"Volcanic" Eruption

KA-BLAAAMMM!

The volcanic explosion was so loud it woke me up from my peaceful sleep, heart thumping wildly. I looked around, searching for my brothers who slept next to me in our bed but they were no longer in their places. I remembered my five-year-old brother Mans (I was six then) waking me up earlier but I just said okay then went back to sleep.

I smelled trouble. I just knew everyone was already engaged in productive activities. I started to make the bed, although a big part of me still wanted to go back to sleep. But sleeping in is against house rules; everyone is expected to wake up early. The last person to wake up makes the bed.

As I collected the strewn pillows, a thought hit me: how could there have been a volcanic explosion when there was no volcano near us? I searched my mind what made me think that what I heard was a volcanic explosion. Then I remembered: just last week I asked Dad about volcanoes and asked him to describe how strong their explosions were.

Feeling very silly, I decided that the explosion I heard was just a part of a dream. Then cries from outside brought me back from my reverie. They were calling out to me to go down at once.

I looked out the window and saw only my then four-year-old brother, Ogie, standing near the window, half-crying as he was desperately calling out to me. “Manang Jing! Manang Jing! Bumabakan a! Mananngggg!”

My heartbeat doubled. I was really in trouble, I thought. I had woken up an hour later than our scheduled wake-up time. I searched my mind which of my duties should have been done at that hour.

“Agkupinak pay!” I answered back and ignored what he was saying. What everyone else was saying, which I could not comprehend. I just knew they were telling me to get down at once. I wondered what the rush was. I searched my mind: “Ania ngata ti basolko, Apo?” I asked myself.

I continued fixing the beddings, thinking I would be in more trouble if I leave the beddings unfolded. Then all of a sudden, Ogie was already in the room. He took me by the hand and forcefully dragged me and together we got out of the house. Then he pushed me down.

My body ached at the contact with earth. I swirled around, deeply annoyed at my brother, but then he was down, too. He was madder than I was.

“Nagtangken ta ulom. Bumabakan kunak ket!” he said, crying still.

“Agkupinak pay, kunak met!”

He answered back, but his voice was drowned by the noise that suddenly erupted.

BRATATATATATATTATATATATATATATAT!

I stared at my brother, shocked. We were in the middle of gunfight!

I began to understand him, to be overwhelmed with gratitude for my brother for bravely coming to the house to get me to safety. But he told me to keep quiet and motioned for me to crawl to the other members of the family.

It was then that I started to worry about them.

We crawled for a few minutes, until we got to where my five-year-old brother, Mans, who was protecting our youngest brother, Ryan, then one year old. My cousins, Benmar (3), Manong Boyet (7), Manang Babet (9), and Manang Nanet (10) were also there. Inang was also holding Ryan. And Amang was not far ahead, holding Benmar. Mans was both annoyed and deeply relieved seeing me.

“Ditoytayo pay laeng, Annakko,” I heard Inang’s whisper. “Nataltalged ditoy, uray no mapuruakan ti granada dayta balay.”

It was then that I started to cry, realizing my stupidity; how worried I made everyone, and how much danger Ogie put himself just to get me to safety. But Ogie and Iding hushed me. “Shhhh… mayaten Manang. Safe kan. Saankan nga agsangit.”

But I cried harder, until my brothers hugged me.

We waited for hours until the shootings stopped. Then Uncle Nestor, Dad’s youngest brother who has gone out early to check our pagay and was with our nearest neighbors, about 100 meters away, started shouting instructions to us. He told us we should try to go to where he was as it was safer there.

We didn’t know which way to go. Should we cross the ricefields? Or walk on the street? He signaled we use the street to let the shooters know we were civilians. Amang carried my one-year-old brother while Inang held Benmar and beckoned us to go with them.

IT WAS ALREADY way past lunch time when it was decided that we could go back to our place, but not to go inside the house yet. We were to stay only at the front yard.

So that’s what he did. Amang settled under a mango tree, and made banban. Inang helped him. Uncle Nestor was the only one who dared go inside the house and brought out food. We kids played, the horror of the morning almost forgotten by our young minds.

Caught in our game, we did not notice anyone approaching. But as I was about to lift something, we heard a hoarse voice, shouting: “Ni Kapitan?”

Five or more armed men were standing in front of Amang and Inang, their long guns aimed at us.

“Siak, Apo,” Amang replied.

