The Bamboos

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It was cloudy and unsettled, but we went out exploring anyway. After all, this was why we had come home: to see the places of my father’s youth and our family history. How better to spend a Wednesday on vacation?

We walked out of our valley and up the hill road. At stops along the way dad pointed out the homes of cousins near and distant. At the top of the road we arrived in a place called Tam-awan, which means roughly “panorama” in my father’s dialect. The ridge-line runs approximately north-south and when you face west you can see the ocean, 30 or 40 miles away. In between this ridge and the sea are the places that my grandparents and their families had their farms - Benin, Buwat, and further off, Irisan. To our left, above Benin, is the hill where my family keeps its cemetary. My grandparents sleep overlooking the valleys and hills where they once walked. My cousins now are the caretakers of these lands. Those who are still willing to farm anyway. For the sake of us all, I hope there will always be some who do. It is a shame to see these places carved up just to let strangers build a few more houses.

There was a strong, but very welcome breeze along the way. It caught the leaves of the tall stands of bamboo and made a rustling sound that shook me to my core. I was completely unprepared for the intense feelings of longing that arose in me because of that sound. I don’t even know how the sounds and feelings are related, nor exactly what these longings are. For the old days, for the simplicity of this life, for a home I barely remember; I don’t know, but these feelings linger still.

It’s All About Land - One of the classic blunders, “.. never get involved in a land war in Asia ..” Just about every conversation with family comes around to land at some point. Uncle Peter is looking at a map of the lots left behind by Uncle Roy.

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