My earliest memories are tied to my old hometown in Tagbilaran. I must have been two or three years young, a toddler hungry to explore and learn about everything and anything. I was in the living room, shouting as loud as I could, calling for my Mama. She came rushing from the kitchen, alarmed at the urgency of my cry; and there, as she came out, I pointed to a porcelain vase – a horse-drawn carriage painted in soft, dreamy hues, and declared with pride: “Mama, tantan-ilya!” And everyone burst out laughing. Tartanilya is the Cebuano term for our local horse-drawn carriage, the town’s vintage taxi, if you will; and I had bastardized the name as only young toddlers are allowed to do.
I remember our regular rides to the cathedral, aboard a tartanilya, with Mama and my older brother, Manoy Monching, beside me. For some reason, I always had the impression then that only rich people could afford to ride the tartanilya, and I would beam with pride as the carriage drove us gingerly through the cobbled streets of old Tagbilaran.
Later, early school days saw me joining Manoy Monching as a “saling pusa” – not a regular pupil, but a special, non-paying, non-graded extra in class. My Mama said that I would cling to my elder brother as he headed off to school. Hence, there was no way they could stop me from joining my brother. Hence, the teacher would let me settle into the last row, where I could drift off to sleep without anyone noticing. But I do recall that when the recess bell rang, I would find myself the last to leave. And that there would be no more ensaymadas, a kind of sweet bread, with milk, left for me, since I was the last one to leave the room. And I would cry.
If I close my eyes, I can still hear the echo of those days – the creak of the tartanilya’s wheels, my mother’s whispered prayers tucked into the din of the church bells, even the frenzied sounds of children playing during recess. Those early memories provide a curtained veil of warmth and longing: moments of innocent laughter that fill my corner of the world with so much life, and moments of loving and learning that settled deep into my young child’s heart. And through it all runs a snippet of wonder – the way a simple carriage, a last-row seat, or a lost snack can become my old universe of color and pride, and an old-world memory that I shall hold ever so close to my heart.
For a closer look, just click on the pics.
Color My World 