Surprise Party for Esmeralda

I saw this picture below recently in my Facebook page which was posted by Sylvia who is at the top row on the left.  All of us in the picture were classmates at St. James Academy in Malabon Rizal or Metro Manila now. I believe we just finished our 4th grade when this was taken in the late fifties and we were on our break from school. At the front row from left to right are Celia, Esmeralda and Mary and at the back from left to right are Sylvia, Vida and myself. But what was the occasion when this photo was taken you might ask?

If my memory is correct, Vida organized the group to go to Esmeralda's Dad's photo studio, V'Rionez, to attend Esmeralda's birthday party.  Vida lived across from our house in Tonsuya and she invited me to go with her to Esmeralda's dad's photo studio in Sangandaan.  We rode the commonly used public transportation in the Philippines called jeepney to get there.  I was both excited and scared to ride this very unique and iconic colorful Filipino vehicle without any grown up with me. Just my very confident friend Vida. If you know Vida she can conquer the world including in this case my own fears.

I really do not remember how Celia and Mary got there.  Celia lived pretty close to Vida's place and might have gone with us by walking from their house at Borromeo Street. Mary who lived by Bayan might have taken a short jeepney ride to Vida's place  to go with us.  Sylvia's house was quite a distance from where all of us lived in a street called Acacia Street and might have been dropped off by a relative.  Anyway somehow we all were at the V'Rionez Studio.

There was one problem.  Esmeralda's parents did not know we were coming and that there was a birthday party.  I think their daughter mentioned it to Vida and the latter just assumed there was one. I wonder if Esmeralda herself knew this was going to happen.

Both parents were surprised but unflappable. Esmeralda's mom improvised and fried hot dogs.  I could still picture her frying them in oil in a tiny little cubicle in the studio. They were so delicious that their taste and aroma are stilll embedded in my memory.  Her father made the occasion extra especial by taking our group picture as shown above and also a picture of each one of us giving a gift to Esmeralda.  I think I brought her a handkerchief as a gift or maybe we just used a pretend gift for the picture.   Of course we were thrilled.  It is much better than an iPhone shot don't you think?  We had a professional photographer after all and hey look the group picture landed in Facebook decades later.

Almost everybody still keep in touch with each other except we have not heard from Esmeralda. She left after grade school and did not go to St. James for high school. I wonder what she would have said of that day we surprised not only her but her unknowing parents!

This whole surprise event is a testimony to Vida's leadership and organizational skill which are evident even to these days as she generously hosts several reunions at her place in Los Angeles some of which I have written about in this blog.

Vida is leftmost at the back while Sylvia is second from the right. I am in front on the left. This was a mini reunion of our high school classmates at Vida's place in 2009. Left to right standing, Vida, Temy, Cbristy, Irma, Jenny, Sylvia and Malou. In front sitting, me and Zeny who were both surprised with flowers, leis and even a crown for me during the reunion by the thoughtful host, Vida.

Food for the Soul

My favorite memory of my father is his passion for cooking for us his family. When he retired from working in their family’s business he undertook grocery shopping and planning our daily meals. I remember his penchant for pairing one dish with another. For example he would pair pork chops with mung bean and kamote (sweet potato) soup. He also loved putting together kare kare or oxtail in peanut sauce with our national dish, chicken adobo. Nilaga or boiled beef served with fried chicken was another favorite food pairing he was fond of.

He taught our cook, Lola May, how to prepare tapa or Filipino beef jerky as well as our hometown pride and joy, pancit Malabon, a noodle dish topped with seafood like shrimp, oysters and smoked fish. It was a common sight to see the tapa being dried in the sun in our terrace.  When I was working,  my officemate, Mrs. B, loved to order the pancit Malabon since it was that good.

He loved to go everyday to our town's public market to catch what was on sale. He wore his signature bakya or wooden clogs which enabled him to fearlessly walk through the sometimes muddy passages in the market. He would look for bargains and adjust his menu for that day according to them.  The tinderas or vegetable or meat peddlers knew him and would noisily clamor for his attention by screaming, "Over here,  over here" and shoving their fresh produce to his face for him to inspect.

