By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

MY dad’s garden was a garden of necessity. He planted for nourishment. We had abundant supply of pechay, ampalaya, kabatiti, patola, upo, kjalabasa, pallang, kardis, saluyot and some others whose names I have forgotten. We had mangoes, papayas, bayabas, lomboy, various citrus fruits. The neighbors picked the pechays and the papayas without his permission, when he was not around. When they were caught appropriating for themselves the plants he nurtured, they would flash him a smile, without the apology.

“Mialaak na daiset, Kuya, mantinola-ak.” (I am taking a little, elder brother, I am cooking chicken broth.)

“Akin agka mantanem, balbaleg ni dalin mo nen sikami.” (Why don’t you plant, you have a bigger land than us.)

“Agak makabilay, Kuya, ambetel su tamurok.” (I am unable to grow plants, elder brother, my thumb is cold.)

“Aliwan may tamurom su wala’y problema to. Mangiras ka labat.” (Your thumb has no problem. You are just lazy.)

But, almost always, after the admonishment, he would help them, get a little more. When he was not in the mood, he would shout.

“Usto la tan. Mangitilak kay para’d sikami, anak na lasi!” (That’s enough. Leave some for us, you son of a lightning!)

This reinforces a historian’s conclusion, that the Filipinos are communal by nature. I was telling a historian friend Fe Mangahas about a livelihood project the International Visitor Leadership Program – Philippines (IVLP-PH) implemented years ago, where the woman leader of an indigenous farming community was given seed capital to purchase 12 piglets, 20 chickens and 3 goats. We expected the livestock to double in a year, but she told us only 2 pigs were left. She explained that some members of the community got them without her knowledge and served them during a feast. Ms. Mangahas said, the concept of personal property is slow to creep into consciousness, especially in remote rural areas, as they believe that anything can be shared with the other members of the community.

This behavior, although not so common in the urbanized areas, manifests itself occasionally, in so many ways. Several times, I saw an old woman harvesting the gardenias and the jasmines in the exposed portion of the front yard. She was accompanied by a young man, who was stopping her from doing so, but she brushed him off. I heard their argument and told her to stop, as I intend to gather them for myself. She did not stop, looked up to my window and muttered expletives I did not understand and gave a philosophical retort.

“I am just picking some, you might have grown them, but these are gifts from the sun.”

Before I had time to get down from the second floor, she sped off, running as fast as a child who just stole guavas and mangoes from a neighbor’s yard, catching up with her caregiver who ran away ahead of her.

Then there was this old man, who picked the gumamelas (hibiscus) and clipped them in his ears. I did not stop him, his spirit danced in the garden. The flowers seemed to have whispered a song of freedom, and danced with him.

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