The House of My Memories

...a description of the house of my youth image from pinoyshooter.org

I learned today that the small house where my brothers and I spent our early years was finally torn down.  I suppose it was about time - it  was already a very old house, even before my family moved in - and it stood in a small community, in a small district, in a small town.

The house of my memory was the first shelter I ever knew, the first address to which I moved after leaving the hospital where I was birthed, it was where I had my first home-coming, in a way. It was witness to the first, in a long line, of my mother's sleepless nights, when bedding down was accompanied by cloth diapers and blankets and pins and towels and wraps.  Yet to this day, my mother counts herself lucky in that she breast fed all of her children and, thus, never needed to rest within reach of a baby bottle.   

The house of my memory was where I first took a tumble, and where I first learned to walk and eventually run.  Naturally, running led to falling - again and again.  I still fall to this day, but the tumbles I am prone to now have nothing to do with running.  The house saw me through the trappings of my first birthday party, my first Christmas get-together and my first New Year's Eve.

I remember the field just outside the house of my memory.  It served as the first playground for my brothers and me, as well as for the other children of that little town.  It was where I learned to play the games of my childhood: pico (hopscotch), taguan (hide and seek), bahay-bahayan (play house), dyakstones (jackstones, the letter 'j' was not, at that time, part of the Filipino alphabet), patintero (a sort of organized game of group tag) and Chinese garter (which involved jumping over a stretched string that was held higher at every turn.) The field was surrounded by aratiles (Jamaican cherry) trees.  Their fruits resembled rubies when they ripened, and the girls would smear the juices on their lips because it made them look like they were wearing lipstick. The boys, in turn, would capture and harness the huge spiders whose webs dangled from the branches, for 'spider-fights.'  I am sure that more than a few of those same boys graduated to breeding fighting c***s in later life. My brothers and I headed off for that expanse of youthful freedom right after breakfast. We spent the better part of the day playing under a sun that was kinder back then, and went home grudgingly - it was almost a betrayal to leave when there was still a tiny bit of sunlight left.

Neighbors knew each other in our little community, the 'hometown' of my memory.  It was not a wealthy town, far from it, but everyone was willing to share what they had.  And they shared more than the material; they shared in the joy and good fortune that occasionally came, and they shared in the pain and misery, which was doled out more often by fate and the 'bad spirits' that were ever present, but hinted of - only in whispers. 

Nothing is left now of that small town nor the field of my youth. They fell prey to ever changing zoning rules and 'appropriation laws' penned by a group of very smart government officials whose names were never mentioned and whose faces we never saw.  And today the house that I remember no longer stands.  It was old and small, but my memories of it will forever be renewed…and they will always be grand.

Reviews

[Blossom]

I love everything about it: the fact that one would choose to write on this subject (so romantic), the title (so romantic), the description (so romantic). Of course, most of us jotters are 'so romantic'!! :-)
Enjoyed every line, Justa, but smiled at every line of the penultimate para, 'Neighbours knew. . .'
And the end just made me . . . umm any guesses? Siggghhh! :-)
P.S. Don't know why, but I also fall! ;-)

[justa335]

Thank you, dear Blossom.

[Roland Petrov]

A wonderful little study of how memory actually works. Well written, Justa; it's an enjoyable read.

[justa335]

Thank you, dear sir :)

[MetalLadybird]

A wonderful piece , Justa. The first line drew me in and I love this little window into the world of your childhood, in particular the description of the games. I can imagine the feelings knowing the house was going to come down, but we have to move on and in some ways the house being torn down in some ways might preserve it's memory better than if it stayed up and fell into decay.

[justa335]

Thank you, my lady.