HOMECOMING

It was only this year that I spent Christmas at home (in the BUKID) after four years. Christmas of ’98 I spent with the Fontelos of Dumaguete, Christmas of ’99 I spent with the Fernandez of San Isidro Calatrava , Christmas of 2000 I spent with the Alars of Dumaguete and Christmas of 2001 I spent with my Aunt Ligaya’s (a sister of my Mom from my Granpa’s first family) family in San Fernando, Pampanga.

When I started working in Dumaguete in 1998 the only time of the year that I would be able to go home was on the 30th of December and that is only after I am done with my hosting job for the 7 a.m. Rizal Day Ceremony at Quezon Park. Then I would rush to the Dumaguete Pier to catch the Supercat trip to Cebu, from Cebu I would take the ferry that would leave at 7 or 8 p.m. and would arrive at Cagayan de Oro, the following morning. From Cagayan, I have to endure a three-hour bus ride to Bukidnon.

Last year was the worst. Having decided to leave Manila on the 31st of December, I took the earliest flight (5 a.m.) of Cebu Pacific to Cagayan de Oro. Unfortunately, the visibility of the Cagayan de Oro airport was very poor that day and the plane has to land instead in Cebu City. We were left with no choice but to take the boat from Cebu. Last year, I spent my New Year’s eve in the Tourist Section of Cebu Ferries.

Since this is my First Christmas at home after four years (and first after graduation), I was pretty excited. At the outset I would like to say that more than the opportunity to escape from the chaos of a life in Manila and having been able to rest, my trip to my hometown this year was emotionally fulfilling. As matter of fact, before I always look forward to the time when I can go back to my work place, but this year, I dread the day when I have to leave for Manila.

When I think of Malaybalay, Bukidnon, most of the time it is always associated with a heavy heart. I look at the place as the very source of my insecurities, of my struggles to belong, of my fears of being rejected. Even up to this moment, I am still struggling from my paranoia of people talking behind my back. When a friend won’t respond from my text message, instead of assuming that he might not have a load, I would assume that he is already pissed of or mad at me that is why he (or she) isn’t answering back. The last thing that I would want to happen is to be rejected (the reason why I haven’t courted a girl that I really like, even when I know she likes me too, was because of that fear). That fear I develop because as a child you saw how you were being discriminated against the kids who are better of, socially and financially, than you do. This animosity with the place was highlighted when I was talking to Aleli, a schoolmate in Bukidnon State College and a next door neighbor in our apartment in Makati, when It became obvious that I have nothing better to say about my hometown and how I try not to contact any friends that reminds of that place.

(I am slowly trying to overcome this fear, and thanks to friends who made me feel that they are there for me)

So coming home to Bukidnon on Christmas would mean, spending more time in Malaybalay (my family moved to Don Carlos, Bukidnon, when I moved to Silliman to study). Which would also mean seeing my former classmates, aunts and uncles, and cousins who would remind me of these struggles.

I was prepared to show them a different Eric. This is no longer the Eric who would painstakingly hid the tear in his shoes because his mom couldn’t buy him a new pair of shoes. This is no longer the Eric who would not go out from the classroom during recess because he doesn’t have the money to buy a two peso worth of snacks (I finish elementary and high school without asking money from my parents for baon or even a fare for the pedicab). What they would be seeing is a different Eric, more cultured, more sophisticated and who knows the finer things in life.

I actually planned for my meetings with my cousins, my relatives and my high school classmates. Even what to wear and what to say, I planned it.

During our first meeting with my classmates, they brought me into the bar called “Sentro”. They said its one of the “in” thing in Malaybalay. Inside the bar, I didn’t hide my amusement over the place. It’s a 20-30 square meters wide bar, with hollowblocks wall and the boundaries of the hollowblocks were painted red to make it look like a brickwall, and it was decorated in such a way that it would look like a tavern from the Wild West movies. The attempt, of course, failed as it looks like more of a shack in the Alps rather than a tavern. At the far end portion of the place appears a very small stage with a sign “no audience participation allowed” posted infront. (my classmate later explained that they used to ask their guest to sing but one very drunken guest started singing and refuses to give the microphone back to the band member). There was on old drum set, three microphones plugged into a Karaoke machine. Then came the band members. Three out of four wore T-shirt and shorts (the one you would be wearing inside your house) and rubber sandals.

