Feelings
Babes in BigBoysland!
By Emmanuelle
One does not get lost on the way to Nancapian Farm, silly. Nevertheless, we did so, easily.
It was my sister’s first time to drive the shortcut through Manaoag, Mapandan, and Sta. Barbara. And naturally, as our usual ways, she or I or both of us would say Oh! and Ah! at each new wondrous sight, and brake goes the car and reverse goes the gear and stop go the wheels. We pop out our four eyes magnified by our four lenses and we breathe out our Really now! Unimaginable! Unbelievable!
And so, somewhere between Oh! and Unbelievable! We got lost on our way to Nancapian. We lost count of how many guides we had asked and how many conflicting directions we received. Two of them pointed to the north and to the south at the same time. The cellfon rang, but the host’s voice got lost in statics and we surely were not ecstatic at that. So I sent a message of being hopelessly lost, then another one much later of hopefully believing we had unlost ourselves and were finally “finding our way to you”.
We turned left as we enter Malasiqui, right then left at the road running along the right side of the marketplace. This one stretched on and on for kilometers after kilometers maybe ten, fifteen, more like twenty with the hot wind whipping and the aircon pretending to be cool and everything under control, until a succession of signs reading Arenas Farm complete with arrows and curlicue designs pointed us encouragingly onward for a few meters more. We persevered for a few meters more.
Finally, the arrow on the last sign danced here here here, turn right, a little more speed there right there, see the gate? It’s open, it’s waiting for you, proceed proceed! The guard at the next gate waved us enter enter. The wheels, after rolling all the way from home on smooth paved roads, now crunching on smooth rounded pebbles, carpet to dwarfed mango trees.
An assistant ushered us in, she took over the assistant. And Baby Arenas, the mom, began to baby us all.
She had held back lunch to wait for my sister and I. And as it was nearing three in the afternoon, they must have held back their hunger as well. They must all be tremendously starving – Baby, and trustees Ate and Kuya.
She brings us to the side table and expounds on the virtues of the menu, even spoons choice portions unto the sweet-smelling rice on our plates. The vegetables are products of the land. Meat and poultry are raised somewhere inside the 20 hectares. The tilapia and the other fish are gifts from friends. Dessert is saging na saba and tikoy from Taipei fried in zero-cholesterol fat.
She is both graceful and gracious. Alternately, she talks to each one of us, then to us all as a group, knowledgeably and from experience. She is a stickler for data, and once she requests Ate to call for the correct names, place, and event. At the same time, she conducts the affairs of the house, the farm, some family business. She directs, she delegates, she asks opinions, but always, she is polite and well-mannered.
She is proud of her children, but even more so of Congresswoman Rachel, the other “Baby”. She fears for Cong’s seemingly unconcern for personal safety. Cong would rather surround herself with the crowd of constituents and children than be surrounded by bodyguards. Baby shrugs and says that is how Rachel wants it. And she wipes the fear off from her beautiful face.
She tells of the children gifting their Congresswoman with letters and framed needlework and charcoal sketches of Rachel’s face with avowals of love and loyalty. This time, though, she could not wipe off the tears as fast as she wiped off the fear.
Before we bid our goodbyes, she gives us a brief but detailed tour of the house and its near periphery. As we board the car, she asks who waits for us at home, as it is getting too dark. Upon learning our mom waits, she waves her long fingers for the assistant to get one more Valentine gift to add to our one of each. Your mom must have one too, she says.
And as she walks back to the house, I shake my head in wonderment at the image of this fragile mom and her equally fragile daughter, slim legs standing firm on the land-of-the-big-boys-not-all-good-some-been-bad. Wonderwoman and supergirl.
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