(Malolos -2003- photo inserts by MN)

Visiting the Philippines, which I do quite often, where I spend most of my time in my old hometown, which is the city of Malolos, in the province of Bulacan is like coming home to a home far away from home.

Yes Virginia, despite spending the last 39 years of my life in Canada, the attachment is still there. It is as strong as the rope that anchors the ship, as pure as the bond between a mother and a child and as clear as the springwater that flows on a mountaintop – unexplored, untouched.

We stayed in our old ancestral home, only half of which had endured the punishments of nature and the ravages of time. Like a human, it suffered from sicknesses caused by old age; and like a human, it succumbed to them. It is now, through renovations, courtesy of Canadian dollars, a small, 3-bedroom bungalow (with one air conditioned for us to stay), rather than the two-storey home we grew up.

As we roamed around and visited some old, close friends and memorable places, our feelings were of mixed emotions - sad and happy, excited and bored, careless and careful.

As we innocently strolled at the once dusty and pebbly streets and recalled the yesteryears, we were not surprised at all that very few of the sweet memories were still there. For time has a unique and unpredictable way of changing things - some for the better, many for the worse.

Gone were the dark, quiet nights, sometimes brightened only by the moon covered by the beautiful clouds in the mysterious sky. Gone too, were the fireflies whose luminous, flickering lights were a beauty to behold, a mystery to the young, a joy to the lovers of the creation of God.

Gone were the memorable games of my innocent youth, so full of laughter overflowing with happiness: the patintero on unpaved streets; the spider fight on a long, thin stick; the tumbang preso on a dusty yard; the hide and seek on forest near.

Gone was the simple life we used to know: the cool and creaking bamboo houses with palm leaves (pawid) roofs that sheltered us from humid air and burning sun; the manicured and green gumamela shrubs that fenced the lot; the sturdy guava tree that stood nearby - where two birds sing in symphony and also danced in harmony; and at the back, the tall and lanky bamboo trees swayed with the wind, but bow, they don’t.

Gone were the big, fenced lots where huge fruit trees were plentiful - the avocados, the kaimitos, the gayabanos, the tamarind trees, the mango trees, the kamatsili trees, the grapefruit trees, and the sinigwelas. Gone too were vegetables of different kinds that crawled innocently on vines and shrubs.

Gone were the insects we used to catch: the colorful butterfly, so mystic, so beautiful, in which through them, the flowers bloom; the slender dragonfly, with transparent wings, flying around while being chased by kids like me.

Gone were the birds: the tarat up in the lanky bamboo tree that woke me up in October dawn; the pipit on top of that sturdy guava tree, whose dance and move I admire; the maya birds whose number so ample; the kingfishers, a bright-colored and crested bird with short tail and pointed beak that frequent the river banks; the hawks, A, thank God they are gone to a far away haven, now the hens and chicken can live in amity.

Gone was the clean and clear water of the irrigation and the canal: where fresh water fishes were abundant; where clothes were washed even if they were white and cotton; where small and innocent kids, will bathe and swim.

Gone was the tranquility on the streets: the happy and smiling faces of the young and the old; their toothless grin; their shining eyes; their innocence; their caring greetings that’s music to the ear.

Gone was the transportation the old fashion type – the calesa. Now, the tricycles and the jeepneys rein supreme - with their poison gas and toxic fumes, but fast they are, as fast as life itself - in today’s world.

With the beautiful birds gone to faraway land, where worm for food is plentiful. With the rivers and ponds poisoned, so that fishes exist no more. With big trees gone, and exported by some crooked politicians, all that is left are little ones that cannot shelter us from burning sun. Fresh air is gone too, and now replaced with polluted one. With huge lot gone and now is overcrowded with shacks - a home for the homeless and the poor.

But her sweet memories will never be gone for they are a part of my being. They are in my soul, in my heart, in my mind, in my every bone, and in all my flesh. Monuments to my youth may no longer be there, swallowed forever by this thing we call industrialization and overwhelmed by an uncontrolled population explosion.

But memories of my hometown will always be there – BEAUTIFUL AND EVERLASTING.