"Hey, Gem, we’re almost there,” I woke Sarah up as the van traversed the zigzag road of the Campo Verde. Gem was Sarah, my girlfriend. She was persuaded to join me in this trip because Pamela, her cousin, and Ted, my bosom buddy and Pamela’s boyfriend, agreed to come with us. It was a much-awaited trip for me, my first after four years. The timing was just right. The town would be celebrating its weeklong annual municipal and devotional fiesta, the Ati-ati Festival.

Dizzy from her first plane ride, Sarah fell asleep as soon as we embarked on this road journey.

Jolted from her sleep, she drowsily gazed outside. Tall pine, mahogany, teak, and other lofty trees on the mountain slopes along the road provided the place with a lush and cool ambiance.

“What a nice place this is, Ralph!” Sarah exclaimed as the van took a sharp turn providing us with a nice view of the opposite picturesque mountain. She shifted on her seat and looked at the emerging scenery in front of us. “Oh, Ralph, I’d like to stay here.”

“Then stay you will,” I responded matter-of-factly.

“Is that already a proposal?” asked Pamela giving me a wink as if telling me that what Sarah had said was a cue for me to propose marriage.

I looked at Sarah but said nothing.

The marker at the place people called the “Highest Point” caught my eyes. I held my two hands up in a welcome gesture and said, “We are now entering Ibajay. Welcome to my hometown!”

Though I lived most of my growing up years in Quezon City, I regarded Ibajay as my hometown. I would always be an Ibayhanon at heart. I was born there in 1973, at the house of my maternal grandparents.

My grandparent’s house was outside the Poblacion. Being the first concrete house built in that area, it was called Baeay nga Bato (House of Stone). It had four big bedrooms, a huge family hall and a covered veranda on the second floor. The ground floor had the masters’ bedroom, a guest room, a study room, and the adjoining reception and dining areas. Outside was a patio overlooking the Ibajay River. A big kitchen was in a separate building connected to the main house. A big crystal chandelier adorned the cathedral ceiling above the reception area and an exact miniature hung on the ceiling of the dining area. A wide staircase with narra steps and balustrades connected the two levels. Near its base stood the nobly huge grandfather’s clock and the grand piano, the king and queen of the furniture, amidst their subjects, the lesser antique pieces that my grandparents had collected in their various travels abroad. The Baeay nga Bato was the grandest house I’d seen in Ibajay. It would always be home to me.

The sun was on its zenith, a sumptuous meal already on the table when we reached home. I had advised my grandparents of my arrival and that I was coming with three friends but they did not know that two of them were ladies. After the formalities, I brought my guests upstairs, the ladies to their room and Ted to our room. We deposited our bags and hurried downstairs.

After lunch, my guests went back upstairs to rest while I stayed behind with my grandparents answering questions about my life and work abroad and the unstable peace situation in the Middle East. We talked about many other things. After a while, Grandma left us and went to the kitchen. Grandpa led me towards the patio.

“Ralph, you’re already twenty nine and have a nice career.” Grandpa started his discourse on marriage and ended it with a proposition. “Isn’t it high time you take a wife and give me a great grandchild?”

Then in his usual low voice when talking about delicate topics, he asked me. “Is that girl you introduced first, your girlfriend?” I nodded. “Hey, Lusing,” he called out, addressing my grandmother. “Do you know that the pretty girl, what’s her name?” he glanced at me, but without waiting for an answer continued, “Ah, I remember now, Sarah, - is Ralph’s girlfriend?”

Grandma joined us and embraced me. “I’m happy for you, Ralph. She seemed to be a nice girl,” she said. “So, when will the wedding be?”

“We have not yet talked about that, Grandma,” I replied.

“What are you waiting for?” Grandpa adjured. “When you’re already too old?”

“Sooner, Grandpa, sooner,” I answered.

The next day, I brought my guests to the Poblacion. It was Tuesday, the town’s market day. We went inside the market where Sarah and Pamela brought some souvenirs. Then I toured them around town. The streets were already on a festive mood. Streamers and bamboo arches in almost every street corner welcomed the visitors. Colorful buntings crisscrossed atop every street. The Gavino Solidum Park, enclosed with sawali (bamboo mat), its castle-inspired entrance newly painted in white and blue, looked like a fair ground. Inside, the trees were bedecked with lights and decorations, remnants of the Christmas season. Shops lined the sides, selling foods and drinks and souvenir items.

