The Old House (s1.)

Once, at first glance, it seems to float in a sea of Philodendrons. On closer look, the yellow steel gate opens to a spacious frontyard that displayed an oldish garden swing and an assortment of blooming and leafy potted plants and Santan hedges, the cemented pathway leads you to the main feature – my grandmother’s Spanish old house along Calye Callejon. It was smack right in the town’s hub and was a stone’s throw away from the plaza and a short walk to the church and a prominent Catholic School run by nuns.

The old house is a big structure that quietly loomed on the block and perfectly blended with its surroundings of motley structures ranging from a conspicuous hotel building to mediocre houses nearby. It had 6 big rooms, an azotea, a sala that converts into tv room, a dinning room with a long table and a quaint kitchen. It was built on proud and sturdy posts and boast of well polished and shiny Tindalo wooden floorings. Like most houses built during the olden times, its walls were made of Sawali and its heavy slide windows of Narra.

I love that house dearly. For me, the old house is the most beautiful house I ever laid my eyes on. It brings memories of my early life, it meant comfort and refuge and most importantly it reminded me of Nanay.

Nanay is my mother’s Nanay, a remarkable woman of strength and kindness who became my surrogate mother for the first 6 years of my life. My Nanay tells me that the old house used to be the first hotel in our town. It accommodated a number of prominent political figures including the late President Quirino. Its glory days however were cut short when fire partly ravaged it and a remodeling and reconstruction of affected parts resulted to an oddly shaped kitchen.

Adding flavor to the historical character of my grandmother’s old house is the atmosphere of mysticism it exudes that I categorize as almost magical. My theory identifies the miracle of fresh life springing from a mother’s womb to have blessed the old house. With reference to our clan’s history, the old house had been the birthing place of a series of generations. My grandmother gave birth to all her 6 children in the old house. My mother and her sister and their cousin have followed such practice unconsciously. How many babies were brought forth into this world through the old house? I lost count because I have lots of cousins from the maternal side.

If only it could breathe and tell stories, the old house may have been a great weaver of tales. Only it stood as silent witness to every joy and tragedy my grandmother’s family stumbled into. And whatever it saw became a well-guarded secret locked away from the prying and judgmental world outside.

Sadly, I left the old house before turning 7 upon the bidding of my father who moved his family from the north to the central region of Luzon. My mother, armed with the determination to get the family together, came for me and so I said my farewell.

One day, the news came like thunder on a summer, it was said that the old house was torn down to the ground. Piece by piece it was ripped, like a severely ailing person decaying to death, it succumbed to human fault called greed. Knowing my Nanay, she must have felt that she was about to die too. I picture her pain and agony as she was also torn limb by limb and devoured by an angry giant. She must have been killed softly that day.

At the age of 10, when my young discernment has not yet met its fortitude, I concluded that magic and history were not enough to protect the house that my grandmother built with her love and gentleness. And that human greed does not only take away physical possessions, it also caused terrible pain and bestowed violence on good people. It was greed that desecrated a blessed family dwelling.

Was greed more powerful than love? When I was young I thought the answer was yes. I was wrong then because now when I think of the old house, I am strongly reminde d of my Nanay for my grandmother signified all that is good in this world. Her memory alone brings me back to the old house I will always call Home.