When your homeland becomes a mere vacation destination for you, there won’t be time for blogging, even reading newspapers and watching news. Times are spent just catching up on events that took place within the close-knit family circle since the last vacation. Talks on politics happen only when your aging father updates you on the latest government shenanigans.
Spending the first half of my month-long vacation in
Cagayan de Oro, where my in-laws are based and where I own a modest home, there was very little talk of politics. There would have been none, if I could have helped it.
Driving from the airport in
Lumbia to my home in
Camaman-an, I noticed several billboards proclaiming “
GMA Cares” (for what, I wondered). As I drove by SM City, I noticed a street sign larger than the average street signs. It identified the street as
Macapagal Drive-
ano ba ‘
yan? I would have understood if I were driving along streets in
Lubao,
Pampanga.
Pero nasa Mindanao
ako.
We decided to swing by SM City’s food court for a quick lunch. After paying the bill, I was given several loose coins and a P200-note with
Diosdado Macapagal smiling at me (Must Jun Magsaysay be a president before we can replace Kong
Dadong’s portrait with that of Ramon Magsaysay?). Isa pang “
ano ba ‘
yan?”. What has
Diosdado Macapagal done to deserve all these tributes. A
Macapagal Street, a
Macapagal Drive, a
Macapagal Avenue, and a
Macapagal note? Here’s a nation so grateful to a former president for things only his daughter knows. I dread the thought of having a town, a province, and, who knows, a country named
Macapagal just because of a daughter’s hallucinations of grandeur.
While in Mindanao, I had the chance to visit other towns in
Misamis Oriental.
Jasaan (my mother-in-law’s place) is still a picture of serenity. Though, some stretches of coastline may appear unsafe due to UFOs (unidentified floating objects), there are still stretches that are enchantingly clean and invitingly beautiful.
Salay (my father-in-law’s place) ranks second in my list of the sweetest tasting
tuba sources. I reserve the number one spot for
tuba from the town of
Claveria. If it were not for the daily afternoon rains, I would have reserved a date for the beaches of
Opol.
The last half of the vacation was spent with my folks in
Cavite. Mornings are reserved for feasts of native delicacies (
suman sa lihiya, sapin-sapin, bibingkang galapong, etc.) and a stockpile of
tawilis. Early afternoons are for
driving to the nearest SM or Robinson’s. Evenings were spent chatting with brothers and a brother-in-law over bottles of extra-strong beer.
Talks on political issues become inevitable with the radio tuned in to the AM band all through the mornings. These discussions were dull and memorable at the same time. They were dull because they were all between me and
Tatay- there were no points of disagreement, as we have always shared the same viewpoints since I was seven, when PP1081 took effect. They were memorable because they were all between me and
Tatay- they were moments of bonding between a father, who never failed to understand, and a son, who never failed to question. I admit that they were more memorable than dull knowing that nothing lasts forever. I know,
Tatay won’t be there for me forever, or I may not be there for
Tatay forever- so bond while there’s time.
I also had my own moments with my kids as we spent an afternoon in the farm picking vegetables and wild mushrooms, drinking coconut water straight from the coconut, transforming mango branches into instant
chainless swings, taking pictures of several heads of cattle we own and riding on their backs after those photo ops, and plunging into an accidental bath courtesy of an unexpected afternoon rain.
The worst thing with vacations is that they don’t last as long as you want them to. After becoming so attached (or, is it reattached?) to folks back home, we had to detach. My sons had a difficult time saying goodbye to grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. The folks we left behind were just as teary-eyed as we stepped into the
NAIA’s departure area.
Vacations start with anticipatory smiles. They end with eyes moist. And, when the tears are wiped dry, blogging begins again.
