Though it had
transpired in the early 60’s of the last century, significant memories of it
are so deeply etched in my mind that recall would be quite easy. No sweat.
But the first
question to be asked rightly would be why the need to leave which necessitated
a return. Well, it was like this.
Completion of high
school for me was in the summer of 1958, followed right away by my first year
of college in the same school, Xavier University. High school ended on a rocky note for me,
after a year or two of listlessness and aimlessness. Had lost much interest in school, and was
simply going through the motion in cadence with the rest of the people who were
in school with me. Unbeknownst to me my
mother had been burdened by this development, maybe even unable to find in her
mind the solution on how to deal with me.
So in a moment’s notice, I was told I would be sent to Manila to live
with my father there. Obediently, did
her bidding and wasn’t really too grieved by the prospects, for after all it
would be my chance to see and live in the big city, for the first time. So there I was shipped to Manila in a slow
boat, where I would be spending the next 3 years. The time allowed me to finish an
undergraduate course. And in a real way,
allowed me the opportunity to examine my life’s priorities and direction and
set a course somewhat, though still quite asea and confused. For one thing, after that undergraduate
course, I still did not find myself prepared enough to pursue any meaningful
path in terms of career or whatever. Did
not find myself sufficiently mature to enter adult life, since I still kind of thought
of myself as an adolescent.
Anyway, there I
was again with one brother, and my father and his entire family, in a tub of a
boat on our slow voyage back to Cagayan de Oro.
The slow trip
allowed for some time of introspection and simply of idle thoughts. What would the city be like after the long
absence? What about the people whom I
knew, where would they be now? Never had
the opportunity to return for a visit the entire 3 years.
Before long all
this would be addressed and resolved. As
is typical or usual, the boat docked in the early morning, and before long I
and my brother were driven to my mother’s house which was less than 2
kilometers away, passing by the old provincial capitol grounds.
Immediately I was
hit with the revelation that because the streets in Manila were wider and
better paved, that our own streets were quite narrow, and indeed looked rural,
with acacia trees flopping in the wind and tossing its branches above the
asphalted streets. That experience
stayed with me for quite a while.
It made me realize
and exclaim that before Manila, I had really lived a rural kind of life in very
rustic surroundings. How different the
local color and ambiance were. In a way,
how pitiable, especially taking into account the better-looking houses and
buildings in Manila. No wonder travelers
before had swooned of the manifold wonders of Manila after their own memorable trips
to the capital city.
Over time, I would
always harbor the thought that living in any small hometown was life lived in
small and simple ways. Thriving among uncomplicated
people and circumstances. Of life, easy
to deal with and none the worse for tear and wear.
Thus, in the
succeeding years, I would be engaged in sojourns of leaving the old hometown
and coming back after long absences. And
the self-same feelings would still engulf me upon each return. Like an older man going back to his youth,
and reliving the perceived glories that were then present and enjoyed. And enjoying being cradled by such
familiarity and simplicity.
Today as I turn 3
scores and 18, idling thoughts still turn to the same remembrances and somehow
they bring some comfort and relief. And
maybe the final thought that this last return to the old homeland would be the
last.