Why titles are never important

I’d say it is really my childhood days that pull me away from the city lights, away from sooty night air and away from the disastrous technopop. I once had extensive rice fields for a playground, long rivers and complex irrigation networks for a pool, a party of ducks, chickens, dogs and kids for a gang and a loving community for a fans club. So, how can one expect me to sit in front of a computer all day, stare at the monitor as if it held all the answers to human misery and laugh out loud at the end of the day?

I’d confess I want my sunrise moments and they have to be colorful. Long ago, I watch all these things and cry for unexplainable reasons but all tears shed never made me feel less whole. I wake up at four and imagine that the dawn is just a dark age of my magical kingdom and that soon it will come to pass. My mama’s roses, impatiens and zinnias are my maids-in-waiting while the lemon trees are my favorite allies. Together, we wait for the first string of light particles through the taller coconuts and star apple trees. For my then solar-powered soul, it is this miracle of first light that made me endure what my mom termed as the “hard days.” Now, I know what I missed sleeping until seven or eight.

I’d think of the hearty breakfasts of newly milled rice, fried banana flowers, mallard eggs, and dried or salted freshwater fish dipped in vinegar with chopped garlic. The morning air rich with the smell of dried rice stalks seems to add some twist and flavor into these simple dishes making me empty two platefuls the least. But with all the walking and the running and of course the fantasizing about magic kingdoms and secret worlds, I still come to the lunch table hungry as if breakfast never happened. During post-harvest lunches mama likes to serve sinigang na baboy or pochero while planting-season lunches are more humble; mama often served the vegetable version of the famous adobo- adobong talong, adobong kangkong, and adobong sitaw. No matter how hard the times are, mama never forgets mixing her freaky salads-ensaladang dahon ng ampalaya, kalkalunay, banana hearts, langka, and fern fronds. But if worst comes to worst, we still have fried native chicken and, how can I forget, bull frogs.

I’d remember always that I crave for afternoon conversations with my siblings over unlimited hot rice coffee while rain thunders on the tin roof. I miss how we hear each other out despite the noisy spatter and how we giggle at stupid jokes thrown for the millionth time. And we, as kids, fight too...more often in fact that anyone can imagine. We frequently call each other silly names and almost always argue about the dishwashing schedule. Still, we are brought together by things we love the most; eating boiled bananas with bagoong, skipping afternoon naps, playing all day under the sun and of course, fruit snacking.

Santol, balimbing, kamias, iba, sampalok, guavas, pomelo and the native mandarin orange are our favorites. Each of them seemed to have a season and sometimes when they are scarce, lemonsito is a dependable substitute. Another alternative are cucumbers that most of the farmers produce during droughts and fallowing times. All these we eat with salt and vinegar and siling labuyo. But my favorite part is when we dip all our fingers, dirt and all, in the vinegar and then suck them again. Dirt and all. No wonder why children often have parasite problems. But my mama knows her plants well and she keeps ours under control.

I know that many, many years already passed. And no, I don’t want to relive them via time travel or three wishes. I just pray that my memories of all that has been stay a bit longer…just a bit more please as I am not yet ready to forget.