Half-Mad to Give Birth to a Dancing Star

"If one is not half-mad how can one give birth to a dancing star?" - Friedrich Nietzsche

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Jack Kerouac

D. must have had this in mind during our anniversary. I didn't even fancy having an anniversary. We had a party in P. with wine and booze and salad and pizza and friends and she asked us to come up the rooftop. The floor was covered with rose petals, set-up with small chairs, candles and lamps. As she greets me, fireworks lit like a spider across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and D. goes “Happy Anniversary, J___.”

A Welcome to Where We're From

The trip back to Pagsanjan was probably one of the best drives I’ve ever ridden. I sat quite comfortably while my father drove on a highway that didn’t have the usual bottleneck. It’s March but the usual ferocious heat I so often described, softened itself as the calmest sun of summer. Like always, nature sympathizes and the clouds gloomed with my grand aunt’s demise. At the same time, I felt that all my grand aunts and grand parents who've passed away were all happy to welcome me back.

On the many trips I’ve had on the way here I probably never looked hard enough at the un-photoshoped, un-cropped and inartificial view of rice fields and mountains. There are towns lined with garden flowers and plants sold at the sides of the highway. Fire trees and acacia trees formed an arched roof for the road. We were listening to the Philippine Madrigal Singers, Café Del Mar 11, some Eels and Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Pagsanjan is lined with houses like ours: mid-20th century style two-storey houses with the familiar capiz windows. I was glad to be back at this old house. It must have generations and generations of ala-One Hundred Years of Solitude stories to tell about the _____s
There’s a four-post bed in one of the three adjoining rooms. Other bed frames are carved with monograms, AA for ____ and AAA for ____. Even the blankets were weaved with their names or initials.

In the altar near the sala, there’s a huge crucifix, and underneath were small statues of St. Dominic and St. Thomas Aquinas. Near the dining table, there’s a grandfather’s clock whose pendulum has stopped. On the cupboard, the china’s engraved MA for Maria ____, and locked in there is a set of 22K gold heat resistant porcelain.

From the capiz window, I can see an Antique Shop, where a wooden mermaid stands. I remember Lola Amada telling us stories about a mermaid in the river (a few steps away from the house) who may have been the cause of why many people drowned there.
I remember one of the summers I was here, reading Sun Tzu all night with mosquitoes feasting on me. I remember all that muttering that was the Pasion. I remember drunken excursions with cousins, and having to return here for all our grandparents’ wakes.

The house does not have a strong provincial feeling, save for the tricycles that speed through the highway, and the heavy Tagalog accent people have. This area must be richer than many of the residential areas in Metro Manila. This part of the province is free of eye sores such as slums and garbage, not to mention how the greens here are greener. There are a lot of small-scale stores that have been around for decades: the sandal and shoe store Step Rite, the restaurant Dura Fe, and this Antique shop across the street. Having been around for the groceries, the market place, the restaurants and stores, and with the tourist spots nearby, this town’s pretty progressive.

People know everyone and generally have a kinder disposition.

I wanted to congratulate my Dad for taking the effort and pains to maintain this house. The house spoke to us, wordlessly, where our family came from.

Adelia Knew A Secret

March 4. Pagsanjan, Laguna. Adelia A. A.’s finally back in her hometown. She died yesterday in a bathroom accident that's common among old people. That bathroom is across the room where I sleep. She lived 94 years. 94 years of which, she didn’t spend a day working. She never married, but she seemed to have found joy in dedicating her services to the Philippine Independent Church. She was given a dinstinction for that service. She called sugar “refinado” when I tried to make her coffee, but with diabetes she refused the cookies I offered. She loved Bingo. She used an abanico. She prayed constantly. She constantly powdered herself, being rather compulsive about hygiene. She had an excellent memory for stories about almost-forgotten friends and relatives. She had a hearing difficulty which made her, quite literally, just lend a deaf ear to the DTS sounds booming from an 8.5 diamond set-up across the room. And as long as she was able, she walked towards the Sto. Niño to touch it and make the sign of the cross.

To have lived this long, so persistently and idependently, she must have quietly kept a secret to happiness.

But then we grieve her loss. And my mother grieved the most, since she always took care of Lola Del. I hate how it’s all a cliché, but like the grieving and the death it’s all just inevitable. You cannot help but be deeply touched by the affection shared by people who’s lives she touched. How you are thankful she didn’t suffer terribly during her death, but still wished she was around.

Quietly still, and probably as happy as always to be here, she is home.