Pagmumuni-muni ng isang lagalag

Nostalgia

He shall shout with all his might amidst the thunder and the rain.
And the nothingness of his soul shall be filled.

The spirit of silence shall bind you all in stillness.

Listen. Just listen and lend me your sight. And my face will show you all the thoughts I have. Take me for what I am. Take me for who I am. For I am just me, Badjung Talabusaw, flesh and bone of my great grandfathers.

I’m not going to tell you here about great exploits for I have none. Great exploits are the times of my forefathers. And I am just me, Badjung Talabusaw, a nobody. I am just someone who has never seen the glory of my ancestors. But let me share to you something. Something which is the only thing I have. Please, allow me to share the nostalgia. Yes, the wistfulness in my eyes. For the glory of my ancestors is a thing of the past. And the only thing I’ve inherited is the nostalgia brewing deep inside.

I admit I never felt like this before. Not within my ten years of solitary existence. I mean, just by myself. Shaping my own path the way I would like it. Dreaming the dreams I’ve shared with fellow dreamers. Dreams that made me dream of more dreams.

Nostalgia. But it's a different kind of nostalgia. It is melancholic longing of a soul tormented in its nothingness. Ah! Never had I felt this thing before. For nostalgia is an alien feeling to a wanderer. But now it is knocking right in the brittleness of my skull. And as it hammers down my heart, it brings me back to the dreamer I once called I.

Yes, it was the dreamer that started it all. He was a defiant dreamer. And in his youthfulness he believed that it is but rightful for a rebellious lad to go away. To search on his own the answers to his questions. And in his belief he was convinced to start the epic saga of going far away from home (or from the house). Yes, it’s just from the house since home has a feeling of belongingness. And when you don’t feel it, it’s merely a house. A physical structure. A mere shelter.

The insolent dreamer thought that it is a nature of troubled living. It is the law of nature upon families where the quest for food is more important than to feel the comforts of home. Knowing this, no guilt or fear could hound his solitary quest. And in such a situation, the lure of adventure is just too great to resist. Yes, adventure. Juvenile longings of a youthful soul. A rebellious soul! For what could be sweeter than to savor the taste of adventure? For what could be sweeter than freedom?

But then there are misadventures. And the law of nature declared that he who is young and solitary shall suffer the consequences of his ignorance. Of his arrogance. And so, the rebellious dreamer tasted the bitter fruit of his insolence.

But it is in his nature to struggle. He understood that it is the law of nature to struggle. To endure and persevere in hunger. Because surrender would be a certain death. Ah! Those were the days of hard toil. But he defied the scorching sun in the fields. He defied the law of weight like the enduring ant. The heavy sacks of rice and corn could not break his shoulders. The bone-breaking toil could not break his bones. The animalistic toil could only testify to his never ever wavering youthful vigor.

Such things though were not unique to him. For in this age of modernity, the glory of his ancestors is a thing of the past. And so, the consequence is for them to master the bolo before wielding the pencil. To master the plow and the carabao before mastering the books. And yes, his kind is conscripted to the proverbial toil in the fields!

The defiant dreamer lived on to dream more dreams. And in his eagerness to learn, he worked while studying and studied while working. He mastered his arithmetic from the daily habit of counting his extremely low wages (then 40 pesos a day which means working from 6am-6pm). But before he could multiply it and divide, nothing is left after subtracting the debt he had incurred in the sari-sari stores. Oftentimes the resulting difference is a negative, which prompts him to incur more debt.

But because he was adventurous, the dreamer persevered. Being young and eager to learn, he continued working while studying and studying while working. Hunger has been his constant companion. But he lived on with courage he never knew where he got. He survived the life and death struggle for existence.

Yes, he struggled more to prove his existence. And that struggle slowly nurtured the insolent dreamer into maturity. Despite his youthfulness, he learned the value of education. He learned that the struggle for existence is education itself. This belief molded the foundation of his maturity.

Those were the things engraved in the dreamer’s youthful mind. Study and find a good job after studying. Because a good job would have a good pay. A good pay would mean a sort of freedom, “economic freedom” for an individual. But then the concept of freedom grows while the bones are growing. And the rebellious dreamer has never tired of searching answers for the questions that stoked his rebellion. Ah! Those were deep-rooted questions that he always tried to dig.

Well, growth has its tow of changes. The change of the physical features and the workings of the mind. The gradual change of dreams. Ah! There was once a little dreamer nourished by famine. His bones grew strong with bone-breaking toil in the fields. His muscles were harnessed amidst the struggle to prove his existence.

