All the Things Southern

Basilan's in the news again. Yep.
Two civilians were abducted by 50 armed bandits during the Holy Week, one was decapitated the other shot dead. I really hope true peace prevails in that part of our country for good. So we could visit it more, without trepidation.

We were supposed to move their for good during my elementary years. But a twist of fate happened...my dad got offered a job*--to cover (then presidentiable) Fidel V. Ramos' political campaign. This was the start of my dad's stint in Malacañang and the complete demise of my father's plans to live south--for good. The retraction planted a disappointment in my grandfather's heart, a grudge he kept till his death. He wanted my father to take care of the farm. The land that my great grandfather tilled too, to provide for his family.

I'm glad things turned out differently though.

And yet. I am somehow still connected to that small parcel of land at the tip of our archipelago. Because my father grew up there: Lamitan, Basilan. And somehow every time I hear these awful things happening there I feel a sense of connection thrice removed--"They're talking about Basilan." I've only been there twice--both were for my grandmother and grandfather's funeral. So the place holds a bit of bitter memories for me. My grandmother's blood stored in jars after embalming. The loud squeals of a fat pig slaughtered for dinner. My own murder of chicks on a drum of water--accidental (!)

but

i also remember this mysterious native delicacy that i ate so much of. it came in banana leaf cups and were really sticky and sweet (hahaha no it's not Turkish delight). the endless fields of sugarcane, and the thick jaw wearing stalks that we couldn't get enough of. the most tender coconut meat in my grandfather's copra mill. the most red hued papayas thicker than an arm...and the beach, the virgin beach.

Will I ever return?
I wonder.