straylight

a collection of memories and musings between my artworks and journals | www.straylight.ph

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Batang Pagong

ni Sommer J. Buyante (straylight.ph)

Matingkad ang tinta ng bughaw sa kalangitan bago magdilim sa Purok Biolina sa bayan ng El Nido. Nakaupo kami sa gilid ng bagong sementadong daan. Sa ibaba nito ay naroon ang isang bahay na napailalim na ng itinayong mataas na kalsada. Halos bubong at bahagi ng bintana na lamang nito ang litaw mula sa aming kinatatayuan.

“Nagpapraktis na ba kayong magbasa?” tanong ko sa dalawang sampung taong gulang na bata. Sabay silang tumango. Puno ng tiwala. Tinanong ko kung ano ang tunog ng letrang B.

Katahimikan.

Sinundan iyon ng kanilang pagtawa, tila umaasang kapag nilakasan pa nila ay magiging nakakatawa rin ito para sa akin.

Sunod-sunod ang kanilang mga kwento, hanggang sa napunta ang usapan sa mga pagong.

“Yung ibang tao rito, kumakain ng pagong,” sabi ng isa sa kanila.

Napansin niya ata ang pagkagulat ko. Agad pa niyang idinagdag na sa kanal sa ilalim namin mismo nanghuhuli ng mga pagong ang ilan sa mga tao rito.

Itinuro niya ang umaagos na tubig sa ibaba ng daan. Binuksan ko ang flashlight ng aking cellphone at itinapat sa kanal.

Sa aming sorpresa, mayroon nga roong isang pagong.

“Masyado pang maliit ‘yan para kainin,” sabi ko, lihim na may pangambang baka hulihin nila ito at iuwi sa matatanda.

Ngunit tahimik lamang na tumingin ang dalawang bata sa pagong. Nakangiti sila. Maya-maya’y nagsalita ang isa:

“Ngayon lang ako nakakita ng natutulog na pagong. Ang cute pala.”

Bigla siyang lumundag pababa sa kanal.

Nagtago ito. Tanaw pala nila sa di kalayuan ang paparating niyang kuya, at ayaw pa niyang umuwi.

Tumayo na rin ako. Hinawakan ko ang pisi ng aking aso at nagpatuloy kami sa paglalakad sa ilalim ng noon ay madilim nang langit.

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📍Brgy. Cantabon, Siquijor, Siquijor I played this song in my uncle’s hut, the last private residence before Mt. Bandilaan National Park. You can hear the forest insects join me.

Far from the touristy spots, life here is slow. There’s space to simply be. No rush to serve foreigners. Maybe it’s the forest’s splendor, when observed, you can’t help but respect. Mt. Bandilaan is a national reserve where traditional healers once gathered medicinal plants.

What complements the mountain is the humble, carefree community. My brother Karl said, “This is the place where you realize money doesn’t make a person rich.” The folks here speak with pride and gratitude just for simply being here.

Cantabon, also known for Cantabon Cave, is where my grandfather was born. “Diri ko natawo,” Lolo Amado would say. When he returned here, he met my lola. My aunt said only two households aren’t related to us, so we might as well call all elders lolo, lola, auntie, or angkol.

This instant belonging took some getting used to. We grew up far from relatives. But I felt right at home seeing their houses- small, yet brimming with plants and vegetables.

In the afternoon, we drank buko, freshly climbed by uncle Merto, and cooked soup with vegetables from my Tita Bloi’s garden in the forest. “There’s more, but the wild animals like to eat here,” she said, without resentment. The men drank tuba mixed with tree bark by the village “herbalist.”

At night, insects and night birds filled the quiet. My little cousin asked, “Asa man dira ang tunog sa wakwak, Ma?” Translates to, “Which one is the sound of the aswang?”

Wakwak, or aswang, is a mythical creature part human, part flying monster. I laughed, then drifted into nostalgia.

When I visited as a child, Siquijor was filled with magical stories, healers, balete trees, hanging comb charms in old eateries.

Now, as tourists flock to the island, I hope the modest living and the stories of my grandpas and grandmas live through.

That might be a stretch, so I only wish people value what they have now.

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