Republika ng Pilipinas - An Essay
If anyone has been interested in what I’ve been stressing out about, it’s this goddamned essay. Please note: these are mostly memories from over a decade ago and are still lies even then. I combined two trips I took to the PH for the sake of a narrative and to get this essay done on time because it started to get really long. Also some of the things I did here are total lies but my English teacher does not need to know that.
I’ll be printing this essay out tomorrow morning (~9 hours from posting approximately) and would appreciate anyone leaving a comment for a quick change to help awkward wording/better phrasing especially the last two paragraphs which are 1000% BSd.
Objective: Write a descriptive essay on a place.
Link to google docs (comments enabled):
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I7PNzM_5xV6Su4cNlWbSs4vrHZGg7B8hMkBVcpmutkA/edit?usp=sharing
Republika ng Pilipinas: The Philippines
Descriptive and Place
The dry season should have been a convenient time for I, one so adjusted to the heat of California, to visit the Philippines and yet it proved itself to be life draining in many ways. From the moment my mother and I exited the cooled cabin of our airplane after our sixteen hour flight, I was encompassed by sun’s moisture drenching light. Sparkling high on an cerulean backdrop, the sun sat peacefully ignorant of the utmost appallingly uncomfortable conditions my four year old self had faced yet. My mother’s hand gripping tightly on my own, I trudged along to the new world of Laguna I had yet to discover. Los Baños, Laguna was known as the ‘Land of Many Baths’ due to its plentiful hot springs in the surrounding areas, yet as my mom and I found ourselves in the heart of the city, I noticed a clear lack of the bubbling crystal liquid. Low buildings filled with light laughs and endless chatter lined the streets of Los Baños, leaving me pondering my mother’s childhood in this urban town. In all directions, one could see the waving country hills of bushy emerald just over the roofs of the businesses passing by from my scope in our jeepney.
Before I could doze away the day on my mother’s shoulder, she shook me to indicate our arrival at her childhood home. Now it wasn’t a large building by any means, but rather an unsuspecting concrete block tucked away on the monotonous street side. Waiting outside on their patio, was my family, still unknown to my child mind, waving and smiling at my mother and I. Seven smiles. Seven hands waving. Seven people soon to give me warm embraces, even warmer than the heat beating down on our skins. They welcomed us into the small home before me, but not quite as small as our apartment back in Tumwater. When I looked up from my feet, the ceilings felt high, imposing, almost unsettlingly unfamiliar, yet when I looked to its residents, I could feel the the essence of a home. Although the shade lied within the house, most of my time was spent lolling about outside of its walls on the patio near the family storefront, drinking bottle of Cola with my cousins Ivan and Diane. Our day was spent playing youthful games of tag on the concrete, warned not to stray into the busy street or open the locked, rusted bars of the front gate by my lola, or grandmother in english. Instead, she gave us balloons to occupy our time with, warning us of dangers which consequences were far beyond the awareness of young children. Our legs swung about as we sat on the rocky wall within the property’s fences.
Within a few hours, when my mother had returned from shopping with my Tita Nel, my lola called with her frail voice that dinner was ready to eat. Filipino food was a refreshing dish after only consuming very western-oriented foods, although as a four year old, I didn’t have much of a refined palate. Although the taste still leaves me with desire for more, the presentation was the cause of my squeamishness. The a fish with its head still attached, uknown meats, and a of viscous soup of some sort were all on the menu for the night. One of my favourite foods was present at the table as well, pancit, a noodle dish with vegetables and chicken, with a taste I still long for. The dessert consisted of an endless supply of fresh mangoes cut neatly into squares against the skin for ease of eating. The most prominent feeling I have of that night is ‘satisfied in my stomach’.
Finally escaping the house on the third day of our expedition, we journeyed to the Taal Volcano located within Taal lake in Batangas. Despite being within the rim of an active caldera, I had no fear and admired the surroundings instead. From the emerald grass beneath our weary feet to the gliding shadows of lively birds above, the second most active volcano in the Philippines was animated with life. We stood overlooking the bowl like rim of the caldera, revealing a second lake, more azure than the outer water ring, a hidden secret within a treasure trove. It shimmered, as the jewel of one’s eye would, but with a more natural beauty. Peaceful in the inner lake’s solitude, we breathed in sunlight, thinking of what illuminated our hearts.
Upon the final sunset of our trip, my lola considered we would benefit from one more meal eaten with my family. Under the dim light of the stars and the burning lantern light, my mother and I sat on a single side of a wooden table within a raft floating upon blackened nighttime water. The restaurant of Kamayan sa Palaisdaan was expansive, stretching out over a pond for a numerous amount of meters with huts and rafts ornate in design, topped off with tables and chairs for us to occupy. Softly set were our menus, yet we took them to our hands with a ferocity only fueled by hunger. The served foods were simple noodle dishes one could obtain anywhere within the country, but those present around me made the taste all the more memorable. My cousins and I would lean over the edge of the raft, gripped at our shirts by our mothers as to prevent our unbalanced bodies from falling, and view the hundreds of catfish beneath us, swarming at the opportunity to obtain our own food. After half an hour, we children ceased teasing the poor aquatic bound creatures with our noodles and the water grew still. The blackened water no longer acted as a window to the activity below, but a distorted mirror, an impressionist canvas, and a gate way of the violet splattered heavens. My family and I stood, huddled around each other at the table, admiring what was aged to some and contemporary to those surrounding them.
Seven years, nearly half my life, it has been since my last visit to my second home. Within the country I barely know but admire for its refreshing nature are the familiar chuckles of those I know only of in this smiling setting. My bonds with my family are strengthened like iron clad armour when I visit the Philippines. I wish to the heavens I may return soon.
I’m trying to raise my Hon. English grade after failing a test and missing a few assignments. It’s my hardest class (yet some how it’s filled with people who clearly would fare better in a regular English class.)
