Leaving Guadalupe: A memoir

[BayouPinoy]

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I always looked forward to my visits to Guadalupe during my childhood days. For some reason, and at that time, Guadalupe seemed different from other places. I don’t know if it were the mango trees: imposing, always green, and proud with the promise of abundant fruit during the onset of flowering season. Or the mountains that framed the view to the west, dotted with more mango trees, a lazy hue of brownish-green that beckoned adventure and discovery. When we moved to Guadalupe, I knew I was home: it must have been the wide open feel of the place, the lazy walks after church on Sundays, the puto and fruit vendors, the lazy summers, or that, walking down the road leading into our house, people waved from inside their homes and chatted from windows and from behind the fence? I left Guadalupe after high school to pursue educational opportunities elsewhere; this little trip to college transformed into a life’s journey and for a while, so many summers, I was unable to visit. The homecoming came one day (anticipation building) and fleetingly, I remember my childhood days when I rode those jeepneys and waited to catch a glimpse of the church steeple on V. Rama. The mango trees were still there, only larger and even more imposing but everything else appeared to have moved on: houses now dotted the mountainscape that heretofore defined what open space was for me, and briefly, I was immersed in a Rip Van Winkle moment, only I did not ask the questions for I know what the answers were. Change was cool, it was good, it was necessary, perhaps it was just something in me that I refused to let go and let be. Guadalupe, I’m home, welcome me.


BayouPinoy/AV

[The_Gadore]

i could almost see the mango trees as you told it in your story... nice =)

[BaiLeY]

wow.. i am tongue tied.. wow

[BayouPinoy]

If I were driving down V. Rama today, the last roadside mango tree signals for me the threshold into Eskina Banawa. Should I turn right, head south, past Labangon, and retrace the itinerant steps that make up my past? Or, head straight, go through Tabo-an and into Pasil, past the visual feast and frenzy of smell, and sail, past the islets, to Calape? Or turn left, past Capitol, past the cacophony of sounds, past the maze of streets, past Mandaue and into Consolacion, and rejoin my current journey? All life moves on, its momentum pushes you to seek your destination and purpose. Then I think of the mango trees, and the onset of flowering, as many as 30 million sweet-scented flowers per tree, and millions more of pollen, a testament of this species’ desire to perpetuate its own journey. While corn pollen grains travel several kilometers to achieve its purpose of being, mango pollens rarely venture beyond the shadow of its source: pollen meets stigma, its purpose achieved. On this day, on this threshold, I see my choices, and I see the yellow, sweet-smelling flowers on the last roadside mango tree: I know, let it be.

BP/AV

[angelfyre]

AV huh?

[BayouPinoy]

RII

[BayouPinoy]

Leaving Guadalupe III: Passage

I propped my feet on the railing and took all of it in: the softdrink vendor hawking his wares, looking up from the dusty pier, scanning the length of the vessel for that thirsty soul or somebody needing instant gratification that can only be had from bottled up, pressurized fizz; the barbecue stand, the face of its owner illuminated by the smoldering charcoal, embers feigning escape from the cardboard fan, its edges well-worn from the incessant stoking and fanning; the balut vendor, squatting near sacks of rice, oblivious of all the activity around him, attends to a regular who has just come out of his work shift, and after making quick work of the shelled fetus, promptly sat down next to the balut vendor and lighted a cigarette, blowing smoke into the hot, dusty air, endotoxins bellowing into the still, breezeless, night. I looked into the distance and searched for the outline of the mountains into the west, getting my bearings, looking for that familiar, comforting, hulking shadow in the darkness; soon it will recede in the distance, as the ship glides forward, into the east, leaving the dust and the cacophonous tableau in its wake. I left the trapal up, left my feet propped on the railing, and listened to the sounds of the sea. I got up, craned my neck to catch one last glimpse of the receding mass of land, and although the destination beckons, I yearn for the familiar haunts, the predictable outcomes, the sight of the mountains to the west. I miss you, Guadalupe.

BayouPinoy/av

[angelfyre]

maypa si guadalupe

[Lamusika]

Kinsa kaha ni eyyy Barangay man ni namo,,, ing.ani d i kanindot ?? hihihi