Ah! It is true that the concept of freedom grows while the bones grow strong. And amidst that growth the insolent dreamer found the love of freedom. The love of freedom that grew strong while the muscles were harnessed by difficulties. The love of freedom inflamed with the memories of the scorching sun. Of the bone-breaking load upon the tender shoulder bones.

Alas! The love of freedom is no longer the selfish lure of adventure. It is no longer the selfish dreams of the insolent dreamer. Ah! The glory of his ancestors that he has never seen dawned upon the defiant dreamer. The glory of the people who are now slaves in this so-called age of modernity.

That was how the defiant dreamer became a man from the ruggedness of his youth. He came to know the love of freedom from the adventurous longings of his youthfulness. Suffice it is to say he was molded completely amidst the rat race. Well, it is no peculiar thing in a country where rat race is "normal". Survival of the fittest. That old Darwinian dictum. Or is it the law of nature?

Well, the dreamer came to value experience as a virtue. Yes, experience. It has bolstered his struggle for existence. And he lived on. He lives within me. Yes, within me, Badjung Talabusaw, flesh and bones of my great grandfathers.

I, a nobody, have survived this long because I am nourished by the love of freedom. I have lasted this far despite my nothingness because I have learned to love and be loved. This is by far, the greatest achievement I consider. This is the thing that brought me the only wealth I have – nostalgia.

I must tell you that before I have found the love of freedom, hate nursed me to survive. For it is a hateful thing to know you are oppressed. It is a hateful thing to know that there is no other role offered to you than to be a slave. A slave in the fields, factories, construction works and others. But when hate consumes you, you will never know why you became a slave. The thought of vengeance will make you forget history.

But then I have found the love of freedom. Ah! It is the love that made me strong. The only thing I have inherited from thousands of my ancestors. For did not my great grandfathers fought tooth and nail against alien domination?

Ah! I have learned to love and be loved! And it has brought me the only wealth I have – nostalgia. Yes, I have been far away from home for so long. And the memories of home are fleeting in my sight.

Ah! The insolent dreamer is coming home to share his wanderings. For he has come to know that there’s no place like home. Besides, his home is no longer the old cogon hut but the land of his ancestors. For is he not Badjung Talabusaw, flesh and bone of his great grandfathers?

My early years of wandering

Itid the wanderer

From the time I’ve noticed the world around me, I’ve lived a nomadic life. It’s not because my family is of a pure lumad descent. But because times call for it (my father would often say).

When I learned to search and gather food, I've believed I existed independently. I was then a weakling five year-old. And we were living in a primitive hut in the far flung margins of civilization.

Yes, I will tell you my early years of wandering. The years when my bones were harnessed and my muscles were hardened. It all started when I was still a weakling five-year old.

My first venture of wandering was in a nearby stream. It was a cold morning. I walked downstream. I was fascinated with the clear flowing water. I walked and waded through the stream. I felt the coolness of the stream soothing my entire body. It was my first conscious intercourse with nature. It was a memorable adventure of a young free spirit. I could even feel its pleasure even as I write this piece.

I could not remember though how far I have ventured. I can only remember that the Kalaws sounded their afternoon merienda alarm when I got home. I can still recall the mixed feelings of my mother. She was angry, furious, worried and afraid. She thought I was already eaten by some fierce creatures lurking around.

My first wandering taught me simple but hard lesson – never venture unprepared. I’ve only brought a bolo with me and I forgot to bring a match. So when I felt the coldness of the water seeping through my flesh and bones, I was not able to build a fire. And that was very dangerous. Because along with the terrible coldness, hunger came scratching my stomach. That was the first time I’ve came to know hunger. My stomach then was grumbling and the excruciating pain was like a knife wounding me slowly.

I only felt a little relief when I saw a wild ripened banana. The banana is widely known as agutay in our tongue, I mean our indigenous tongue. But I was still very hungry when I got home. I did not even care to listen to my mother’s sermons while I was eating. A cup of hot aromatic native coffee settled my grumbling stomach.

My first venture was a great failure. But it was not able to traumatize me. It even challenged me for another exploit. The simple hard lesson of my first venture became my foundation for my next exploration. I just don’t know if the spirits of my ancestors are the ones stirring me to wander. It’s just that, I could not resist the call of adventure. And because I was a free spirit, I would always heed the call.

