Maxima
Maxima thinks she is dying.
She gave me a hug and promptly broke down when I sat beside her. "I'm dying.", she told me in between sobs.
"Not yet.", I replied. "Besides, you still have to tell me where you hid your treasure chest in Malacampa!".
We both laughed heartily for a few seconds and things suddenly turned quiet. She was crying again. She paused for a bit and then stared blankly into nothing.
Her eyes are in terrible shape. Glaucoma, I think. She's an old 78, her face still bearing the mark of a rather nasty bout with typhoid when she was a child. She's always been hypertensive--no thanks to the fat-intensive Reyes diet. Her heart, God bless it, is presumably not in the fittest of states, again, due to the fact that her surname is Reyes. But her life decries these illnesses as lies.
She is the sister of my paternal grandfather, Romulo. When she left their family home in Tarlac for Manila shortly after World War II*, Lolo Mulong and Lola Anding took her in. I've never her seen her do anything else except look after people. All my aunts and uncles tell me the same- "all Tiyang Emang does is take care of us".And most likely because taking care of her family ate up too much of her time, she was not able to start one of her own. Ask her, though, and she'll promptly say she has more sons and daughters than anyone can hope to have in a lifetime. Or two.
I looked at her gnarled, leathery hands.
Those hands took care of 4 generations. She attended to her dying father. When my Lolo Mulong, her brother, suffered a debilitating heart ailment, she helped take care of him. This, while also helping my Lola Anding look after her 5 children. She took care of my father the most, even up to when it was his turn to succumb to heart disease. When it was my father's turn to start a family, she was still there to help. She took care of my younger brother and I.
She lived with us and made sure the household was run to the strictest of standards (my Lola Anding's). She terrorized the househelp: white pieces of clothing had to be white and never even the dullest shade of yellow; trouser pleats had to run perfectly down the center of the trouser leg; collars had to stand up to gale-force winds; floors were polished daily; and the food, oh dear heavens, the food. Two viands or more per meal, and the viands had to go with each other. Soup went with a fried dish, something fried went with something sharp ang tangy. It was like living in a freaking restaurant.
She stirs and asks that we have some coffee.
She says she would have liked to have prepared my coffee, as she always did, but was too weak to do so.
"Ako na po ang bahala... 'wag na lang nating gawing masyadong matapang ang sa inyo."
She needed help trekking the 4 feet from her room to the dining table.
What breaks my heart is that I am able to do so little for someone who has done so much for me. I am, however, sure Lola Emang understands. Now, in what could be merely borrowed time for her, all I can offer are a few words of encouragement, a few minutes of my time, the occasional laugh, a bowl of ice cream, and a promise to look after my family as she did with hers. I glance at her and I am certain that what I offer is more than enough for her.
I also see some strength and resilience left in the proud Ilokana. Not much, but still.
Marami pong salamat, Lola.
*sidestory here: Lola Emang was violently interrogated by Japanese soldiers during the war. Her brother, Eugenio, was fighting with the guerilla forces and the Japanese came looking for him when they took control of their small village in Camiling, Tarlac . She was all they found. They grabbed her by the hair and threw her around, but she didn't say a word. Eugenio was eventually captured but escaped a few weeks later. (He said he had to shoot 2 guards point-blank during the escape; and that having to look at the faces of dying men was something he never wanted to do again. Lolo Genio passed away in 2005.)
She gave me a hug and promptly broke down when I sat beside her. "I'm dying.", she told me in between sobs.
"Not yet.", I replied. "Besides, you still have to tell me where you hid your treasure chest in Malacampa!".
We both laughed heartily for a few seconds and things suddenly turned quiet. She was crying again. She paused for a bit and then stared blankly into nothing.
Her eyes are in terrible shape. Glaucoma, I think. She's an old 78, her face still bearing the mark of a rather nasty bout with typhoid when she was a child. She's always been hypertensive--no thanks to the fat-intensive Reyes diet. Her heart, God bless it, is presumably not in the fittest of states, again, due to the fact that her surname is Reyes. But her life decries these illnesses as lies.
