When I think of San Jacinto, all that pops into my head was the vibrancy, the warmth, close homes, narrow roads, trees, visible mountains, birds, constant sounds of chickens, habal-habals, the sea, the whiff of the seas, the stores, the downtown establishments; some worn out, some new. And I am overwhelmed by the sensation that I am riding a motorcycle passing along the houses, feeling the warmth of the day, the whiff of the warm, fresh, not-so-polluted province air slapping through my face, the radiation of close homes, occasional TV noises and passing by familiar faces. Those were the times when I arrived home from those Legazpi trips, registered in my head as a homecoming. And then there's this feeling of familiarity that sent my heart in excitement; I am home again. I will be seeing my mom, my sisters. Our cats and dogs. But there's these thoughts in the back of my head that wonders things would be a lot different if we weren't supposed to live here.
It was just the other day that I was asking my mom about the September 11, 2001 terror attacks on New York when I found out it was, in fact, another reason why I am here now in what I consider my hometown, San Jacinto. And there are times when I wonder, if these reasons never occurred, if those events never unfolded, I never would've set foot here on my mother's hometown, I could be a city girl, raised in the grungy old city of Mandaluyong, where apparently my life would've a lot different from now, how a little thing it seemed to be for us will affect us, big time. But of course that wasn't always the case. My grandmother, who was a native of Famosa, Monreal met my grandfather who was a city lad from Manila, and the rest was history. My mother had a rough early life here, which I heard from stories that centered on family dramas that was passed on and I was too young to understand back then. She then ventured out in Manila, my Lolo Papay's home and found her luck there. Meeting my father, having us, settling down. They both had work, as young parents, both are doing well. Surrounded by neighbors we considered our family; life in Hulo, Mandaluyong was good. It was home. Even though my memories were vague, I could feel that warmth of family love throughout the neighborhood in my birthplace. My childhood memories always flood every time I think about that city. My father worked in Rissant, Inc. an American Textile supplier, where he worked as an in-house broker and messenger. He was doing good, having a stable job and a good salary. Until that one fateful day for New York, USA and the rest of the world nonetheless. I was too young to understand about wars and terrorism and violence, barely a year old. My mom just had my youngest sister, who was 3 months old that time. Never did I know that that fateful day, however will become the biggest turning point of my life. Of our life. Following the fall of the World Trade Center, the company my father was working announced bankruptcy and lost his job. My mom considered going back to her hometown where she was promised education now that my father lost the job that sustained us.
After years of contemplating, they then decided to take a vacation here, where our lives eventually changed.
It was the year 2005 when we took a vacation to our now home, San Jacinto. A roughly two days of travel, this small town was located on the west coast of a not-so-populated rich island of Ticao. And then I remembered how appalled I was, as a young city child, when I set foot in a very green, full of trees, quiet abode of San Jacinto. I can still vaguely recall my very first trip across the seas, off to an island which apparently became my home up until the present. I was five years old, and my young mind had this idea that we were just on a vacation. Beaches, farms, animals and cottages were the first to register on me, fueling to my thoughts that we are just here for a brief time. Being used to the high buildings, malls, traffic— every city associated things, the island life was a hard adjustment for me and my siblings. My mom, however, being born in this island, had no trouble going along with the people. For her, it was homecoming. For me, it was a new foreign world, and the idea that we are going to live here disconcerted me. The house we once stayed didn't have cabled TV, didn't have a refrigerator, no flowing groceries, no fast food chain and restaurant trips every weekends. Even though the rented home we had back in Mandaluyong wasn't really fancy, at least it had everything in an instant. Never knowing that the house we stayed in, will become our house for the rest of my life at that point; a house full of stories, dramas, apparently the one that shaped my way of thinking. It housed a lot of events that contributed to how I was now, how my family had become in the accumulating years. The house was a simple, concrete with galvanized roof. Located along the streets of Amican, the house was ancient, and it has passed down to generations of my mother side's family.
I still remembered the nipa house we occasionally stayed on Puro, located near the town cemetery, a piece of land owned by my mom's relatives. I remembered the dirt, the different farm animals, the coconut trees that were the only elevated things that towered the blue skies here. I remembered the beaches, the one where I stared at bewilderment during traditional beach trips when a relative is in town. The seas, from light blue to dark blue stretching wide to the visible distant mountains, the sun reflecting to the waves amazed me. The sea breeze, mixed with the fresh winds from the trees adds to the very warm atmosphere.
We never returned back to Mandaluyong as planned.
