Valley River towards the edge of the mountain areas.  There, we look for dog, talk to the owner, decide on a plot, and wham!  Club the unsuspecting dog to death!  Cruel.  Yeah but the meat is good, or so I thought.  We did this many times, and we always enjoy the company.  And for the two brothers, it was a regular ritual of brotherhood.  And they talk and laugh, but mostly laugh.

In this particular trip, the owner didn’t want to sell, but needed the money.  And he didn’t want to club the dog himself, so we hired another. And wham!  But the dog didn’t die, it was limping towards the barn.  Its tail behind the legs, and its fractured skull bloody with the blow. 

We ran after the dog which curled itself into a ball in a corner with anguished soft howls and sad questioning eyes.  I thought this is just too much to bear.  It touched me deeply that I vowed never to eat dog again!  He died eventually with one final blow to the forehead!  May God bless his soul….

Visiting Grandpa

Visiting Grandpa means walking more than ten kilometers of dirt road, rugged terrain, woods, rivers and forest.  And if we are lucky, we get to ride in a jeep which is always filled to the rooftops, which is my favorite spot.

During rainy season, the dirt road is scarred with huge gullies made by water streams from the mountains.  It’s very hard to negotiate, and it gets so slippery that it feels worse than being in a boat in a storm.  In times like these, the tires will be clothed with special metal chains for traction.  But in worst case scenarios, it doesn’t work.  And we end up talking and laughing about our bad trip, literally.  And we would have to walk the rest of the way.  But those with cargo is left behind, and the locals are always happy to accommodate stranded travelers for the night.  They would talk about heavier rains and storms and worse situations in the olden days blah blah blah. . . .

Crossing a flooded river is an adventure in itself.  Travelers and local people gather together with sundry river crossing aids like long bamboo poles, carabaos and horses and ropes, lots of ropes.  It’s a sight to behold and it’s not terrifying at all.  Everybody is eager to help despite the rain and gloomy skies and cold.  Food is passed around including dry clothes and drinking water, and chickens, while murky brown water is raging below a makeshift bamboo bridge.  But sometimes boulders and whole trees are swept by the fast river current. That’s when things get terrifying, and nobody crosses, not even the most foolhardy.

WAR

"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." - Albert Einstein

Filipino Soldiers Memorial

One day, the Captain invited me to come with him on a special trip somewhere. He didn’t tell what or where we’re going exactly, but that it maybe a little surprise for me.  Little did I know….

On the outskirts of town, we stopped by a marker on the road which leads up to a shrine with a huge monument. Take this: The place was dedicated to a group of Filipino soldiers who fought with the South Korean Army against the communist North and China, during the Korean War! The Captain said in behalf of South Korea, I want to thank you and he bowed! Never did I felt so honored and overwhelmed with pride in a foreign country.

Rafting At Imjin-Gang

This is a short movie I made out of rafting videos we shot at Imjin-Gang in South Korea. I was rowing next to the captain on the right.  The captain kept telling us to secure one foot on the foot harness to avoid falling in the river.  But look who fell….

Yellow Brick Road

 The chunky soles of my mountain shoes suddenly hit bricks on the wide Tokyo sidewalk, and I almost tripped.  On closer look, I noticed these to be protruding yellow concrete lines.  At first I thought, what a lousy design!  Until I saw Ray Charles walk by with his walking stick conveniently sliding on its grooves.  It’s a blind man’s lane!

Sunblock

Manuel is a regular in the office. He often brings lunch, usually grilled fish and huge fish head stew, just enough for the seven of us. But he also brings in the jokes, and we’ll have a hilarious eating time every time. We share the same sense of humor, And flat top hair style. He’s way older than me and can pass off as my Dad, so I jokingly call him that sometimes. We also have another thing in common, dark skin….And Today we are in Bogo for a little errand. But before going back to the city, we’ll hang out for a while at his beach house in Catmon which means a hearty lunch, local wine (tuba) and swimming time. The last time we did this, I was badly burned, so I needed protection. I didn’t know he needed the same thing.

At the mall, I trooped towards the cosmetics section for sunscreen lotion. I asked the sales lady for it who looked at me as if to say, I’m not in the mood for jokes, ok? Hehe, anyway, we were in this situation when Manuel approached from the opposite side of the hall. The sales lady turned around and Manuel asked for a cream of sunblock. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened, then she covered her face with both hands in a stifled mirth, then we all burst out laughing like crazy. We were in a fit of laughter we couldn’t contain without bending over and holding our knees, and the girl laughed herself to the floor….

Caught In the Nose!

In high school, we were cleaning the school grounds.  My friends and I were pulling weeds close to the fences with rusty barbed wires.  As I pulled a stubborn weed, a loose wire snapped and hit my face.  A barb hooked itself and clang to my left nostril!  It was a dangerously funny situation, but I remained still, and the guys were kind enough to hold their laughter while the professor eased the nasty barb out of my nose.  When it was finally pulled out, they burst out laughing like a group of retards.  I was brought to the clinic where a nun (Sister Lachica) took care of the wound.  I tried looking helpless, expecting sympathy and affection from her.  Instead she said, Hmmm, this is what you get by working against your will!  Real work comes from the heart! blah blah blah….