I did not know what I expected Amang to do, cannot even remember what he did and what passed between him and the men, but soon we were serving them food. I remember that even as they ate, their guns were still pointed at us.


IT WAS ALREADY LATE afternoon, and we were still not daring to get near the house when Dad, Mom and Aunts and Uncles arrived, white-faced. They broke down with joy when they saw us, still alive. They were afraid, and almost sure we were all dead. They were extremely happy it was our smiling faces that greeted them, not the carnage they feared they’d see. They relayed they rushed to us the moment they heard news of the “encounter” on our hill, but authorities barricaded the entrance to our barrio. They pleaded the authorities to let them pass, saying all their kids were there, vacationing, but they weren’t let through. “Too dangerous,” they were told.
Hugs and words of love were exchanged. My waking up very late that morning was even forgotten. Everyone was just so happy that we were alive.

But I cannot forget the guns. I look back to that part of my young life and I can see clearly those long barrels aimed at us.

I realize that episode represents my first memory of fear.

IN A HURRY

“Para ho, Mama!” I called out to the driver and immediately got off the FX when he pulled over. He seemed annoyed. “Sorry ho,” I mumbled apologetically, then walked away, not bothering to explain why I had to get off almost as soon as I boarded.

I cursed myself. It’s the third time in six weeks that I’d forgotten something. Last week, I forgot my research paper at the office, and only remembered to check it when I was almost at the school. Of course, I did go back to the office to retrieve it (I had no choice because it was the last day of submission) and missed nearly half of the lesson. I was also marked late.

This time, it’s my wallet I’d left. I would have decided not to go and get it, but I had nothing in my pockets. My only consolation is that I realized it while I was still a walking distance from my apartment.

I checked the time. It was already half past nine in the morning. I should already be at the MRT station by now. I walked faster, telling myself for the nth time to prepare everything I needed before leaving the house. But then, I realized I did prepare my things last night. I was just very much in a hurry this morning that I forgot to put back my wallet into my bag after pulling out a small bill. It must be lying on the bedside table.

I walked faster. But as I did, familiar words rang in my head: “Apay ngamin aya kabsat ta kasla ka la agapura nga ania. Dumanonkanto met laeng dita, patiennak. Madmadi man no apuraem amin a banag. Ad-adu ti mapukaw mo no kua ta madim’ maappreciate ti panagbarom. Iti panagbiag, kasla ka met la agdaldaliasat ket. No agap-apura ka a kankanayon, dim’ maapreciate dagiti malabasam. Ken ad-adu pay ti malipatam no kua! Baka isunto’t mapanmo subsublien!”

I cringed. Those were my words to my youngest brother, Ryan, when he contemplated getting married at the young age of 22. I wondered what he would tell me if he learned I’m also afflicted with “ap-apura” syndrome (though it’s of different form) and how hopeless my case is. “Manang, ti panagdaliasat, kasla met laeng panagbiag ket. No apura ka nga apura, ad-adu ti mapukawmo ta adu’t malipatam. Baka isunto ti subsubliam! Dimo la ngaruden maappreciate dagiti malabasam, sayang pay ti bannog ken pamasahem. No intedmo la koman a nayon ti igatang iti gatas ni Pau-pau (his son), di isu pay!”

“Oy, Sherma, ba’t ka nakangiti?“ It was Rose, my next-door neighbor and a good friend. Already dressed for work, she was just getting out of her room. I felt my face go hot. I realized I had already passed through our gate and I was already standing right in front of my door, stupidly smiling alone.

“Wala girl. I was just in a hurry,” I said, laughing, and ran into the house, leaving her deeply puzzled.

Bumship photos at NV

More wedding pics... (starring me!)

INVADING ILOCOS

Cool Slideshows

What comes after a wedding?

Did I hear someone say honeymoon? Hmmm.. lemesi. A honeymoon is only for the groom and the bride. I'm thinking more of something for the wedding guests.

Packing and going home? Nah, not us. I'm thinking more of having fun, of invasion. Because that is what we did. The day after Manz and Sheryll's wedding, we launched our invasion campaign... and had lots of fun at Pagudpod, Burgos, Bangui, Batac, Pinili, Currimao, Paoay and Vigan. That is, after invading Laoag, the bride's hometown.

Mother Nature’s pathetic joke

Either Mother Nature was in a sour mood or that her being a pathetic joker took over her better judgment on the day she chose and mixed the ingredients of her experimental specialty that was me, that she made such a terrible, irreversible mistake for which I will never forgive her: She poured her concoction into the mold she used for my father! So I came out not only looking like my dad, but also exhibiting one of the characteristics that so define him: inability to differentiate the lower from the upper “DO.”

