Coming Home

“You look good, can’t you see, Brother Louie, Louie, Louie...”

The ordinary bus I was riding was filled with old songs including Brother Louie, Green, Green Grass of Home, which the driver perhaps has put on his portable music player. The road was characterized by potholes, blind curves, and ravines, but with a great view of the forest. The two-hour bus ride from Buray, Paranas, Samar reminded me that I was going home.

Home is San Julian, Eastern Samar.

I realized that I haven’t been home in five years. My superficial reason for not going home is the roads but on a deeper level, it was because of my disagreement with my parents, specifically with my mom concerning my choice of relationship.

That made the trip some sort of an exercise in coming to terms.

Conspiring Universe

This trip home did not happen due to diligent planning on my part. This is more of a result of an agreement between my office, PhilRights, and the National Anti-Poverty Commission.

NAPC requested that I go with their research team to Calbayog, Samar to conduct a research on a flagship government poverty alleviation program. I was chosen partly because of my handle of the Waray language but also simultaneously, it was deemed beneficial for my office for I will get to observe their conduct of the research as PhilRights will be doing a similar research in the next few months.

But I am convinced that more than the reasons above, this was a case of “the universe conspiring.”

Calbayog is 4-5 hours away from San Julian, Eastern Samar. As we were able to do all the data gathering in 3 days including interviews, focus group discussions, the research group egged me that we do the trip to my hometown.

I warned them of what was ahead. Uncertain bus schedules, ‘sungka’ roads, that I didn’t know how to get to San Julian from Calbayog. All sorts of excuses just so I could avoid the homecoming, all to discourage them. But all these did not work. So off to the vans we went.

Four hours, two vans, and an ordinary bus ride later, we were home. Waiting for us were my mother and father, and my siblings based there. And oh, ‘alimango in gata with malunggay’ and seashells for dinner.

My sisters took us in while we were there. In fact, my family more than just took care of us. They have prepared a full itinerary and the most gracious welcome.

I think all that was missing were garlands and a marching band. The marching band, we actually got the next day.

Beach, bands and a Feast

The next day or half of it was spent in Liliputan Beach Resort, on a floating cottage, with the resort all to ourselves as it was a weekday.

My companions loved the view of the Pacific Ocean separated from the swimming parts by a great coral reef. They loved the Pacific waves lapping at their feet. While I was afraid that one of them or one of my nephews who acted as their tour guides, would be sucked in by the waves into the deep trenches and I will be left to explain to all concerned that they were turned into mermen and mermaids.

Dark and shiny from the beach, my eldest sister brought us to the barrio where she teaches Grade 5 as it was their fiesta. Lyndl, my nephew was part of the school marching band, and a feast, no make that plural, awaited.

And a feast it was. We went to at least four houses of my sister’s co-teachers where we had our fill of humba, adobo, dinuguan, and every other manner of cooking you can do to pork. By the fourth house, we had to slow down and just take the samplers. But as the tradition in the province goes, we went home with plastics of what they now call certificates of appearance. Food for take home. This is clearly a sign of times because when I was younger, we just called it ‘budbud’.

Only the heavy rains that night kept us from pursuing our plan of attending the dance in the plaza and making our Fil-Australian teammate dance the curacha.

Emotions and adoptions

Despite the differences with my parents, the disagreements, and perhaps disappointments we both harbor towards each other, the homecoming trip was filled with heartwarming emotions.

My father went out of his way to be with us. He cooked dinner, saw us at the beach after the session with the municipal councilors. Chatted with my guests, and I heard shared emotions with them. Surprising because I have known him to be a stoic person who seldom showed his soft spots.

My parents ‘adopted’ the two NAPC staff and told them to come back on Christmas and assured them that they will always be welcome.