A visit to Ibajay would not be complete without passing by the convento (rectory) where the image of the Sto. Nino de Ibajay was kept throughout the year, only to be taken out on the vesper of the fiesta and enthroned on a special platform near the altar. We went inside.

“Ralph? Yes, it’s you, my boy. When did you arrive?” It was Monsignor Peralta, the Parish Priest who had served the town since I was a child. I assisted him as an acolytus (acolyte) every time I was on vacation there.

Grandma even dreamed that I would one day be a priest. Having a priest in the family was a status symbol in my hometown.

“Good morning, Monsy. We planed in yesterday,” I answered as I took his hand and kissed it as a sign of respect. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He was Monsy to us who were close to him. I introduced my companions. He looked at Sarah and then at me. Without waiting for his question, I took Sarah’s hands and introduced her as my girlfriend.

“You’re such a lucky boy, Ralph. I will be slighted if you will not ask me to marry you to this lovely girl,” he said taking Sarah’s hands from me. “I will ask … rather insist with your grandmother that I be the one to officiate your wedding when the time comes.”

Sarah smiled at the endearing priest.

A wedding in Ibajay, I thought. Why not? It won’t be a problem. Sarah had only a few close relatives. It won’t be hard to convince them to come to Ibajay for the occasion.

The priest had to attend to people coming into the rectory, so we said our goodbyes. I ushered my guests to the other room where the image of the Sto. Nino was installed for viewing. After saying a short prayer, we left and proceeded to the church and then the Adoration Chapel. Inside was a solitary adorer, a nun. She was deeply in prayer. Afraid that we would disturb her, we stayed at the back. Sarah and Pamela knelt and began their silent prayers. Ted and I followed them. I knelt beside Sarah.

After a while, the nun stood up and started to leave. I glanced at her. Her face looked familiar.

That night, I could not get some sleep. I turned on my bed; the face of the nun bothered me. I was sure I had met her before but I couldn’t remember where and when. I asked myself so many questions as I tried to unravel the mystery behind the nun. Memories of the past came rushing back to my mind like torrents of flood.

II

Dad, who worked in a government corporation, got some extra days off in addition to the Holy Week so the family decided to go to Ibajay. That was in 1988. We arrived noon of Wednesday. We took a quick lunch, changed our clothes and jumped into Grandpa’s jeep. Uncle Carding hauled us to town for the Holy Mass and procession. Since we could not all be accommodated, we took the first trip so we could go around and view every pasos (religious icon) on top of the carrozas (carriages) parked at the old tennis court and the St. Peter Boulevard.

Grandma’s relatives owned the Nazareno (icon of Jesus carrying the cross) so we proceeded there first. It was there that I saw a girl. I reckoned she was almost my age. She was pretty but got pensive eyes. I could not get my eyes off her lovely face. I was fifteen and old enough to understand the intense feeling I felt in my heart. I brazenly introduced myself, told her that I was related to the family that owned the Nazareno. She gave me her name. Nadia and I instantly became friends. I learned that she was a distant relative of the caretaker of the pasos. Her family lived in the island of Boracay.

After the Holy Week, all of us at the Baeay nga Bato went to Boracay. We rented a cottage and stayed there for three days. I visited Nadia. I was introduced as a distant relative to her family who welcomed me warmly. I found out that her parents knew my Mom.

When Dad and Mom returned to Manila, I begged to stay giving reasons that I would like to stay longer with my grandparents. In reality, I wanted to be with Nadia.

During the whole summer, I regularly joined Uncle Carding on his trips to Boracay. He owned a small shop in the island renting out beach bikes to tourists. He had an extra room at the back of the shop where we stayed.

These trips provided me with opportunities to see Nadia. On my last day in the island, I told her about my feelings.

Back in the city, I resumed my studies, in fourth year high school. I was with my friends again but I sorely missed Nadia’s company. I always thought of her even during my busiest moments. I sent her letters and cards professing my love. She did not respond. I persisted, sent more letters and cards. Still, I got no response. These went on for several months until I experienced sleepless nights just thinking about her. One morning, I woke up looking haggard.

