Serene Days in Siquijor - a letter to Ann

Dear Ging Ging,

I'm sitting at the dining table at your mother's house in Siquijor.  It's mid-afternoon, that Visayan time of forceful heat and thickening quiet.  Even the chickens save their clucking and scratching for milder hours.  There is no merciful breeze.  The only sounds are of Tita Aide humming from her perch on the lanai, harmonized by the faint slurp and swish of the water edge at low tide.  Its hard to write because the sweat of my forearm dampens the page.  Excuse me, I need to grab another cold San Miguel - okay, back!

What do you call those little shack shelters on the beach?  The ones with nipa thatched roofs and no walls?  For an hour and a half, I sat there today.  Someone's cow was tied up next to me for companionship.  We watched the ocean ebb in perfect, hypnotic ease.  Its so peaceful here.  So beautifully calm.  So - enchanting!  Bewitching!

Mornings are when I am most active.  The roosters sound off right outside our window (see my video).  The first morning, I thought the brash cock was in bed beside me.  This morning there was the usual crowing but also a different fowl sound; louder, harried and disturbing.  The chicken calamungay we had for lunch was excellent.  The meat was tender, free-range and definitely fresh. 

Each morning, Jose and I go swimming and we are joined by a few kids.  Somehow they are related to you.  Their family name is Maglinte.  One of the girls, aged 12, is very communicative.  She practices English phrases as if out of her textbook. 

- Whacha doin?

- Are you okay?

- Are you American?

Her knowledge of English words is limited, but for some reason 'anus' is one of them.  She describes me as 'macho' which makes Jose laugh until he submerges in the shallow sea edge.  I stay five feet away from her at all times.  This morning she brought her older sister to meet us.  Jose and I quickly corroborated stories:  Yes, I'm married with one son.  Yes, he has a girlfriend in Manila.  My brothers are all married or gay.  We try to quell any takemebacktoUSA dreams.  The marriage question comes up everywhere in the Philippines.  Al Gore spoke in Manila last week.  After hearing him announce his divorce, the media immediately tried to pair him up with some older Filipino senator who is still single.  Here one is expected to be settled at 30.  People ask me if I'm married, and when I respond negatively, I draw surprise, pity and opportunistic inquiry.  The worst, and most common follow-up question is, "Why are you not married?"  What should I say?

- Because I'm gay?

- Because no one loves me?

- Because I'm in love with a wealthy Chinese girl and I'm too poor, too dark and too un-Chinese for her parents? (that's the movie I watched on the Supercat Ferry.  Even though it was in Tagalog, I was able to understand it all... gotta love Filipino melodramas).

I settle on the easiest answer.  I'm 27.

I've noticed that none of your family members has asked me or Jose this most common of questions.  Perhaps someone sent an advance missive?

I prefer the uncomplicated and maritally uninterested company of the younger kids.  Jessa Kay and Renin John are 7 and 9.  I take them for swim rides on my back to deeper waters.  This morning I breaststroked out with one clinging on each shoulder.  "More far!  More far!" they called.  Suddenly they panicked.  "Lalom!  Lalom!" they yelled.

- What do you see?  I ask.

- Go back!

I swim as fast as I can with my child-shaped luggage.  Is it a seasnake?  An eel?  A jellyfish?  In about 10 meters they let go of me and splash about.  I pick up Renin John over my head.

- What does 'lalom' mean? I ask.

- It mean DEEP. 

Jose and kids

Yesterday, Tito Mancio borrowed Tito Boboy's car and drove us around the island.  We went swimming in the springs at San Juan.  We saw the old belete tree.  It's supposed to house many duwende (elves) there.  Jose and I were calling the duwende.  Suddenly one came around from behind the tree!  We jumped.  Oh.  It was a sub five foot lola taking her wash to the pool.  But we whispered "tabi-tabi po" as she walked by, just in case.  We saw the oldest convent in the Philippines. Jose loves that history and enjoyed exploring the grounds. To me it was another Spanish looking building.

San Juan Springs

Jose by the balete tree

Jose's joy: oldest convent in the Philippines. 














Finally, we stopped at Tito Boboy's house and saw the house where you grew up.  Everywhere we went, we were introduced as Ging Ging's friends from America.  I met first cousins, second cousins, aunts and friends.  I'm sorry I don't remember all of their names.  In the evening, we sat in the backyard of your lola's house.  Titas Aide and Chita cut open young coconut so we could drink the water and eat the buko flesh.  Tito Boboy scaled a tampis tree like he was 16 years old and collected the fruit for us.  In Hawaii, we call tampis, 'mountain apple'.  It's a watery thirst quencher.  It tastes a little like Japanese pear and a lot like childhood.  I told Jose, don't worry about the ants, we won't be charged extra.  All of your family have been so fun, open and caring.  They are wonderful people and I feel like family here. 

Its monsoon season.  I've seen lighting every night but little rain.  Then, this morning, suddenly the skies opened and it poured down hard and steady -

- an avalanche
- a metal rock drum solo
- the rude fists of hungry children on the dinner table

I felt compelled to swim in the ocean (see video), and when I did, I was surprised to find fifty people flocking from out of nowhere into the sea.  I asked the kids, "Why are you swimming now?"

- Because it's raining.
- Is it so you can swim and avoid the hot sun?
- Yes.
- Are you making that up just for me?
- Yes.

All over the Philippines, when I mention Siquijor, people light up - Ah!  You know that Siquijor is known for the witches!  Across the channel in Dumaguette, there are some people who refuse to even look at Siquijor island out of superstition.  I've interrogated all your family for stories, but they deny everything.  I think they are all witches. Tita Chita tells me that she doesn't know how to swim.  I tell her that anyone who lives on a small island and doesn't know how to swim must be a witch.  She laughs terrifically at this.  Maybe she even cackles.  Perhaps its not the people but the place itself that casts spells.  I've been completely seduced by Siquijor's charms.  I'm compelled by the quiet, incessant call of her rhythms.  At night I watch the moon, the stars and the lighting show over Cebu.  I sleep on a bed of wooden planks with no mattress - more soundly than I have in years.  I've stopped shaving and wearing underwear.  Maybe this is the magic of your birthplace.

We used to talk in college about how you and I are kindred spirits even though we never hang out.  Thank you for your friendship and love that extends not just across time but across miles.  I'm here without you, but I feel like I understand you more than ever.

You must come home and visit soon.

muchlove,
Edward