We enjoyed excellent meals every day and I still resort to his recipes for different Filipino dishes as I remembered them.  We ate our lunch which was usually the central meal of the day in our round table with a lazy susan in the middle which we rotated to get to the dishes and hot rice as well as the various condiments like patis (fish sauce), vinegar or soy sauce that we  needed to add further flavor to the dishes.  Filipinos love to leave the completion of the saltiness to the people eating the dish rather than just flavoring it to the maximum.

Food was how my father showed his love for us.  As a little girl and despite being still extremely busy with the burgeoning patis business they had, he made it a point to prepare Ovaltine drink for us every night to make sure we would grow healthy and strong.  I remember him in his kamiseta and kansonsilyo (tshirt and shorts, his nightwear) mixing the brown Ovaltine powder in milk and mixing it with a spoon and telling us "drink this" since there was sometimes hesitation on our part. We did not want to be bothered from our play.

One particular scene comes to mind though the details are blurry as I recall how he showed his love for me. I believe it was when I broke the news that my office was sending me to Brazil for a training course. I recall he was not sure how to process the good news.  But I knew he was happy and proud of me when he said "Go ahead eat the shrimps I prepared".  He felt the news called for a celebration and seafood especially fresh ones like the shrimps he bought that day were worthy to mark that day.

You must be wondering why I posted that photo of banh mi above and below to accompany this essay.  Three weeks ago, my manicurist, called me on the phone to come to their shop.  She had this Vietnamese sandwich for me.  She had promised that she would prepare this dish ever since I tried it once at her shop.  I was really touched she went all out preparing it that day and felt the love since it was particularly challenging to prepare.

The day before another food incident at a chain restaurant made my day.  When I requested the waitress for a take out box for my leftover tortilla soup, she packed in extra soup as well as extra cheese and tortilla strips which I jokingly requested as a whisper. I think she felt bad for me since I had to forego the "eat as much as you want sundae" which my husband had since I told her I was a on a diet.

These two incidents triggered my recollection of my father's display of his love for me.  He was not very showy with his emotions but his actions through the language of food spoke louder than words.  These three wonderful and touching small events show how universal and eloquent food is as a language that feeds not only the body but also the soul.

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.

Faith

The acceptance of
knowing and unknowing. To
move from there gladly.


Note: The photo shows the renovated St. Bartholomew Church in Malabon City, Metro Manila where I grew up. As a student at the adjoining St. James Academy attending weekly Masses there, I used to gaze up above and wonder how I could get up there where a sort of veranda is located. I am glad to see that part of the church has been retained in the renovation.

My Cousin Rosa

I, Ondes, on the left of the table, holding on to my cousin Rosa.  Other children in the picture, clockwise, are Rosa's sister, Nida, Bebeng, my older sister, Boyet and Mita, my Kaka Viring's children, Lorie, my Kakang David's only child and Anton, my late brother.  The priest on the left is Monsignor Agcaira.  Behind Rosa is Ely, a family friend, the adult with glasses at the table is my Kaka Edong and the guy at the back is Rosa's father, Kaka Ruben. The title Kaka is uncle or aunt in Tagalog. This was taken during the annual fiesta held on the feast of the Immaculate Concepcion in Malabon.

My cousin Rosa is one of the many children of my prolific Kaka, uncle in Tagalog, Ruben and his wife Kaka or aunt Iska. Rosa just died of a heart attack this past Sunday in Malabon Philippines at the age of seventy.

Rosa's family lived just a block from my grandmother's house where my own family stayed till I was 10 years old. She and her siblings were my playmates till I was ten.  One fond memory I had playing with her was pretending we were pregnant by stuffing our dress with newspaper.  At this time, both our mothers were getting pregnant almost every year in her mother's case and every two years in mine. This past Monday morning when I was in the bathroom my grandchild came in with her tummy stuffed with a blanket. It made me think was this a sign from Rosa? My sister and I were just talking on the phone just a few minutes before about her passing.

