The instruction was direct and simple: please check the old house in Baliuag. The phone call came from Davao. My tita’s deceased husband owned the family estate, and apparently all members of the family on my tito’s side had long departed except for the lone daughter who appeared not to have the means to maintain the condition of the ancestral mansion. And she stayed much of her time elsewhere.
I had never been there, but I saw a sepia colored picture of the house. I remembered it distinctly. It looked typical of the middle income family homes of the Tagalog Region just before the coming of the Americans in the 1900s. Its architecture seemed to have cobblestones at its base, and sturdy Philippine wood for the upperfloor walls. Large open frame windows provided breezy ventilation. A concrete stairway led up to the balconaje. Numerous trees and plants surrounded the mansion. And in the picture, a man in his teens, perhaps a helper, had a walis tingting as he had made a small bonfire of dry leaves in an open area at the side. I could see the smoke billowing out of the fire. The snapshot just gave me a romantic impression of a laidback era.
And I was not to allow my impending visit to be a mere inspection of an old manor. Well, just to let you know – I always try to suck out an experience in so many ways. This has been a practice conceivably borne out of our own family place being so far from the very pulse of the metro that I try to do as many errands possible every time I go around EDSA which is the major artery of Manila. And this kind of pragmatic thinking is implemented throughout my lifestyle. Yes there is truth in my own variation of adage – killing a flock of birds with one stone.
This drive to Bulacan could be another good chance for some outdoor photoshoot. I just picked up a new hobby then, photography. And I was experimenting with black and white shots, using el cheapo brand rolls of b/w films. It was still the 1990s, my college years, and not enough money to get finer films. And nopes, the advent of digital cameras was not evident yet. I just had my venerable K-1000 Pentax slr camera, a worthy gift from my Mom.
With my cousin Aldee as the driver of our van, and my cousin Elisa desperate to be a model for this shoot, we went off to our destination. Aldee knew the place, but he had not been there for quite a while. As we were at the supposed locale, the whole area was festooned with fiesta decors. Surprisingly, it was the town feast afterall. But the house was not yet in sight. The van circuited its way through the place’s slender streets until Aldee saw other familiar domeciles.
“This must be it,” Aldee confirmed. But lo and behold, our target dwelling had now been replaced by ferriswheel, caterpillar and the octopus rides. My Tito’s place had been designated as the fair center of the fiesta, complete with beto-beto and bingo shack stations. The whole experience looked like a scene straight out of a Johnny Depp bizarre film.
We have not exactly known how the whole thing happened up to this day. But at that time we just had to contend ourselves with taking some bets at the amusement area, snapping shots of the marching band, and downing the fiesta preparation of spaghetti and Coke of a neighbor. Oh yes, there was a story to tell to my aunt.
I had never been there, but I saw a sepia colored picture of the house. I remembered it distinctly. It looked typical of the middle income family homes of the Tagalog Region just before the coming of the Americans in the 1900s. Its architecture seemed to have cobblestones at its base, and sturdy Philippine wood for the upperfloor walls. Large open frame windows provided breezy ventilation. A concrete stairway led up to the balconaje. Numerous trees and plants surrounded the mansion. And in the picture, a man in his teens, perhaps a helper, had a walis tingting as he had made a small bonfire of dry leaves in an open area at the side. I could see the smoke billowing out of the fire. The snapshot just gave me a romantic impression of a laidback era.
And I was not to allow my impending visit to be a mere inspection of an old manor. Well, just to let you know – I always try to suck out an experience in so many ways. This has been a practice conceivably borne out of our own family place being so far from the very pulse of the metro that I try to do as many errands possible every time I go around EDSA which is the major artery of Manila. And this kind of pragmatic thinking is implemented throughout my lifestyle. Yes there is truth in my own variation of adage – killing a flock of birds with one stone.
This drive to Bulacan could be another good chance for some outdoor photoshoot. I just picked up a new hobby then, photography. And I was experimenting with black and white shots, using el cheapo brand rolls of b/w films. It was still the 1990s, my college years, and not enough money to get finer films. And nopes, the advent of digital cameras was not evident yet. I just had my venerable K-1000 Pentax slr camera, a worthy gift from my Mom.
With my cousin Aldee as the driver of our van, and my cousin Elisa desperate to be a model for this shoot, we went off to our destination. Aldee knew the place, but he had not been there for quite a while. As we were at the supposed locale, the whole area was festooned with fiesta decors. Surprisingly, it was the town feast afterall. But the house was not yet in sight. The van circuited its way through the place’s slender streets until Aldee saw other familiar domeciles.
“This must be it,” Aldee confirmed. But lo and behold, our target dwelling had now been replaced by ferriswheel, caterpillar and the octopus rides. My Tito’s place had been designated as the fair center of the fiesta, complete with beto-beto and bingo shack stations. The whole experience looked like a scene straight out of a Johnny Depp bizarre film.
We have not exactly known how the whole thing happened up to this day. But at that time we just had to contend ourselves with taking some bets at the amusement area, snapping shots of the marching band, and downing the fiesta preparation of spaghetti and Coke of a neighbor. Oh yes, there was a story to tell to my aunt.
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