E·N·Q·U·I·R·Y
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
Reunion
Sunday, 12 30 2005
The holidays afforded us a most welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city, a truce of sorts from finding fault in a government we have always wished would not survive the year. And so I find myself and my family back to the bosom of my hometown, where I find solace, away from the perils of trading harsh words with politicians, the military and the police.
San Nicolas, ILocos Norte drips with snippets of history, foremost of which is its being the staging ground of the famous Basi Revolt. In 1746, the Ilocanos felt they had enough of the Spanish conquistadores, that after imbibing copious quantities of the local wine, basi, they decided to bash some Castillian heads. The Ilocanos, especially the San Nicolaneos, failed, and it was not until 150 years later that they would savor freedom while getting besotted in the local brew once more.
Historians say the Basi Revolt was born in the sacred grounds of the church and the convento of San Nicolas. The Sta. Rosa Academy now finds home in the site of the convento. As I tread those same grounds yesterday, I could not help but feel an eerie kinship with those brave albeit failed revolutionists, even as I joined my former classmates in the merry confusion of the alumni reunion of Sta. Rosa Academy.
The convento bears the scars of a fire that gutted half of it 15 years ago. Many of us who have not been to the convento in 40 years can no longer point to the exact spots where we sat when we were only “this high,” or where we were made by the German nuns to kneel on mongo beans, under the hot sun, in punishment for some breach of school regulations. Gone, too, are the secret places where we hid ourselves to escape from the long litany that was even longer than the rosary that it followed. A clump of bamboo has grown on the site where we used to tend our vegetable garden plots, which were graded every seven o’clock in the morning by Mr. Simon. A classmate naughtily remarked that the bamboo surely must be a convenient source of the Academy’s present teachers for the patpat they use to discipline erring pupils. Yes, Miss Mamuad, who has remained single all these years, assured us that these days the school still does nor spare the rod and spoil the child.
The lumberyard where we gathered sawdust to polish the old wooden floors of the convento has vanished, and in its place now is a four-storey commercial building.
The six acacia trees, whose trunks four grade four pupils could barely encircle with their hands joined together, were no longer there. We were informed that the then First Lady wanted to expose the beauty of the old brick church to motorists in the highway, so those ancient beautiful trees just had to be cut, and with them fell the Heroes’ Monument, which stood in front of the church with its four pillars and eternal flame.
Gone also is the big fountain adjacent to the school, where we boys used to take glorious unauthorized baths. In its place stands a monument depicting a monstrose malabi (pot) being held by giant hands, intended to remind viewers that San Nicolas is the source of a certain type of clay used for the sturdy pots and earthenware that Ilocandia is famous for.
The irrigation canal where we learned how to swim dog-style is now paved over as access road to a subdivision of balikbayans from Hawaii. The town bakery that churned out the best pan de coco is now a cocktail lounge, which prompted my sons to ask me whether they could savor the peculiar pan de coco they are now serving.
So where have all the good old days gone? Back then, almost all of us had to walk to and from school, with the children of the moneyed class conveyed there via calesa. Now, the convento lies in the middle of a heavy-traffic zone, with many of the pupils exposed to danger. Change has come to San Nicolas. Its historical landmarks have been lost; its traditions obliterated by the demands of commercialism. The church itself has lost its historical patina, the red brick blocks of its facade having been painted-over with outrageous gray in an attempt to keep up with the changing times.
The changes around us, however, have not prevented us from reminiscing about Godo, the town idiot who mimicked the Holy Mass – complete with serving communion by the handful and the drinking of gin instead of the required mompo – for five minutes every day before the actual mass officiated by Father Mauro. And Miss Menor, who taught me my ABC and is now in her eighties, could still recall how I and a classmate ran all the way to the top of the church torre, to escape the wrath of a German nun whom we tricked just to get more than our daily serving of trigo and nutribun. Them were the days, and all we could do now is laugh about them.
Most of us have gained weight, and we could hardly recognize each other after all these years. Many have gone to Hawaii, which claims a hefty number of San Nicolas natives among its Ilocano immigrants. Among our class, two have died under criminal circumstances – an ironic thing, since they held the most promise when we parted upon our graduation in 1967. In the main, many have become successful professionals, many thanks to the training we got in our formative years from Santa Rosa Academy.
Thomas Wolfe was wrong – one could still go home again. If you don’t believe me, just ask my former classmates Rose, Rosa, Serafina, Veronica, Ernani, Carlito, Jose, Eleazar, Rogelio, Juanito, Ito, Crisanto, Noel, Cedric, Luis, Francisco, Gilda, Jean, Thelma, Rossa, Christian, Nestor and Cristino.
Naimbag nga baro nga tawen yo amin, gagayyem.