When I was seven and she nine years old, the company my grandmother owned had a huge party to celebrate the mechanisation of the bottling step in the making of the fish sauce or patis.  It was a big event since it was the first time that this condiment was being bottled untouched by human hands.  A photographer was hired to take pictures of the guests including government officials and also the American manufacturers of the bottling machine.  I convinced Rosa that we photobomb every picture that was taken and we indeed did. You could see us squeezing ourselves into every picture.

Rosa is on the extreme right in this picture.  The children featured in this picture are from the left, Connie, Rosa's sister, me, Edna, another of Rosa's sister.  Behind are my Kaka Uring, my grandmother, Nanang Pina, Kaka Viring and then Governor Rodriguez.  This was taken during the inauguration of the newly installed bottling facility at compound number 1 of Rufina Patis in Malabon.

Every year the Catholic school we attended had a Christmas pageant which included coming in different costumes and offering a gift to the Child Jesus at the stage. I still could picture in my mind the year Rosa came in an all white Indian sari with a diamond pasted in the middle of  her forehead like the princess in the Aladdin movie.  She was gloriously beautiful and regal.

Time flew and we got married, got pregnant, this time for real, and had children who eventually grew up.  A few years ago, we were together celebrating my late brother's birthday at a casino buffet in California.  We even shared a room after the buffet at my sister's house in Los Angeles.  My sister is a very clean person and when I visit her she always offers to launder my clothes.  One day as I was putting away my newly laundered clothes, Rosa saw me folding my underwear in a haphazard manner.  I remember her showing me how to fold with the crouch part over first and then the two sides folded over the middle to form a square.  I was really impressed.

This was taken during the joint celebration of my brother Anton, Vicky, Mama Sol and Bubut's birthdays.  From left seated are Mama Sol, Chet, Anton's wife, Anton, Chet's aunt, and Vicky, Rosa's sister.  Standing from left are Rosa and my sister Bebeng.

Rosa arriving at my sister's condo in Los Angeles.

Rosa was famous for her Pancit Malabon, a noodle dish named after the town we grew up in. This dish is characterised by its sauce but most importantly by the trimmings one puts on top including crushed pork rind, shrimp, boiled pork belly, smoked fish chopped and sometimes boiled oysters plus green onions and boiled eggs.  Rosa masterfully concocted this pancit in such a way it was rich but not overbearing.

She lived her life just as admirably.  I seldom heard her say a bad thing about anybody.  Neither did she complain about the trials and tribulations she had to go through in life.  She was a wonderful example on how to carry them with dignity. This was what she and her life taught me.  Thank you Rosa for all the things I have learned from you and for the warm memories. Rest in peace.

The Neighborhood I Grew Up In

I remember my friend saying when I asked her how her visit to her former boss' house in Malabon went. She said  "I could not believe how close the houses were to each other".  That was what made the most impression to her. It is actually an accurate description of the particular neighborhood where her former boss' lived which was not far from my grandmother Nanang Pina's house where I grew up in.

No fences divided one house from the other.  No cookie cutter houses like in a subdivision.  Some were huge while others were small and humble.  Others had vintage architecture, others modern and while some were make shift.

I would start with the house directly beside my grandmother's house since the occupants, two unmarried sisters, became close friends of my mother. The house was modern looking from the outside and what particularly impressive was the huge backyard that faced the Malabon River. It was paved and wide with a sort of a fence with pillars which had flowerpots at the top. I remember Aling Trining, one of the two sisters, in her long ankle length house dress, watering these plants.  She was tall with an angular, slender over all look about her. She had long dark hair and always wore red lipstick and had long nails painted blood red. She was a toned-down version of Elvira one of the characters in the TV show, The Monsters, except she was not at all scary but dignified and friendly.

One of the windows of their house faced one of those on the second floor of my grandmother's house where my family lived.  This window of theirs had a suspended addition sticking out that looked like a huge wooden dish rack where Aling Toneng, the other sister, would dry their dishes.  I do not now remember if it had a faucet, but I can recall Aling Toneng hanging glasses to dry on the pointed edges of this rack.

