Sunflower days

with Francis and Gigi, circa MA at PA (sabay selective amnesia)

I can't imagine when this picture was taken. I know for sure though that this was at my Lolo Inggo's house where we spent many summers. And that the photo was shot by my Lolo Pepe who never went anywhere without his camera.
Lolo is the Tagalog word for grandfather. My maternal grandfather was Domingo and so he was called Inggo. He lived in what we used to call the old house about 40 kilometers outside of Manila, surrounded by ancient coconut trees that bore the mutant macapuno which my mom would cook in sugar to make jam. There were also other trees which we would climb, fall from or just rest on during hot humid afternoons. Guava, santol, caimito, jackfruit, aratiles, mango and duhat trees were the sturdier ones and easier to climb with abundant fruit as fantastic motivators. The atis, balimbing, tamarind and guyabano trees weren't sturdy enough to carry our weight and so we either just reached for the ripe ones or used a long sungkit (a long bamboo pole with a metal hook tied to the end) to lower the branches and the fruits to reach.

In the afternoons just as the sun would be setting, the maya (housewren) birds converged on the tree branches and noisily chirped their goodbye to the day. This was a daily ritual which we never understood but was fascinated. When the sun disappeared into the horizon, the birds would hush to a silence and so would the chickens who also be perched. And like all kids, we would then tell stories about everything supernatural. We talked about the kampre (ogre) who lived in the tamarind tree and who smoked a cigar. And how in the early mornings when the laundry woman began her chore she said she smelled the cigar but she didn't get scared. Stories about the many dwarves who cohabit the property sometimes seen dancing on the fence, sometimes getting nasty and causing someone to be sick when pinched. And the tikbalang - the half horse and half man who was most frightening of them all. And the lady who walked around weightlessly who wore a long white dress and whose face was always hidden behind her long black hair. And when we got too scared, we raced up the old house and surprised the adults who then would scold us to clean up and shower before we sat down to dinner.

The next morning we would go through the same rituals of play, eat, scare and sleep. Sometimes we would join the other kids from the neighborhood and ride our bicycles, play patintero or piko (hopscotch) or stroll around the military base. We would wind a worm around a needle and catch some fish from atop the treehouse our Lolo made for us that dangled over the edge of the Bacoor Bay, which he called the 'Playang Munting'. And when we got tired, we released the fish back into the water which we would probably fish back again the next day. Lolo Inggo afforded us the country life and nurtured my love and respect for nature.

Summers with my Lolo Pepe was different. He lived just a few blocks from our house so we saw him often. We went to the malls with him and he enjoyed taking our pictures. I have boxes and boxes of childhood pictures thanks to him and his reliable Pentax. He was the ultimate spoiler. He bought us expensive clothes, shoes and even food that was only available at the commissary. When I was four and he travelled to Hong Kong, he returned with a three-wheel bicycle for me. It wasn't your usual tricycle. This one scream: sosyal! And I was the only one who had it in the world. Or so he made me think.

He spoke Spanish fluently and to this day I still call silverware 'cubiertos' and the newspaper 'periodico' because of him. He has memorized and would orate Spanish poems with so much passion. I still I find romance in how the foreign language and anything else that sounded like it - Italian, Portuguese or Latin.

And because we lived in the city, when the mercury climbed and we couldn't get to a pool, summer was about putting on our swim wear and running around the yard with the sprinklers on.

Here in Manhattan, the flower stores are now filled with sunflowers. I remember the ones my mom had grown on our front yard that had flowers bigger than my head. The bright yellow blooms that followed th sun's movement across the sky eventually will always remind me of childhood summers, grandfathers, and almost never thinking about tomorrow. I find myself lucky to have had a childhood that wasn't taken over by computers, arcade games and television. That I have become familiar with the rituals of nature and that things happen for a reason and that everything is but a part of a day.

The beauty of it all is that I cherish those blissful days of freedom. I can close my eyes and smell the fresh mowed grass or feel the warmth of the sun on my face at midday or the raindrops on my tongue. I know how the soil feels when you're barefooted or how to watch a solar eclipse without straining your neck or ruining your eyesight (from the reflection on the water from a bucket or a pond).

My summers, my childhood, my growing up years. How it has shaped me and why I am the way I am. And I hope the children of our future will have the same luxuries.

La Dolce Vita...