There were signs of my father’s shoe scion past. When we moved to Silay in Negros Occidental and we were far from Marikina, he would have us step barefoot on a piece of bond paper and he would trace the shape of our feet on the paper and take it with him when he went to Manila. The pencil against the arch of our soles made us giggle. He had a scar on his left cheek shaped in a thin crescent of a horseshoe. He pulled the tail of a horse in their ranch in Calapan, Mindoro in his youth. I have a picture of him when he was a teenager. He was happy in a Lady Triumph sports car.
Read MoreWhen Dada would recall his romantic years, he would blush, remembering how the common water shed made encounters possible, by the poso and palikuran (restroom), where the townsfolk would commune for their daily ration of water and sanitation. It was also a time when paglalako or peddling of goods was a common sight, and everyone would think of a way to raise money just by toting along their goods and shouting at the top of their lungs. Dada would woo my Nanay by offering his help to carry the bilao (wick tray) or by fetching her by the main road to carry her bayong (native shopping bag) to my lola’s house.
Read MoreAs World War II came crashing on the Philippines, December 1941 found the young Bobises scrambling for safety away from Manila to escape the invading forces, and to meet up with Vicente’s sister’s family in Lucena, Tayabas. Little did they know they were headed right near where the invading forces landed.
Read MoreThe shop below was run by a Chinese man who went out each day to sell tahô, a syrupy yogurt, from two tin buckets dangling from either side of a wooden yoke on his shoulders. Mom loved hanging around the shop and the Chinese man became her friend. He allowed her to play at measuring out goods. He pretended to buy food from her. And later, he built Mom her own little yoke and she marched up and down the street pretending that she too was selling tahô.Mom has idyllic memories of those years in the Chinese quarter, it was a feral time, running and playing on the streets with other small children. If the war had never happened, it was an experience she would never have had, growing up amongst the buttoned up, conservative middle classes in Manila.
Read MoreAs with other houses in the neighborhood, my family’s on Valley Road was taken over by the Japanese military. It was designated to be the headquarters of some Japanese officers. My grandparents, Mary and Pacifico Sr., had no choice but to surrender the house, so they sent their children to live with Eusebio and Frances, who by then were residing at the top of Poinsettia Street, on España extension.
Read MoreNo matter where we went, the eating continued throughout the day. Halo-halo from the restaurant by the bay, or peanuts that had been freshly steamed, the shells still caked with dirt that would get stuck beneath our fingernails. When we’d get home, it was typical for Mama Lola to open her giant refrigerator, asking us what we wanted for dinner.
Read More