She is the sister of my paternal grandfather, Romulo. When she left their family home in Tarlac for Manila shortly after World War II*, Lolo Mulong and Lola Anding took her in. I've never her seen her do anything else except look after people. All my aunts and uncles tell me the same- "all Tiyang Emang does is take care of us".And most likely because taking care of her family ate up too much of her time, she was not able to start one of her own. Ask her, though, and she'll promptly say she has more sons and daughters than anyone can hope to have in a lifetime. Or two.
I looked at her gnarled, leathery hands.
Those hands took care of 4 generations. She attended to her dying father. When my Lolo Mulong, her brother, suffered a debilitating heart ailment, she helped take care of him. This, while also helping my Lola Anding look after her 5 children. She took care of my father the most, even up to when it was his turn to succumb to heart disease. When it was my father's turn to start a family, she was still there to help. She took care of my younger brother and I.
She lived with us and made sure the household was run to the strictest of standards (my Lola Anding's). She terrorized the househelp: white pieces of clothing had to be white and never even the dullest shade of yellow; trouser pleats had to run perfectly down the center of the trouser leg; collars had to stand up to gale-force winds; floors were polished daily; and the food, oh dear heavens, the food. Two viands or more per meal, and the viands had to go with each other. Soup went with a fried dish, something fried went with something sharp ang tangy. It was like living in a freaking restaurant.
She stirs and asks that we have some coffee.
She says she would have liked to have prepared my coffee, as she always did, but was too weak to do so.
"Ako na po ang bahala... 'wag na lang nating gawing masyadong matapang ang sa inyo."
She needed help trekking the 4 feet from her room to the dining table.
What breaks my heart is that I am able to do so little for someone who has done so much for me. I am, however, sure Lola Emang understands. Now, in what could be merely borrowed time for her, all I can offer are a few words of encouragement, a few minutes of my time, the occasional laugh, a bowl of ice cream, and a promise to look after my family as she did with hers. I glance at her and I am certain that what I offer is more than enough for her.
I also see some strength and resilience left in the proud Ilokana. Not much, but still.
Marami pong salamat, Lola.
*sidestory here: Lola Emang was violently interrogated by Japanese soldiers during the war. Her brother, Eugenio, was fighting with the guerilla forces and the Japanese came looking for him when they took control of their small village in Camiling, Tarlac . She was all they found. They grabbed her by the hair and threw her around, but she didn't say a word. Eugenio was eventually captured but escaped a few weeks later. (He said he had to shoot 2 guards point-blank during the escape; and that having to look at the faces of dying men was something he never wanted to do again. Lolo Genio passed away in 2005.)
posted by CSG at 12:19 PM
4 Comments:
hi there, am a blogger friend of joy's :). funny how i stumbled upon this entry -- the word "malacampa" surprised me. surely, it couldn't be the malacampa near camiling, tarlac and sure enough, it is :D. hmm, treasure chest, where oh where hahaha! my parents are originally from camiling, tarlac so i've spent some good times there.
nice entries.
Hello, Jen. Ang bahay na inuuwian namin doon ay ang sa kapatid ng lolo ko. It's right beside the highway; exactly at Kilometer 156. We've family at Mayantoc, as well. Palagay ko pamilyar sa iyo ang Karayan?
Salamat sa pagdalaw. :)
Samtoy power ngaruden!
Sherwin
I'm assuming you're talking about the river? Haha, if yes, then I am familiar with it -- and I swam in it quite a few times as a little girl (college too, LOL). I have uncles on both sides of my family that have wives from Mayantoc and a brother of my grandfather who has a home also beside the highway. When we go to Camiling, we stay at my grandparents' home right in front of the plaza. Gee, I'm about ready to tell you my lifestory here, LOL.
Small world! :)
Haha--iyong ilog nga mismo! Maliit nga ang mundo.
:)
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