My Early Years in Tagbilaran

(2nd of ‘My Story’ series)

My earliest memory isn’t of a birthday or a family celebration. It is of me, barely three years old, standing in our living room shouting at the top of my lungs for my Mama. She came running from the kitchen, startled by the urgency in my voice. And there, as she came out, I pointed to a porcelain vase of a horse-drawn carriage. And I declared with pride: “Mama, tantan-ilya!” 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. Those are the memories that first come to me whenever I think of my hometown of Tagbilaran.

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. Looking back now, I think the teacher must have smiled every time she saw this little boy quietly following his older brother into class as though he belonged there. 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 and think of Tagbilaran, I can still hear the echo of those days – the creak of the tartanilya’s wheels, my mother’s whispered prayers amid the loud ring of the church bells, even the frenzied sounds of children playing during recess. Those early memories provide 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. Childhood has a wonderful way of measuring true happiness – not by what we own, but by what fills our hearts with wonder. Those simple rides, that sleepy corner in a classroom, and even an ensaymada I never got to eat remain among the richest, most cherished memories of my life.

Pls also read: A Life Well Lived. (Just click on the title.)

For a closer look, just click on the pics.