Reminiscence

By Rubilyn Bollion Cadao

EVERY ONE OF us has a story to tell; from the past, whether good or bad, a story that was unforgettable, memorable, or painful. I am Red, and this is my story. Let me share the memories of my childhood, memories I’m unable to forget, as the feelings still cling deep within my heart.

I grew up in a very poor family, where the old saying, ‘Isang kahig, isang tuka’ really fits. If we were lucky, what we earned in day would be just enough to see us through, but most of the time, it was not even enough to feed our entire family. We were a big family – having eleven mouths to feed was too much for a struggling household.

As the fourth child and the first-born daughter in the family, I have 3 older brothers, 5 younger sisters and 2 younger brothers, a total of eleven in all. Really big, isn’t it? Well, yeah, of course. I know that. During my younger days, kids would tease us so much about that, especially given that my father’s name is Abraham. You got the connection, right? Yeah, yeah, I know, the father of all nations.

Those kids from our neighbourhood would often stand on their rooftops, looking down on our trodden house while shouting, “Father Abraham has eleven children, eleven children has father Abraham!”, or that famous line, “Abracadabra!”. Or they would simply shout, “Abraham!”, as if they were just calling to their friend. 

Urgh! Those brats! I can’t even remember how many times I cursed their parents in my mind – why didn’t they teach their kids good manners and conduct? And that wasn’t even the worst of it; there were times when those kids would even throw stones into our house.

If I had to compare, it’s true to say many pigpens were better than our house. At least the pigpens had fine roofs, solid walls, and concrete floors

Our home stood near the foot of a mountain slope, where the soil would easily erode and slide whenever the heavy rains came. So, there were many times when our house was almost carried away, at the mercy of the water flooding down the mountain.

If I had to compare, it’s true to say that many pigpens were better than our house; at least the pigpens had fine roofs, solid walls, and concrete floors. As for us, we slept under a roof with many holes, from which water would drop whenever the rain poured down. We slept on cold, old wood, covered with just a piece of cloth; huddled together under a thin, shared blanket, we would curl up and tremble through the night. 

We had no doors or windows – just pieces of cloth and rugs which served as walls, flapping whenever the strong winds blew. The ground we stepped on changed with the seasons; during rainy periods, it was wet and muddy, turning to dry and dusty when summer came.

I can still remember a time, when I was about 9 or 10, when a typhoon hit our home and it nearly slid down the cliff. I was only young then, but the visions of that past are still so vivid – every now and then they still give me nightmares. 

My father was at the edge of the cliff under that raging storm, trying his best to make stone walls, to prevent our house from sliding down the slope. 

We watched in tears, with my mom carrying and hugging my little siblings in her arms, and my 8-year-old sister and I carrying our school bags, packed with clothes and a carton of milk for our baby sister. At that time, I couldn’t control my hate towards my older brothers, for they’d always run away from home and were not around to help my father.

To add to that, we never received any help from our relatives – instead, we received only mockery. To think, they even wanted to drive us away from our land and home. How hateful! 

One time, as my younger sisters were just passing around the neighbourhood from school, they overheard my relatives saying they wanted to drive away my father, even questioning whether we could finish our studies. Can you imagine that? 

In fact, my sisters finished their studies with flying colours – which I’m very thankful for – even if I couldn’t finish my own, as I was busy helping my parents raise my siblings.

I remember telling my uncle back then that I wanted to become a field reporter or a teacher like my cousin – his daughter. But instead of encouragement, I got only discouragement. I was too young back then, but his words hurt me so much that I still carry them deep in my heart, even now that I’m old. 

But as they say, these moments push us forward, and make us strive harder. I may not have been able to fulfil my dreams, but seeing my sisters having a good life is enough. Seeing my parents enjoying a better life now is more than enough.

And as for the past, although it sometimes brings back sad memories, those memories remain in my heart. They may be sad, but they’ve taught me so much about life.