I was born in an obscure barrio of Catmon and grew up in Maysilo, Malabon, Rizal where I had spent my childhood. On the latter barrio (Maysilo), a place halfway between my father’s birthplace in Tinajeros and that of my mother’s in Malinta, Polo, Bulacan (now Valenzuela), where mother had spent her maidenhood later with Lola Tita on her seven-hectar land planted to sugar cane and fruit trees where, I was told, their courtship took place. My teacher was my mother who oftentimes had to hunt for my leaflet “caton” which I used to hide under the dry bamboo leaves to escape from the tiresome A, B, C lessons everyday. I still remember when she used to ask me to join her in her long rosary prayers every night in Spanish, for she had spent her school days in La Concordia and Beaterio College before her marriage. When I got tired reciting the long rosary, I had to move behind her still answering the prayers lying down.
Later, my Uncle Sario used to take me along proudly carrying his big dictionary to the nearby barrio school. They said I am a “saling-pusa” for there was no kinder similar to what we have now. My first and second grades were spent in the Tinajeros Barrio School and the rest up to the 7th grade in Hulong Duhat Malabon Elementary School some five kilometers from home crossing the dikes of fishponds to reach the school every schoolday.
Life then in barrio Maysilo was peaceful. The people lived a simple way of life with nobody I know had to work for a living but nobody was hungry, no hold-up, for the source of food was from the nearby river rich in marine products when water pollution was yet unknown. The cereals came from the nearby ricefields across the river. People helped each other whenever help is needed. Gone are those good old days when on the morning of Sunday some twenty barrio folks, young and old, sat around waiting their turn for haircut by a lone barber whose shop was under a mango tree with no chair to sit on but a tall box. I still remember when I could hear the murmuring sounds from the stomach of the lone barber if my turn happened to be the last for haircut.
After more than 50 years, I am now a total stranger in Barrio Maysilo for the old folks have already gone to the great beyond leaving only the younger generations probably the grandchildren of those whom I used to associate during my younger days. Even the houses have changed from the nipa to semi-concrete surrounded by stone walls so that one cannot even greet them. Luckily, I still have three cousins and their better-halves still remaining in the big lot of Lola Tita.
Later, my Uncle Sario used to take me along proudly carrying his big dictionary to the nearby barrio school. They said I am a “saling-pusa” for there was no kinder similar to what we have now. My first and second grades were spent in the Tinajeros Barrio School and the rest up to the 7th grade in Hulong Duhat Malabon Elementary School some five kilometers from home crossing the dikes of fishponds to reach the school every schoolday.
Life then in barrio Maysilo was peaceful. The people lived a simple way of life with nobody I know had to work for a living but nobody was hungry, no hold-up, for the source of food was from the nearby river rich in marine products when water pollution was yet unknown. The cereals came from the nearby ricefields across the river. People helped each other whenever help is needed. Gone are those good old days when on the morning of Sunday some twenty barrio folks, young and old, sat around waiting their turn for haircut by a lone barber whose shop was under a mango tree with no chair to sit on but a tall box. I still remember when I could hear the murmuring sounds from the stomach of the lone barber if my turn happened to be the last for haircut.
After more than 50 years, I am now a total stranger in Barrio Maysilo for the old folks have already gone to the great beyond leaving only the younger generations probably the grandchildren of those whom I used to associate during my younger days. Even the houses have changed from the nipa to semi-concrete surrounded by stone walls so that one cannot even greet them. Luckily, I still have three cousins and their better-halves still remaining in the big lot of Lola Tita.
No comments:
Post a Comment