Foraging Pili Nuts
I have a blister on my thumb, and my lower chest slightly hurts when pressed. I’m in a very busy bum mode again! Today was full of accomplishment in many ways– I helped mom wash dishes. Haha! I don’t really help with house work these days. Now I find it pleasurable to do so.
We foraged pili nuts from my cousins and our neighbors farms. We collected a lot– probably more than a hundred. That was a lot considering the few minutes we've spent so far. I wish I counted for accuracy since we love to boast about being the better “pili scavenger”. While we were rummaging around the trees, turning leaves and peeking behind the roots, a group of visitors passed by. We stopped when they took a notice of us. It felt awkward since we didn't personally know them. Accompanied by one familiar face, my mom deduced the passerbys were the landowners. There would have been lots more to collect since it rained the other day. I spotted pili sprouts, and replanted them at the tiny plot adjacent to our land. It's was recently reclaimed from the river. Because I was such a klutz, transferring the seedlings with a small sundang was a struggle.
The Sea’s Diminishing Grace
Instead of continuing our foraging, we went to the sea. It was super clear but the tide was low. There was a bloom of “pàlit”– the big black jellyfish I tend to mix-up names with “labôg”—the transparent box jellyfishes. I reviewed the area before soaking to the sea. Despite their harmless nature, it scares me to stay in the sea for too long.
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| Sihi |
So we instead picked seashells– “sihi” near Mirisbiris. Mom then started with her lang sines when she and my father were permanent residents in the barangay. The sihi used to be bigger in size around the same area. Those times, the residents would usually ignore collecting them. But now, they’re just speck sized. She wondered what happened and concluded that it probably just gonna happen with the changing times. That was about 30 years ago.
She urged me to stop picking sihi, but I insisted on collecting more. I asked her to add them for our ulam today. Although my travels allowed me to see abundant marine life in the neighboring provinces, I sometimes envy my sister for the neighborhood she grew up in as a child. In the past, plastic has never reached its advent in the barangay. Now, there are too many residents. The new road networks brought convenience with unnoticed exchange that include the destruction of marine life.
I collected some medium-sized sihi—half inch diameter but the rest were really small. My mom finally decided we should leave as the sun was getting stronger. On our return, the kamia flowers I picked and temporarily left along the way have already wilted. They were meant for the vase inside the house but they didn’t make it.
When we returned home, I realized my hand hurt from poking the ground with the sundang. I realized it was really difficult to become a farmer, that's why my brother was not diligent with farming. As for me, my one-time farming adventures found me entertained. I wasn’t really bothered if the plants didn't make it with the poor soil, the bad weather and other factors affecting failures. I don’t have big expectations for success. I find healing in getting tired and enjoying the simple life that contrasts my usual 3AM or 4AM anxieties in the past years. I do feel regret for spending my meager salary on traveling instead of investing or saving to buy agricultural land. I didn’t have an idea but that’s alright, dwelling in the past was never healthy. I look forward to doing something about it in the future.
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| A view of Poliquy Bay |
Urok—the potable mineral water of the barangay
On our afternoon siesta, we tried looking for a good movie on my laptop but it was overheating because of the hot weather. I fell asleep waiting for the laptop to respond. The weather softened a bit later with the sign of rain although it only drizzled. My mom and I fetched water in the spring—which the residents call “urok”. To me, urok is the best example of a crack in the mountain where water continuously flows. It’s the cleanest and freshest drinking water for the whole barangay.
On our way, we greeted our kumusta with Tata Gusting who was sitting under the Baligang tree, with the empty rice paddies overlooking. Tata Gusting is my mom’s cousin who diligently tended the fields for most of his life. My mom mentions about it in her greeting. His rice fields was a tiny version of hagdan-hagdan palayan that always look pleasant.
When I asked why they do it all their life, my mom thinks it was deep-rooted, and something he has learned growing up. Would his children take the role and pass it to his children, too? I wondered. As for my father, he gave up the land for construction work in the city proper. We allowed other farmers to plant on our tiny plot. There's a possibility that the next generation in his family will also ask another farmer to tend those lovely paddies.
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| Fetching drinking mineral water |
Planting, Anyway
I washed the pili nuts we collected in the morning. I placed the nuts on a mesh bag and hung it on one of the veranda’s roof foundations. I collected the pulp for composting.
I used the rice wash to water my plants and reminded my mom to do the same whenever she wash rice. My mom thinks I am wasting my time as all my plants will die soon anyway because we have to leave after the weekend. I wish I could just stay but they don’t like me to stay alone and I have evening classes at the university. I insisted with the I-don’t-have-expectation-either, and carry on as I please.
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| Selfie under the Pili trees |
Writing—A Gift for One’s Self
In the evening, boredom slightly strikes me. I read some Clevver gossip news which of course was not at all worth mentioning. Then, I found a good YT video on the “School of Life” channel. The video’s title was “What Book to Read Next?”. Alan engages the viewers to write their own stories and gift it to oneself. This strikes me a lot because I love to read my old journals and diaries. My earliest journal was 15 years ago, when I was 15. And I still read the entries that my angsty-grateful-self wrote. My writing style has been changing and improving as the years passed by. But I still find my 15-year-old self braver and daring with non-core vocabulary for a non-native English speaker. These days, I usually use ordinary non-verbose, brief, simple words for my notes and realizations.
And so today, I wrote a lot. And that’s it, I have elapsed midnight.
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| Sunset on my window |
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