The day I left for college

I've been going to Manila ever since I was a boy in the 60s. I don't remember exactly how many times. In all of these trips, I've always been going with either my mother or father or both. Most of these trips were for the purpose of visiting my elder sister who was then already going to the university, and a few trips were actually for some sight-seeing, e.g. Manila Zoo, Quiapo, etc. I remember we always had to pack as early three or four days before and all of our luggage will be neatly lined along the hallway all zipped-up and ready to go (and not to be touched by anyone, except by my mom, of course). But there is one departure that will forever remain in my memory - the day I left for college.

On the day of my departure for college, Conching went through the same meticulous preparation except that this time a few more items were added to the things we're bringing on the trip - a basket full of half-ripe bananas, half a sack of rice, and a wide but deep metal basin, covered with a fishnet, half-filled with water to keep a number of mud-fish and the catfish as arrival presents to our Manila relatives whose home we intended to stay during the visit and of course my few prized possessions, i.e. handful of books (all donated by relatives), some clothes (a few pair of pants and some shirt and my favorite jacket), and some personal items including a bar of soap, a half-empty toothpaste tube and a slightly worn-out tooth brush.

Pabling and I hand-carried all of these (one after the other) from our house through the esquinita to the main street where he hailed a Caretela which will bring us to the train station. Once everything has been neatly arranged inside the Caretela, the three of us, Pabling, Conching and me, occupied the front seat along with the cochero (there was no place else to sit because of the luggage).

The trip to the train station, the only one in our place, was slow. Personally I felt it was agonizingly slow. There seems to be an excitement in me that I can't explain. On the one hand, I couldn't wait to ride that train and be in Manila, at liberty to do what I want without fear or worry of a mother and father (mother mostly) almost constantly nagging about being out late at night, etc., etc. On the other hand, there was some worry about what many people say about Manila and the "dangers" lurking in the dark. The slow trip though gave me time to think (and imagine) about the unknown or what awaits me at the end of my trip in Manila. A few times I glanced at the faces of Pabling and Conching. They were mostly silent, speaking only in short cryptic messages. But I saw in their faces the anxiety, concern, and a hint of sadness in their eyes. Perhaps because of the disturbing thought that their little boy will no longer be in their loving care and protection. Perhaps because of the fear of what dangers their son could face in the strange and unforgiving concrete jungle that was Manila. But I could also discern their sense pride as we passed by familiar faces of our neighbors - proud of having a son go to college in Manila. A few of our neighbors were waving good-bye, a few just nonchalantly standing by the roadside with reluctant smiles, and still a few others uttering a few words of good luck. I just sat there quietly and shyly, between Pabling and Conching, almost wanting to bury myself among the luggage to avoid the staring eyes. At some point I felt that the trip was even slower than a funeral procession.

As we went through the streets, intersection after intersection, I suddenly began to see the buildings, the houses, the small sari-sari stores and even the ambulant vendors, in a different light. I realized I was not just leaving the house. I was leaving behind the places and faces that have become so familiar to me that I failed to realize that they were part of me, a part of my life, a part of my youth. I was leaving home. My home.

Pabling and Conching went with me on this train trip - to help me settle in my new "home" and assist me in my enrollment, a ritual of parental love still done today especially for young boys and girls coming from the provinces. My parents headed back home just a day before classes started. Saying our good-byes is another story altogether.

Home today for me is a modest house. A house my wife and I built for our family. It is a nice cozy house. It was home for my three children who now are all grown up. It is the home of their youth.

I still long to return home though, to the home of my own youth.

Note: Below is a photo of old Naga City (circa early 60s) showing one of the main streets named Elias Angeles St. In the photo are the few big commercial buildings during that time. It also shows the first cinema named Bichara Theater (owned by middle eastern immigrants who settled in Naga), and a Caretela passing in front of the Cinema. 

(Photo from http://nagalibrarian.blogspot.com/)

The second photo shows Elias Angeles St. as it today taken at almost the same spot, medyo a little forward lang, i.e. Bichara Theater is still there but the camera angle did not catch it. It is dominated by the three-wheeled passenger vehicle called tricyle. The streets appear cramped (and most have been converted to one-way streets) with all those vehicles competing with pedestrians for the already limited sidewalk.