“Ralph, are you sick?” asked Mom.

“No, Mom. I just couldn’t get some sleep.” I answered

“Why, is something wrong? Tell me. Is something bothering you?”

Dad, looked at me and then at Mom. “Don’t worry, Mommy. Ralph is fine. He is just experiencing the agony of an unrequited first love.”

Dad knew about Nadia. I had told him about her, and he warned me that, being young, Nadia may not yet be ready for such kind of relationship. “It’s okay, Ralph. Your Mom should know,” he added.

After six months, I stopped writing her. Though it was hard, I accepted that Nadia was not in love with me. I felt distraught for many days. With the failure of that first love, I resolved not to love any girl again.

I met many girls during social events in school but they meant nothing to me. In class, I was the only one who had no girlfriend. I became the object of my friends’ repartee. They called me sissy for ignoring girls who showed motivations. To me, those girls had nothing special about them. I focused on my studies and did well. My grades greatly improved.

Graduation came and I was one among those recognized for outstanding performance both in scholastic and sports and was awarded a college scholarship. Right away after graduation, I attended to my enrolment. Since I had nothing to do in the city after I secured all my class cards, I flew to Aklan for my summer holiday.

A vacation in Ibajay would not be complete without a trip to Boracay so when I had the chance, I went with Paul and Dino, our neighbors whose parents had a business there. By chance, I passed by Nadia’s house when Uncle Carding asked me to run an errand. I had thought it would be nice to see her: that would be a chance to hear her explanation. I wanted to know the truth. But she was not there. Her mother told me that she had left for Cebu City where she would pursue her studies. I was surprised at my reaction of defeat and dejection. I thought I had forgotten her.

Flustered, I spent the early days of summer at Baeay nga Bato. But in May, with my grandparent’s blessings, I stayed most of the time with Uncle Carding in the island. At Baeay nga Bato, I had nobody my age with whom I could hang around. Paul and Dino stayed most of the time in the island. I helped Uncle Carding in his shop and got paid for my efforts. With the extra money, I joined my local friends for night outs in the many disco houses that dotted the main strip along the white beach. At the Barracuda, I met Carol, daughter of the owners of Casa Alta Beach Hotel. Carol was eighteen years old. We became friends. I sensed that she was attracted to me. At sixteen, I looked older because of my height and build. I was 5’9” and in good shape. As a member of the junior basketball team, I had regular workouts at the school gym.

One day, Carol came to the shop. Uncle Carding went to the mainland that morning to buy some goods so I tended the shop. She invited herself in.

It was mid day and the beach in front of the shop was deserted. We were seated on a bench behind a shelf, hiding us from view outside. We kissed, my first, with Carol taking the lead. When her lips parted mine, searching and demanding a reply, mixed feelings engulfed my whole being. I felt a strange sensation, something I had never experienced before. It was an exciting feeling. I got carried away. When I responded, her mouth became more demanding. Her kisses sent shockwaves to all over my body.

During that summer of 1989, I lost my innocence.

When I returned to the city, Dad noticed the sudden change in me. I told him the truth. Amused, he lectured me on the risks and dangers of my new found manhood. Dad was the most open-minded person I ever knew. He had prepared me for this; I was twelve when he bought me the book “Into Manhood” after I told him about my first nocturnal experience. He and the book answered all sensitive questions I had about my sexuality.

In June, I entered college with great confidence, my mind focused on my goals. I excelled both in academics and in sports. I was on the dean’s list and a varsity player. I became famous in the campus. Coeds swooned over me. Friends no longer call me sissy. They envied me when I had affairs with girls who were popular in the campus.

In 1994, I graduated with honors, took and passed the mechanical engineering board examinations. A multi-national corporation operating in Canlubang Industrial Estate hired me as a process engineer. At the plant, I met Liza with whom I had the longest relationship ever. We broke up after six months. Not bent on having a serious relationship, I moved from one liaison to another. I enjoyed being free.