Note: I wrote this story a few days BEFORE Girlie (my classmate) text me about Sister Lachica’s death.  Maybe the good nun thought about her favorite alumnus before passing over to the next life.  I’m flattered!  OK, I will pray for the repose of her soul….This is her line before every flag ceremony.

Taxi Chat

It has been my habit to chat with the taxi driver.  Most of them drive for long hours without having a real conversation and These people love to talk so they welcome conversations with passengers.  On this particular occasion, the taxi driver said that at this time of day he would usually be relaxing with other taxi drivers.  And they would talk about lottery.  I said, I don’t believe in such luck.  He turned wistful and said, You’ll never know.  It’s better to hope to win than not at all….

I said, If you win the lottery you will become super rich and many people will come after you Including thieves and robbers.  He smiled and said, That’s correct but it’s ok.  Then I asked, Do you own a house?  He said, No, we’re just renting.  I said, With your money you can have your own house.  He said, That’s right.  But then you have to hire security to keep robbers away, I continued.  He said, Yeah, I will hire security.  I asked, Do you have kids?  He said, Yes I have 2.  And where are they studying?  He said, At Abellana National school.  I said, That’s a public school, and people will know that you are rich.  That’s not a safe place for your kids anymore.  That means you have to transfer them to a private school.  He laughed but he was seriously thinking about what I said.  Then I continued, You have to hire security around your kids too, kidnappers will be hanging around you know….He laughed again, then turned to me and said, I think you are right, and I think I don’t want to win the lottery anymore.  I never thought being rich is going to be that risky!

With this comment we burst out laughing like two crazy people inside the taxi.  He said, you entirely changed the way I think about lottery, and that he will tell his friends about our conversation, and that he will not buy tickets anymore because he doesn’t want a complicated life full of thieves and kidnappers around his kids!  We had a hilariously laughing time the whole time, and when I alighted from the taxi, he said, Man, I will never forget this conversation we had.  I nodded and said, Neither do I.

Homeward Bound

Home is where you belong, and it is where the heart is.  These are old clichés along with, from dust you came, to dust you will return.  These basic truths show the significance of one’s origin, and best exemplified by the Atlantic Salmon that wanders more than 2500 miles away from the coast, and still finds its way back not only to its home river, but to the exact spot of its birth!  This is the circle of life, common to all living creatures on the planet, like this man in his attempt to make a full loop in his own circle of life.

My father grow up in a fisherman’s village in his hometown Cordova, Cebu.  While still a teenager, he emigrated with his older brother and father to Zamboanga.  He stayed there the rest of his life.  But in his mid-fifties, father got the Big C at its advanced stage.  He was diagnosed in Cebu City, and had only a few days to live.  We were going back to Zamboanga that day when he asked to be brought to Cordova which can be reached in an hour.  But we neither knew anybody there, nor any particular place to stay.  We didn’t directly say no, but simply brushed it aside as a trivial request.

Maybe too weak to strike an argument, father didn’t insist.  But he longed for his hometown.  I can tell now from the sad look in his eyes then.  There was no particular reason.  He wanted to see the place, plant his feet on the ground, and look at the same dirt.  He wanted to smell the air and gaze at the same seas of his youth. I didn’t realize it before.  But one thing’s for sure, near the very end of his life, father sensed that primordial instinct, and he was drawn to it like magnet – that is to visit home for the last time….

Pacman (The Congressman)

Manny Pacquiao is our modern hero.  Right?  Yes.  He brought us glory inside the boxing ring.  Watta fighter!  He made other boxers run for cover!!!  Now, he is the one running - as Congressman in GenSan.  A boxer in Congress?  Why not, but many don’t think so.  One imaginative fellow showed his disagreement in the picture above: PACMAN with Daddy Roach!

The Trial Of Standing Bear

"My hand is not the same color as yours.

But if you pierce it,

Backwards People

One foggy morning, I saw a man at a distance coming down the slope in my direction. At first I thought my vision was faulty, because instead of a face, I saw broad shoulders of one’s back. But I was right, the man was walking backwards!  As he came nearer, I pretended not to notice him and did some stretching. But my eyes were wary of any sudden attack or strangulation! But the man just passed me by.

On my way back to our accommodation, I tried walking backwards myself. Suddenly, another man emerging from a slope turned and walked backwards upon seeing me!  I was confused. Did he do that on purpose as an expected and spontaneous reaction?  I asked around later and learned that walking backwards is a common form of exercise specially with the elderly. And I said ah ok, feeling a bit disappointed. I was expecting a cultural lecture on Korean tradition or voodoo stuff….