Needless to say, Mother Nature’s product was such a letdown that, when I saw it and I have thoroughly read the manual that came with it, I was so annoyed with her I challenged her to resign from her post, and threatened to sue her. And I would have, had she didn’t have the decency to apologize and to offer to make up for her despicable, tasteless joke. Her making me somewhat like a female version of my Dad, I considered a tremendous slight upon my person, and so I demanded something grand as payment — paper for a playground, pen for a toy, and words for playmates.

So that is how it came to be that, like my father, I also play hide-and-seek with words; and, more important, that I am Daddy’s girl.

Oh well, what can I do? I am his unica hija; his wicked princess. The better looking version of himself. Ha ha!

(This is dedicated to my best friend — my ever understanding, loving and supportive father, Mr. Manuel Domingo Benosa. I love him so much, that’s why I have bestowed upon him the highest honor he could ever hope for in this life. Yes, friends, I named him the recipient of my bullying in its worst form. Hehehe!)

Family picture

Manuel Jr., Sherwin (or Sherman; also Ogie), Dad, Lucky Ryan & Kate, Mom, Me, & Ms. Sheryll Ignacio (soon-to-be hmmm...)

Ogie’s theory of creation

Firstborns can never be perfect, for they are merely products of their parents’ initial attempts (practice) at lovemaking. (I know he’s trying to say something here. Hmmm… maybe that I am an exemption? Hehe)

“Secondborns” are definitely better than firstborns, for the parents have learned a lot of lovemaking skills at the time they were being created. However, they are still far from being perfect.

“Thirdborns” are the parents’ masterpieces; for, at the time they were being created, the parents have already mastered everything there is to learn about lovemaking.

“Fourthborns” are the parents’ masterpieces-that-never-will-be. This is because while the environment in which they were created were perfect (the parents having mastered all the tricks of lovemaking at third birth), the parents tend to be complacent in taking care of them, thinking that they would turn out as perfect as the “thirdborns” just the same.


Oh! If you think this entry is crap, don’t shoot me. Everything is Ogie’s idea, not mine. And if it would be any consolation, Mans and I walked out on him — in jest, of course — when he blurted out this theory of his. You see, Mans is the “secondborn”; Ogie is the third. That explains everything.

Four siblings on taking risks

My brothers and I are risk takers, there’s no doubt about that. But just how much risk we are willing to take and the manner we take them differ greatly.

In any endeavor:

I always calculate the benefits against the risks. Only when I see that the chances of success is greater than that of failure, and that I can afford the loss I’d incur should I fail, do I take a leap.

Mans always calculates the benefits against the risks and makes sure he wouldn’t lose anything (at least break even) before he takes a leap.

Ogie always employs Mans and I to calculate the benefits against the risks and waits for our recommendations before he takes a leap.

Ryan takes a leap first. Only when he had landed roughly does he realize that there had been risk. Ouch!

Wedding bells in the family

Finally, Dad is about to experience two of the things he envied four of his brothers for — marching an offspring to the altar and welcoming a grandchild.

Oh please! Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the only child he has… Look at my tummy. It’s flat!

Sure, I’m the eldest child, but it’s not always the case that the eldest gets to settle down first, is it? In our family, it would have to be the youngest.

Now, I think I’m gonna cry.

Only 22, just graduated in October last year and got his first job in February, my brother Lucky Ryan is getting married in April, and will have his first child in May.

Oh God. What did he think marriage was? What will he do if… How is he going to… What happens if… Will the baby be…

Tsk… tsk… I’m so sad that he has to face such a huge responsibility this early. But he brought this upon himself; he should be able to stand on his own. He needs to. He owes that to Kate and to the baby.

I love my brother so much I'd move mountains for him. But I guess it's time we stand back. As Mans keeps saying, Ryan needs to learn to clean up his own mess. We shouldn’t always be there doing the cleaning up for him. Otherwise, he’ll never learn. I think so, too.

But like before, should he need us, he knows where to find us. He knows we would never be able to turn our back on him. No matter that he broke our hearts one too many a time. All he needs to do is knock…

And he better be sensible enough NOT to ask me to be Kate’s bridesmaid. Not only will I kick him real hard in the butt; but also refuse to speak with him indefinitely and not help in the wedding preparations!