III

That night, I tossed on my bed as I thought of Sarah. We had been neighbors since 1989. Her parents were from Laguna but like my parents, settled in Quezon City because of work. Her father and my Dad were office buddies. The friendship brought the two families together and Sarah and me closer. But she was just ten and a little sister to me. She was an adopted child, her parents being childless after five years of marriage. Abandoned by her biological mother soon after birth, the nuns in a convent in Malabon found her outside the gate one early morning in 1979 and took care of her together with many other children under their care. At five months, she was legally adopted.

When she was three, her foster Mom conceived and had Ivan. Tristan came two years later. Despite the fact that her being an adopted child was never kept a secret from her, she grew up a fine young girl. Her parents treated her as their own flesh and blood.

Life gave Sarah and her brothers a tender blow when their parents died in 1998 in a car accident. At nineteen, Sarah took the responsibility of raising her two brothers. Mom and Dad became their surrogate parents.

That same year, a Saudi petrochemical company hired me to work in Jubail, an industrial city along the eastern coast of the Arabian Peninsula. Surprisingly, in that desert kingdom, I learned to lead a chaste life. It was not difficult to have relationships but it was my choice to avoid women. I had my reason: Sarah. My parents adored her and wanted her to be my wife. I had never thought about that myself. Sarah had always been a sister to me. It was Mom and Dad who presented the idea. And I loved them both.

Having nothing much to do after work, I stayed in my room in the isolated company camp most of the time. I had much time to think. Feeling homesick, I thought about home and about Mom and Dad. I also thought about Sarah. I had known her for so long that I could not find any reason why she would not be a good wife to me and a good mother to my children.

I started to write letters to Sarah, sent her cards even though there were no occasions. She wrote back. In one letter, she reminded me that I’d better be careful with women; otherwise, I would get entangled with the strict Saudi law on morality. In my response, I assured her that I had changed.

In December 1999, I went home for my vacation. On Christmas Eve, I asked Sarah for a date. There, I told her about my intention. She took it with calm, looked me in my eyes but said nothing. There was a long silence between us. We were seated opposite each other on a table at a posh restaurant of the Shangri-La at EDSA, a string quartet playing a love song evoking a romantic atmosphere. I was tongue-tied. I did not know what to say to make her believe me. In my past relationships, never had I professed my love to any woman. I just let the girl know I liked her. And that was exactly what I told Sarah when I finally had the courage to speak again. Looking at her, I waited for her answer.

Finally, I said, “I won’t rush you to answer me now. But think it over. I am offering you myself, my whole being. Think it over.”

Came the New Year’s Eve. The whole world was in euphoria because of the coming of the new millennium.

We had a family party at home. Of course, Sarah and her brothers joined us in welcoming the New Year.

After dinner, while all the members of the family were glued to the TV watching the worldwide hooked-up broadcast of the unfolding year 2000, I had the chance to ask Sarah for her answer. We were out in the yard.

Having taken some shots of brandy, I became a little bolder and got the courage to tell her, “I love you”. Her tears were enough to let me know her feelings for me.

It was almost dawn and, still, I remained awake. On the other bed, Ted slept soundly, unmindful of the crowing cocks signaling the coming of dawn. Soon the sun would rise and cast its light unto this world for a day only to go down at dusk and leave the world again in total darkness … like the darkness that engulfed my soul.

My mind kept on probing my soul, recalling each of the events that had occurred in my life.

Sarah was the best I could ever have: smart, intelligent, and beautiful. Fastidious with boys, she never had a boyfriend before me; she had never experienced being loved by a man.

I, too, had never been in love with any of the girls in my past relationships. It had been my raging hormones and not the beating of my heart that made me crazy about them. There had never been love but pure passion. That early loss of innocence had so corrupted my values that, in all my relationships, I had never thought of love.

Love, a strong tender affection felt by two persons attracted to one another, was supposed to be the foundation of a happy marriage.

I had no doubt about Sarah; I knew she truly loved me. I had doubts about myself.

It was only once in my life that I felt in love. It was with Nadia. What I had felt for Nadia, I did not feel for Sarah.

I realized I was not capable of loving Sarah for as long as there was Nadia.

It dawned on me that my heart was a prisoner of my past.