A day did not pass by without my mother looking out of the window facing that of Aling Toneng's with the dish rack to see if the latter was there. If she was, they would talk and laugh with their conversations consisting of little happenings, perhaps even gossips, but always punctuated by my mother's boisterous laughter.

Right in front of this house was another house which had the clinic of the wife of the two sisters' brother on its first floor.  The doctor was a quiet lady and the only time I got in contact with her family was when they matched me with one of her sons.  This son tried to woo me when I was working at a research center engaged in determining DDT in human fat samples.  He brought me several fat samples he obtained from his mother who took them from the abdomen of people she operated on.

Right across from this house with the clinic and the huge backyard, was a small house owned by Mang Edong with his barber shop in front of it. He was our family barber who also cut my sister's and my hair. Our hair cut featured bangs and came above our ears. Sleek and straight.  The only thing that made it feminine were the ribbons my mother put on our hair for special occasion. He loved to greet our family when we arrived at his shop with "Here comes the sapsap!"  Sapsap is a really flat fish and he compared us to it since he found our noses to be flat which was oh so true unlike his more aquiline nose.

Beside his house was a huge "bahay na bato' or house made of stone.  It belonged to a family with several young siblings which consisted of all girls and one boy.  It looked like a little castle with baroque features and little narrow windows that you see in fairy tales.

 

An older single lady, the aunt of the siblings, also lived there. She and the whole family had fair skin and hair that was more brown than black.  They are what we referred to in the Philippines as mestizas or half breeds with a large amount of Spanish blood.  I found out that one of my uncles courted this aunt. I heard the story that they used to throw flying kisses from across the street since her house was just in front from where my uncle who lived then with my grandmother was staying.

A street separates this house made of stone from the house of the secretary of the fish sauce company my grandmother and her family owned. The house had wide windows and had those iron grills seen in most houses in the Philippines for protection from robbers.  I remember the secretary having several sisters. One had a name I always dreamed of using for my daughter's name, Liwayway or Eway for short. By the way I never got to fulfill this dream. You could just imagine how grateful my daughters are.

Across from the secretary's house was a house that belonged to Aling Maria and one of her son's family. It had a sari sari store or convenience store in front of it. This type of small stores selling everything from candy, toys, and hot savory merienda or afternoon fare are in almost every street in the neighborhoods in the Philippines. They are decorated by hanging candies and toys to entice customers to shop.

Aling Maria's store was a typical one and it had a couple of stools in front.  I remember particularly her daughter in law Tina preparing pork menudo or the Filipino version of sloppy joes on two pieces of white bread for afternoon snacks.  I loved them.

Aling Maria, after her afternoon bath, usually paid my grandmother a visit. In fact she would come with her hair down and still wet which she would then comb as she listened to my grandmother's opinions of everything that was happening in the world that day.

At the back of the factory was Aling Poleng's humble house.  She was married to one of the workers in the factory.  If I remember right he was in charge of something to do with chimneys.  She had several children one of which was a playmate, Tessie.  I remember being envious of her pencil box which I had to coax my mother to buy for me.

The neighborhood with the tightly close houses I grew up in was vibrant with the variety in the type of houses and the people who lived in them. It was the epitome of inclusiveness. It forms the warm colorful backdrop of the memories that I weave every time I recall my happy childhood spent in my Nanang Pina's house.

Mami Aka Lola May

She came to our family when she was only eighteen or nineteen years old through our relative's agency for obtaining maids or household helpers. She was hired to help my mother take care of my parents' oldest child, my sister.  She was given the nickname Mami for Mommy since she was our lived in nanny or yaya in Tagalog and that name stuck for decades until grandchildren were born, our own children who referred to her as Lola May. Lola stands for grandma in the Philippines. She was referred to most of the time as Lola May until her death and also at times as her original moniker, Mami.

Though she helped took care of all of us six children, I observe that the even numbered children namely the second, fourth and sixth of us siblings were more attached to her when we were young than the odd numbered ones, first, third and fifth. Could it be because my mother was still busy nursing an odd numbered child when an even numbered one arrived and passed on the latter mostly to Mami's care? That might be the case since there are only two years in between the six children, actually only one and half between the eldest and myself the second child.

