Of Hatred And History (1/4)

Of Hatred and History

(One of Four)

I did not meet him personally. I was born too late.  I just heard the stories from my  Lolo, my Papa and my Uncle Paul. I saw pictures of him, his family, in our bamboo house in Caba. I think he was Senator then in one, seated in one of those white, metal garden sets, having conversation with Lolo and I suppose political leaders at the time. His wife with him, clad in a light colored dress and bandana (the photo was in black and white) looking radiant. His  eldest daughter, also in a dress, sat with them, the only child permitted to sit with the elders. At the background, Lola was looking over the food on the table they all surrounded. 

I met his eldest daughter much later in life, when she was a guest in one of the official activities of our department. I was seated with her through dinner, and we exchanged in small talk. She asked where I was from, I said La Union. She said, 'Really. I remember this small, bamboo house we drop by off through our travels to Ilocos Norte. It was near the beach, I recall. My Dad went there because of the 'tinolang manok' served by this kind family....'. I replied, 'That would be my family. That bamboo house is ours.' In her unique way, she exclaimed quite excitedly, 'ooohhh, small world!'. I remember she did not eat much, just the fruits served for dessert. I did not eat at all. I was too nervous, still, as I presented some plan to the audience in the program before dinner, and she was in the audience. 

In between her bites of fruit, our conversation somehow went to her brother being 'shabby' in dressing, unlike their Dad, who personally ironed his 'barong' and his pants, that when he crossed his arms and legs, there would only be three lines of creases to appear, no more no less. And then it went to her coloring her hair lighter than usual one time and her Dad quipped after staring at her hair over the dining table, 'So what happened to your hair? Were you too bored this summer?'. We both laughed. She let off this baritone cackle, I let out a nervous teeny-weeny laugh. 

It was an interesting conversation, not about work. She spoke about her sons, which surprised me because I thought she only had one. She was saying something like, '...there are no decent sports programs for young men anymore, my sons are athletic and...'. I could not say anything about that. I knew nothing about sports. Well, I know basketball, only because people around me watch all the time. 

When it was time for her to leave, like a starstruck fan, I asked for her  card. She got one from her purse after rummaging through it, (her business card was in purple) and wrote at the back something, I don't remember. I do remember her saying, 'Well, here, I hope that name still works. You know, it means nothing now so.....' And we said our proper goodbyes.