taken from morgananddavid.com
Funny how I recently got to chance upon old acquaintances through Facebook. I was never choosy with people I invite to my friends list because I previously thought the online me was a different offline me. But lately I morphed into overdoing my “goodwill”. Thinking about it now makes me shiver. My bestfriend Mar would later tell me “I was possessed” to do such a thing. =)
Some parts of my life was spent living in a village where we were one of the few early settlers. The village was divided into North and South. North was nearer the guard house. South, of course, was farther down the street but closer to the club house and children’s playground.
We lived in the South. My friends were in the North. But worst than that was the North children hated the South children (and vice versa). So much like the bloods and the crips. It was so childish.
Children of the south dressed up in Sunday dresses, wore pink shorts and had the latest hair craze. They had tea picnics, bartered stationaries, were tisays, had long hair, spoke in English and wore pajamas to bed. They had Sugar, Sweet, Cream and Honey for nicks.
Children of the north played spirit of the glass in the morning and tubig tubig late at night, played with outside the village kids (we called outsiders then), wore shorts cut off from tattered jeans, played black jack with house help, and had so much fun peeping through house windows (watching what Tito did with Inday or what Tita did to her face at night). For a time we thought one of the villager was a witch with all the creams she placed on her face. We laugh about it now specially when we would remember the time we chanted in archaic to ward of evil each time we passed through that house and had salt in pouches in our belts. We swore then the kids were witches too.
During summers, the children of the south would go to picnics and had hula lessons. North kids would attend tennis clinics and ruin tea parties by biking through the fields. We were mean then. We had funny nicknames to make them cry like Kagiron, Kaligula, Kugmuhon. We would sing “Kaming mga Ulila” on the streets to spite them. We stole their crushes by telling on them. So juvenile.
There was a time that the fights got too intense, my friends would take me home in a group as I was too scared to go home by myself (being the only one from the South) lest the little devils would suddenly gang up on me. We picked up stones tucked in our pockets for protection. Taslakan pud diay.
Even crazier, my brother had a ‘tough’ allegiance to the South kids. We were living in different poles. Us too. I wish I was adopted.
During village parties, they would dance hula and we would dance the war song from Boy George. During village out of town trips, we would throw “lumot” and beach sand inside their bathing suits and scare them with ghost stories. The only advantage we had was that we were taller and knew cebuano words that they can’t pronounce. They were the village princesses and us the kids with major problems.
Then, we grew up. New villagers came. North friends had more South friends and vice versa. Summers were spent outside the village. We went to the same college and even worked in the same offices. We bump into each other at afternoon discos. We would talk about where we are at the present. The cruelties of the past was a phase we don’t talk about. They got married and had children and lately grand children. We got married and some of us never married at all. Most of them have moved to the US while others have stayed in Cebu.
My friends list now include them. Them kids that spoke only English. After all, my childhood was spent with them and proudly we all grew up “ethical”, us North kids – despite what seemed to be impossible then.
Lately…