With the break of dawn came my resolve that for the first time in my life, I would be honest with myself. I would spare Sarah the pains of an unhappy marriage. Our relationship had to end. It was not founded on the kind of love that she believed it to be. It was love for my parents that led me to want her as my wife. I was pretty sure of what I would do. I would just slip out of her life and fade away as soon as this vacation was over.

Finally, I fell asleep.

The transferring of Sto Nino de Ibajay image from the rectory to its enthronement in the church’s altar was to take place at twelve noon that Saturday, but as early as nine o’clock, many people started to gather in front of the rectory, their faces painted black with burnt coconut husks, carrying anything from roasted chicken or fish tied to wooden or bamboo poles to leafy twigs with colorful pompons of crepe papers fluffing in the air. There were other worshippers who stayed with the tourists and plain bystanders under the shadow of the big narra tree on the other side of the street.

Many people were on the rectory’s veranda looking down at the crowd. There were nuns. One of them was the one we saw at the chapel. She was smiling happily at the crowd. She waved her hand when she noticed me. I even heard her call my name. Then I remembered her eyes, yes those melancholy eyes. How could I forget them?

“Nadia!” I shouted at the top of my voice, fearful that she would not hear me. She did. She nodded at me then looked back at the crowd. While all the people around me, Sarah, Pamela and Ted included, were prancing to the beat of the drums, there I stood nailed to the ground, my eyes intensely fixed at Nadia’s face. Suddenly, our eyes locked.

This moment did not escape Sarah’s gaze. I hadn’t known how long she had been watching me. She stared at Nadia and then at me. “Isn’t she the nun we saw at the chapel the other day? Do you know her?” she asked.

“Very well, Gem. Very well.” I answered, my eyes still fixed at Nadia. To my surprise, Nadia waved her hands once more, smiling at Sarah and me. She looked so happy, so much at peace. I knew right there and then that she had not actually left me. God took her away from me.

The beat of the drums became louder as more Ati-Ati groups arrived. Although the noise had become so deafening, I could hear my own heart beating, louder, much louder.

At quarter before twelve, the noise became unbearable as the Sto. Nino was brought out of the convento. The crowd became wild. I pulled Sarah by the hand, Ted and Pamela behind us, when I saw the person carrying the Sto. Nino emerged at the entrance. We proceeded to the side of the church, inched our way in and went up the choir loft to get a nice view of the enthronement.

The church was filled with people, the din ear-splitting. There was great jubilation everywhere. I was transfixed, overwhelmed and beaten, as it were, by an invisible power greater than myself. As my limbs started to weaken and tremble, I leaned on the wall and sighed. Then the tears came. Warm tears welled from my eyes as I felt an utter sense of helplessness and defeat.

“I give up. I give her up!” As the enthronement bells rang, I started to die to myself. There, before the Sto. Nino, at that sublime eternal moment, I lay my shattered heart to the altar of the Almighty. And there He stood before me, enthroned, as He deserved to be. I had laid down Nadia as my sweet surrender to His divine glory. Melancholy Nadia! What joy did that bring to His Eternal Highness?

Without warning, a sudden surge of indescribable joy flooded my whole being, overwhelming my soul.

Free! Now my heart was free, unchained from bondage to my past. Heaven had opened its floodgates to me, leaving me swirling in an emotion that I never felt before. Love had finally opened to me.

I held Sarah’s hands tightly. “I love you, Gem,” I whispered as I held her closer to me and kissed her on the cheek, “Yes, I really do.” I murmured a prayer thanking the Sto. Nino for guiding me in this journey to the highest point in life.

“What’s up?” she wondered seeing me crying. People around us looked at me, smiling as if they knew what was in my heart.

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About the Author

The writer is a true-blooded Ibayhanon (or Ibajaynon) from Barangay Unat. He used to teach English at Melchor Memorial School where he wrote many winning Declamation pieces both in English and Filipino and trained in Creative Writing all the winners in the 2000 and 2001 Ibajay Homepage Essay Writing Contest. He now works as a Consultant with the Saudi Electricity Company in Saudi Arabia where he is a technical and para-legal writer, including contract documents. He dabbles in creative writing in his spare time to dodge loneliness being away from his family.

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