My next venture occurred after my sixth birthday. It was not a well-planned one but at least I already have a lesson with me. The Kalaws were greeting the sunrise when I set out on my next venture. Or adventure as many would call it nowadays. I have brought with me my sharpened bolo and a matchbox I stole from the pocket of my father’s jacket. I also brought a slingshot and several small round stones. For my breakfast and lunch, I brought ten handfuls of sinanglag ha mais (popcorn) stuffed in the oversized pockets of my pants. I have heard my father once that hunters always bring with them popcorn because it’s handy and effective against hunger. Of course, the bolo is mainly for protection against wild animals that may pose harm.

My father wasn’t around then because he has gone early to visit our relatives in a distant barrio. That barrio is a two-day-walk from our primitive hut. My mother and my three-year-old brother were still sleeping then so I managed to slip quietly.

I’ve chosen to roam the nearby forest for my next venture. I have come to realize this late that it was a virgin forest. It has even crossed my mind that I may have seen rare species of the wild back then. But for a six-year-old, it was of no concern. I was after all in the stage of early exploration. The distinctions of the rare from the ordinary are of less importance to me. Besides, it was only nowadays that species in the wild are becoming rare.

When the Kalaws sounded again their alarm in the mid-morning (between sunrise and noontime), I’ve decided to eat my breakfast. I roasted one of the two alimokons (kulo-kulo) I have downed with my slingshot. I was then beginning to mimic the different languages of the birds to make them come near and be an easy target.

I was already in the deep forest by then. When I finished my breakfast, I sat upon an old rock. The rock was covered all over with green moss. While I was practicing to mimic the lingo of the alimokons, I noticed that there were creatures moving beneath the leaves in the forest floor. When I caught a glimpse of the moving creatures, I felt my heart beating faster. The moving creatures were snakes. Snakes of different kinds and sizes. Some were colorful while others were black and dull-colored.

It’s the first time I’ve realized the danger of my venture. Even if I could hack the snakes from left to right, it would not be fast enough to hack them all. I was sure then that there would be at least one of the snakes that would be able to bite me. And I am pretty sure I would be dead if that will happen.

I was keenly observing the movements in the surroundings while thinking what to do. And I’ve noticed that the snakes didn’t dare to go near the coals of my bonfire. With that, I went to my bonfire and pondered what to do. Then I realized that the snakes were not interested with me after all. Well, that was my belief then and you can’t blame me. I was after all an innocent six-year-old.

When the movements under the pile of leaves, twigs and branches ceased, I’ve thought there’s no danger anymore. Besides, I’ve thought that the snakes would get nothing from me. It never crossed my mind that an adult python could make a good meal out of me. Well, things like that will never cross the mind of a young free spirit. An innocent six-year-old whose curiosity to learn from his surroundings is just so great.

Little did I realize that I was already going up the mountain. It was already getting noon but it was still cold out there. Well, it’s a virgin forest after all. And as far as I can remember, it is only father who dared to venture deep into that mountain.

There was something in my mind then that is urging me to reach the top. And it makes me wonder now why I never felt tired back then. In the midst of the forest I could see scattered old trails. When I followed one of the trails going up, I saw animal traps. Those are possibly the traps that father has made when he ventured deep into that mountain. I even saw traps where there were remains of wild boars and wild chickens.

Suddenly, after inspecting some of the remains I realized something. I realized it is very difficult to trace my path back! With that in mind, I preferred not to reach the summit of the mountain anymore. I opted to eat my lunch before finding my way back to our primitive cogon hut.

While forcing my teeth to grind the hard popcorn, I’ve realized another hard lesson – always leave prominent marks in your path. My heart throbbed wildly when I thought that I might not be able to go home. But then another side of my brain was aroused. It gave me the feeling of thrill creeping through the sinews of my flesh. It was the first moment when I experienced mixed feelings. There was fear, excitement and thrill!

But after my simple rationalization, I’ve thought I would not be lost. I would just walk downwards and find the stream. And when I’ll found the stream, I would just walk upstream and I will never miss our old cogon hut. With that in mind, I’ve started my descent. Fortunately, my calculations were accurate and I’ve descended on the right stream. I’m certain it’s the stream leading near to our hut because I’ve reached that part of the stream on my first venture. I even saw the remains of the agutay that I felled.

It was already dusk when I finally got home. And for my second adventure, I got a bitter reward. Well, suffice it is to say I got a nice beating from my mother. The following morning, I saw my nervous mother packing all our clothes. She reminded me not to go astray again. She added that we would just wait for my father and then we would go away from that place. She never told us why. I have only come to know the whole story of our sudden evacuation when I was already a nine year-old.

