Barrio Tales and Other Stories

Barrio

Paliguy-ligoy





How many times have I been tempted to pack up all my things, call the airlines and fly back home? I am not crazy in thinking that. Work and security and abundance in America are not all that make a man happy. I am just so worried that I'd go home one day and find my country alien to me. The way it became alienated to a man I saw in Luneta during my college years. He was line-fishing in Manila Bay, right there, at the periphery of Rizal Park, expecting milk-fish to jump out of the polluted water and bite his bait. He thought Manila Bay had the best fishes in the Philippines.

Ay pardon me!

I understand that Filipino fisherman now, now that I've been away from my country of birth for too long. When I fully converse in Spanish with my Latin patients I get worried. Susmaryosep! Next thing, I may no longer speak Tagalog or Kapampangan!

That's why I keep writing everything I remember about home in this web site. I write these barrio stories so I won't forget about my country. I lie down on my sofa after work or work-out and close my eyes and think of taking a jeepney ride from Guagua to Lubao. Have you heard of Guagua? Angela Manalang Gloria was a native of Guagua.

And in my rest, I picture the barrios on the way: Santo Cristo, San Isidro, San Anton, Santa Monica and my Santo Tomas where I alight off the jeepney. I enter Crossing Street and I picture the people I used to know - I know they are mostly dead now - but I insist on seeing them the way I saw them. Am I sick or what? Anyway, I would spare you of their names because that's a problem in some Filipino stories - so many characters get so involved in one plot next thing the reader doesn't know which is which or who is who anymore. Oh, here I go again, getting out of the straight path of story-telling, which is really okay, because in my town, stories don't get straightened out, because, someone will alwyas divert the story-teller to something else.

Like, if my mother would order me to buy Datu Puti Suka (vinegar) at Apung Gari store, I would probably be stopped by hundreds of talking mouths along the way, telling me this, my ears hearing that, next thing I don't remember what my mother ordered me to buy anymore. Worse, I might end up buying Marca Pina Soy Sauce instead of Datu Puti Suka. My! The whole event also takes time. Is it any wonder the people in my barrio are well-known for paliguy-ligoy?

What is paliguy-liguy? My story-telling - especially what I am telling you now - is classic example of paliguy-ligoy. A foreigner who reads me would probably scream: Get to the point Please! Finish your damn story will you?

Of course I won't. Beating around the bush is so beautiful at times. Excuse me, I am not born to tell anybody a straight to the point story. Oh no, oh oh no.

Paliguy-ligoy is like making love the Pinoy way: you take your time leisurely, you just don't take off your clothes and bang! bang! it's over. Que barbaridad!

No way Jose! Paliguy-ligoy is the manner of savoring everythig slowly, really slow. So slow you'd fall asleep before it's over. Every skin pore is explored, every g-spot is tested and touched, every teeth is counted, every digit is kissed, every size accomodated, every depth invaded.

It's like halo-halo, you mix it up first but you always save the best sweet solids last. Slowly.

That's paliguy-ligoy. Here is really my good example:

I want to tell you a story about Pedro Penduko. But before I proceed I want to greet Maria Kepyas a happy birthday. Do you know she has eleven fingers? She doesn't know that because she doesn't know how to count beyond ten. She failed Arithmetic in her Grade Two elementary class. Her teacher Miss Dabu was so frustrated with her slow-learning. Do you remember Miss Dabu? Thank God she finally got married! Who would have thought that she'd get to be this old spinster before she got married? And the guy who married her, I think, was Pedro Penduko. Or is it? No, I'm not sure about that anymore, I think Pedro Penduko is the one whose story I am about to tell. But my goodness, I forgot everything about him. Oh well, I want to thank Mang Fred for my hair cut. I still can't remember what I was supposed to tell you. I've got to go.

Now, where was I?

Alex Maskara

Barrio Tales