Mami, to the chagrin of my relative who had the agency for household helpers, imported all her brother and sisters as helpers from her province of Negros Occidental in the southern part of the Philippines, miles away from Malabon where we lived.  She passed them on to my uncles and aunts as nannies or maids or workers in the fish factory my grandmother owned. Mami's mother and some of her siblings were able to put up a nipa house in Caloocan, a nearby town beside Malabon where I lived. On her day off, she would visit her relatives.

I, the second child, was one of those who had strong attachment to Mami. One thing I remember vividly to show how attached I was to Mami was when I would insist on accompanying her when she visited her mother and other siblings in Caloocan.  I would cry and cry until she would just take me along on supposedly her day off. Well little did I know they had a monkey for a pet which they let walk on a sort of narrow catwalk around outside their nipa house in Caloocan.  Of course I was scared but I wanted to be with Mami.  I clung to her skirt as she listened together with the rest of the neighbors to that big radio blaring the dialogue in the soap opera that people in the Philippines at that time referred to as "drama".  That was the only radio in the neighborhood and they purposely and generously let the volume be as high as possible for all to hear.  The whole time I was petrified of the monkey as it walked around that narrow walkway provided for him. No wonder the whole scene stayed with me up to now.

The fourth child in the family, the second eldest brother, I would say was the most attached to Lola May. We referred to this brother as having Toyo or soy sauce in his brain since he had terrible tantrums as a child. He would specially throw these tantrum fits at night.  He would not let Mami out of his sight and he would insist that she slept on the floor beside his bed until he fell asleep.

The sixth and last child, my youngest sister, was the last one that was in the care of Mami. Their bonding was interrupted by the time when Mami fell in love and lived with a security guard who worked in the compound where our house we moved to when I was ten was located. I was in college and out of town when Mami left.  I heard the story of how they had to hide my youngest sister when Mami packed her bags. I could just imagine how sad and heartbroken my youngest sister was. The romance between Mami and the security guard was short lived and when it ended she was back with my family.

All of us eventually grew up and Mami's role in the family was to be our cook and she was really good at it as she was as our nanny or yaya. Her pancit Malabon, a famous Filipino dish and biko, another iconic Filipino sweet delicacy were legendary.

When my father died, there was another person who became very attached and dependent on Mami, my mother. At about that time Mami's name switched to Lola May since we were having children of our own. My mother and Mami were inseparable. When my mother came to the United States to stay with my sister, Mami or Lola May came with her.  After my mother passed away, every year on my mother's birthday, I heard the story that a beautiful bird would appear in the garden and perch on Lola May's shoulder. They said it must be my mother visiting her.

Lola May without my mother to take care of found a lot of free time to go back to and indulge in her love of drama or soap opera.  She loved to watch them in the Filipino TV channels. Her health started deteriorating to the point my youngest sister with whom she was living with could not take care of her. My siblings decided that Lola May was better off staying with my oldest sister's son in the Philippines.

It was a summer day when she left Los Angeles and all the memories she had there especially with my mother. With tears in her eyes, she bid goodbye and we left for the airport.  I was the one who accompanied her on the trip to the Philippines.  I was worried the whole time how I would be taking care of her as she was in a wheelchair and also I had to change her diaper in the middle of the 24 hour flight.  All went well. In fact the passengers just nodded in understanding as I did the dreaded task right while she was in her seat.

I stayed in the Philippines with my brother for a couple more weeks after we arrived.  At that time, the internet was not easily accessible and I had to go to my nephew's house where Lola May was staying which had an internet cafe to send emails to my husband. During this time I would order every morning sago or bubble tea and arroz caldo or chicken porridge.  I could not finish them and I would share them with Lola May.

Lola May was able to have time to be visited by her relatives and friends who were very excited she was back. After only a few months of her arrival in the Philippines Lola May passed away. She was cremated and her ashes is now in an urn on the altar in the house of my brother, the one who insisted she slept beside his bed when he was young. He never let go of that attachment. She is now with him at the altar of his house a place of honor she well deserved.

