The Sounds of Early Morning in My Hometown

The painting depicts the scene from the third floor window of my brother Benjie's house, in Letre, Tonsuya, Malabon, Philippines. It was lovingly painted for me by my sister-in-law, Aurora "Pinky" Singson Lucas.

I know I am back in my hometown, Malabon, Philippines when I wake up to the neighbors' roosters', fighting cocks, loud piercing crowing during the wee hours in the morning. It is definitely not the same as the sweet chirping sound of the birds outside my house in Pittsburgh, PA.

My brother Benjie and my sister-in-law Pinky.

As I sometimes do,  I walk to the San Antonio Church, a few minutes stroll from my brother's house where I stay when I visit the Philippines, for the early 6:30 morning Mass.  As I step out of the gate of the house, I am greeted with the whirring sound of the engines of passing tricycles and honking of the horns of the jeepneys making their way through the narrow busy streets.

A typical tricycle , my husband, Bob, got a ride in during his last visit this February.  

The church bells ringing in the background call me to walk faster as I hear the splash my flip flops make as I accidentally step into a puddle as I hurry to get to church on time. I usually am distracted, soaking in the scenes I pass by, like the sari sari or variety stores with the candies and toys hanging over their small windows, and never notice the occasional holes and puddles on the sidewalk.

The sound of the opening prayers in Tagalog greets me as I enter the church. Later I am in awe of the harmonies made by the choir as they sing hymns, so impressed I wish my husband, a choir member back in Pittsburgh could hear them sing. At the end of the mass, the joyful clapping by the worshipers which is not customarily done back in the States, both surprises and touches me. They sound eager and grateful to go out to begin their day with the Lord’s blessings.

The newly renovated San Antonio Church, Tonsuya,  Malabon.

As I go out of the church door, I hear a vendor calling me, Ate or Ma'am, and feverishly convincing me to buy a lei of the sweetly scented white buds of sampaguita with an intoxicating fragrant ylang ylang dangling from it. I usually succumb to the vendor's tempting offer and buy two leis and place them over my head.

I stop by one of the bakeries selling pan de sal enticed by its freshly baked aroma. As I fish out coins from my little wallet to pay for this bread that I miss so much, I hear the rustle of the thin brown paper bag or supot in the background as the tindero or salesman creases it shut after he finishes placing the piping hot pan de sal in it.

I get home to my brother's house and press the timbre or doorbell to make that deafening sound to call the maid to open the door of the gate. Then I hear the big clang that the heavy metal gate door closing makes as I enter the house.

I set the pan de sal in the kitchen table and nab a couple of the pan de sal and decide to set aside the rest for my brother's family to eat when they wake up. I  go to the bathroom, get the tabo or large cup, dip it into the vat of water and relish the sound of water washing my dirty feet and flip flops. I change into my duster, go back to bed and sleep. My morning is half done and I feel I deserve the sound of silence now. And more sleep.