EMILIA was my grandmother on the mother’s side. When she was still alive, she would share with us what she could read in nature—in the plants and animals around us. She would look at the sky and clouds, and would tell us if the next day would be one of rains or storm.
If a duck on a windy flies above the roofs of homes, she would warn us of a coming typhoon. If the clouds during sunset are of strong reddish hue, then bad weather may be coming upon us.
In front of our home during the 70s in Ateneo Avenue, there was a wide area covered with cogon grass. In late October, when the white blooms of the grass would sprout, my lola Miling would say the winds are being called by the grasses. “Nagpapatawag sa hangin,” she would say in Tigaonon language.
My grandmother’s expertise was not limited to the natural; she was keen also about the cosmological.
When comets appeared when she was young, she told us how men and women in the town of San Fernando, in Ticao Island, would go to the beach carrying bolos and scissors. They would train those implements onto the direction of the sky and pray that the tail of the comet would break.
In her old age, this recollection amused her and made my grandfather, Elpidio, laugh loud. And yet, when a comet appeared in the late 60s, my grandmother predicted something horrible would happen to us. She thought it was another war. It was, however, a different kind of war, a battle that raged within. In 1972, martial rule was declared.
Last year, as Christmas was coming near, it was announced that a solar eclipse would take place on the 26th. Upon hearing this, I realized that my grandmother, who had passed on many years ago then, was still around us. Her thought and her manner of seeing the world was still with us. I began to think like her. I asked, what disaster would be happening to us or to those near us?
The eruption of Taal in January would easily fall under the universe of my dear grandmother, Emilia. That solar eclipse was the harbinger of bad news. The day getting dark a day after the Savior was born surely was telling us about how the universe works. In her world, the plants and the animals and the stars told stories. These stories were rarely of joyful portents but of ill omen.
In her old age, she began to be confused about the value of things. She would lose a P20 bill and she would be asking us who got her hundred and thousands of pesos. She would lose her precious jewelry but would never look for them.
Too bad, her memories were already weak by then. In her younger years, it was never a problem for her when some of her things disappeared. She would consult a woman who would divine things by means of a nigo or a winnowing basket. On the nigo a healer would place in the middle a scissor and around it names of suspects, or those who my grandmother thought could have stolen the missing object that belonged to her. The implement is whirled around and where the sharp point of the pair of scissors indicated, then that person must be the thief!
My grandfather, Elpidio, who was a Mason, would tease her and even dared my grandmother to bring the winnowing basket to the court if she wanted to solve the theft.
At two in the morning in her late 80s, my lola Miling would wake up and we would find her sweeping the ground in front of our home in Jacob Street. The gate would be wide open and she would be there, cleaning the yard as if it were daytime.
I am missing her now as volcanologists and town officials fight each other as to the wisdom of lockdown amid the quieting of the volcano.
Alive, my lola Miling would have offered them wise words. It was not only her who was wise. She belonged to a generation who were in fear of nature and, thus, respected it. She followed rituals that may appear ridiculous now but really showed a reverence for the many elements around life.
The trees were wonderful and,
thus, should be revered. The moon, the stars, and the sky—they had their own
narratives. Even the lowly animals had to be treated with
utmost sincerity.
Deathly scared of house lizards, dear Emilia believed that these small animals had more decency in their cold bodies than us humans. She would tell us how, when the Church bells rang for the Angelus would the lizards go down and kiss the ground to show humility and faith to the Divine.
Everything had a reason, she would say in that sweet voice that sang of lost love and despair even when she was happiest. The world always was conversing with us. Listen.
Where she is, where volcanoes are tiny specks and comets are brittle, glimmering stones, she would be whispering to me through the layers of planets and hierarchies of angels: just listen and look around. And wait. And understand.
E-mail: titovaliente@yahoo.com
Image credits: Jimbo Albano