I can still hear the rush of water from the pool as the weekend opens with a bright sunny day. The jacuzzi was turned on to get the motor moving, ready for the day. Typical on a weekend in the Blue House, as we called our childhood home situated in a quiet subdivision in Canlubang, that the house will be filled with people. Indeed, I’d peek through my window and the swimming pool glitters under the hot sunny day and it wasn’t even noon yet.
I’d wobble down the staircase to have breakfast, still yawning. Nanay would prepare us breakfast while we were deep in our sleeps. At the center of the round informal dining were our favorite morning delicacies: longanisa, sometimes tocino, egg, garlic fried rice. Back then I’d only drink juice or water. Oh the taste of calamansi juice! One by one we’d take our place at the table and have our morning feast. Oftentimes I’d be the last to wake up, as I was often the last to sleep.
Beeeeeepppp! We’d hear the visitors coming. The gates would open for them to come in. Slowly the visitors filled the big house. I always looked forward to seeing my cousins. We just got along too well. Once arrived, we’d go straight to the play room and start playing. Or we’d watch movies as we gotten older. But what never fails to happen, a day’s swim session just before lunch. As nanay prepared the good-for-a-fiesta food selection (always with fried chicken somewhere in the menu), we kids dive into the pool for the rest of the morning.
Oh the splash of water on my face. That rush of ice cold water, never warm, as we jumped into the non-heating pool. But it’s all worth it because it’s the perfect combat to the blazing sun. Soon we’d get used to it and it’s as if the water was never called in the first place. We’d do laps, we’d dip all the way to the pool’s floor bed, we’d do flips, we’d dive off of the jacuzzi. The adults will join in sometimes.
Just before it hits noon, lunch food was being prepared. Sometimes we’d have it at the formal dining table. But if we’re still wet from our swim, outside tables gets opened and we’d have outdoor lunch. The kids would sit at our own sets of tables and chairs, the adults sometimes would get back inside for comfortable seating. No matter what, the air fills with laughter and stories.
The past few visits back to the Philippines, I longed for those memories back. But nothing felt the same anymore, no matter what events brought the families together. As family members slowly fade away and kids growing up and taking over responsibilities, the memories of our childhood stayed just like that, memories in our minds. My story above is probably different from the perspective of my siblings and cousins. I remember mine with overly saturated colors in my memory and reliving those times every time I visit home are always much duller than those in my memories.
Mine never faded. It was my reality now that faded the colors of life. While going back is purely impossible, there is always time and room to create new ones.
