Life and Death Over Coffee and Suman

Hi Readers,

Ever since arriving in Nasugbu ( in the Batangas region ), every merienda I had thus far consisted of at least sweet black coffee and suman ( sticky rice cooked in coconut milk wrapped in banana leaf ).

Luckily the coffee hadn't affected my sleeping patterns.  With caffeine, the truth in IRRI's slogan became clearer. "Rice is life."  Rice is served in every meal; it's even in snacks and desserts. Life can be like suman; it isn't always sweet, and sometimes it can be sticky.

I was invited to attend the slaughter of a pig.  I ate balot so what's the big deal about watching the killing of a pig? A totally different thing!  I'll spare you the gory details readers; all I can say is that PETA will have a field day ( keep in mind: a different way of life, a different perspective ).  I drank coffee and ate suman before the beginning of the end began.

My cousin's cousin asked about life in the the United States.  I avoided diplomacy, romanticism, and nostalgia, and in my limited Tagalog, I gave him a simplified version of the saying: "Happiness is the consequence of personal effort [ mixed with the company of family and friends]."

I thanked the pig for his life ( after all I still like bacon ).  The pig's life was ended and was used to celebrate the birth date of a relative.  We wished him health and more birthdays to come.  In taking life to give life, the circle of life keeps going on-and-on.

Relatives' home-hopping

Hey Readers,

On our last day in my father's hometown, my aunt and I did nothing but eat and enjoy stories as we home-hop from one relative's to another's.

During breakfast we ate bibingka, champorado, and pandisal.  My aunts chit-chatted about childhood bullies and later speculated about marriage of their children.

We walked to the house of my aunt's sister-in-law; we had noodles with chicharon et al.  I listened to them talk about children's high energy, and body-conscious and technology-literate kids.

Next stop was my cousin's cousin's home.  I was getting full so I just ate a little rice and a lot of papaya with sabaw.  They told stories about working abroad, saving, and retiring.

Before leaving, we had merienda: spaghetti, bread, and coffee.  The next relative we were going to visit last saw me when I was still in diapers.  She nicknamed me Arabiano because I had just flown from the Middle East and my cheeks were round and plump like Buddha.  When she finally saw me, she commented that in spite of the growth spurt nothing else changed; I was still her Arabiano.

We are what we ate ( and cooked )

Que Pasa Readers!

My family reminisced about dead family members and friends.  My aunt remembered the morning she heard the news of my uncle's death.  After breakfast she and her sister were brought to the morgue to identify him.  At 23, my uncle was supposed to leave for work abroad; on the eve of his departure, he got into an accident ( taking a totally different trip as planned ).

My younger cousins asked about the other relatives and friends.  They were having difficulty picturing the faces with the names on the gravestones.

"Remember, she's the one who made fried chicken?"

"Oh yeah!" my cousin replied.  Pointing to another gravestone she added: "This one made great macaroni salad."



Remembering...



Even the souls of the dead get hungry

Kamusta Readers!

Where halloween is a night the living masquerade in costumes and the supernatural, Fiesta of the Dead ( consisting of All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day ) is a time for the supranatural "to show themselves" ( roughly translated from "nagpaparamdam" ) and to enjoy earthly senses once again.

We went to the cemetery early to avoid the crowd because on Fiesta of the Dead ( undas ) people all over the Philippines would return to their hometown to pay respect to their dead relatives.

A breeze made it difficult to light the candles we placed near our relatives' gravestones.  The overcast sky started sprinkling and refreshing the flowers we brought.  Some of us put on our hoodies.  From afar a boombox blasted music.  My little cousins laughed as they shielded and relight candles.

According to my aunt, the light of the candles would help guide the souls of those in purgatory, and in some way, its warmth and smoky scent would feed the souls.

At home people would leave food on the dining room table or in front of altars.  My aunt's mother told her to prepare food by 6 pm ( because by this time, the souls will start coming down from purgatory ).  The souls also would get full by the smell of fragrant food ( such as bico ), and we know that the souls are eating when ants start munching on the food offerings ( Beers are also accepted ).

We started getting hungry, so we ate the snacks we brought from home: potato chips, the turon we made that afternoon, and hard boiled quail eggs.  We sipped Cola and sat on marble benches.  The sprinkling paused; wet grass after the rain smelled like freshly washed rice.

My aunt wondered: "Why is it that people will wait either until the Fiesta of the Dead or a wedding day to meet up with family and friends? Shouldn't we enjoy each others company while we're still alive?"