"I'm going home" is my usual line... "Going home to where?" is the usual question from friends. I go "home" to Manila, to Bacolod, to Davao, to Legaspi, even to Zamboanga... referring "home" to be "where my friends are." But going home to Mindoro is special.
Of all the places I go home to, Mindoro is "where my family" is. Where some of my uncles and aunt rooted down, raised their kids and also rested forever.
It is where I first learned how to bike, how to swim. It is the place that ignited my passion for adventure - joining my uncle to the farm to get some produce, taking the boat against the big waves and strong current, climbing up some hills to pick fruits, and walk some kilometers and crossing a river to call some of the workers who are washing their clothes. That is where it began.
There is always something that pulls me towards that place. Being there is not that easy with the typical small town gossipers. I remember coming home with shaved head. I arrived at around 2am and while having coffee in the market same morning, you hear people talk about the youngest child of "Ka Ben" to be lesbian (just because of my hair). That is however something that gives the town a character. You just have to live with it.
My childhood memories in Mindoro are still so vivid. All the almost-drowning experiences, all the Moriones, all the Holy Week rituals... and all the craziness just to escape the 6pm "Orasyon."
You arrive, you drop your bags and the trip down the memory lane starts... it does even start by the time you enter the town "gate" (I mean the arch or something that says "Welcome to Pola").
Pola, Oriental Mindoro will always be a part of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment