Stirrings from the past

PEOPLE nowadays, especially the young ones, would refer to

it as a blast from the past. But I would not go that far. My recent

visit to a southern town in Cebu simply made some stirrings, at once

gentle and sweet, that just the same left me completely thankful.

            The other day, I went to see a friend-priest who was just

reassigned some days ago to Argao, some 68 kilometers south of Cebu

City, and I felt like I stepped into the past, into things

foundational and rudimentary. Already used to the blare and glare of

the big city, I was pleasantly surprised to have a feel again of what

it was when I was kid.

            The visit reminded me of my roots, of what I consider as

my basic cultural and social beginnings, my primal identity that since

then has acquired layers upon layers of conditionings. I immediately

felt some sense of nostalgia crawling slowly, leisurely, into my mind

and heart.

            I am happy to say that such roots and beginnings, while

provincial and parochial in character, was open enough to accept

further and even foreign influences. I believe that my own experiences

and my own life itself, as it is so far, can attest to the veracity of

this affirmation.

            What I felt in Argao was a certain air of pristineness

that certainly is not close-minded and rigid. There were also signs of

modernity and contemporaneity. In other words, it is also flowing with

the times, but at its own pace. It’s not stuck in the past, and much

less is it inert and dead. It has a life that glows with a certain

charm and aura.

            I took lunch in a little restaurant, with very simple

furnishings but with splendid yet cheap food. It was clean, and the

servers were so simple in their ways that they had no qualms in

starting a conversation with me who must have been a complete stranger

to them. I felt immediately at home.

            I then visited the church. It’s old, yes, with clear

vestiges of the colonial times, still in that baroque mould, but

artfully made up with images, altar table and the ambo artfully gilded

and faithfully restored.

            I was happy to note that there was no sign of an imposed,

out-of-place innovation made, now sadly common in many other churches

that would seem they were being slowly emptied of their true

character.

            There was a funeral Mass when I went in. What I saw were

ordinary people, simply dressed and without much pretension, and all

showing a piety so palpable and sincere I instantly remembered my past

attendance at Masses in my rural town in Bohol.

            The priest who said the Mass, the friend I was visiting,

delivered a homily that I thought was apt for the kind of faithful in

attendance. It was doctrinal and exhortative, with a little bombast

that I thought the people appreciated.

            Finally, I was able to spend time with my priest-friend.

He happens to be a composer and he played some of his pieces on the

machine. That was when I was deeply struck by something.

            He actually has been giving me some CDs that contained his

compositions. I remember I tried playing one of his songs, but I

immediately turned it off, since my immediate reaction was that it was

out of step with the tenor of today’s world.

            Not so this time when I was with him and in a place like

Argao. I immediately realized that his compositions expressed

precisely what is native in us, what is indigenous to us. The beat,

the melody, the pacing—somehow I knew they are the ones that would

fundamentally characterize us as a people.

            What I thought previously as out of step is actually an

expression of what I consider as our foundational character and

identity as a people. This should never be considered as outdated.

It’s part of our DNA, so to speak. We would always have it.

            It’s nice to realize this, because very often when I would

be in the company of foreigners, like Spaniards, French, Germans, I

would feel some envy because these people are happily proud of their

well-defined cultural, historical and language identity. Many times, I

would not feel as much happily proud of my identity as they are of

theirs.

            Then it was time to go. And just like any ‘original’

Filipino, so hospitable to his guests, he gave me a dozen of the

now-famous Argao “tortas.” Yes, I was deeply touched. And I learned

precious lessons...