On the night when I received a nice beating, I was able to sleep soundly. It could be due to the fatigue of my one day exploit. But my mother wasn’t able to sleep that night. She was weaving a banig when she heard a crying baby in the nearby stream. Then a purring cat followed. After a while, she heard a heavy object hit the ground. She was horrified. What she has heard had the imprints of a mantianak. According to local lore, it is an evil creature that eats human beings.

It was the very reason why my mother looked nervous on the following morning. Our neighbors, who were located about two kilometers away, opined that maybe the spirits do not want us to dwell in that place. It is the first time they’ve told us that the former inhabitants of the area have evacuated for the same reason.

When my father arrived after two weeks, my mother was very mad. She was even crying in mixed feelings of anger, fear and frustration. When my father knew why, we were told to prepare. We were to transfer to another place. While my mother and father were preparing our baggage, I and my three-year-old brother were trying to catch our ducks and chickens.

The melancholic alarm of the kalaws in an early morning signaled our exodus. It’s the first exodus I could recall but it’s already the nth time that the family transferred to another place. Father prepared a huge lupot (cooked rice wrapped by green banana leaves) for our food along the way.

As for me, I was unwilling to evacuate. I’ve learned then that I loved the place. It is where I was awakened to the world around me. It is where my youthful curiosity was roused to action. It is where my free spirit dared to venture into the unknown. It is where I’ve learned to conquer the primeval fear of the unknown. It is where I’ve first experienced the joys of simplicity, freedom, independence!

But then, it would be foolish for a six-year-old to remain alone on that far flung edge of civilization. That place in the world I would remember as a paradise. And as we walked away, I kept looking back. I've kept looking back even until today.

Well, I will never forget that paradise. For it is there I’ve first embraced the life of a wanderer.

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The Law

The Law

I solemnly watched the sunset. I leaned heavily on a weather-battered rock beside the lake. There was silence. The stillness of the lake absorbed my thoughts into the depths of unfathomable silence. Ah! Such moment creeps into the flesh.

There are moments like this when the urge to ponder is too great to resist. Such moments reveal the hidden desires of the heart. For within the confines of unfathomable silence, everything hidden is revealed. The bare naked truth is revealed.

I have long denied the desire to go home. But silence prevailed. Over me. And now, it is already written: I am longing to go home.

Yes, moments like this are nostalgic. The air seems to absorb the warmness of those memories. And the crimson sky in the horizon overlords the unfathomable silence. In my mind, I could hear my thoughts flowing vibrantly like the stream. I could see the purple mountain ranges. I could see the verdant valleys. I could feel the coolness of the rivers. Ah! I could go deeper into the vastness of silence.

Finally, after years of wandering in this strange land I finally long to see the familiar mountains. The mountains where I’ve spent the joys of my childhood. The wildness of those days.

So here I am trying to establish coherence on my thoughts. Striving to squeeze some sense on my gibberish. Because sometimes it doesn’t make sense to write these things. Sometimes it is just better to feel the nostalgia. To feel the peculiar feeling brewing inside you. Or feel the peculiar sensation of the rubbing of sinews of your muscles under your skin.

Well, I guess I am going emotional already. It's just good sometimes to release the fervent desires. And a wanderer like me could not be blamed for that. Even in the early times of my great grandfathers, adventurers always strive to come home. To sit by the fire and share the story of their wanderings. And I, Uto Lumbayaw, flesh and bones of my great grandfathers, is no exemption.

Well, maybe because I am feeling now that my adventure in this faraway land is already over. I am thinking that the purpose of my stay in this faraway land is already finished. For I have already mastered domestication.

Yes, I have mastered domestication. And domestication has never mastered me. That’s the most important thing I have achieved in this wandering. They may call me a savage because of my different ways. But then, they should not forget that I am of the wild. The wild gave birth to me. And because of that, my ways are different. They must not wonder why I’ve chosen this kind of life. Because it is my nature. The nature of the wild. Of young rebellious soul.

It is because of my insolence that I came to know the workings of the world. With my wanderings, I have learned that it is still the primeval law that governs all the things. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. Survival of the fittest. Yes, it is still the law. There is no difference even if the settings are different. In the corridors of hustling business districts down to the chaotic slums, the law is still the same. And that is to kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten.

Tooth for a tooth. Eye for an eye. And that is life. Because that is the law.