Millions
"Millions",
I gush at the sight of them. I only know them to be blue, never
lilac-colored. The husband says, "Never mind planting this at home. We
will come back to the mountains again and again." Kuya Ramil laughs at
this. Again, everybody knows I am no green thumb.
We go back to their house where the guides are gathering. Newly cooked Balanghoy immersed in Latik is waiting on the wooden table that Kuya Ramil himself built. Kuya Loloy, our guide when we climbed Lake Janagdan in May, had harvested coconuts for us before we arrived. I ask, "Are these from one of the coconut trees that Kuya Loloy said marked the end our grueling descent from Lake Janagdan?" I was already cranky and irritable nearing the end of our climb at that time. Kuya Loloy had to tell me, "Relax lang Ma'am. Smile." And I responded with something that was the complete opposite of what he had suggested. We all laugh at the memory. Kuya Danny then took his Sundang and deftly chopped off the top portion of the fruit so we could drink its water fresh from the shell. We gather in the area outside the house surrounded by Ate Nancy's flower bushes. The afternoon sun rays land on our backs, on our faces as we spoke and laughed. Its warmth was gentle, so was the wind that blew every few seconds. A lively discussion ensues--pertinent first aid procedures the guides need to master mixed of course with Kuya Danny's amusing anecdotes of guiding various kinds of climbers. Before we know it, night has fallen and rain has begun to pour. It is time to go again. Though the air is cold, we are thoroughly warmed by yet another exchange of laughter, gratitude, thoughtful conversation and positive energy. I sigh. Time is always too short.
Ate Nancy packs the fresh Balanghoy leftovers that we relished earlier for us to bring home, freshly picked tomatoes too and the rest of the coconuts that Kuya Loloy had harvested for us.
Time and again, I am reminded, the things that matter are not the grandiose. They are often small. And if I think about it, often they are the ones that speak of home.
Brgy. Cabintan
Ormoc, Leyte
We go back to their house where the guides are gathering. Newly cooked Balanghoy immersed in Latik is waiting on the wooden table that Kuya Ramil himself built. Kuya Loloy, our guide when we climbed Lake Janagdan in May, had harvested coconuts for us before we arrived. I ask, "Are these from one of the coconut trees that Kuya Loloy said marked the end our grueling descent from Lake Janagdan?" I was already cranky and irritable nearing the end of our climb at that time. Kuya Loloy had to tell me, "Relax lang Ma'am. Smile." And I responded with something that was the complete opposite of what he had suggested. We all laugh at the memory. Kuya Danny then took his Sundang and deftly chopped off the top portion of the fruit so we could drink its water fresh from the shell. We gather in the area outside the house surrounded by Ate Nancy's flower bushes. The afternoon sun rays land on our backs, on our faces as we spoke and laughed. Its warmth was gentle, so was the wind that blew every few seconds. A lively discussion ensues--pertinent first aid procedures the guides need to master mixed of course with Kuya Danny's amusing anecdotes of guiding various kinds of climbers. Before we know it, night has fallen and rain has begun to pour. It is time to go again. Though the air is cold, we are thoroughly warmed by yet another exchange of laughter, gratitude, thoughtful conversation and positive energy. I sigh. Time is always too short.
Ate Nancy packs the fresh Balanghoy leftovers that we relished earlier for us to bring home, freshly picked tomatoes too and the rest of the coconuts that Kuya Loloy had harvested for us.
Time and again, I am reminded, the things that matter are not the grandiose. They are often small. And if I think about it, often they are the ones that speak of home.
Brgy. Cabintan
Ormoc, Leyte
Comments
Post a Comment