We continued our education as me and my sisters were enrolled in one of the only two elementary school in town, San Jacinto Central School; the school where I learned a lot about friendships, camaraderie, and the school that helped shaped my young mind. The town I initially hated wasn't so bad at all. I became fond of the environment, of the kids my age, of the closeness of everything in this town. The most dreadful memory I had in this town, which still hurt me until today was when my father had to return alone in Manila to work. And that was the void that started all the dreadfulness this town had painted on me. But we adapted, we overcame. And as I slowly developed consciousness I became aware. The years that passed made me understand certain things, from the good ones to the ugly ones.
Our life changed here, mostly hard. And along that was our constant moving of houses. We’ve had lived about four different rented homes as of today here. And from then on I always dread the day that we will leave this island. I remember back when I was in high school me and my friends will have this afternoon walks downtown and route back up ending in the San Jacinto Cross Parish Church, the church that housed a lot of good memories for me; we will sit on the benches overlooking the vast seas, where we would talk and gush about high school things, and I will look at the distance, beyond the ever changing light blue to dark blue calm stretch of the ocean across to the mountains of Sorsogon and Legazpi and I will chant to myself, "I'm gonna leave this island soon.." I was once desperate, but mostly because of the trauma of early life and the reality of life that made me realize things are really different when we grow up. I was once so consumed of the life we had back in Mandaluyong— the complete family, city life away from the drama. But no one can really escape the reality, not the family that was always there, adhered to you until the last days of your life. We have a lot of relatives here, which made life more easy, made daily life a lot exciting. And I always reminisced the parties held in the farm in Puro every November 1, the good times. And the Christmas parties in Cogon, our home.
Though there are countless problems that bombards us along the years, we faced all of it and here we are, still strong, as a family, on what's ahead again. It may not be as it was as what I had envisioned before, but as a saying goes, diamonds were formed under pressure. San Jacinto is a venue, an arena for me to understand that all things aren't all glory, of course, there are hardships. Hardships that I thought we will never get out of. It was this town that made me realize a lot of things, really. And I wouldn't just conclude that because I lived years in Legazpi as a student, but because that is the reality this town has. Look at the overall picture, there are a lot of bumps along the way, literally and metaphorically, but look closely at the homes, at the ever accommodating, warm homes of the people in this town. San Jacinto is more than just a town for me, looking back at all I've been through, this small town had witnessed every first times of my life. And that is history right there. An as I penned this passage, I concluded, I really love this town. How it had been a refuge, how it watched me grow. How every single place located in this town housed memories of me growing up, from me participating in religious activities, to participating in some contests representing this town, to being just a citizen of this town, to graduating elementary, high school, forming friendships, countless adventures, through the first dates, first heartbreak, first departing to go to college.
I had once judged San Jacinto as a laidback town, as I was too young back then to venture out and had a younger mindset, but as I grow up I become aware of how amazing, how powerful and self-sustaining this small town is. San Jacinto will always be a part of what will I become one day, how enormous it's contribution to how I was shaped as a youth. Being raised and having developed consciousness in this town had relevantly changed my way of thinking. When I reached the point when I graduated Senior High School, and became a candidate to leave this town and attend school at the city of Legazpi, the more that I understand that San Jacinto was really my home. Not because I had lived the rest of my life here, but because this is the only place that made me feel at home. The only place that really emphasized what life is all about. Being a citizen of San Jacinto opened up a lot of insights for me; the spice of life, the agony of family frictions, the traumatizing years of adolescence and all of the first times in my life as I had mentioned took place here.
San Jacinto was my eye-opener to the world. To the reality of the world; how the world works, how the system works, and how this small town is in fact a part of a much larger system. San Jacinto have had enormous changes and developments through the years but the essence of home, warmth, and originality will always be luring in the air. The customs, the culture, the festivals and the inclination to religiousness is a trademark of this small town I love, sometimes hate when I was younger. But that was before.
I had watched San Jacinto grow, and San Jacinto watched me grow.
Back then I had always blamed San Jacinto for all those hardships, not knowing that this is a shelter, a sanctuary. A sanctuary of innocence, and of reality. Looking back when I used to dread when the large words PORT OF SAN JACINTO when it is becoming visible on the roro as we draw near, I wanted to punch myself, to take the large screaming words as a welcome, like huge arms opening wide to embrace me saying, "you are home,". Now my anticipation as these words are peeking from afar across my rocking vision in the seas are high. And whenever I came home from trips from Legazpi, I always mumble to myself, "I am home."
They say that it takes some space to really appreciate the things you have, and in my case, that is true. I appreciated my town more after being departed from it. And I can conclude, nothing beats the home I always had; where the sky meets the sea, San Jacinto.