For comments about this website:Webmaster@tribune.net.ph
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL
Reunion
Sunday, 12 30 2005
The holidays afforded us a most welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city, a truce of sorts from finding fault in a government we have always wished would not survive the year. And so I find myself and my family back to the bosom of my hometown, where I find solace, away from the perils of trading harsh words with politicians, the military and the police.
San Nicolas, ILocos Norte drips with snippets of history, foremost of which is its being the staging ground of the famous Basi Revolt. In 1746, the Ilocanos felt they had enough of the Spanish conquistadores, that after imbibing copious quantities of the local wine, basi, they decided to bash some Castillian heads. The Ilocanos, especially the San Nicolaneos, failed, and it was not until 150 years later that they would savor freedom while getting besotted in the local brew once more.
Historians say the Basi Revolt was born in the sacred grounds of the church and the convento of San Nicolas. The Sta. Rosa Academy now finds home in the site of the convento. As I tread those same grounds yesterday, I could not help but feel an eerie kinship with those brave albeit failed revolutionists, even as I joined my former classmates in the merry confusion of the alumni reunion of Sta. Rosa Academy.
The convento bears the scars of a fire that gutted half of it 15 years ago. Many of us who have not been to the convento in 40 years can no longer point to the exact spots where we sat when we were only “this high,” or where we were made by the German nuns to kneel on mongo beans, under the hot sun, in punishment for some breach of school regulations. Gone, too, are the secret places where we hid ourselves to escape from the long litany that was even longer than the rosary that it followed. A clump of bamboo has grown on the site where we used to tend our vegetable garden plots, which were graded every seven o’clock in the morning by Mr. Simon. A classmate naughtily remarked that the bamboo surely must be a convenient source of the Academy’s present teachers for the patpat they use to discipline erring pupils. Yes, Miss Mamuad, who has remained single all these years, assured us that these days the school still does nor spare the rod and spoil the child.
The lumberyard where we gathered sawdust to polish the old wooden floors of the convento has vanished, and in its place now is a four-storey commercial building.
The six acacia trees, whose trunks four grade four pupils could barely encircle with their hands joined together, were no longer there. We were informed that the then First Lady wanted to expose the beauty of the old brick church to motorists in the highway, so those ancient beautiful trees just had to be cut, and with them fell the Heroes’ Monument, which stood in front of the church with its four pillars and eternal flame.
Gone also is the big fountain adjacent to the school, where we boys used to take glorious unauthorized baths. In its place stands a monument depicting a monstrose malabi (pot) being held by giant hands, intended to remind viewers that San Nicolas is the source of a certain type of clay used for the sturdy pots and earthenware that Ilocandia is famous for.
The irrigation canal where we learned how to swim dog-style is now paved over as access road to a subdivision of balikbayans from Hawaii. The town bakery that churned out the best pan de coco is now a cocktail lounge, which prompted my sons to ask me whether they could savor the peculiar pan de coco they are now serving.
So where have all the good old days gone? Back then, almost all of us had to walk to and from school, with the children of the moneyed class conveyed there via calesa. Now, the convento lies in the middle of a heavy-traffic zone, with many of the pupils exposed to danger. Change has come to San Nicolas. Its historical landmarks have been lost; its traditions obliterated by the demands of commercialism. The church itself has lost its historical patina, the red brick blocks of its facade having been painted-over with outrageous gray in an attempt to keep up with the changing times.
The changes around us, however, have not prevented us from reminiscing about Godo, the town idiot who mimicked the Holy Mass – complete with serving communion by the handful and the drinking of gin instead of the required mompo – for five minutes every day before the actual mass officiated by Father Mauro. And Miss Menor, who taught me my ABC and is now in her eighties, could still recall how I and a classmate ran all the way to the top of the church torre, to escape the wrath of a German nun whom we tricked just to get more than our daily serving of trigo and nutribun. Them were the days, and all we could do now is laugh about them.
Most of us have gained weight, and we could hardly recognize each other after all these years. Many have gone to Hawaii, which claims a hefty number of San Nicolas natives among its Ilocano immigrants. Among our class, two have died under criminal circumstances – an ironic thing, since they held the most promise when we parted upon our graduation in 1967. In the main, many have become successful professionals, many thanks to the training we got in our formative years from Santa Rosa Academy.
Thomas Wolfe was wrong – one could still go home again. If you don’t believe me, just ask my former classmates Rose, Rosa, Serafina, Veronica, Ernani, Carlito, Jose, Eleazar, Rogelio, Juanito, Ito, Crisanto, Noel, Cedric, Luis, Francisco, Gilda, Jean, Thelma, Rossa, Christian, Nestor and Cristino.
Naimbag nga baro nga tawen yo amin, gagayyem.
For comments about this website:Webmaster@tribune.net.ph
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