By Rex Catubig

 

WE call her Nana, a term of endearment both deferential and affectionate, though often said in jest. She was mother hen to us–who became her extended family, dysfunctional and unorthodox–a motley assortment of lovesick, lovelorn, or just crazies in love–or so we thought.

Rex at the vigil for Nana Precy

She welcomed us all in her home, so did his two affable and loving sons–Marcel and Mitz. Her studio in Tapuac, and later her house in SJ (San Jacinto) were party headquarters where we chatted till the wee hours and listened to son Marcel’s latest jazz vinyl that we fancied spoke to our heartbeat, heartache–or heartburn.

Heaven knows what we talked about or what drew us there, oblivious of the world. I would drive the 15 or so kilometers to get there almost every other evening. And drive back home in the dead of the night.

Maybe it was the food, because she could make even the most common menu, a table fare fit for royalty. Truly, the way to our untamed hearts was through our insatiable stomach. And we were always hungry and willing to eat–a clear case of displacement for love-starved souls.

Which reminds me of an apocryphal tale of a granny whose cooking turned her humble kitchen into a popular restaurant.

Asked one time what kind of fish was that she cooked and served, she nonchalantly answered, “Dead fish”.

Indeed, it was. But she seasoned it with love, garnished it with care, and served it with copious goodwill. And that made it truly palatable.

It was the same way what Nana did to whatever “fish” was thrown her way. She would take them hook, line, and sinker and lovingly turn them into scrumptious, extraordinary dishes.

I’d dare say she could even make a delicacy out of the rotten ones.

Maybe that was what we were, a school of wild ferocious fish that ended upstream to her kitchen. With a stroke of faith, a token of understanding, a dose of appreciation–all gingerly thrown into a hot pan of loving acceptance, she transformed our weary decadent selves into some wondrous fish for all reasons, even for no reason.

Thank you, Nana PRECIOSA “PRECY” VELASCO NAVA, for your nurturing unconditional love. Love’s struggle is unending. But maybe, it really leads to where you now rest.

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