Sensing that I am having this crazy expression (more of a look that mocks the place), my classmates reminded me that I am no longer in Makati. I was all the more shocked when they ordered six bottles of beer. I thought it would be one each, but instead they had a “tagay system” where one glass will be used and it will be passed on from one member to the other with a member acting as the “gunner” or the one who will fill the glass with liquor. I mean, I am used to this system back in college, but having tagay inside a bar?! That is totally unthinkable, party people of Malate and Makati would surely raise an eyebrow once they see you doing that inside a bar. Then I asked for the direction of the rest room, instead of giving me direction, Batchoy, one of my classmates, blurted “rest room? sosyal mo naman!” Deep inside me, I would really like to say “well I think I am, I am cultured now, I have been to places and meet persons you people could only dream of, I have leap beyond all obstacles that this god forsaken place have made me suffer years ago!” But I wasn’t able to say that, instead I just smile and headed towards the rest room located just beside the stage.

I believe my relatives and former classmates saw that I have changed (other that of course my obvious change I in body size). I expected that. But there was one thing that I did not expect, THEY MISSED ME. While I was ready to make plastikan with them, what they showed me was a real. They really missed me. I can see it I the eyes of my grandma, my aunts and uncles when I kissed them, I felt it with the tight hug of my cousins and friends some even gave a shriek of delight upon seeing me. I just can’t believe it, they were just so happy seeing me. Somehow, all these melt what I thought a “hardened heart”.

What was all the more unexpected was my cousin Raymond and had our first conversation after many years. Raymond was three years older than I am. We used to be playmates when we were still kids. Our teachers in high school even thought that we were brothers because we almost look the same. But even when we were still young there appears to be a competition between us. He probably felt it, that when he entered high school (I was grade five then) he stop talking to me, wouldn’t even greet when I will visit their house. I can never think of any reason why he stopped talking to me, he just started to ignore my presence. Last December 27, 2002, after FIFTEEN YEARS of not talking to each other, we had our fist conversation. Over lunch in their house, he asked me when I am going back to law school and our conversation started from our law studies (he is a freshman law student). Raymond now is married to a girl who was once my stiff competitor in all extemporaneous and oratorical contest that I joined back in high school (life really knows how to play some games). I won in all of those contests. Raymond is now a father of a five-year-old girl and a months-old baby boy.

These events made me realize that it was wrong of just to break my ties to all the people who remind me of Malaybalay. While there were those who made my life not that easy, who looked down at me because I am but a son of an ordinary government employee, there were also those who supported me and were happy with my achievements. My aunts and uncles who borrowed clothes and shoes for me so that I could have decent attire for our prom. My neighbors who helped and prayed for us during the most difficult times of our lives when my father died. My classmates who gave me their 100 percent support when I decided to run as Student Council President against a daughter of a respected businessman whom many people declared as a sure winner. I won by a margin of 20 votes (our high school population is less than 400 from first to fourth year with two sections in each year level). In our class, my opponent, who belong to the other section, only had one vote which I expected because three of our classmates were just transferred to our section from the other class during our senior year. How could I also forget my officers and staff and my teachers who help me oust our abusive tactical officer, when as the Corps Commander, our tactical officer made me went through a very difficult and embarrassing punishment just because of some ridiculous charges (I failed to put up a billboard greeting for his birthday). And there were other numerous acts of kindness shown to me.

December 30 was my Grandpa’s death anniversary. It has been a family tradition to gather in front of Grandpa’s tomb and offer our prayers. Our prayers were not really for Grandpa, but for each of the member of the family who are still alive. Before, it was only my mom and her sisters who will recite their prayers one after the other. This year, I offered my prayers with them (it was the first time coming from my generation). I prayed for my generation, for my cousins who have their own families to be forever mindful of the mistakes of our family before so that we won’t repeat them (my Grandpa has two wives, which many believed was the root of all our troubles). While praying, I cried. I think it was not only because of that prayer what I said, but because of an overflowing emotion, a sense of being able to unload many of my emotional baggage that I have been carrying for many years.

I was happy that I came home. I was happy that I was now able to confront the many ghosts of my past. There are still struggles, but these struggles are better faced now that I have a lighter load to carry.

Last Christmas was the most meaningful homecoming for me.