THE
OPPORTUNITY TO TRAVEL on a weekend to Bohol is such a good thing.
The Bohol that is in my mind is a Bohol that I once knew which,
surprisingly, still had retained its rustic beauty. But this time,
its special significance on my boyhood memory had evolved into
something of a different dimension. My bond with the island is not
ordinary. It goes beyond comprehension.
I
am overwhelmed of my thoughts as I lay on a cot of the small boat
going to the Port of Talibon on a warm night at sea. I feel a sheer
longing, bordering on the sentimental, which caused a few tears
welling in my eyes. I was not born in Bohol. My mother was but it
was in the middle of a harsh war where my grandfather was forced to
hide from the Japanese. I only spent a small part of my childhood
there with my grandpa on our visits in the late '60s and the early
'70s.
I
am with my eldest son, Charlemagne, and his sister, Laila. Going
with them are their officemates Ariel and Edah. We arrive at the
Port of Talibon on the early morning of November 14, 2015 and proceed
on to the next town of Trinidad. Seeing the verdant hills and the
ricefields during travel, I am suddenly enveloped in nostalgia,
expectant of meeting someone whom I have not met before but someone
who is closely related to me.
This
same someone will notice this same scenery that I am seeing today and
this is his home. Today, I will meet my first grandson and, for the
first time in my life, I am entitled to the role of a real
grandfather. Today is his christening under the rites of the Roman
Catholic Church and my feelings are ambivalent which I am not open to
expressing. Meeting us at the door cradled in his mother's arms is a
handsome baby boy, eyes half-closed, but awake. He has the striking
looks of his father.
Once
my grandson is in my hands I raised him up above me. I gave thanks
to the Creator and the offering of my grandson to the heavens is a
gesture of my gratitude to the Giver of Life. I felt in my
subconscious that my late grandfather have once done this same thing
to me, in the full daylight of his life, which I am also relishing
today, and which his grandfather before him might have addressed his
Creator.
I
cannot explain this bond in explicit details except that it is a rite
that is reserved to the circle of the grandfather and his grandchild.
It has no scientific significance but it is spiritual in nature
borne out of the complexities of a forgotten culture which an
outsider could not relate to. Not even the father of the child has
this same privilege. My spirit is in its joyful mood and I can feel
its aura reaching out to the infant boy raised in the air.
For
the moment, it is enough that the little boy know of my voice, my
odor, the beat of my heart and the rough texture of my hands. Later
on, when he is strong enough, he will know the songs and the lore of
his forefathers which will come to him as if in a dream. We will
have time together, just as my late grandfather had spent precious
time for me. It will come in God's own time.
As
the night starts to mellow down the day's heat, me and the rest who
came in the morning will have to depart for Cebu. With a heavy
heart, which my son also felt, I have to part with my dear grandson.
It is just a temporary void. In time, we will be seeing more of each
other again. December would be a good time.
Oh,
ha le…Oh, ha le!
Awbizhaye
Shichl
hadahiyago niniya
Oh,
ha le…Oh, ha le
Tsago
degi naleya
Ah-yu
whi ye!
Oh,
ha le…Oh, ha, le!
Oh,
ha le…Oh, ha, le!
Through
the air…I fly upon the air
Towards
the sky, far, far, far.
Oh,
ha le…Oh, ha, le!
There
to find the holy place,
Ah,
now the change comes over me!
Oh
ha le…Oh, ha le!
Document
done in LibreOffice 5.2 Writer
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