Tales from the Stairs

When I recall my childhood spent at my fraternal grandmother's house the imposing stairs that greeted anyone that entered the house looms over my memory. It was shiny with banisters on both sides almost a foot wide and it was made of narra with a rich patina. Its steps were not steep and numbering about twenty of them with one serving as a landing in the middle. I would estimate the width of the staircase to be about an adult arms length which frustrated me as a child since I could not reach both banisters as I walked down this stairs. In this post I am recalling childhood tales related to my mother I could not forget that have this stairs as the backdrop.

We lived upstairs of my grandmother's house and my mother stayed practically all day up there.  She was a full time housewife raising a family that grew to a total of six children in the twelve years my family lived there. When I asked my mother why she decided to have many children her answer was "I enjoyed having and raising you all".  I found this hard to believe then since I viewed her life to be boring at this house with her in her duster swaying her latest baby to sleep in her arms as the highlight of her day. She must have indeed relished her role as a mother since she could have instead continued to teach biology in high school which she did unto her first year of marriage but gave up when the first of her six children, my sister, was born.

When I was in high school, a classmate of mine quoted to me something my mother said during the talk she gave to a group of young teenagers attending a cursillo, a popular religious group in the sixties. My classmate said, "Ondes, your mother mentioned that she would not even allow a single fly to touch her children and would watch over them in the duyan or hammock that she swung while driving flies away with a light towel". This impressed my classmate apparently and she wanted me to know how much devoted my mother was to us.

One thing my mother loved doing during our first day of school was to make sure that my sister's and my hair were properly combed and usually bedecked with a large ribbon for that day. I remember this particular incident during one of this first day of school. She had just dipped a comb in a glass of water and was parting my hair to one side while my youngest brother who must have been two years old at that time was marching while singing his favorite song.  At the corner of my eye while my mother was combing my hair I saw him put one compartment of the three tiered metal lunch pail (piyambiera) on his head to simulate a soldier's hat and started marching around the house and then towards the top of the stairs with his eyes covered by the pail.  Before we knew it, we saw him rolling down the stairs and my mother screaming in horror.  The landing did not stop his travel down the stairs.  Fortunately my father was sitting in the easy chair in front of the house and heard my mother's voice and caught my brother as he rolled from the last step.

The house had another set of stairs made of white marble before you get to the main door of the house. The house had to be raised from the ground since we lived by the Malabon River which could overflow during heavy rain.  It had a wide landing at the top with a corner big enough for a large easy chair to be placed. My grandmother loved to spend her afternoon in this easy chair looking at what was going on in the fish sauce factory her family owned which was located on the same grounds as her house. When the drivers of the fish sauce delivery trucks came back to Malabon from their travel around the country, they would sometimes come and visit my grandmother. A memorable incident that I remember was when my mother panicking ran down the stairs from our living quarters into the group of drivers visiting my grandmother for help. My oldest brother swallowed a large hard candy and was choking. Somebody did dislodge it and one could see a red color liquid coming out with the hard candy which my mother was so worried was blood.  I remember one of the drivers, Mang Ico, assuring her it was just the dye from the red hard candy my brother swallowed.

These two incidents with the stairs as a backdrop were funny to recall now and which I and my siblings loved to tell among ourselves and our own children once in a while. However, one particular memorable thing I remember was more poignant and sad. I remember my mother going up the stairs sobbing after she answered a phone call at the adjoining office by the house, telling her that one of my uncles, her brother, had a nervous breakdown. I remember her saying," He just lost his mind".  My uncle was single and lived with his other sisters who happened to be single too with my maternal grandmother at their house in Quezon City. His ambition to be recognized and allowed to be one of the council's candidates was not fulfilled and he got despondent. He fortunately recovered after a short stay in a place in Mandaluyong.

In a way the stairs was a metaphor for the life I witnessed especially with regards to my mother in my grandmother's house. It has its ups and downs, funny and sad tales and at its center the heart of a loving, caring mother whose goal was to protect her children from any harm including a tiny fly to touch them.