No matter how stressed or tired I am, the lush trees that
paints the hills and mountains green has its way of calming my senses. I am at
peace. And the fields show promise of producing a bountiful harvest by October.
Will the farmers then say “Hallelujah!”?
It’s Independence Day and I went to New Washington in Aklan
with my aunt Nene and Father. We reached Aklan at around 10.30 am and we were
all hungry so we looked for Ramboy’s. There’s a branch of it here in Roxas, but
people say the pork liempo there
tastes different—and better. They cook it a little salty here but in Kalibo,
the ingredients are prepared just on the right amount to leave a satiating
appeal to the palate. By the way, the original Ramboy’s Lechon is in Numancia, Kalibo’s
neighboring town.
After filling our tummies we headed to New Washington to
visit some relatives. Then came the more exciting part… strolling the town
plaza.
My aunt turned a little sentimental when we reached the town
plaza. The good old memories of the past ushered in—it was just like yesterday.
Her uncle, Salvador, was the parish priest of the town before World War II
erupted. My grandfather served as his sacristan and he was with the priest when
the Japanese arrived in Ibajay. Now, Fr. Salvador visited Ibajay every now and
then to hold mass then would go back to New Washington. It was because the
Japanese captain who was my grandfather’s childhood friend that the townsfolks
were spared from harm. I do not know if there are any historical documents to
verify this claim, but my grandfather told me this story time and again when he
was alive.
Lola Nene told me that the church that sits at the heart of
the town was made only of bamboo and nipa. Now, it’s a sturdy structure. The church’s
wooden door has carvings that I presume dates back decades ago. I think it’s
one of the oldest pieces in the church. Sadly, I forgot to take photos of it. But
it’s intricate details can tell that it was created in a time when artisans
were keen to details and when works of hand were valued as a testament of an
individual’s reputation.
Across the church is the statue of Jaime, Cardinal Sin, New
Washington’s foremost son. The leader of the Catholic Church was born here. He
was instrumental of toppling down the Marcos dictatorship during the Edsa
Revolution in 1986. My grandfather and his siblings would tell me that Cardinal
Sin was a sacristan of Fr. Salvador and a godson of my great grandmother,
Feliza. In fact, lolo’s brother told me that Lola Ising helped send the Cardinal
Sin to school when he was still a boy.
I felt nostalgic as I stroll the plaza. Only the leaves rustling
to the whisper of the wind make the relaxing noise. I wasn’t yet born back then
but I can sense a carefree and genteel life that I yearn to have. And in New
Washington, time seems to remain still. Sunday afternoons are always lazy and
the streets are nearly empty. The shops are closed and I gather dozing off at
noontime is a sacred task the locals religiously do—next of course to hearing
the mass in the morning. After all, it looks like the rush of the river nearby
washes everyone’s care away. Or so I think.
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